BAM 2020 Washup

Fair to say that when I snuggled into my winter bag underneath the lone sitka perched on the flanks of Tarmangie hill back in January, at the start of my 2020 BAM campaign, I'd no idea how the year would pan out. Looking back this was an auspicious start as it was (slightly) wintery, I was bivvy bag only, and yet I had a fine night only slightly spoiled by a non-functioning stove the next day (actually due to lack of petrol, something I have a long history with). I had no expectations of the year and no specific plans about the type of bivvies I wanted to do; as usual I would wing it. I was slightly miffed that I didn't go out on the weekend before lockdown as if I had, I would only have had to do one backyard bivvy. But overall I did pretty well, with only two in the garden and a couple of bivvies requiring a fairly loose interpretation of the 'restrictions.' I've pitched in a range of weather from freezing to scorching, dry to wet. A particular score is getting to grips with using a flat tarp for shelter. I tried it a few years ago but as I was trying to incorporate the bike into the pitch it seemed too much faff. Using a single pole has made it as easy to go up as the Deschutes, much more flexible in marginal sites and only a bit less weather proof. I also seem to have refined my kit and bivvy technique substantially over the year. The culmination of this was on the Cairngorms loop where I had a very minimalist set up but was able to set up a shelter that would protect me from the worst the weather could chuck at me, in double quick time. Nearly all of my bivvies (excepting the BYB's which I made up for) were as part of a proper ride, with only December being an out and back again.

So in terms of my overall 'score':-

Best Spot - Lubvan, Ardvericke. In fact best overall bivvy as I had a nice ride to the spot, spent a few hours relaxing and wandering around and had good food and drink to boot. I also had an ace ride the following day.

Most remote spot:- Camserney woods, Dull, Perthshire. Not that remote, in fact I've not really done a really wild bivvy and my Lubvan pitch is nearly as remote; but this one was probably the most off the beaten track.

Most relaxing bivvy:- May - First time out overnight post lockdown plus I had a full menu including drinks, a nice spot in the middle of a forest and fine weather.

Wildest weather:- Devilla Forest, February. Plenty of rain and overnight winds hit gale force briefly although my sheltered spot kept me well out of it...

Worst bivvy:- all relative but the full on midge event of my bivvy in Drumtochty Forest nearly made it the bivvy from hell. Good admin and kit (i.e. a mozzie net and smidge) meant I just about got away with it.

Best Bothy:- Dunalistair shooting hut. Not an official Bothy per se, as these were all shut; but a nice little shed well away from the usual haunts of bothy baggers.

Coldest and highest Bivvy:- January under the tree at 610m (higher than 2018!) - it went down to about -3 at one point so not that cold all in all.

Best trail ridden to and from a bivvy:- The Cairngorms loop (before it got windy!)

Best Morning View:- Lubvan again!

Best overall view:- ditto on the ride the next day.

Longest ride as part of a bivvy:- The Cairngorms loop (186 miles and 25 hours of riding).

Shortest ride to a bivvy:- round my back garden to BYB 2.

Most adept and faff free pitch:- Forest of Ae, October. It was nearly dark, the rain had let up for a very brief time but I had a good spot and despite more rain later I stayed dry. Flat tarp perfection!

In total I spent 14 nights out which is pretty good given how the year has gone; and only three less than my bumper year in 2018. Not wanting to come over all philosophical but this year really highlighted how incredibly relaxing it is to ride a bike with all your gear on it, pitch a shelter in a quiet and out of the way spot and lay back listening to the night's noises, knowing you are far removed from people, places and modern life. 

I'm in again next year starting with the Bearbones Winter event in a week and a bits time. Thereafter I will be out every month, rain, snow or shine. Whilst the back yard bivvies were a laugh, I've no inclination to do them again and will slip out to one of many local bivvy spots if restrictions remain in place as is likely for a few months at least. One of my other goals after 2018 was to have more social bivvies which wasn't an option for this year. Hopefully a few more with others next year, even if meet ups are accidental.... I'd also like to grab a proper snowy one but we'll see how the winter pans out.

December BAM

I'd a notion to do this one on the way down to Mum and Dad's for Christmas as per my successful 2018 campaign, but in the event I decided to keep it simple and finish with a local bivvy in Devilla Forest. In fact I was going to head for the spot I'd found back in February. In view of the short distance and the season, I took a half litre of mulled wine, a beer and some whisky to help pass the evening. On arrival at the general location of my pitch I could find no trace of the nice level area I'd found by accident in February. A fair bit of wandering round drew a blank but eventually I found a reasonable enough spot, albeit a bit lumpy. Still I got the deschutes up and into it just before the rain came on. So I had a pleasant evening listening to the wind in the trees, eating, drinking and reading. 

I found a level space between the tussocks so not as bad as it looks.

