So this year I decided to hedge my bets a bit by taking the second last week off (i.e not the English school holiday) and using the car to go to various locations. This would enable me to bag some trails in day rides and if the weather was rubbish I'd have a dry tent and campsite with facilities to come back to.
Winter 2013 had been yet another stoater after 2012's washout. In fact it was still going at the beginning of May. My last of many days skiing at Glenshee had been in mid April and the place hadn't closed until a week after this. Thereafter the weather switch was flicked and suddenly it was spring. I hatched a loose plan to head up to Torridon for a couple of days, do some trails round Applecross, maybe then hit the far north west and then head east for some beach riding before going to my pals place in Aviemore for the second weekend.
A last minute Friday social event delayed my Saturday departure until the Sunday but the weather hadn't been great so this was no loss. 5 am Sunday saw me leaving the house for a leisurely drive up the A9 to Inverness and then the '835, '832 and '896 to Torridon. Due to the lack of traffic at this early hour I arrived at 9 and was ready to ride by half past.
I last rode in Torridon in 1998 when a group of us were staying in Gairloch. We'd done a route behind Liatach and Ben Alligin which had recently been done up so was a laugh. A brief venture into the hills south of the '896 suggested that these trails would be too rough to be worthwhile. But since then they and various others had all been worked on thanks to the Wester Ross Footpath Trust. Since Land Reform mountain bikers have quickly spread to these areas that were previously off limits (well officially at least, in reality we rode them anyway). Torridon became a hidden gem with its three passes highly accessible from the surrounding roads. With the rise of the internet word started to spread. Then Danny Macaskill (who had ridden their extensively) invited his pals Hans Rey and Steve Peat for a helicopter supported ride round the place. Of course it was all over you-tube and soon enough, everyone was heading there. It started getting referred to as Scotlands natural trail centre. The locals were shocked to see so many visitors and a few tensions arose, somewhat mitigated by the large increase in business at the shop, local B&B's and the Torridon hotel.
So I was keen to see what the fuss was about. Bike of choice was my current darling, the Surly Krampus. I'd got one of the first of these to hit the UK and was a thorough convert. Having ridden full suspension for years, this bike represented something of a major turnaround. So far it had been a total joy, its 3" tyres finding grip where there was none, whilst taking the sting out of the trails that a rigid bike with normal tyres would transfer straight to the rider. These trails would be its ultimate test. I couldn't wait.
My route would take me up the road to Coulin Forest, up a double track climb for a bit, and then a lengthy single track climb right up to an ominous 666m at the top of Coire Lair. Thereafter would be a lengthy descent in three stages back to Annat near Torridon. After a murky start the sun was burning through the clouds as I pedalled up the road. Traffic was light but it was still nice to turn off road and then begin a steady climb up the Coulin pass. After a few miles I turned off this track on another which now climbed in earnest, ending at a small bothy called the Tea House. Thence began the single track.
Bridge over the river at the Tea House Bothy.
This was a joy of a trail - a steady climb but through a rocky landscape which made it a major technical challenge. The bike took it all in its stride and I pretty much rode the lot. This climb then tops out at the entrance to Corrie Lair.
Through here was fairly straightforward. The crags above me were still holding a fair bit of snow but the sky was clearing and I'd even seen hints of sun. I chatted to a guy coming the other way who advised that the first bit of my descent would be a scramble down as it was all huge boulders. Oh well, once again I've done a trail the wrong way round.
The last section was pretty steep and loose. I got up most of it with only a few loss of traction bits defeating me. Finally I topped out to sunshine!
After stopping to eat and admire the views for a while off I went. As the guy said, the first bit of the descent was tricky stepping down the big rocks with the bike over my shoulder. It didn't last long however and then it was easy pedaling across Coire Granda and then a narrow trail snaking round to the Bealach Ban.
Looking back up the boulder descent!
Single track snaking out of Coire Granda
There followed a steep techy descent with not a few hairy moments as I got to grips with a rigid bike. That said the big wheels tended to go over over things than be stopped by them for which a 26er needed 6" of suspension travel to achieve....
