Introduction
On the 25th
of May 2013 at about 6pm
I was sat at the side of the track out of Strath Ossian having my arm put in a
sling by my friend Iona, having just broken my collar
bone. 3 guys on bikes suddenly appeared with seat packs and bar rolls – ‘Do you
have a car nearby?’ we asked – no they were doing a 430 mile adventure race
called the Highland Trail so couldn’t help. I’d never heard of this but Iona
had via the dark and murky Bike Packers grapevine. A route round the highlands
of Scotland
taking in some of the best riding in Europe, self
supported with a time limit of a week. A seed in my mind was sown….. Jump
forward a year as I lay in my tent after day 1 of the 2014 event (Now 560
miles) nursing my screaming thighs and cursing my lack of discipline in tearing
off from the start and blowing up after less than 60 miles. Day 2 was a study
in purgatory with the inevitable bale out when the weather turned nasty. Next
year would be different - nothing would stop me. The email to route planner and
group start organiser Allan Goldsmith was sent 4 minutes after midnight on the day entries opened and the next
day the reply came – I was in.
The Build up
How do you train for 560 miles of riding over the hardest
terrain you'll find anywhere? Advice is thin on the ground but my
plan was simple – ride my bike. A lot. Winter is seen as the cycling off season
but for me it was the perfect time to get out, when the weather was bad, the
nights long and the trails wet or white. This winter brought snow on the hills
and hard winds to blow it about. Every weekend saw me on my local trails up in
the Ochills - an unregarded range of hills running between Stirling and Tayport
featuring steep southern slopes and rolling northern glens with bogs and
tussocks a plenty and heights of well over 600m in many places. The climb from
Tillycoutry to the summit of Ben Cleuch is 700m of hard pedalling and there was
rarely a weekend went by that I didn’t do it as part of many circuits done in
the rain, the wind and of course the snow. Pushing 35lbs of fat bike through
knee deep windslab for hours on end was utterly exhausting but would provide a
solid foundation for what was to come in May. Longer rides came in the form of
the Fife Coastal path end to end, a chunk of the Southern Upland Way with its
endless bogs and brutal climbs and a snowy Minigaig pass over to Aviemore. May
Bank holiday was Cairngorms Loop weekend. I hadn’t entered as it was full but
more snow and rain saw only a handful set off. I did my own route leaving Blair
Atholl at 7pm and pedalling into the
dark, rain, then sleet then snow to camp at 500m in a snowfield and more
sub-zero temps. Saturday saw 12 hours of trails of all types and Sunday 7 hours
in the slashing rain and sleet.
I was as ready as I’d ever be, kit was tweaked and refined
to a safe minimum, the bike was fettled and weather forecasts scrutinised. It
wasn’t looking good. Hopes of a high pressure front sweeping the whole country
at the end of May faded as the start date approached. In the end it looked grim
- a dry start but a rapid deterioration to high winds and endless rain. The
night before the race I was nervous as hell. The weather was my biggest fear –
I had the kit and the nous to survive it but my inner wimp would make it too
easy to bale to drier places if it persisted….
Day 1 Hard Ride to Pizza
The start was sunny as promised. I arrived early and chatted
to Iona Evans who was there to see us off but didn’t want to get the bike out
until the last minute as I was worried what people might think. Or say….
You’re on a what??
Ready steady go
I had
a final kit check and rode up to the start trying to be as nonchalant and low
key as possible. 9am sharp and we were off. I was determined to keep my pace
steady and this put me firmly in the main group of riders. It was sociable,
people were chatting, speculating on the weather, the trails and what the hell
I was doing on this monster truck of a bike. I was cool, it was rolling well
and I was pedalling easy. Suddenly all the stresses of kit prep, training and
weather watching were gone. 560 miles and several days of adventure stretched
out before me and I was thoroughly contented.
The first day is easy….isn’t it?
Kinlochleven came and went, the Co-op providing an early
lunch and further chat. I’d already had my first push up the devils staircase, and my first crash down it - a stupid washout on a hairpin which caused a few scrapes and a hole in my front dry bag - screw the nut, dude. Out of KLL its hard – steep tarmac then steep gravel; enough to require a
big effort but only a taste of the monsters to come. The first obstacle was the
Abhain Rath river crossing. Heavy rain the previous week had me concerned but
it was easy. Shoes and socks off, paddle across, dry feet in sun and ride on.