I woke to a still morning, still dark given that this was the longest night. Various birds regaled me as dawn slowly broke - swans, geese and ducks on the nearby Peppermill reservoir; a couple of barn owls hooting and screeching finally followed by the usual selection of small birdies. As per February, the ever present roar of Grangemouth was a background to all of this but I had a good nights sleep so I'm happy with this as my finale to what has been a very strange year. When I got back I compared GPX tracks and discovered I'd got within about 10 yds of my February pitch...

50 Words for Snow

Apparently its a myth that the Eskimos have 50 words for snow. When you add in the various dialects that make up 'Eskimo language' (bear in mind that 'Eskimos' comprise several different distinct cultures) there are either many more than this or many less, depending on whether you count nouns, verbs, tenses etc. etc. If you are into winter sports, particularly of the skiing and boarding variety then you'll know a few. As a rider of fat bikes I have plenty, many unrepeatable in a family friendly forum, so I think I need my own vocabulary as you tend to notice the differences in snow conditions much more acutely on a bike than if you are strapped to a long pair of planks (or one plank). I got my first fat bike in January 2012 but a rubbish winter meant it never got into the snow until the following year. At first I stuck to the low levels and had great fun riding my local woods in snow depths that stopped everyone else dead. Come November however I finally headed on high and got a crash course in Scottish snow conditions and their suitability for a bicycle.

This is actually a classic Ski tour. Start at the Glenshee car park, go up through the ski area to Meall Odhar and then right up onto Glas Maol at 1068m. Then tick off Cairn of Claise and Cairn an Tuirc then descend back to the road. Easy? The snow started at about 800m. Literally as below this height there was none and above it a surprising amount for a November day. Other than the gradients it was fine - generally low volumes and dry, given the sub zero temps. The fun started when I hit a large patch of wind blown snow and had my first experience of windslab. So called as the wind blows snow into a sheltered location but the continual blowing compacts the top layer until it forms a firm slab over the softer snow underneath. On steep slopes this gives rise to that worst case of winter scenarios, the avalanche. Above about 25 degrees the slab can break away from under your feet and start to slide taking the whole snow slope (and you) with it. Steeper than 45 degrees it doesn't tend to form and at less than 25 degrees it just becomes a pain in the backside, unless you are on skis. Sometimes it supports your weight, if its dense enough, often it doesn't and your feet (or wheels) punch through the slab and into the soft layer below. This makes for incredibly hard going and there is no way of knowing when you will break through and come to a halt. You hit a patch of windblown snow and at first start to ride across it in relative ease. Suddenly there would be a creaking crunch and you'd plunge through. There then follows much high energy pushing until your feet suddenly are supported again. You then hop back on and ride for a bit more (anything from 6 feet to a hundred yards) before 'creak, crunch' and you stop again.....

Winter 2014 saw huge snow volumes above 500m but little below and this only really white slush. I'd done a few low level rides through this resulting in a mix of snow and mud that has an amazing ability to jam your drive train solid. Snow on my local hills persuaded me to head up for a day to get away from the slush. This ended up being an epic as lower down the saturated snow had absolutely no traction whatsoever. Worse the big tyres floated over what a narrow spiky tyre would cut through so my first couple of miles ended up as a continual slither with me being more sideways than upright. On crossing 500m the snow levels went up dramatically and suddenly I was having to drag my bike through knee deep snow that had drifted over the trail. Three hours of maximum effort flailing was enough and down I went to dryer climes.

To this point, the ability of fat bikes to reach the parts that other bikes couldn't (and with ease) had mightily impressed me. It seemed ironic that the stuff they had been invented for was what was beating me. Of course on the Iditarod Trail, the Arrowhead and the other winter races, you were following snow-mobile trails, not trying to ride across virgin fields. That didn't stop me, towards the end of the year, from lusting after and eventually buying Surly's newly released Ice Cream Truck with the ability to take 5" wide tyres. As it happened we got a good amount of early season snow and the results this time were much better.

Winter 2015 was similar to the last year but I was now regularly venturing up into the Ochills and cashing in on the large amount of terrain above 500m. Many days saw me battling through some pretty impressive amounts of snow, including the aforementioned windslab. As I was training for the Highland Trail, this was all to the good. I also discovered that if you dropped tyre pressures down to the point where the inner tube was just filling the tyre (around 3psi), you could ride through stuff which previously had stopped me dead. More amusement was had when you emerged on a snow free, damp and mild Dollar main street, wheels full of snow. Most people here seem oblivious to the large lump of hills on their doorstep and the snow they can catch. 

One late season ride in particular stands out. I'd decided to do the minigaig pass in the Cairngorms and hadn't appreciated that there was still tons of snow on high. This was all old stuff that had multiply thawed then re-froze, consolidating it into a dense layer that would easily support you. The problem was traction. The top layer was melting in the sun and any slight uphill gradient resulted in the wheel spinning you to a stand still. Drop the tyres down to 3psi however and off you went, no probs. A normally hard route became a leisurely pedal linking vast fields of this super dense snow.