I missed a bit of descent and climb by scurrying across a short cut. Briefly exchanged greetings with another group of mountain bikers and then powered up a short pitched climb to the Bealach na Lice. Then down again into Coire Lice and past Loch an Eoin. The scenery was spectacular, Scottish mountains at their best. In my immediate vicinity was grass and heather, still brown from the winter despite it being the end of May, but above this was it was all rock.
The trail levelled for one last time and then it was the main event - a contouring, often steep, trail through loose rocks, slabs, steps, boulders and the odd bit of compacted dirt. This was rigid bike nirvana. On my Orange 5 I'd have just blasted through all of this and been at the bottom before I knew it. On the Kramp it was a case of picking the best line through and round the worst of the obstacles, trying to maintain enough speed to get across stuff without it getting out of hand. Much slower to be sure but that just meant the descent lasted for longer!
Finally I clattered down one last section of trail, dived across a footbridge and finished with a short section of woodland before appearing by the road side at Annat. I stopped to check out the sea view and the hills around me. My wrists and hands were hurting, my teeth aching and my eyeballs blurred from all the rattling. Boy was it good. After years of increasing amounts of suspension I'd returned to rigid steel and I knew then I wouldn't be going back anytime soon.
Of course I had to go to the pub to celebrate. So I sat out in the sun reflecting on a fabulous ride drinking Trade Winds and eating crisps. The guys I'd passed near the top appeared and we sat and chatted about the phenomena that Torridon had become. They were from Inverness and had been riding here for many years so had seen the gradual then sudden change from obscurity to popularity. Eventually they headed off to climb my outward route back to their cars but I was happy to have done enough for one day so cycled back to where I'd parked the car near the Torridon campsite.
This is small, not very well drained and an absolute midge hell hole. The NTS provided it to stop people camping further up the glen and at least its free. There is a public loo nearby with a shower so it has all you need. There were still some damp bits from the previous days downpour but I managed to find a reasonable spot to pitch up. Thanks to the frosts that had persisted until the previous week, the midges hadn't appeared yet so I was able to sit outside in the sun cooking and eating tea. The guy I met in Coire Lair appeared in a van and parked up next to me. We chatted about the trails and bikes and he seemed a bit shocked to hear I'd changed an Orange 5 (which he was riding) for my Krampus. After food, I wandered along the road and sat in the Torridon hotel having a few beers whilst ID'ing the several groups of Mountainbikers also drinking and telling each other lies about their exploits.
Sunset over Liatach
As forecasted the next morning was a bit grey. I wandered along to the NTS ranger station and tried to persuade the ranger to look at a Met Office forecast rather than a mountain one as I wouldn't be high enough for the latter. Eventually she did and it looked to be OK. Tomorrow less so with wet weather moving in from the north west. I was on another hot tip from a mate for today - ride along the trail beside Loch Damh and then over another monster pass into Coire Roill. Actually only 400m but I'd be doing it from near sea level instead of 150m.....
From the back of the hotel I followed a good track which had clearly been the old road given the bridges and other structures along it.
It pops out where the River Damh emerges but a quick jaunt up the road was needed to pick up the track up by the loch. As I passed a few buildings a guy messing about with fishing gear looked up and hailed me. Turns out he was the farmer and was interested in what brought me here. We chatted for a while about the increase in use by mountain bikes and the benefits and downsides. He saw the opportunities but asked the question that had occurred to me the previous day - who was going to do the maintenance. Funding for upland path works has all but dried up now. The NTS had the last of it but there well known anti mountainbiking stance meant that there was no way they would dream of spending it to help encourage biking. (Despite the fact that many of their path improvements in the Cairngorms had unwittingly done just that!) to me its easy - the government needs to step in and the Tourist board needs to recognise that tourism is more than just rich foreigners. We agreed on this but fortunately he didn't raise the other issue that had occurred to me - behaviour. People brought up riding trail centres don't know how to deal with other users. If they behaved the same way here then conflict was going to occur and that more than path erosion would be the big issue. Who knows but as I headed off along the loch I knew I was being a model mountainbiker - taking it easy on the boggy bits, chatting to the locals and not leaving anything behind me other than tyre marks.