The next trail was fat bike heaven. Multiple boggy lines,
rock outcrops, countless burn crossings, all with a firm tailwind. The bike ate
it all and I was having the time of my life. The smooth track out of Strath
Ossian was a tailwind assisted blast. My legs felt fresh and I was passing mile
60. Collar bone corner was taken slowly and safely and the tailwind continued
all the way to Laggan Wolftrax. I screamed into the car park in the vane hope
the café was still open – it was, deep joy! (they were following the race) Tea
and cake were consumed to fuel the mighty climb over the Corrieairyack in the
company of several people and Alan Goldsmith himself. We sat in the sun
drinking lattes like it was an easy day out not the first day of the hardest
bike route in Britain….
Spring snow then pizza
The Corrieairyack is the highest point of the whole route
and inevitably the point where the forecasted bad weather made its unwelcome
arrival - A precedent which defined the rest of the week. The joyous tailwind
became a hard headwind with horizontal rain quickly added. No choice but to
push on, it would be much worse in the coming days. A patch of snow covered the
track near the top – snow biking at the end of May??
The descent brought respite dropping out of the cloud into
dry weather and the prospect of the Fort Augustus Pizza Shop. I joined an ever
changing group of riders all chuffed to have made it over ‘the bump’ on day 1
and looking forward to a few more miles before stopping for the night. This was
also the first real taste of just how social this ride would be. Pre-start I
had a vision of me riding alone for the whole route once everyone got spread
out. This didn’t faze me in the least but in the event I met and chatted to
numerous people on route all the way round. The Pizzas were great and the shop
owner seemed bemused but pleased to receive such business. 9pm came and it was time to go. I’d scoped out a wee
campsite – Inver Coile - next to the main road a few miles along the great glen
way and just off route. Others made use of the woods for a free night but I had
my heart set on a shower and flushing toilet. The owner was still up and happy
for me to pitch up late. A few minutes later I was joined by Rob Waller also
keen on a night of luxury. Showered, warm and dry I turned in for the first
night and reflected on my first day. The route had given a flavour of what was
to come and the bike had handled it all with ease. I’d done 104 miles in 13
hours and felt as fresh as when I started…..
Day 2 – North
Beach riding at 400m
5.30 am saw me
leave a somewhat damp campsite and make my way back up to the route. Climbing
out of Invermoriston saw breaks in the cloud and the promise of sun - not what
was forecast but I wasn’t complaining. Sun and showers followed us north for
the first half of the day. The trails were generally easy with only the rocky shore
of Loch Ma Stack and the boggy
track out of it providing the challenge – More fatbike heaven. Other riders were
passed, others passed me. It didn’t matter - you said ‘alright mate’ passed the
time of day and then went on your way. Cannich provided the excellent campsite
café. Service was slow but the food excellent and whilst the racer in me
champed at the delay, my sensible head knew this would be rest well spent. I’d
met up with Rob Waller here who’d arrived early and decided to wait as he was
short of food. The crossing over to Contin on paper looked easy but I knew from
last year it was anything but.
Afternoon blues
A hard climb and then the track of a thousand puddles, many
above hub level. It was along here I passed Richard Seipp and his son Tom.
They had started the route the day before us and were riding it in there own
time. I waved a greeting and carried on, the shop at Contin calling. More food
in me and on the bike. The next shop was Drumbeg stores, 120miles further along
the route with only two hotels in between. Overall I carried too much food with
me on route but this appealed to my sensible head as running out in the vast
wilderness of Sutherland would be a show stopper or worse. Contin to Oykel
Bridge is easy riding but the weather was closing in with the gaps between
showers getting shorter. The tailwind persisted as far as Cloich but we all
knew there would be a price to pay for this and boy were we right. The first
intimation of doom came on the road to Ullapool – a firm track heading
northwest but the narrow glen funnelling the south westerly wind into our
faces. Nothing for it but to keep pedalling and keep eating. My body had
struggled this afternoon (as I do most days between 2 and 4) with a near bonk
on the approach to Contin and a general feeling of tiredness thereafter.
Nothing for it but to eat, drink and keep the pace down. I’d joined up with Rob
Waller on the last section of muddy track to Glen Einig and we both enjoyed the
turn back to the north east and the resultant tailwind. It was only as we reached
the now famous Oykle Bridge Hotel that I realised I had blasted past my scratch
point of last year without a thought. I could do this. I will do this (You’d
better do this!) were my thoughts.
