I was about to whizz past what I thought was a war monument. Out of the corner of my eye I noticed graffiti on the structure. When I saw what it said I slammed on the brakes and almost fell off, “Maggie Wall burnt here 1657 as a Witch.”
 
The writing looked like something from a horror movie. A spooky scrawl that brought shivers to the spine. It made me picture a black and white, grainy world where a woman is dragged screaming across a muddy field to a stake. This is the Dunning witch memorial, not something I expected to find in such peaceful surroundings.

The fields were full of mischievous lambs. Wildflowers decorated road verges and dragon flies fluttered right up to my face. I was cycling in Perthshire through the Ochill hills on gentle country roads, not far from the famous Gleneagles hotel. 

The Switzerland of Scotland

My journey began at Gleneagles train station. I wheeled my bike off the train to a deserted platform. This is a sad tale of faded grandeur. All the doors and windows of the buildings are boarded up. The old booking office with its crow-stepped gable, now a private home, is severed from the rest of the station by a blocked-off walkway.

The station still has a sense of occasion with long glass canopies on cast-iron columns and a sweeping staircase to the footbridge, but it is a whimper of how it would have been in 1924.  

This was the year that the Caledonian Railway opened Gleneagles hotel, which was showered with accolades, like “The Switzerland of Scotland”, "A Riviera in the Highlands" and "The eighth wonder of the World".

The platform would have been crowded with elegantly dressed people in the fashions of the “Roaring-20s”. Women with bobbed hair and cloche hats. Men with morning suits and straw boaters. There would be a procession of luxury cars, like the Rolls-Royce Silver Shadow, sent by the hotel to collect their guests.

On leaving the station I was shocked to discover the only way out is via the busy A9. My heart was pounding at the thought of having to ride on this, but luckily there is a footpath alongside the road that took me to the tamer A823.

I was overtaken by a flash German car. In the opposite direction a top of the range 4-wheel drive vehicle passed. A few minutes later another brand new luxury saloon passed. The Gleneagles set, I assumed.

The traffic died away when I turned left towards Duchally. It was so warm that I had to stop to discard my outer layer, but this might have been an excuse to take a rest from the hills. The road leveled and I picked up speed. Flies and small insects slapped against my face. Pheasant calls echoed in the woods, a sound that is like a creaky bed being jumped on by an over-excited child.

I am partial to screeching to a halt when I spy attractive wildflowers. There was something very pretty thriving on these verges. It looked like a star and had five white petals with a yellow centre. Greater Stitchwort, so called because of its ancient herbal use for alleviating stitches, the kind you get when jogging. It is also known as 'Star-of-Bethlehem' or 'Daddy's-shirt-buttons'. I got off my bike and bent right down to take a closer look at the delicate flowers and take some photos, thinking that if I was in a car I would never have noticed this.

Whisky caramel cappuccino

A left turn took me to the town of Auchterarder. My motivation for visiting the town was purely chocolate based. This is the location of my favourite chocolatier in Scotland, Cocoa Mountain. They have a shop on the High Street, which incidentally is the longest in Scotland, at 1.5 miles.

The street is unique in that it is not filled with the same retail brands that you find everywhere else or boarded up units resulting from supermarket competition. There are many independent family stores, including an artisan baker and a butcher. Cocoa Mountain is one of Auchterarder’s special shops, proud of their hot chocolate. I love that they push the boundaries with their truffle flavours that include chilli lemongrass, coconut lime and star anis, and whisky caramel cappuccino.    

After stocking up on goodies I returned to the countryside roads and discovered the Dunning witch memorial. The creepy white writing on the structure looks so fresh as if this incident had occurred yesterday and a relative of Maggie returned in the night to mark the tragedy.

The scrawl looks brand new because someone has been regularly touching up the paint to stop it from fading, but nobody has ever seen it being done. Is this carried out in the dead of night when everyone else is fast asleep? I wondered if it was a tradition passed down by descendants of the Wall family. The funny thing is that no record exists of a person called Maggie Wall. There is also no record of who erected the monument and when it was completed. There are many theories, but the story of Maggie is largely a secret that has yet to be unlocked.

Dunning’s food store had a hand-written sign on the door, “Dunning strawberries.1.99 a punnet.” There was a brass latch which I pushed down to open the door. The brass felt indented and smooth on my thumb, the result of generations of villagers opening this door.

I enquired about the local fruit. “Fresh in this morning. Very sweet and juicy,” the grocer declared proudly. With a big smile she pushed the punnet towards me and I could see that the strawberries were enormous and far too tempting to ignore.

The grocer was right, they oozed lushness. I ate every last one outside the 13th century St Serf’s Church. I was oblivious to the fact that inside the church there is a masterpiece of Pictish stone carving in the form of the Dupplin cross. I got distracted by the strawberries and departed without going anywhere near it.

“I have so many amazing memories of Dunning Glen as a child. We used to go there every time we got a bit of nice weather, build fires, cook wee willie winkies, jump in and out of the water, catch minnows and play in our dinghy.” From memories of Dunning Glen

Tough uphill sections forced me into lower gears. I passed a pretty white cottage with a pretty name, Blaeberry Tollhouse. Then Dunning glen where there are places for picnics, burns with fish and a curtain of water falling from the Castlehill dam.  I spotted a lamb sunbathing. I did not think that sheep would be interested in getting a tan, but here he was sitting with his eyes closed, head tilted back facing the sun.

I stopped at the Tormaukin Hotel where the sign promises “great food and log fires.” The outdoor seating bathed in sunshine enticed me to stay for lunch. A cheese and pickle sandwich never tasted so good- a white washed 18th century inn behind me and a descent through Glen Devon and Glen Eagles in front of me.

The final stretch was the best cycling of the route. An exhilarating conclusion. It was downhill and fast. The road had a sheer hillside on the right and on the left a drop to a long and narrow glen. The tarmac snaked, turned and twisted and I squeezed the break levers when it got precarious. From my elevated position I felt like I was floating over the trees, rivers and fields, perhaps like a witch riding a broomstick. 

View Witches at Gleneagles in a larger map

Getting there
Gleneagles is 16-18 minutes from Perth by train. Trains from Edinburgh to Perth take around 1 hour 15 minutes or up to 1 hour 40 minutes. London to Perth takes around 6 hours by train.

Cycling distances and terrain
This route is 29 miles and the roads are mostly very quiet. The A823 will have a bit of activity, but the busiest place of the whole route is Auchterarder High Street. This is a good place to park up the bike and enjoy strolling and looking at the shops.

It is a hilly route and your legs will be given a workout. The reward is the speedy descent after the Tormaukin Hotel.

Things to see and do
The witch memorial is just outside the village of Dunning.  

Cocoa Mountain is located on the High Street of Auchterarder. The High Street is a joy to explore with many unique shops.

Gleneagles train station is a fine example of railway architecture and is worth spending a few minutes admiring the sweeping staircase and footbridge. 

Where to stay and eat
The Tormaukin Hotel is a good place for lunch and offers comfortable rooms.

For the ultimate in luxury there is always Gleneagles.