The lochside trail is pretty wet in places. It was OK but I'd have avoided if it had been any wetter. The cloud was dropping too and occasional dreich kept coming in. A pity as I suspect the views would have been equal to yesterday, at least.
I stopped where the trail turned away from the lochside for food and noted three people some distance behind. Off I went on another narrow trail climbing steadily up a long strath into the hills. One section was steep enough to require a big effort and I was back into the rocks again so maximum concentration was required. The gradient eased but the technical challenge increased as I climbed away from the easier terrain. I was full in the fog now so totally immersed in my own world, no external stimulus incoming. Across one last steep slope the gradient suddenly eased and a big bank of grey in front suggested I was looking down into the coire.
Off I went on a trail which was wider and looser than yesterdays descent. Soon I dropped out of the murk and could see about me. The trail steepened as it descended and was more rough than technical. This was beating me up quite a bit and a bit of incautious speed lead to an over balance and a jump off the bike down a bank beside the trail. A sobering pause as such an off could have easily turned an ankle. I picked up the bike and hopped back on trying to be a bit more circumspect. But I guess that was the first of the bikes limitations. Its geometry encourages fast riding but its easy to then get into trouble over rough ground. Justification for my dinner plate-esque 220 front rotor. Finally I popped out of a narrow path onto the road again. Being still a bit grey I decided to head straight back to the tent rather than the pub but on a whim turned down the road to Torridon village and discovered a pleasant cafe cum shop. So I sat out the front of this watching the sea shore eating cake and drinking coffee.
Back at the camp site were three folk loading bikes into a van. One of them asked if I'd been the guy in front of them on the trail. We chatted a bit and once again I got some funny looks aimed at the bike, although no comments. They were all wearing full face lids and varying amounts of body armour. No maps were in evidence.... I had tea in the tent once again but later of course I went to the pub. Tomorrows plan was to hit Applecross and do a route I'd researched especially for this trip. Given the forecasted change in the weather I hoped to be able to get away with this dry. Thereafter I figured that I'd head east to hopefully miss the worst of what was then to come.
For my ride around Applecross see this post written soon after I'd got back. Yes I'd brought the Mukluk with me just for this trip so it finally got out the car. I guess I could have used it for the whole trip but I really wanted to test out the Kramp. Anyway after my Applecross tour I drove east. It was getting a bit late so passing through Contin I figured the campsite there would do the job. I drove in but no-one was around to check me in. I saw a note saying that they'd be back tomorrow so I drove to the bottom of the site and pitched up. There were only a few caravans there so I had a nice quiet spot. I drove to Strathpeffer to get food and beers and then spent a pleasant evening in the tent eating and drinking and reflecting on a hard day.
There was no sign of the site owners the next morning either. Re-reading the notice it actually said they'd be back that evening. There was no sign of an honesty box so shrugging I drove off. Despite the forecast it was a bright day but it was breezy and cool. At Inverness I stopped for supplies and then sat in the Tiso Cafe determining my next move. After some map scanning (handy that in an outdoor shop) I made a snap decision to head to Findhorn. This would be a good base to do some of the Moray Coastline so I bought the map and headed east. The Findhorn campsite looked a bit holiday park like but it seemed pretty quiet. It was dear though - £14! Camping is no longer a cheap option these days....
With the tent up I dragged out the muk and rode into the village. Its a strange place, famously having a large hippy commune attached to it, dating back to the cold war and protesters camping next to the adjacent RAF base. I ignored all of this and rode through the village and out onto the beach, noting a couple of good looking pubs on the way. The river of the same name exits into the sea here so I wandered along the estuary for a bit before striking east along the shore. By good luck the tide was right out and its very pleasant. A monster tailwind helped!