I ended the year in more early season snow up north. Conditions were also something of a Scottish speciality. Snow that was quite deep in sub zero temps (so dry and grippy) but over lying soggy and unfrozen terrain. Everytime you punched through the snow into the gunge below, your drive train got sprayed with mud which then froze solid. Cue much scraping, chipping and cursing.

Winter 2016 saw me going tubeless which allowed even lower tyre pressures - practically zero psi. I'd been watching vids of a guy from Germany riding through knee deep powder snow with the then prototype Vee snowshoe 2XL - an alleged 6" wide tyre. They were single ply and he was basically running them almost flat. The production version was narrower and thicker but running Bud and Lou at a similar pressure allowed riding through spectacularly deep snow and even the dreaded windslab could be ridden across well beyond the point that a walker would be punching through. I discovered a new joy - riding prophet like over the snow past beleaguered hill walkers post-holing along with looks of extreme misery.

In a way that's part of the problem - the more you can ride over this level of snow, the more you try. On a rare snow ride in 2017 (which was largely snow free) I ended up way up high in the hills, totally knackered and realising there was no way down without hours more of struggle. When I finally emerged onto Dollar Main street it was a different world with passers by looking at this snow covered wreck (i.e. me) with bemusement.

2018 was the clincher though. The season started at the end of 2017 and we got more snow in the first couple of weeks of December than we'd had all of the previous winter. The annual Scottish winter bivvy was the scene and ended up in a marathon effort (for the non fat bike riders) getting up 6 miles of snowy track. For me it was hard work but I pedaled all the way. I also got my first taste of arctic biking. It was -10 and I was following the track of a (tracked) argocat. This allowed easy pedaling over foot deep snow and got me thinking of those arctic fat bike races....

(Funnily enough the return leg of this bothy trip was in the traditional Scottish snow conditions known as porridge - saturated slush on which nothing gets any form of traction....)

January saw the first of several big dumps of snow. The hills were often inaccessible as there was just to much. I managed a couple of rides following well trodden trails up hill and powder surfing on the way down. 

I did discover another joy -  fat bike commuting. When all around were in a state of panic and traffic chaos ensued I pedaled through it all with no worries whatsoever. Bloody hard work though!

2019 was another rubbish winter but I had bigger fish to fry than my local hills. Finland. I'd entered the now well established Rovaniemi human powered race; the arctic beckoned. Ironically the conditions on the day of the race were more like Scotland - plus temps during the day and sub zeros over night. But suddenly I was on snow mobile trails with many other people on fat bikes and therefore in subjective heaven.

On the last day of 2019 I encountered yet another Scottish classic snow type - boiler plate. The fickle Scottish weather can produce snow conditions at any time of year that are generally only seen towards the end of the season in the alps and other high places. Wildly fluctuating temps in between some significant precipitation of both snow and rain had left the Cairngorm plateau covered in large areas of snow that had freeze/thawed to iron hardness. Fortunately the frozen solid snow surface was rough enough for grip. I've yet to try studded tyres and got paranoid on the way up that the whole plateau would be one big skating rink but in the event I was able to cross large areas of the famously boulder strewn landscape with ease.

So here we are at the end of 2020 and the winter has started with some fine pre-season snow. I got a fair mixture of snow with some great riding mixed with some incredibly hard going sections.

So by way of a finish, herewith my snow types as seen by a fat biker (there aren't fifty!)

"Normal" Snow, aka white slush, aka the end of the world:- Usually no more than three inches deep but it still brings the road network to a halt. Off-road this mixes with typical winter mud and sprays everywhere.

Scottish Powder:- Arrives horizontally and so is quite dense. 1psi allows you to go through this up to depths of around 12" but its like cycling with your brakes on up a 15 percent grade. In exposed locations can lead to.....

Windslab:- dense layer of snow overlying unspecified depths of Scottish powder. Has varying levels of support but all looks the same. Beware cycling up a scoured slope into remote hills only to find your descent is windslab central and even riding downhill is impossible.

Goldilocks Snow:- Neither too deep or too shallow, cold enough to be dry but not so cold you need arctic equipment. Actually quite common between about 300 and 600m and early season. Too much for a normal bike but a fat bike will blow through it without too much effort. Add in some minor drifting and it definitely provides the best laughs.

Boot filler. Like above but deeper:- up to a point you can ride through this if its fairly dry but this typically leads to the longest of pushes as depth increases with altitude. The trick is to find places where its been tracked by an argo or other tracked vehicle, or even a skier. The problem being when such tracks stop in the middle of nowhere and you end up ploughing through deep, un-rideable snow as you always think that continuing is easier than backtracking.