A touch of Luxury
The welcome at the Oykel Bridge Hotel was amazing. This
place is posh and I had serious doubts about how they would take to a gaggle of
wet, muddy and smelly mountain bikers only interested in getting as much food
down their necks as possible. Rob asked about a room but they were full. I was
quietly determined to get into Glen Cassley as I knew there would be plenty of
camping spots. Several people gathered here and there was much chat about the
weather, the puddles, the wind and what was coming. I had done hours of route
prep for this. I’d looked at the route maps until it was all in my mind. I’d
scoured Geograph.org and HeritagePaths.org for route info and photos to give me
an idea of what was coming. Even google streetview provided an idea of the
terrain and likely camping spots. Others seemed oblivious and were happy to
take the route as it came. Who was right? Not sure as both approaches have
there benefits. A loose posse of Me, Rob, Alasdair, Carl, Dave, Darren and
Amanda cruised down to Invercassley and found an ideal patch of woodland just off
the road. The tent went up and then I had a look at the nearby waterfall whilst
reviewing the days ride in my head. Despite my earlier problems I felt good as
I crashed out once more, ready for the next day. I’d done 107 miles in 15
hours.
Day 3 The Hell of the
North
I’m a morning person honest
4am saw me wide
awake and eating breakfast. Today would see the end of the easy riding and the
first major challenge – Sutherland. A land of bog, rock and incredible
remoteness. I was off before 5 up Glen Cassley into the stiffening breeze. I
got a shock when I heard a bike suddenly come up behind me and saw none other
than our Host Mr Goldsmith looking suspiciously fresh faced. Turns out he’d got
the last room in the Achness hotel for a night of luxury. I let him pedal off
as I was feeling decidedly wabbit thanks to the early hour. I stopped briefly
to chat to Karl Booth who’d bivvied further up the glen. I’d first met him on
the climb out of Bridge of Orchy
so we exchanged pleasantries and I carried on. He seemed surprisingly cheerful
for a damp 5.30am… The road climb
over to Loch Shin was hard and my body wasn’t playing. Respite came in the form
of sunshine and rising cloud giving tantalising views of our next objective –
the massive Flanks of Foinaven and Arkle. This was part of the route I’d looked
forward to since my first attempt in 2014. I’d climbed these peaks with my Dad on
the same week in 1987 at the tender age of 16. That day it had been stunning weather
with views out of this world. Today the views were firmly shrouded by cloud but
occasional gaps showed the massive slabs and screes that make this place so
special. The last tailwind for a considerable distance pushed me up the climb
from Loch Merkland.
All hope abandon ye who enter here
I was now entering one of the wildest places in Britain
and a contender for hardest section of the route. Turning up into Glen Golly
confirmed this with steep climbs, saturated trails and a brutal headwind doing
its best to push me back to the road, Altnaharra and failure. I kept reading my
note I’d taped to the bar harness – ‘Go Canny, Eat food, Do not quit, enjoy’.
The good news was that as the morning had gone on I’d felt better and better
and my sprits were high. I was approaching the northern most part of the route,
it was the morning of day 3 and everything was functioning well. The cloud
lifted in time to see the climb out of Glen Golly. I just about fell off my
bike laughing. A distant figure cresting the summit set the scale – this was
going to be a stinker…. My Mantra for this stuff is ‘this too will end’ and
‘get up that effing hill you lazy barstard’. Forget the distance, height
gained, gradient etc., just keep putting one foot in front of the other and
you’ll get there eventually. The now ragged cloud made the vastness of the
hills around me look dramatic and threatening. It didn’t last and my
traverse of the ancient stalkers path along to the Bealach Horn was done with
only the clouds as a view. As was now the norm the trail was wet, boggy and
crossed numerous burns in full flow. This was a fat bike moment – I surfed
across it all only walking on the climbs to give myself a rest.
The descent down to the Alt an Easain Ghil was a series of
vast peat hags with the path long since sunk. It needed a careful eye to pick a
line through it all, walking not riding in case you were wondering! As I’d
approached this ‘burn’ I’d become increasingly concerned about its level. The
Corrie above it had numerous waterfalls plunging into it and all I could hear
was the thunder of water. There was no sign of Allan so he’d either crossed
safely or was somewhere down in loch Dionard. I’d caught up with the figure I’d
seen earlier (Fraser McBeath) and was gratified to see him cross without
incident. I took the time to take off socks and insoles for the crossing and
then squeeze as much water out of my boots as possible. For me dry feet are an
essential part of being warm and comfortable so I was going to preserve them at
all costs. The climb up to Bealach horn was brutal and the wind did its best to
blow me back down. It finally gave and after a quick photo stop I headed off to
get down the hill and back to friendlier places as quickly as possible. Hitting
the road was a major relief. I’d done the northern section, I was still in good
shape and it was only 12.