That said looking west revealed some large clouds and rain fall. As I approached Burghead I caught the tail end of one such shower but the sun was shining as I arrived at the town
Its a strange place, being totally deserted in the middle of the day. Parts of it are extremely quaint but as with many Scottish towns there is a run down section dating from when there was a fishing industry hereabouts, now largely defunct. A large packing factory is all that remains. Looking West it was black so to avoid this and the wind I reckoned heading back via the woods was a good plan. I entered at the edge of the town and was suddenly in a calm and pleasant world. Better yet, the woods were criss-crossed with a network of sandy trails, perfect fat bike terrain. Obviously the work of the local motocross crowd but I had the place to my self on this breezy and rainy Wednesday. I spent a good hour wandering aimlessly back and forth before eventually emerging at the perimeter fence of the air base. I followed this into a wide area of dunes, through which I rode for a bit before heading through the hippy commune back to the camp site.
I made tea and then wandered into and around the village as well as down to the beach. The sky looked suitably dramatic with large clouds lurking to the north and west, I watched a cruise ship slowly head out to sea and then wandered back to the town
Eventually I retired to one of the pubs and enjoyed several fine pints, congratulating myself on a good destination choice.
The next morning it was a bit grey and it had rained a few times in the night. I figured the woods would be a good bet and I'd heard that the Moray Monster Trails near Fochabers were a good shout. Plan B was Culbin forest to the west but I wanted to give the Kramp an airing so MMT it was! The drive east was the first indication I'd made a bad choice. The A96 is a busy road and progress was slow. Eventually I reached the turn off and then went in search of the trails. After some aimless driving I realised I didn't have a clue so headed back into the town in search of help. A running shop seemed the best bet as there was no bike shop but fortunately they were very helpful and even had a photocopied trail map. So I drove back out the way I'd already looked, plus a bit further, parked up and hit the dirt.
Hmm. On the climb I caught a few drops of rain and the wind was building. Sure enough on the first bit of singletrack the rain came in as a harsh horizontal dreich. Climbing further I even noticed some hail and sleet. So much for having a May holiday in the sun... The trails too were a disappointment - a long narrow gravel path winding aimlessly through the trees with occasional pointless bumps. At the far end of the route I turned off aiming for Ben Aigen which the guy in the Shop had said was the best bit. Unfortunately disaster struck just as I left the woods. The back tyre suddenly went flat with a rush of air and on inspection the valve had ripped away from the tube. Given the cost of these things, this was doubly annoying but the immediate problem was that I only had one spare and this was just a normal 29er tube. It went up OK but suspected it would be a bit thin in such a big tyre so didn't fancy carrying on in case it went bang and I'd have a long push back to the car.
So I rejoined the main trail and was all for knocking it on the head, given the weather - sleet was now lying on the trail! On the way down I came across the only bit worth doing here - Its called the Soup Dragon and is a very narrow trail cut into the banks of a narrow gorge which winds its way down hill back to near the start. Looking at the map there looks to be another one of these streams. To me this should be cashed in on as its unique to this forest. The rest of the trails are just trail centre standard, i.e. dull dull dull... It was still early and the rain had stopped so I felt compelled to give the place one more chance. To the east of the A96 is Whiteash Hill on which I'd been told were lots of natural trails. Lacking local knowledge I had to follow the one on the map (which was now rather soggy) but in the event it was pretty good - natural right enough and therefore reasonably engaging. The only problem with this is that it can't take high numbers and its starting to get a bit worn with many sections braiding around boggy bits. I also cannot be bothered with this obsession with naming eveything, particularly after Lord of the Rings characters.... Hey ho, I was done so loaded up and made my slow way back to Findhorn.
So should have done Culbin but at least I'd got out so a few beers in the pub were definitely in order. The next morning was cool but sunny. This was good as by the time I was ready to go the tent was dry. I avoided the A96 and instead hit a little used B road south to Carrbridge, destination Aviemore. My pals would be at work so I was going to park up and hit the singletrack in Inshriach forest. I nearly crashed the car on the deserted road, looking at the snow covered Cairngorms. It transpired that 18" of snow had fallen at the Cas car park, the previous day. That said it was wall to wall sunshine this day.
