Someone at work asked me why I wanted to ride a 550 mile
mountain bike route, as fast as possible over some of the hardest biking terrain
in Scotland, at
the mercy of the notoriously fickle Scottish weather. My answer was vague as it seems
hard to pin down the appeal of such an undertaking to someone who has never
remotely experienced such a thing. In 2015 it was all about the people I met
and the shared adversity the weather and trails presented. My motivation to do
it again was various – to prove that 2015 wasn’t a fluke; to experience
good weather and the stunning views; to ride some of the best trails in the
world but also to once again meet like minded individuals and by sharing the
experience multiply its enjoyment…..
Given all the factors that needed to come together to
achieve even some of these goals, I feel privileged to report that in the
event, I achieved them all.
Tyndrum 9am May 27th
Quite how this all came about still surprises me. My build
up was far from perfect with back and knee problems threatening to spoil the
party. Just making it to the start line seemed a major achievement but once there
it was like a huge weight off my shoulders, all I had to do was ride my bike,
eat and sleep.
I eyed up my fellow riders. There was some serious talent waiting
for the off this year with a number of people clearly ready and able to destroy
all previous records. The rest of the bunch seemed focused and ready. I
compared this the field of the 2014 start. Many (including myself) seemed to be
somewhat shocked to be contemplating the route ahead. Many (including myself)
quickly ran into more problems than they could cope with and the attrition rate
was high with only 12 out 36 riders finishing. In 2015
people seemed more focused, prepared and willing to tackle
the challenges ahead. The weather had other ideas and hours of endless grind
through mud, wind and rain took their toll with only 16 of the 43 starters
completing.
There was one noted absence – Mike Hall. Maybe that’s why
the leaders went off so fast - a fitting tribute to such an iconic ultra racer and all round nice guy. Even
down the field the pace was high. People seemed quiet with less of the early
chat that 2015 saw. Maybe people were absorbed in their own ride, checking
their pace and their kit and keeping an eye on the weather awaiting the
fore casted thunderstorm and deluge. I went up the Ben Alder climb and down the descent fast. Too fast and my reward was massive cramp in both thighs. 3 hydration tablets and a litre of water sorted it.
The storm never came, substituted instead by a more traditional
highland drizzle that cooled a few fevered brows on the climb and descent of
the Corrieairyack pass. No snow this year. The Fort Augstus Pizza Shop provided
the usual meet up of riders – an ever changing group as people came and went.
The leaders disappeared into the distance and disappeared from my
consciousness. Leaving Fort Augustus
I met up with Ian Penton-Voak, we talked tactics, distances achieved and what
could be done that evening. In the event I took an easy option not wishing to
push my luck this early in the race. Ian pushed on to the next climb. What you
ride today, you don’t have to ride tomorrow became an oft used phrase.
Sunday May 28th North to the sun
Sunday started grey but slowly changed to blue. Winds were
stiff but behind us. This was the race north – big distances to be covered on
an almost direct path to the remotest part of the route. I passed three people
who I would meet regularly over the next couple of days. Pete McNeil was taking
a break near to Corrimony bothy, Bob Wightman and Pete Gretton were checking
out the Hydro bothy by Orrin Dam. I’d also passed Craig Mac who had spent the
night in an Invermoriston Bus shelter. When shelter is needed, anything goes….
We met up at Contin stores, the last shop for 120 miles. The
sun was making an appearance and we all stocked up on food in bellies and bags
for the next section. There was some swapping of places then I fell in with
Pete McNeil. He’d caught me up which read as ‘he’s faster than me, let him go’
but his paced slowed to mine, or mine increased to his and we rode together as
far as Oykel Bridge. Pete was tapping me for route info having worked out I
knew it backwards, then we moved onto jobs, biking, life the universe and everything. I was glad of the chat to distract me from aching knees which weren't feeling good...
We caught Bob Wightman above Strath vaich. "Good weather over the next few days" he noted. I had to carry on as this would never happen again in a lifetime. Anyway Tom Seipp (aged 12) did this route last week with his dad so I could cope with a few aches and pains. Onward. I think
all of us were taken by this vast landscape through which we were travelling. It
was only a hint of what was to come but the views tantalised us with Suilven,
Canisp and Cul More marking the vastness of Assynt that we would have to
traverse the next day.
I was shocked out of a rare period of contemplation by
two world war two aircraft flying low through Glen Mor. What the hell were they
doing there? It seemed a surreal moment that Bob captured on photo to prove we
weren’t dreaming.