Real powder, aka fluffy bunnies, 'pow':- very, very rare in Scotland as it requires snowfall without wind, on frozen ground and in zub zero temps; an almost unheard of combination. Can be ridden through at quite amazing depths up and downhill.

Spring snow, aka boiler plate, aka neve (posh term):- worth finding, particularly if its in big patches across rough terrain, whereby riding it is one of the most uplifting experiences you will have. This can make the worst boulder field in the world a flat table over which you can ride anywhere. Covers burns, bogs, gorges and holes. Note - can collapse underneath you unexpectedly.

The Crust:- formed when the top layer of snow thaws then freezes. If its breakable, go home as trying to ride it makes pushing through windslab seem like riding a TT bike downhill. If its thick enough to support you then see Spring Snow. Note that the top surface can turn to sheet ice without any warning whatsoever.

Ice:- either snow that has thawed and frozen or open water that has frozen. If its sub zero then you'd be surprised how much grip you'll find on it with tyres at 3psi. If its melting and has a layer of surface water it will be absolutely lethal unless you have studs. Be particularly careful on untreated cycleways, tracks and minor roads, also next to corrie rims.

Porridge, aka crud, aka slush:- The other end of the spectrum and causes as much problems as ice. Has little grip and a surprising amount of resistance to ride through. Off camber trails covered in this stuff can be one of the most frustrating type to ride. No grip and a tendency for wheels to go all over the place. On a steep descent you will inevitably end up going face first at some point.

Sastrugi:- rare other than on the Cairngorm plateau in a good winter. Essentially extreme windslab - the wind blows the snow into ripples which harden under the wind pressure and can then build up to ridges and finally strange almost sculpted shapes up to a couple of feet high. They are iron hard so under no circumstances think you can plough through them.....

Postholes:- Any of the above after a load of hill walkers have been through. You'd be amazed at the difference footprints can make to how rideable snow is. Worst case is when they have frozen post formation - think riding across the worst potholes and rocks you can imagine. If there are enough they can trample out a slot which makes for easy riding in windslab, scottish powder and boot filler. But we owe it to ourselves to not take advantage of this and instead ride a virgin line off to one side of the path.....

One final bit of myth busting is the age old adage that snow is soft and will therefore provide a soft landing if you crash. It can in theory but in reality there are many other obstacles which can cause you any amount of pain once the snow has caused the crash. Some typical snow related crashes to watch out for.....

The face plant:- this ubiquitous mtb crash is the most common suffered on the steep and the deep. Windslab is a good source - you're surfing across the top of it down a nice hill, you build up speed and then it collapses under you. The bike stops dead and you keep going. Dropping below the freezing level on a big patch of spring snow can also cause spectacular OTB episodes. I did a beauty in March this year going down a steep rib of snow filling in a shallow burn line (I'd skied it the previous weekend) suddenly it collapsed under my front wheel which disappeared up to its axle. I went sailing over the bars and as the slope was around 30 degrees was suddenly about ten feet in the air (it felt like 20). Fortunately I landed on a steep slope and the snow was soft so injuries were minimal....

The washout:- usually occurs on wet snow / slush. You turn the bars and the front disappears faster than you can think. Next thing your face hits the deck. I did this on a road once when my front wheel strayed out of a clear wheel rut into wet snow. I managed to land on the other wheel rut (i.e hard tarmac) rather than soft snow in the verge. It hurt. Downhill is a particular problem on wet snow. The mechanics are usually that you realise your front wheel is going to go away from you just past the point that you can do anything about it. Best bet is to drop your butt groundwards in order to avoid another high flying OTB.

The stop. Your riding along, the snow is deep (any of the above), your front wheel suddenly shifts to one side and pitches the bike outwards. Next thing you are lying on your side - remember to make a snow angel.

The disappearing act. A variation on the above. You washout, the front wheel drops into a hole or you otherwise come to a halt. On putting a foot down it disappears into a posthole up to your thigh. The rest of your body quickly follows. Happens on deep windslab and on compacted snow mobile trails through deep powder snow if your foot goes down off the side of the trail....

Death by ice:- the worst of the lot. You hit a patch of wet ice and the whole bike just instantly de-materialises from underneath you. A variation is hard water ice covered by a thin layer of powder which serves as a perfect lubricant between your tyres and terra-firma. In either case the force with which you hit the deck is totally disproportionate to the distance fallen.....

November BAM

I've been hanging on for this one in the vain hope I'd get some dry weather. On every weekend ride done in the last three weeks I've ended up like a drowned rat and the novelty was starting to wear thin. Last Sunday I nearly did have a dry ride (it only rained for the first half hour) except I managed to cock up the crossing of a small burn on a rickety log bridge and plunged into a foot of freezing muddy water.....