So I spent a pleasant few hours riding round oft used trails in the sun. Aviemore looked to have missed most of the rain as everything was pretty dry. The Krampus was a hoot on this stuff. I bought it from Bothy Bikes and the clincher had been a ride on Dave's own Krampus around just such trails. The big wheels flew over the many roots and it felt super nimble round the twists and turns, inspite of the big wheels.
Krampus at the top of Cake or Death!
I re-appeared in Rothiemurchus at the start of the Lairig Ghru route and on a whim headed down a trail I'd not done before back to the road. It was actually a rough and little used track but made a pleasant change from the more usual surfaced path via the Cairngorm Club footbridge.
That is until I emerged at the crossing of the River Luineag, which follows the road down from Loch Morlich. Instead of the usual shallow burn, it was a swift flowing river thanks to the snow fall of the previous day and its rapid melt this day. I could have back tracked but figured that it wouldn't be that bad so removed shoes, shouldered the bike and waded in. Bloody hell it was cold, snow melt indeed. And deep - past my knees. The bed was slippy rounded stones that were hard on my rapidly numbing bare feet and suddenly the absurdity of my situation occurred to me. The road was only yards away (I could see traffic on it) but here I was, about to be swept off my feet into a freezing torrent that would quickly numb me to immobility, then death.... Of course this didn't happen but by the time I emerged on the other side my legs below the knee were numb and barely able to move. So I sat in the warm sunshine whilst they dried off and warmed up, muttering about my stupidity.
Cairngorms covered in snow....
That evening several of us met up in the Ski and Doo restaurant for burgers and many beers, me regaling all with my trail tales of the previous week. As far as my trip was concerned I was done. Iona wanted to do a leisurely ride alongside Loch Lagan and then check out the East Highland Way to Spean Bridge prior to doing it with friends as a two day bikepacking trip. The weather forecast was looking to be warm and sunny so this seemed a perfect way to end the week.
First up the next morning was sourcing tubes from Bothy bikes. This done we drove down the road to Lagan and parked up at a place near the end of the loch. We then trundled down the big track from Ardverikie Lodge checking out the fabulous views. The snow was pretty much gone and Spring seemed to be back on track. At the end of the loch we elected to ride the road down to Spean Bridge so we would be reccying the East highland Way in the proper direction of travel. This route has been made by a guy off his own bat. He's got a website - http://www.easthighlandway.com/ and has nailed up way marking discs along the route. Basically it serves as a link from the West Highland Way to the Speyside way for those not satisfied with just doing the 96 miles of the WHW. Its great for bikes, mainly following good tracks.
After sitting in the sun in Spean Bridge for a while eating and drinking we headed off on the route. Beyond the road end it follows a good track which progressively deteriorates until Monessie Farm.
From here the route follows a rougher track through fields before cutting down across a dried up stream bed towards the River Spean. Its a bit vague in places but the discs show the way. You cross a side burn (Alt na Bruach) and then its a bit of a scramble (via a proper gate though) along a quad track to a rough woodland track. You climb up this for a bit and then emerge at the end of a big forest track. There was a harvester here, stacking logs. The guy waved us past and we chatted for a bit. He knew of the route and was under instruction to keep it clear so it should improve on this section once the trees are all felled.
Thereafter you follow a good forest road to Inverlair and then the wee road to Fersit. I've not been here before but its one of those fascinating places where the railway departs into the vastness of Corrour Forest before eventually (and briefly) touching civilisation at Rannoch Station. All around are vast hills leading into the Mamores and Ben Nevis. From Fersit we continued east through the forest, tantalised by glimpses of Craig Meagaihd and surrounding hills. The sun was hot and there was barely a cloud to be seen. I noted where the track out of Strath Ossian joined our route. We had rode out of here some years before when doing a traverse of the Mamores, Corrour and Ben Alder from Fort William to Newtonmore. This is a vast area of hills devoid of roads and habitation, barring the remote Corrour Station and Youth Hostel and Ossian lodge. There are several routes through it all and its a bit of an ultimate bike destination.