Leaving the gates of hell….
The hardest road in Britain?
Next up was a steep but smooth climb and another easy descent from Achfary over to Kylesku with stunning views of the bridge, Loch glencoul and the vastness of Quinag, head in the clouds. Inevitably the Kylesku hotel drew me in for more fine food and the now inevitable meet up with Allan G. We chatted about the route and who had dropped out. The last section would take its toll we agreed. I mentioned the direct east-west route from Gobernuisgach lodge to Lone – an easy climb / descent on double track but we agreed the scenery of the Horn route was worth the extra effort. Pity we couldn’t see it. The next section bought relief from both the weather and terrain. The Drumbeg road is infamous in road biking lore as being a killer but after what we’d just done it made for easy pedalling in light winds and even some sunshine. Drumbeg stores saw yet more food and a welcome re-supply of bananas. The route takes you back off road and down passed Achmelvich beach. The white sand called to the fat bike but there was no time today so I settled for hitting a few wee track side dunes. This trail also provided a fine view of the next objective – Suilven and the billion year old landscape of Assynt.
Next up was a steep but smooth climb and another easy descent from Achfary over to Kylesku with stunning views of the bridge, Loch glencoul and the vastness of Quinag, head in the clouds. Inevitably the Kylesku hotel drew me in for more fine food and the now inevitable meet up with Allan G. We chatted about the route and who had dropped out. The last section would take its toll we agreed. I mentioned the direct east-west route from Gobernuisgach lodge to Lone – an easy climb / descent on double track but we agreed the scenery of the Horn route was worth the extra effort. Pity we couldn’t see it. The next section bought relief from both the weather and terrain. The Drumbeg road is infamous in road biking lore as being a killer but after what we’d just done it made for easy pedalling in light winds and even some sunshine. Drumbeg stores saw yet more food and a welcome re-supply of bananas. The route takes you back off road and down passed Achmelvich beach. The white sand called to the fat bike but there was no time today so I settled for hitting a few wee track side dunes. This trail also provided a fine view of the next objective – Suilven and the billion year old landscape of Assynt.
Pies galore
Lochinver was one of the routes major re-supply stops with
its famous pie shop. During the day there is a great Panini van to boot but
this was gone when we rolled in at 6pm. More excellent food and another great
welcome from the staff who were intrigued by our undertaking and happy to serve
food and drink to a stream of tired and hungry mountain bikers. Alan was
muttering about hotels again but a couple of cycle tourists bore the bad news –
everything was full. Turns out this wasn’t quite the case as Andy Williamson
sneaked into a B&B! I was for pushing onto Suileg Bothy. Fraser M had
turned up so the three of us headed up to the Bothy at our own pace. I was content
to take it easy, careful not to upset my recently filled stomach. The bothy was
a gem, clean and tidy with plenty of space. The fair evening encouraged me to
pitch the tent to get it dried but the need for an early start made sleeping in
the bothy the sensible option. I turned in just before 9 and was asleep
instantly only just about waking up when Alasdair MacLean and Carl Hutchings
arrived at 10. Mileage today was 88 but they were hard fought over 14 hours….
Day 4 The big one
It’s not meant to be easy
This next section definitely would be the hardest section of
the route. A few miles on a track that would be a breeze in the dry but today
was the inevitable slime surf followed by nigh on 6 miles of hike-a-bike over
terrain more reminiscent of the moon rather than Scotland.
Alan G had already left so I set off with Carl Hutchings close by. The weather
had closed in again but at least the wind was behind us. What a trail. The
first section actually convinced me to return with an unloaded bike to tackle
as a day circuit but this idea quickly faded.
The trail above Lochan Fada did provide some riding over
slabs of conglomerate but it was a tiny percentage of the whole. The climb over
to Cam Loch was a vast field of boulders and even the descent was unrideable.