Anyway this weekend looked like it was going to be cold but dry - perfect! I wasn't fancying anything too arduous as I'm having an easy month or two bike riding wise (I find this more necessary as I get older) My last five bivvies have involved some serious distance so I was due an easy one. I decided on a spot I'd found a few months ago in the woods above Dunning Glen - only about thirteen to fifteen miles away depending on my route. Its an ideal pitch - level, well drained and sheltered. The forecast was for it to be cold, breezy but dry so this seemed ideal.

I didn't muck around, just left the house after tea and pedaled straight out there, mainly on (quiet) roads. Apparently we've to stay in our own Council areas just now so I happily broke that 'rule' three times in about 2 miles. Given that I would be meeting exactly nobody all ride, I didn't feel particularly bothered by this. Of course the dry evening manifested itself in a series of light drizzly showers and one more prolonged one as I approached the climb into the forest. Looking up revealed only stars and the moon so it was hard to see where it was coming from. Anyway I reached the spot and got pitched up dry in a snug space under some trees. Only an hour and a quarter and twenty-odd K but I was quite happy as I relaxed in my bag (3 season plus quilt!) with my book, food a couple of beers and some whisky. Sleep came instantly and after being woken once by the dawn chorus and falling a sleep again I finally surfaced at a truly decadent 9.30 - ten hours sleep!

After a leisurely breakfast and a wander round the area to check out the views I packed up and headed back up the hill a ways and down a nice single track to the Dunning road. Straight across this and onto a track which takes you in Corb Glen and down towards Auchterarder

This substantial moor was my next objective. Its an old Right of Way from Auchterarder to Glendevon village and quite a climb. Given my one gear much of this was walked but the soggy trail made this no great loss. We seem to have had all the rain that didn't fall in March, April and May in November.....

The top looking north. Snow on Ben Chonzie filled my heart with joy as snow in November often precludes excellent winters.

The descent too was seriously soggy and I received a fine spray of glaur over my legs. I'm sporting a new, longer and wider rear mudguard and this was its first trial. It made a slight difference....

From Glendevon I headed straight up the hill over to Glen Quey then an oft used route round the side of Seamab hill, down to Muckart and home via various byways and highways. Just December to do now!

View homewards with a raincloud incoming, I actually missed it for a change

October Bivvy, Dumfries and Galloway

I've done a few bike trips in recent years through Dumfries and Galloway. The impetus has generally been to visit my folks whilst they were on holiday in the area as well as bagging some of the fine riding available. A few months ago Mum and Dad had booked a cottage at Monreith near Whithorn on the Solway coast for a week in October given that it was looking like things should be reasonably back to normal-ish by then. I took the same week off work as me and friends were supposed to be going to Glencoe for a long weekend, and I hoped to follow this with a short bike tour through D&G visiting my parents en-route. Of course it all went pear shaped again and restrictions started to come in thick and fast as the politicos scrambled to outdo each other. Glencoe was kyboshed so instead I decided to enter the BB200 in Wales. Knee issues made the somewhat brutal looking route a bit marginal and with the threat of more restrictions (and of being burned alive by aggrieved locals) this also got canned. Instead I spent the weekend riding the motorbike to the place my folks were staying; cashing in on what looked like the only decent weekend of the week I'd got off work. It was a nice spot with great sea views:-

Monday was looking like it was going to be a washout so I headed home Sunday afternoon. Back home I scrutinised the weather forecast with a plan to return unannounced, this time on the bike, including my October BAM in the proceedings. Thursday looked good but of course by Wednesday morning things had deteriorated somewhat. A bit of selective forecast viewing convinced me it could still be dry so I threw the loaded straggler in the back of the car and cruised down to Moffat.

Of course by the time I got down there the clouds had closed in and it looked pretty murky over the hills. Un-deterred, I abandoned the car and headed on a now familiar route from Moffat to Beattock and then up the hill into Ae forest on National Cycle Route 10. It was damp rather than actually raining but on entering the forest it got damper and damper, then was actually raining in earnest - one of those fine but dense drizzles that soaks you in short order. So into the water-proofs and onward, visibility falling as I entered the cloud. Hmm. First a van came past and then I was startled out of my usual riding-in-the-rain daze by a large logging truck rumbling up behind me. What's all this about then? As usual I took a wrong turn (third time I've done this!) and noted the extensive forestry work ongoing above Branrigg, fortunately away from my route. Branrigg is an old outdoor centre that is deserted, somewhat derelict, but actually somewhere I'd thought to bail to for a cheeky bivvy if the weather turned really nasty. In the event I got back on track and as I descended the rain eased off then stopped. This lead me to plan A - a great spot I'd bivvied at in September 2018 doing a similar trip to visit the parents in another holiday cottage.