Earlier Iona had mentioned something called the Highland Trail - an unofficial 400 mile plus mountainbike route around Scotland starting from Tyndrum. The idea is you do it self supported as quick as you can. One of several such routes appearing around the country on the wave of the growing popularity of bikepacking. That day there was a group start - essentially an unoffical race around the route whereby a number of people ride it starting at the same time to see who finishes first, or at all. We wondered if we'd meet anyone doing it but in the event we had the place to ourselves.
The track was smooth and fast. I had pulled ahead of Iona for a bit as we descended down to Torgulbin farm. Then on a sharp hairpin bend it happened. I knew I'd gone in a bit too hot but the speed at which both wheels went away from me in the apex came as a shock from which I never recovered. I had time for one brief thought as I headed deck-wards - "this is going to hurt."
Slam, straight down onto my left forearm and hip. I slid across the rough gravel for about 12 feet and came to a halt in the far verge. I rolled onto my back and took stock. Forearm very sore, pains from left hip and knee. A fair bit of blood but no nasty gashes, just gravel rash. Could have been worse but what a way to finish a great week.... Then I went to sit up and something in my left shoulder felt decidedly wrong. It was like something had disconnected. I slipped my bag off both shoulders and started probing. Oh dear, two obviously jagged bone ends where my previously one piece collar bone had been. No pain but doubtless that was coming. Further probing and yup, collarbone nil, track one. I guess as I'd slid out I'd tensed my arm in anticipation of hitting the ground and the shock of impact had gone straight up my upper arm and into the weak link that is your collarbone. If only I'd thrown the arm out or just relaxed I've have probably been fine. Too late now. I thought back to a sand dune inspired crash I'd taken at North Berwick the previous month. This too had slammed me down onto my left arm and for a brief moment I'd thought I'd done for my collar bone. In the event it was fine and only my elbow hurt (suspected fracture hey ho...) So today I'd done a proper job. Fuck.
Iona arrived at this point, took in the scene and rolled her eyes. "What have you done?"
"Broken collar bone"
"......."
"You sure??"
"Oh yes, want a feel?" (She felt)
"Fuck"
Quite.
Now what. The van was about 10 miles away (albeit on road) so Iona figured to ride away to get it and then come back to rescue me. I'd be able to get out to the road to wait. She fashioned a sling out of my spare inner tube (top tip) and helped me put my jacket on. Just then three guys appeared on bikes. They were all sporting bikepacking bags and looked like they'd been out a while. They stopped to see what was up and Iona asked if they had a car nearby.
"Err no - in Tyndrum"
"Oh your doing the Highland Trail?"
"Yeah, you've heard of it?"
So there was nothing they could do to help other than to offer ibruprofen. As it happened I was in little pain so I declined and we waved them onwards. Iona helped me to my feet and off she went. I walked out to the road and stopped by the road side. There was still no pain. Odd as the adrenaline had surely worn off by now. I stood for a while, the temperature slowly dropping, having passed 7.30pm. I looked at the bike thinking. If I could get on it I could ride, reducing the time to rescue considerably. After a bit of finessing I got on and started pedaling. Bugger it was in the granny gear, having dumped the chain off the big ring in the crash. First attempt to change gear with my right hand nearly had me off again so I stopped, shoved the lever forward and managed to hold the bike up and pedal it into the big ring. Were off!
Believe it or not I was quite happy as I pedaled along the empty road into the evening sunshine. In fact I started upping my pace. Sure enough half an hour later I caught sight of Iona ahead. Slowly I overhauled her and sneaked up along side.
"Alright there, guess who?!"
"Where did you spring from!!"
Iona too couldn't believe I wasn't in any pain, excepting the gravel rash. I wasn't complaining so we kept on until we got back to the van at 8.30. Iona kindly loaded up and I sat back in the van, relieved that we were back but nervous as to what was going to happen next.
