5.15am, and the end of the World Service broadcast on Radio 4 wakes me from a pretty fitful sleep at my friends' the Murphys house in Blairgowrie. In about 5 minutes I am changed into my carefully laid out kit, complete with my first ever 'race' number (488), and downstairs for breakfast. I look at the pack of instant Scots Porridge Oats, and I can only imagine it's going to make a quick return journey such is the state of my nerves. So instead, it's a fruit and nut bar, a gulp of coffee, and into the car to drive the 25 miles to Pitlochry, and the start. Must get there early - small town, not much parking, 3000+ competitors.

Phew - plenty of parking available as I roll into town at just after 6am. As I pull into the car park and unload my bike, I recognise a couple of faces I'd noticed while registering the previous day - they stuck in my mind because they were the sort of chiselled, almost gaunt faces common in the world of cycling which speak of a 6% body fat percentage. As they set up their glistening carbon steeds with deep section Zipp wheels, even my brand new Bianchi C2C , gleaming white and celeste, starts to look a bit inferior. In fact, everywhere I turn I see riders who look fitter, better prepared, faster than me. Nerves are really beginning to take hold now. My waterproof is on, it's off again, no..back on - is this rain easing off, was I going to to overheat? Calm down. Into the High Street, and towards the starting pen where we are to be released in drafts of around 200. There's a bit of jockeying for position going on close to the start - a bit like boarding an EasyJet flight. This calms down after an announcement from the starter that there was no point in sneaking in before your allocated start time, as the timing chip would not work. I'm due off in the third draft at 7.04am. The rain is starting to come down again quite heavily now - and standing about in the shop doorway I realise overheating is unlikely to be a problem. The leg warmers are staying on. It's only 6.40am.This feeling is like being back at university, milling about outside the exam hall, with everyone wishing each other luck, but with an undercurrent of trying to undermine one another's confidence. I'm really getting paranoid now. Why does everyone else seem to look like a racing snake?

7am. The first group are off. There is a syncopated chorus of feet clipping in, followed by a beautiful soft whirr of 200 chainsets as the bikes set off up the High Street. My nerves are now being replaced by genuine excitement. I stop fiddling wth the velcro fastenings on my cuffs, stop looking at my watch, and just concentrate on getting ready to get into the start pen. We're ushered forward, and I inch my way along the barrier, and up towards the front of the holding area - 7.02, the next group are off, and we're next. There's no scramble, everyone just gently rolls forward into the starting pen - I make sure I am close to the front, but at the edge so I can clip-in and hold the barrier. Countdown.....and we're off. The roads are very greasy, but this doesn't stop us building up to a very quick pace almost immediately. There are a surprising number of people lining the street and cheering - this feels great. My heart rate's 165 - I'm never going to maintain this. I'm at the head of the bunch now, so I drop off a little to 4th or 5th. This is just how I'd imagined racing to be, and even though I'm well aware it isn't a real road race, I'm having great fun pretending. Freewheeling now down towards the sharp left hander that takes us into the forest and towards the first climbs. The road's wet - everyone is cautious on the corner, and as we turn it we can already see the stragglers form the group ahead just up the road.

The first small climbs feel great - I feel great - I'm passing loads of riders from the group ahead, and nobody's passing me. We're at Queen's View already - the highest point of those early small climbs. The target is definitely back on. The closed roads are fantastic. This early part of the route through the forest is quite twisty, and I am surprised how many riders are still hugging the left side of the road. I try to take the best line through corners, and despite the rain, I'm cornering and descending better than I've ever done before. A group of around 12 - 15 has been maintained now for 5 or 6 miles, and we're passing lots of riders, especially on the small climbs. Just as I am feeling really comfortable, I unship my chain at the foot of a steep section. It only takes 30 seconds to get back on, but I now want to get back in touch with that group - I do, but only after working very hard for 3 miles. We pass the first casualties of the day on a 14% descent with two very sharp bends shortly before Loch Rannoch - two riders had come off at the corner where there was a big warning sign and a marshall with a big red flag - ripped lycra, and a bit of road rash, but nothing more serious.