This is a small clearing off the side of one of the mountain bike trails that must have been cultivated before the forestry appeared. As a result its level, dry and has a wall running round it for shelter and tarp guy attachment purposes. So I got pitched and inside dry before the rain came on again. Annoyingly the mozzies were out but they seemed more interested in shelter inside the tarp than my flesh. No midges though.... That enabled me to have a pleasant evening cooking then eating food (well boiling water and re-hydrating a meal) accompanied by a beer and a drop of whisky to help me sleep. This is the second bivvy of this year I've pitched up early but I couldn't be bothered pedaling into the dark. I turned in at 11 and had a reasonable kip despite several nearby wind turbines disturbing me with various alarming cracks and bangs. Must have dodgy bearings....

Morning (damp) world. This was 8 am and the sky was fairly clear raising my hopes for a nice day as originally forecast.

Another fine flat tarp pitch. The Deschutes would have been better given the weather but in the event I stayed totally dry.

There was no wind and lo and behold the midges appeared! Not many though so no frantic packing up required, just a leisurely breakfast and then up and out. Annoyingly a fine dreich blew in as I was packing up. I finished the descent then faffed a bit following a route which looked fine on paper but relied on a track through a farm that turned out to be firmly blocked. Ginding my teeth I descended further and exited to the road through the forest. Oddly a new notice had been cable tied to this gate - "No entry, Covid-19!" Eh? so what about all the other entries. And all the guidance which doesn't include shutting forest plantations off. Goodness knows. I contemplated tearing it down but I couldn't be bothered so pedaled up the steady climb through the dampness.

Good news - as I descended down to Kirkpatrick I dropped out of the murk and got a view west of bright skies and even hints of sun. My route then tracked back roads to Thornhill, a bit of the (very quiet) A702 to Penpont, then a great wee road to Moniaive. This was my first steep climb of the day but my single speed hardened legs powered me up it without issue. Out of Moniaive was the first of several long but steady climbs that are a feature of Galloway. Like many such roads it was empty of traffic - this area is still very quiet and largely off the tourist track. Near the top I turned off on a narrow C road that deteriorated to a near track like surface. Several grumpy looking cows grazing either side of (and on) the road added to the sense of abandonment. Ahead though was a great view of the main hills of Galloway.

These hills go up to 843m (Merrick) and are surprisingly rugged for such southerly bumps. Really they are the southernmost outpost of the West Highlands and far rockier than the Border hills to the east. For the mountainbiker they are pretty inaccessible however. There are ways up them but its all very boggy and tussocky and best tackled on shanks pony. For bikes you are limited to forestry roads, trail centres, selected sections of the Southern Upland Way, the odd core path (which are well signed hereabouts) and many wee roads such as this one. So the gravel bike is an ideal tool for touring this area. I descended to St Johns Town of Dalry and then started another long climb into the main Galloway Forest park.

I'd had a notion to do the Southern Upland Way past Clatteringshaws loch, Lochs dee and Trool and then into Newton Stewart from the north. Time was rolling on however and I didn't fancy finishing in the dark. So as an alternative I turned south at Clatteringshaws on NCN 7 past Loch Grannoch to Gatehouse Station. Despite the commercial forestry this is still a great through route, the bulk of Cairnsmore of Fleet to your right. The weather closed in a bit here but I managed to avoid waterproofs

I came across this fellow on the road south of Loch Grannoch - a slow worm no less. It seemed a bit reluctant to move from the road so I carefully picked it up and placed it in the grass verge. A minute later a car came by which would have squashed it flat! I'd a notion that I faced another climb over to Creetown but in fact you're still pretty high so its only very brief followed by a long, long descent to near sea level.

From Creetown to Newton Stuart NCN 7 follows a fine section of cycleway which I'd had a minor involvement in many years ago but never actually ridden. The pan flat railway line was a blessed relief after the climbs of earlier. Beyond this is all on back road (more hills!) and a final section of cycleway into Newton Stuart itself. I dived into a Gulf station for coffee and food as I was feeling distinctly weary. For some reason I've reverted to scoffing huge amounts of cake and sugar on these long rides. This all seems to stem from singlespeeding. Normally my trail food is pies, crisps, rolls and wraps, with just an odd cake or scone providing me with sugar. Now I seem to be thriving on snickers and any sugar laden snacks. Who knows - I just follow my stomachs cravings....

From Newton Stewart NCN 73 takes you to Wigton via more ace cycleway and yet another great wee road by the Cree estuary, my route of earlier clearly visible on the other side. Finally a quiet-ish road to Monreith over rolling hills and farmland, 88 miles done in eight hours. I'd texted my Mum earlier to forewarn them of my arrival but as it happened she hadn't checked the phone so got quite a shock when I suddenly re-appeared having left them on Sunday with a shout of "see you at Christmas!" I spent some more quality time with them checking out the views, drinking my Dads beer and eating fine food. No photos but you could now see Ireland (The Mourne Mountains) clearly, heralding better weather to come.

Yes and no. A brief storm front was to pass through in the early hours but it was to be dry thereafter. The best news was the stiff south-westerly wind which would propel me the whole way back to Moffat - serious redemption after my headwind battles of late. Lo and behold the rain did pass through and when I surfaced the next morning it was dry and breezy.