In the event that was easy. Iona drove us back to Aviemore, I got changed and showered, washing as much blood and grit out of my forearm as I could (My jacket had been stuck to it stopping the bleeding) and getting back dressed. Rob provided a proper sling and then off we went to Inverness. We'd actually hoped that the Aviemore health centre was open but it had shut at 5 so Raigmore, recipient of many people injured in the hills, it was. A&E was quiet, the nights drunks still being out on the town. I reported to the reception:-
"I've broken my collar bone"
"Oh, OK have a seat"
Hmm, she didn't sound convinced. Twenty minutes later I was summoned by a nurse to Triage.
"So you think you've broken your collarbone?"
"No. I have broken my collarbone - I can feel the jaggy ends!"
(Nurse prods and pokes a bit)
"Oh Aye right enough, have you had any pain killers?"
"No it doesn't hurt"
"Are you sure? It should"
"Nope"
"Here take these" (Ibruprofen and paracetemol)
Oh OK just to make her happy. A while later I was summoned to X ray. Shortly after the doctor appeared.
"Yup no question, its broken and with a small chip too. Does it hurt much?"
"Not at all"
She gave me a funny look.
"What now?"
"We'll get that forearm cleaned up and your arm in a sling. Any other pain?"
"My elbow is a bit sore"
"Maybe cracked but don't worry we would just sling it up anyway" (I neglect to mention my crash the previous month)
"Will you pin the collar bone?"
"Och no, its doesn't need to be, it'll heal up fine itself"
"Figure of 8 bandage?"
"No we don't do that any more, have you broken your collar bone before"
"When I was 8...." (This was a green stick fracture thanks to my brother)
"No just keep it immobile but keep moving your hand and arm as much as you can. Report to you local fracture clinic when you get home. It will take around 4-6 weeks to heal"
I genuinely felt scared at these words. How can the bone heal if both ends are waving around at each other? Will it heal straight? will it hurt given that there are two jaggy bits of bone moving around in my shoulder?
I was summoned to get the wound on my arm cleaned. The nurse was good about it but she advised it would hurt as there was quite a bit of gravel left in. I knew that if it got infected it would be a nightmare with the broken bone so told her to bash on. A while later I heard someone ask where I was.
"In here getting cleaned up" said the nurse.
"Oh, I thought I'd have heard him screaming"
Cheers....
Still can't complain as it was all pretty slick (and free!) and soon enough we were heading back to Aviemore, next challenge getting me and my car home.
I lay back carefully in bed and had a very poor nights sleep. I only sleep on my side and this was not an option now. Still no pain but the feeling of the bones grinding against each other was distinctly unpleasant.
Next morning we hatched a plan. Iona would drive me and my car home and get the train back up. A friend would give her a lift to the station. This all went fairly slickly so finally I was ensconced in my house, phoning my mum and telling her all about it. Various challenges presented themselves. How would I get food. What would I do for 5 weeks. When could I get back on my bike......
I wrote the account of my ride around Applecross on the UK fat bike forum after a couple of weeks of R&R. In this time I'd finally got to the fracture clinic in the Vic in Kirkcaldy, thanks to my mate Meg. They had done another X ray and pronounced that all was well and to just be patient. Sleep was a struggle and pain was finally a regular acquaintance. At least I got another friend to help me set up a bike on my turbo trainer so my daily routine involved an hour session every day. Asda provided food (and beer) courtesy of home delivery and various friends agreed to keep coming round to stop me from going mad. Work were cool and told me to come back when I was ready. So it went on, the days passing slowly, with me being supremely frustrated as the weather was glorious.
So its 4 weeks later and the collar bone is back in one piece, albeit sore. I've managed to drill holes in my fat bike rims, rebuild them onto 135 / 170 Hope hubs, fit new bars and plan lots of routes. Next week I'm back to work and then its back to normal. Thanks to the trainer I'm actually feeling pretty fit although my dodgy right knee is a bit sore. So I hope to get back on the bike fairly soon and begin the road to proper recovery. This trip is a bit of a distant memory now which is why I've penned this account, in order to remind myself of how fun it was, until that day. Its not the worst bike injury I've had - fractured skull and wrist due to a high speed face plant wins that award, although that took a lot less time to recover from, ironically. Roll on August....
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