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This is the story of one of my favourite rides, a few months after getting my Trek Domane AL3. It was my first road bike, and although I had cycled with my dad growing up, it was my first foray into road cycling. I had been commuting to work for a while, around 12 km back and forth, and was starting to feel very comfortable on my bike. There is something special about having a bike that is the correct size and the feeling of becoming one with the steel steed.

At the time, I would put my phone in my backpack, pack a camera, and go wherever I fancied. There was no bike computer, no time schedule, and no emergency contact—perks and drawbacks in perfect harmony. Edinburgh and its outer areas are very easy to navigate, and as long as I’m within 10 km of home, I’ll always find my way back, or at least that’s what it felt like.

Starting from Gorebridge, I looked at the map on Maps.me—a fantastic app for downloading offline maps onto your phone, but it always depends on signal and phone battery. While looking at the map, I drew an imaginary 15 km radius in my head and looked at interesting features on the topography. I settled on Gladhouse Reservoir. Friends had mentioned it during their hikes, and I thought it was close enough for me to get to. After all, it was already 3:40 pm, and I would get there just in time for a beautiful Scottish sunset. So I checked the rough direction and chucked the phone in my bag.

It was October or November, and it was getting quite chilly. So, I put on a pair of grey running leggings and doubled up on shirts. I remembered this trick my mother used to tell me: wear multiple layers and stuff the bottom-most shirt into the trousers’ seam to make sure no air or breeze gets through.

I wore my gloves under a tight jumper and put on my Altura jacket. It’s rain and windproof and retains a good amount of body heat generated during the effort, preventing the wind from cooling me down. I was quite cosy—at first.

The time and weather were beautiful. Within minutes, I was in what felt like the typical Scottish countryside to me: rolling hills, quiet roads, and highland cows. I stopped for a second to snap some pictures on my Fujifilm X-T1 before getting a bit cocky and starting to snap pictures during the ride. It must have been the smoothest tarmac, certainly smoother than what they put in the Edinburgh city centre. (Road tax, yay!) The sun started to set, and it dawned on me that I might not reach the reservoir on time. But why would I turn back? The scenery was so idyllic.

After an hour, I made it past some farms, trees, and vegetation that hinted I must have been closer to water. I stopped again next to a country house, realizing that there was only one small building around, no villages, no landmarks. It started to feel a bit darker and definitely unfamiliar.

I took my phone out of my bag, turned off airplane mode (which I used to save battery), and loaded up the map. I was just 2 km away from the reservoir. I took another quick picture on the Fuji, turned left, and headed towards the reservoir.

I made it! There was a thin road, with fields to my left and sparse trees to my right, behind which lay a quiet, tranquil body of water resting below the setting sun. While riding along, I noticed two problems. The reservoir was quite vast, and I had no idea what to do now that I was there. How to get past the fence and trees, whether I should continue around the lake, and most importantly: How long would it take me to get home?

I stopped to catch my breath and adjust my shoes, as it was getting quite a bit colder. I set up the camera and tried to get some last-minute shots of the lake. Not my best photos, but I had gotten some gems along the way, so no harm, no foul. I had a snack of the sandwich I had packed and decided to turn around as it was getting dimmer by the minute.

I could still see quite well; my eyes were adjusting to the surrounding evening lights. But the lack of public lighting was noticeable. Who would think Scotland got dark that early in the “day,” at 5 pm? I went as fast as I could, controlling my breath so as not to freeze my nose off, and clamped my hands into fists to protect my fingers from the cold. Despite wearing gloves, it was getting colder and colder. I tried putting my hands in my pockets one at a time to warm them up and tried not to pay attention to my feet as they were getting even colder.

The road was still quite fun, but it was getting hard to see anything around me. I could see houses in the distance and set my bearings, using my phone torch to light up the next six feet in front of me. It was a tricky conundrum: drain the battery and risk losing the map? As it was getting darker and colder without the sun’s warmth, I must admit I started to worry a bit about being lost and how much longer it would take. I vividly remember coming over a hill, with a valley of darkness in front of me, my tiny torch in hand, and a house half a mile away on the other side with its lights on. I thought, if I have to go downhill, I need the momentum to get up the other side. I can’t brake with my phone in hand, and all these different thoughts were wiring through my head. So, I decided to put my phone away. Worse comes to worst, I’d still be able to call someone. But who? A taxi? My friends live in Edinburgh, and I know not a single person with a car…

So, I put my phone away, memorized the path ahead of me, and headed for the descent. The cold wind rushed past my face, my nose freezing, and my cold fingers grasping the brakes with no sensation. It was a pretty surreal experience.