My route back to Moffat would be as direct as possible, given that I was doing it in a oner. This involved a fair bit of A road bashing to Newton Stuart but the A712 beyond here was nigh on deserted. This must be one of the last places in the UK where the main roads are still quiet. Don't tell anyone! At Clatteringshaws loch I sat in the sun for a bit eating lunch watching the view and full rainbow over the loch (my photo of this was a blur....)  Beyond New Galloway was another steady climb on another empty A road then another (!) empty wee road over a damp looking moor.

This was all with a stiff following wind making for easy pedaling, even on the climbs. Then a long descent to Dunscore and Auldgirth, the only way across the River Nith between Dumfries and Thornhill. More wee roads back to Ae finishing up with the monster climb past my bivvy spot, back to Moffat a 6. Today had still been 83 miles but it had only taken me 6 3/4 hrs!

Only November and December to do - I'm on the home straight!

September BAM Take Two

I'd told my self I would do two extra bivvies this summer to make up for my two back garden bivvies during the Spring. As this weekend approached, it was clear we were going to be in for some stunning weather. At this time of year such weather is a real bonus given the onset of Autumn so I hatched a plan (of sorts) to cash in on it, bag my second doubler and keep my bivvy tally in order. I've not been to Ben Alder at all this year and being one of my favourite riding areas, this seemed like the obvious choice. I nearly regretted this idea on the slow run up a very busy A9 but on leaving the car just before 2 and pedaling up by Loch Ericht, the car journey was forgotten and the real journey began.

Sunshine on Loch Ericht, my hill of two weekends previous on the left. I have several pictures of this exact same view and actually in similar weather!

Over to Loch Pattack I passed three people on bikes who appeared to be struggling with a puncture. I enquired if they had all the necessary and they claimed they did but as I was sitting on the loch shore having a protracted and late lunch, only two of them passed so I guessed the one with the problem had decided to return to Dalwhinnie. Oh well, nothing much I could do now for them, and instead spent nigh on an hour sat looking at the view.

I then picked my way along the somewhat boggy track to the Pattack bridge and had a further pause on the bridge itself.

I was on the Ice Cream Truck for no other reason than its got gears and after my single speed struggles of the previous weekend, I fancied an easy time. Plus the ICT has missed out on all but one of my BAMs this year so it was due an outing. Further potterings were had at the Pattack Dam hydro scheme and the upper pattack falls just below it. The last few times I've been through here I've been on a bit of a deadline with either sunset or the Fort Augustus pizza shop, so it was nice to dawdle for a change.

I passed by the double loch of Loch An Earba and noted no other tents - surprising given the weather and this usually popular spot. Maybe it was too early.... As it happened I was aiming for a spot I'd scoped out on a circuit I did in April 2019. I'd made the (pathless) link from the Alt Cam behind Culra bothy to the Allt Cam that flows down to Loch Lagan - same name but two different water courses, one of which heads to the East coast by way of the Spey, and the other which empties into the West coast by way of the river Spean and Lochy. As I'd emerged on the end of the double track which links to the track from Loch an Earba I noted an old ruin (marked as Lubvan on the OS) which looked a perfect pitch.

And it is. The cottage is made from dressed stone suggesting it was more than just a farmers cottage cleared during the 1700's but it looks like its not been used for a long time for all that. The boundary walls of its garden / small holding are clearly visible and this land is slightly raised above the surrounding moss making for a level, well drained and grassy camp spot. There was little evidence of anyone else having used it much - just one very old fire site and (for a nice change) no litter. It was only 5pm - decadently early for me - but I was in no rush to be anywhere and for a change fancied spending some time at such a great spot instead of my more usual habit of arrive - pitch up - sleep - pack up - depart. There was just enough of a breeze to keep the midges at bay so I sat for a while drinking tea, went for a wander by the river then walked back upstream on the path I'd come out on last year' just to stretch my legs and see the views. At seven I made and ate food accompanied by the two cans of beer I'd brought up with me. Finally I had to retreat inside the tent as the breeze had all but dropped and a few midges were about.

After a fine sunset (not too dramatic as there isn't enough pollution up here for really colourful sunsets) I read for a bit to the accompaniment of some fine whisky and more food. After my restless night of the previous weekend I went out like a light and had a solid nine hours sleep.

Morning view.

I made and ate breakfast from within the tent as there was not a breath of wind. That said there only seemed to be a few midges about, probably due to it having been quite chilly overnight. Even when I emerged they didn't bother me too much - a far cry from my camp back in August! What to do. It was obviously going to be another blazer of a day and I really should cash in on it. I'd thought of heading back into the Ben Alder hills and just wandering round a few trails and sun-bathing but instead I figured on a longer route to catch some views. Good Choice.