Oykel Bridge
was a welcome sight and a place of meeting for many people. No sign of Alan
Goldsmith but I was content that I wouldn’t be playing the cat and mouse game
we’d done in 2015 as Alan seemed to be motoring. The evening was breezy and
pleasant promising a fine night for camping. The Pete’s had pushed on and I was riding with Bob W eyeing up places to stop in Glen Cassley. I spied a good
spot but didn’t wan’t to stop without telling Bob who was now onto the next
climb. So it was on and up, ignoring the protest from my knees and back. What I
do tonight doesn’t have to be done tomorrow…..
The campsite was perfect, Bob went on to find shelter and
left me to pitch my tent at the head of Loch Shin. The midge defying breeze
allowed an easy pitch but it dropped before I’d got inside meaning that a bunch
of midges joined me in my refuge. Ten minutes were spent swatting them and
spraying myself and the tent inner with Smidge followed by 5 hours of solid
sleep.
Monday May 29th Sutherland and Assynt
Day three dawned grey. I departed quickly to leave the
midges behind and passed the Dutch guys soon after. They didn’t seem that happy
bivvied by the road side at the mercy of the biting menaces but I wasn’t going
to stop to console them. I was happy - a stiff
breeze followed me up the road and up the track out of Loch Merkland. The cloud
was lifting and the views were opening up. The thought occurred to me – would I
see Foinaven and Arkle? This would make my ride, anything after would be a
bonus. Glen Golly was a cinch – hard track and a tailwind, the exact opposite
to 2015. On the start of the climb out of Glen Golly, Pete Gretton summed up
the previous night – ‘It was the midge apocalypse!’ how we laughed…..
The stalkers path was dry, the riding ace and I was moving fast. On the big climb out of Coir an dubh loch two walkers asked
me “are you doing this race?”
“More of a plod for me!” to which they laughed. But this set
me thinking – is this what it is? Not for me. Racing was elbow bashing, line
taking, sprinting, drafting, blocking. This was a calmer form of competitiveness –
human against the terrain, the weather and the midges. Going fast meant going
slow, conserving energy, being smooth, timing re-supply points, eating enough,
carrying enough (but not too much!), sussing out overnight stops, minimising
sleep and stops.
At the summit of Bealach Horn I reveled in the views of
Arkle. I’d climbed these peaks with my Dad 30 years ago almost to the day. I
was happy to achieve my main goal for the ride, smiling all the way down to
Lone.
Bob and Ian PV were in the distance but I never caught them.
Our pace had been high. In 2015 this section took me 4 ½ hours. Today it was 3
¼. I paid on the Achfary climb. The day before Bob W had been complaining about
the prices charged by the Kylesku Hotel to which we all assented. No way would
we stop when Drumbeg stores offered better value and a friendly reception. In
the event I needed the stop. The price was high but it was a sellers market and
the bacon and sausage roll washed down with coffee and Irn bru gave me a new
lease of life for the famously lumpy Drumbeg road.
Its hills were as nothing compared to what had gone before
but the traffic was an unpleasant change. I’d gotten used to brakes off, flat
out descents of the gravel roads (I Blame Pete McNeil!) to maximise momentum
and minimise pedalling on the inevitable uphill. On the road I had a rude
awakening – oncoming traffic. It was the North Coast 500 in full flow. It may
benefit tourism but confronting a german campervan the size of a bus and
showing no sign of giving way was no joy for me. ‘Ride according to the
conditions!’ easy to say when your not nursing aching legs and trying to avoid
loosing as much speed as possible. Drumbeg stores provided relief, tea and
good cheer. Ian PV was stressing about his forks, they went up and down so I
figured he’d be fine. Departing the Drumbeg road onto the trail to Lochinver
was a huge relief. Goodbye NC500, I won’t miss you.
Fuelled on Pies and more orange peril the next section was
attacked. Bob stopped for ice cream, Pete and Ian were way ahead so I was on
my own again. Compared to the gruesome grind of 2015 it was pure joy, at least
as far as Loch na Gainimh. The rain finally made a
re-appearance near to the end but it was too late to dampen our spirits. Ian
had exited his bike via the bars so we joined forces for the road ride down to Oykel
Bridge. Pete McNeil had met up with
Craig Mac. A lorry nearly took them out and the driver shouted at Pete for
being there. Highland hospitality or just another dick in a Truck? Me and Ian were hatching plans for a night in the hotel. So was
Craig and so was Bob but Pete was planning his move to the second group. In the
hotel there were many folk – ITTers making their way north. Steve from Aberdeen
had started late and broke is rear mech but still made it up here on day 2 with
daylight to spare. We talked about what had gone before. Pete, Ian and me all
agreed – we ride everything we can as that’s what we are here for. The path
below Suilven provided some of the hardest techy riding I have ever done. Short
sections only between the walking but worth it for the sheer joy of such a
physical, mental and technical challenge. This was mountain biking.
