Schiehallion

In keeping with the holiday mode (for a day or two longer, at any rate), I decided to do The Sound of music thing.

Climb a mountain.

Ford the streams (there weren't many and any there were had bridges).

Follow the rainbows (there were none): until you find your dream.

I have my dreams. Holidays give me a chance to ponder them once again. And climbing a mountain, in an odd sort of way, is part of the process.

There weren't, as I say, any rainbows. No rain. Which makes it (in Scotland) a very good day for climbing a mountain.

Windy and cold and a bit overcast perhaps, most of the way, but dry.

I opted for Schiehallion. Three and a half thousand feet of Perthshire rock. Between Loch Rannoch and Loch Tummel to the north, and Loch Tay to the south.

On my way back down, I met a man pushing his bike up the mountain.

I haven't a clue just why.

Maybe he's aiming to be the first person to climb every 'Munro' with his bike. (I imagine it would be a first).

Maybe he thought since it's called a mountain bike he should simply take it with him when he climbs any mountain.

Maybe he thought it would be pretty good fun to cycle the whole way down. Which it would be.

And a whole lot easier on the legs (if not on the backside).

But there's no way at all he'd have ever been able to cycle the final part of the hike. No way.

The last long bit is simply rocks. And I mean some sizeable boulders.

The sort of thing even a stunt cyclist would not attempt.

Mountain bikes may be good on most mountainsides. But the top of Schiehallion? No way.

The equipment he had just wouldn't work on this particular site. Take it from me - I've been there.

It crossed my mind this well-intentioned man with his bike at his side as he slogged his way up the mountain was a very graphic picture of the way we too can often seem.

Presuming 'equipment', which works in other contexts, will work for ourselves as well.

Sometimes it doesn't!