I was following my tour of May 2018 and October '16 (as described in my Ben Alder Bike Rides post) which in total is 78 miles. I figured on about 60 to do today then. Much more than I'd expected but it would be mostly easy going so I figured I'd be fine. So in summary - Down to Loch Lagan, turn back into the wilderness and up Strath Ossian to the loch. Over the Old Road to Isles to Loch Rannoch then follow the Highland Trail route over Bealachs Cumhann and Dubh to Culra, back out to Dalwhinnie. I was in no rush and so set a steady pace with a determination to stop frequently to take in the views.

On the start of the track through Lagan forest up from Torgulbin Farm, forever known to me as Collarbone Corner as this was the spot I slid off on a bike ride in 2013 resulting in a three piece clavical...

Looking back to Loch An Earba (in the gap between the conical hill and the wider ridge). My bivvy spot is hidden by a fold in the land just down from this gap. I got passed by a young lady on an e-bike here. I think she works at the Corrour Station cafe (she was vaguely familiar) as she had the code to the barrier where the track leaves the forest. She quickly outpaced me.... Then I met another couple also on e-bikes out for a day ride and then another couple on obvious hire bikes pausing at the top of the climb. Normally I meet precisely no-one in these places!

A growing Panorama along Loch Ossian.

Looking back - the notch in the distance is the Bealach Dubh. I'd be there in three hours time!

Ben Nevis (table top peak left of centre) and surrounding munroes from the Old Road to Isles. I've never seen it so clear. I'd brought a spotting scope with me and through it I could clearly see the Bens large summit cairn and figures upon it.

West across Rannoch Moor to Blackwater Reservoir and the hills of Glencoe. Buchaille Etive Mor centre.

At Corrour Old lodge I wandered up to my bivvy spot of June 2018 and sat in the sun looking at the vast view around me. It was crystal clear - I could see the pointed peaks of Ben Cruachan, some 50km south west of my spot. As I sat, no fewer than five people on bikes went passed, all sporting bikepacking kit. This route is part of the Great North Trail, the GB divide, the An Turas Mor route (Glasgow to Cape Wrath) and the 'Badger' divide Inverness to Glasgow route so quite popular these days. None of them stopped for the views.....

Corrour Old Lodge

Final look back North. The tiny white dot, just below the distant hills is Corrour station!

Eventually I gathered my stuff and descended down to the road above Loch Rannoch, the first for some 45 miles after leaving Dalwhinnie the previous day. I was only on it for five miles before starting the long, long climb up to Loch Ericht and a return to Ben Alder.

At the estate boat house on the south shore of the loch I was greeted by the site of an elderly lady finishing off her poo with a view (of the track and anyone on it). Nice. Her cleaning up routine seemed somewhat perfunctory and I came very close to stopping and pointing this out. I've no doubt that any estate workers who arrived the next day and saw her mess would likely blame it on youths and ner'do'wells rather than a respectable and elderly citizen. Most annoying. Anyway, I'd hoped to sit on the porch of this building for a bit but instead carried on and then on a whim rode down to the beach of Loch Ericht.

More views and a final feed before the last big climb. A word of warning. The sandy and gravelly 'beach' is deceptive. Just underneath the sand is a very deep layer of peat. As I rode towards the shore my tyres started to sink in so I beat a hasty retreat and sat further back to check out the views (again!) In effect its like quick sand as the peat is permanently saturated thanks to the pressure of the water in the loch and so could easily swallow you whole....

The boggy bit was fairly boggy, thanks to the damp summer but the fat bike allowed me to ride it all until the last bit before the bridge (this requires a fairly loose interpretation of the path line and plenty of tussock hopping). I'd told myself I wouldn't stop by the bothy but as its such a nice spot I did anyway and ended up making a cuppa to have with my final kit-kat. The bothy was empty and supposedly closed in the current 'situation' however I'd bet any money you like it had been occupied the previous evening. One day I will return to stay here.

Its a long old climb but probably my favourite, thanks to the ace trail, it being generally fairly steady and in such a great setting. It was showing 23 degrees on the garmin and I felt it. Fortunately the trail is crossed by several small burns (and one big one) so cold water was in abundance. Over the Cumhann I couldn't resist stopping to take in the view down to Loch Ossian, the hills of Steall in the background. Eventually I carried on (and got up the whole climb!) stopping once more at the summit.

Another regular shot, I couldn't resist.

Then a particularly fine ride down the descent, noting that its getting a bit loose in places. I feel responsible having suggested Alan Goldsmith include it in the Highland Trail route! Anyway that was that. I rolled out past the bothy (lots of tents and bikes scattered all over the place) and cruised out by Loch Ericht. A gathering haze indicated that this fine period of weather was drawing to a close so I felt well chuffed I'd cashed in on it. Given that the pandemic is going off again I suspect this could be the last long range ride this year so I was doubly glad to have made it out.