Pete left and we settled in for a night of luxury. Steve ate
two meals and headed north. The staff updated us to the leaders but it seemed
un-related to what we were doing, unreal. Its an easy question to ask – how can
people ride so far without stopping. Only they know the answer. We were all
happy – we’d pushed through the northern loop in 24 hours. The Queen stage
awaited.
Tuesday May 30th Rock and water
The ride down to Ullapool was damp but no sign of the forecasted rain. Gathering
clouds didn’t worry me but my knees were. This looked like the end as I
couldn’t contemplate Fisherfield unless I was fully functional. Food at
Ullapool, stretches and painkillers did the trick. Phil FT appeared, back from
the second group and fresh from 11 hours sleep waiting on shops to open to
source inner tubes. “There’s a storm coming, due to hit at 2”. I gobbled food,
ignored open cafes and left.
The next section remains etched in my memory. Hard climbs, steep descents, mud, rock, rivers and rain. This was why we were here. In 2015 the approach to the
Strath na Sealga had been stomach churning as we knew it would be deep. Today Rocks poked above the water all the way across – I rode it
without hesitation, dry and fast.
 |
| Craig M aces the Strath na Sealga |
Showers came and went with tantalising
glimpses of sun and blue sky. The weather chose its moment well striking just
below the main climb with brutal force. I cowered behind a boulder adding a
layer and cinching down jacket and hood. The trail across the top was narrow
and technical into a hard rain filled wind. The descent a joy with a backdrop of a stunning vista made more dramatic by the rising cloud. This was
mountain biking….
The valley floor was dry and the weather improved as I climbed out over to
Letterewe. Bob was finally caught. He’d pushed on hard over the summit to
preserve heat in bare legs – hard man. We talked – what do you do if you come
across a fellow rider whose succumbed to such hardship and cold. The answer was
easy – help them but you’d be getting rescued to as it wouldn’t take much
inactivity for hypothermia to set in in those conditions.
The sun came out on yet another fine descent to Letterewe. The Postie path was the only bit I hadn’t ridden
before. Speaking to people from last year suggested a range of experiences were
possible. I went in with an open mind and a tailwind.
Heaven – this was by far my favourite section of the route.
A narrow goat path of a trail, smooth and firm contouring around the hillside.
A couple of checks round a crag and through a gorge did nothing to spoil the flow
and it kept on going and going. Eventually it stopped me but not for long and way
past the point I’d expected. Phil FT was seen wandering off line. I whistled
and pointed and he got back on it. One final rocky climb and the only
disappointment – a descent too steep to ride on this day.
The final 4k to
Kinlochewe dragged but it was all good riding so I didn’t complain. I checked
my watch at Kinlochewe – 2 hours from Letterewe.The whistlestop café was closed and the pub wasn’t serving
food until 8.30. Jenny G had made the cut and was tucking into an appetising
meal but I couldn’t wait. Bob, Phil and Fabien all had to as they had no
alternative. I pushed on with a view to get over Torridon before it got dark. Another amazing trail but the descent beat me. Pete M rode
it all but I stumbled down slowly but surely, old age and the late hour
catching up. I had one go at camping near Culags but the midges were fierce so everything went back on the bike and off I went. Near to Strathcarron I pitched up again, this time in a blessedly breezy spot, and prepared and ate a dried
meal. Somehow I was now 24hrs ahead of where I'd been in 2015. The end beckoned.
Wednesday May 31st / Thursday June 1st. No sleep 'till Tyndrum
4am and I was up. 5 am and I was off. The leaders were
finished, I had 150 miles to go. Breakfast number 2 was had at Inverinate garage and then it was off up Glen Lichd. This year the climb was a breeze and the trail off the top a joy. I headed west alone, no one in sight ahead or
behind. In reality I was one of a train of dots steadily progressing along the
route. The weather was warm and a stiff breeze pushed me along Glen Affric. It
was all easy riding and I started to grin at the the thought I might finish
this after all.