Once back in touch with the group of 15, we sail round Loch Rannoch. 4 of us then break away to join a fast train of 4 other riders (with numbers between 600 and 700!). Still feeling very comfortable - everyone's doing a turn on front, there's good-natured banter, and best of all for me, these guys all look very fit, and I am managing to stay with them. I'm loving it. We pass a couple of riders who'd stopped for punctures as we complete the lap of Loch Rannoch. We don't know that this presages something much more serious ahead.

The only big climb on the route is over the shoulder of the distinctive high mountain on the south shore of Loch Rannoch, Scheihallion. We're now approaching the lower slopes, and the road was beginning to ramp up, gently at first. Rounding a corner, we see a group of 3 cyclists all on the road verge, bikes up-turned as they repaired punctures. As we pass through the tree lines section of the lower climb, we see more and more punctured riders, and start to hear warning shouts from them about tacks on the road. Pretty soon everyone is talking about this as saboutage, and an air of gloom descends. Riders start to ask each other if their tyres are still inflated - we're all just waiting to be the next one's to suffer. The field is bunching together now, partly from the increasing gradient, partly from tack-induced caution. Every so often there's a depressing hiss, quickly followed by an expletive, and one of the group drops onto the grass verge. As we emerge from the trees to the steepest section where we can see 200-300m ahead up the hairpins, we realise that what look like spectators lining the roads are actually riders mending punctures. Some of these guys are on their second punctures in the space of a few metres. Some of us are lucky to get up the climb with intact inner tubes - I'm climbing well (for me), and pretty soon I'm on my own. Three or four properly fast guys power past me on the way up, and I can't believe my luck - at the top, no punctures.

I begin the descent - I've been really looking forward to this - a long, only slightly technical drop on a closed road, but fear of a blow-out makes me take it a bit easier than planned - as if to re-inforce this I pass a rider who has come off - I don't know if it was tack induced or not, but I take no risks. There's a sharp right hander at the bottom, and another rider joins me - we can see a group of three others about 300m ahead, and we agree to work together to catch them. About 10m short, the guy I've been working with curses loudly, and pulls over - not punctured, but a gear problem. He waves me on, and I catch the other 3 and rest. I try to do a turn on front, but they're pretty fast. We turn into the wind now for most of the remaining 25 miles. Although the road is largely flat, the wind, and my legs which are beginning to tire now, make it feel like a climb. I am passed by 4 fast riders, and suck their wheels for the next 5 miles - no thoughts of a turn on front, as I am barely able to hang on at this pace - eventually they drop me and I am on my own. The wind is really picking up now, but the sun is coming out, and I actually start to feel better now that I am no longer trying to maintain a pace that I'd normally only manage in a short chaingang training session.

I'm now in the village of Logierait - 5 miles to go. I'm glad I've reccied the route, because I know that the sharp left hand bend is followed immediately by a short but very steep climb, so I shift into 34/17 in advance. God it's steep - out of the saddle - grunt - swear a bit (quietly though as there are lots of spectators here), and then I get cramp, but manage to cycle through it. The next 4 miles are hard going - theer are two small climbs, but they feel very hard now as I am running out of energy. I'm descending now, I swing round the last right hander into Pitlochry. The marshalls shout out that I'm nearly there. Round the left hander and I start the last small climb into Pitlochry High Street. The Murphy's are walking opposite me on there way to the finish line - I told them not to bother getting there until 11.30 at the earliest, and the look of surprise on their faces as I call out to them lets me know I am well ahead of schedule. I can see the digital clock above the finish line now - 11:12 - I am ecstatic. I hear my name being announced as I cross the line, although I am not confident enough to do a no-hands celebration - I'm actually completely knackered.

I'm handed recovery drinks and assorted other goodies as I enter the reception area, and I realise there aren't that many people around. I meet up with my friends who tell me that there are riders still coming in whom the announcer says are among the first 100 back. I know this is because of punctures, and I am highly flattered by my placing 68th overall, and 31st in my age group. What I am more genuinely delighted with is the time - 4:10:50 - well inside my target.