At Fort Augustus
I spoke to a couple of bike packers at the pizza shop who hadn’t met another
rider. They were impressed at what we were doing. I was envious of their easy
ride from Tyndrum and plans to tour Skye. The easy run down to Fort
William led to much introspection –
this was coming to an end, would I do it again? Why? I’d done it in bad weather
and good, top ten in 2015, maybe sub 5 days this year. All my prep had paid off
and I’d beaten injury to get this far. Trying again was pushing my luck maybe…. Still, I appreciated the views of Ben Nevis in the warm sun, knowing I faced an easy bivvy. Or did I?
A few days ago me and Bob had been of one mind – no way were
we pushing through the night. It wasn’t worth it and much better to stop even
for an hour. Now here I was contemplating exactly that. The thought of riding
through the night seemed to be the ultimate adventure. Lets do it. Food was
eaten and stashed and I was off.
To Kinlochleven went well. The pub was still open but what
the handful of clientele must have thought when this staring cyclist marched in
ordering tea, crisps and irn bru I don’t know. I hung around thinking I might
wait long enough for dawn down the Devils Staircase. Eventually I left, not caring
if I had to walk it in its entirety. The climb was hard and for the first time
I suffered. It’s the longest on the route and brutal after over 500 miles.
Tents were pitched either side of the path. What they must have thought hearing
me stomp up past them cursing this rocky path and endless climb I’ll never
know. Near the top the pain came – right down the back of my left knee. I’m no
stranger to pain having dealt with it for 15 months thanks to my back and I
know when its good and when its bad. This was bad pain. I couldn’t lift my left
leg without it striking. I paused to stretch, take tablets and apply gel. Not
far now and I was not for stopping. Cresting the summit at 2 am was a major relief. Descending was not. The surface
was like marbles needing speed and no brakes to ride. With a small light, near
exhaustion and doubling vision I walked.
The finish
Some good news – the path to the Kingshouse had been
surfaced making it just the easy pedal I needed. Knee pain receded and the end
was near but on the climb past Glencoe ski centre the tiredness
descended like a lead balloon. No problem, I would lie on the path and sleep. Then I
looked back to the Devils Staircase and saw lights. Rocks at the side of the path had looked
like people. Wet grass had cast strange after-images in my light. This was
hallucination just like people said would happen. I blinked and the lights were still there. This wasn’t hallucination, this
was other people. Suddenly I was wide a wake and for the first time, racing. It was now near full daylight and the normally busy West
Highland way was deserted allowing a flat out descent. Elation filled me – I’d done it again.
The final hike a bike caused my bad knee much pain but I’d have crawled up it if
need be. I'd lost all sense of where I was or what I was doing and my mood was at rock bottom. It was just me on a bike, with no energy and a need to get off it as soon as I could. Finally the last few k passed and a lonely finish awaited before much sleep. It wasn’t
to be. I stopped at the line to activate my tracker and became aware of a
couple getting out of a van parked nearby. “Are You Phil?” they said.
“That’s me”.
“We’re Jenny Graham's Parents, well done you’ve finished!”
I was gobsmacked – it was 5.45
am and complete strangers were welcoming me back. I'd just ridden for 25 hours and 150 miles. In total the route took me 4 days, 20 hours and 46 minutes, fully 32 hours quicker than in 2015. The enormity of this sunk in and my foul mood of earlier forgotten. Soon after Phil
FT appeared. Handshakes were exchanged, coffee was drunk. Doro Maurizio
appeared, then Craig Mac. It was over and sleep beckoned.
The day was spent sleeping and eating. People gathered in
the café as they got back. Some of the front runners were there. Stories were
exchanged and hands shaken. Pete MacNeil had got the jump on Alan the previous
morning. Florian Ponzio hadn’t stopped since Ullapool and
beaten them both. Bob and Jenny were back and had also rode through the night. I'd been close to Alan at one point the previous day but my painfully slow progress in
the dark meant he beat me back by several hours. Ian and Pete finished that day
too. Others appeared the next morning at breakfast. I was happy, everyone I’d met had made it and all
said the same – amazing trails, (mainly) amazing weather and good company. The dryness and views meant it was almost like doing a different ride to last year - hence my rapid progress. So another memorable experience and all thanks to Alan Goldsmith putting in the
time and effort to create a fabulous route and gathering a group of like minded
people together to ride it. Bravo!
Phil Clarke
June 2017
The fun continues beyond Elie and I was making good progress with the stiff tailwind. You then tick off St. Monans, Pittenweem and finally Anstruther. These places still have a fishing industry of sorts (Shell fish mainly) but are the dictionary definition of "Quaint". Anstruther has a fine Fish and Chip shop but as usual it was queued out the door so I pushed onto Crail. Crail provided an excellent chippy and the Bikepackers best friend, the Co-op. 