Once again I found myself in this strange state of just plodding along, not
thinking of what was ahead or had gone before, just picking away at this
forbidding landscape waiting for it to end. Along Loch Cam the route took you
along the beach (fat bike yeah!) which was a blessed relief. Short lived however
and the trail was unrelenting right up to the road. Carl was just behind and
later said it was good having someone just ahead to pace yourself. For me
knowing that Alan Goldsmith was just ahead kept me going, plotting just
retribution on him for making us take this grim route – just joking Alan! An
easy road ride followed and maybe another test. Beyond Oykel bridge was
civilisation, train stations, brighter weather and tailwinds. On route were
headwinds dark cloud and another vast range of mountains. Breakfast in the
hotel restored me once again. I’d done the northern loop and there was no way I
was quitting.
Oh blessed Ullapool
I said farewell to Sutherland and hello to Wester Ross on
the old road to Ullapool. Track, path, bog, track, road, path. Suddenly nothing
was fazing me after the harshness of the previous trails. I rolled into Ullapool
feeling strong and confident. More food and a meet up with Alan, Steve and Mark.
Steve was taking a day out awaiting the express delivery of a new freewheel. Mark
had been having knee troubles so had eased off his pace. Rumours were rife
about the front runners – mechanicals and body troubles taking their toll. A
large feed later I did a quick tour of the shops for more food and rolled out
of Ullapool on the last easy riding for over 30 miles. The climb out of Loch
Broom was one I’d pegged as a killer but in fact it was OK – steep but smooth.
Across the top were the inevitable bogs but the big tyres just kept rolling and
the next challenge hove into view - The mighty An Teallach with its vast slabs
of bare rock shining in the sun which had made a rare appearance.
A braw fine nicht for a swim ah dinae think
I stomped up the double track climb out of Dundonald, my
legs defying the distance travelled. Ahead lay my biggest psychological
challenge – the crossing of the Strath na Sealga.
I was keen to get a glimpse of the river. Descending down
into the vast glen it looked OK but our official crossing point was a few miles
down stream right at the head of the loch. Passing Sheneval Bothy I briefly
spoke to a walker who had made the crossing just down from the Bothy. Alan had
said to cross by any means possible but I felt honour bound to try the official
point. As I approached I felt the fear building. If I failed here I knew my
attempt would be over. Others had crossed I knew but when I first beheld the
crossing point my exact words were ‘you are f***ing joking’… Prior to starting
I had joked about inflating my two spare tubes and using them as a raft.
Suddenly this wasn’t a joke. There was no way of telling how deep the loch was
and waves a foot high were being blown into the river mouth. I walked back and
forth checking for the exact point of the crossing and then stopped, heart
pounding and stomach churning. Eventually I sat down, remove socks, jammed them
into my shirt and set out into the water. Within ten feet it was above knee
deep. The bike was fully afloat; the pedals clear of the water. Further on I
went and further in. It reached thigh depth and still got deeper. Waves brushed
my hips and tried to take the bike away from me. Suddenly my foot struck a
slope, the depth dropped to knee depth and I plunged out of the water and onto
the sandy beach. I’d done it. Between here and Tyndrum, every river would have
a blessed bridge.
This is the crossing, I’m not joking!
Hard ride to Luxury
Reaching Larachantivore presented a dilemma. It was just
after 8 but too early to stop. I knew that worse weather was on the way and
getting south and east as quickly as I could was the only way to beat it.
Between me and Canmore bothy was at least 2 and a half hours of hard trail –
taking me into darkness. I cracked on, riding as much as possible and pushing
on hard. When forced to dismount I stomped along as quick as I could. As I’d
read, the path improved away from the river but the gradient quickly steepened.
This was the first of three climbs I knew would be hard with the fat bike. No
thinking and no stopping just keep moving. Shouldering the bike to negotiate a steep,
narrow and boulder strewn goat path highlighted my exposed situation. Even a
small fall could incapacitate me and put me in big trouble. There was no where
to pitch a tent and wouldn’t be until Canmore. The top of the headwall was
finally reached but there was still a long trail to go, climbing steadily into
another vast corrie with cloud shrouded peaks staring down at me.
Long way up….
As I approached the top of the descent darkness was falling.
I didn’t stop but that cold feeling in my stomach was growing. I had a light
but no way would it good enough for the kind of rocky, techy descent I surely faced.
Redemption – in this wild place, one of the biggest areas of hills in the
Northwest, was a path you’d more likely find in a country park – smooth graded
gravel contouring down the hill. I was saved! And quickly made the valley floor
as darkness was falling. The site of Canmore Bothy filled me with a massive
feeling of achievement and joy. I’d done yet another monument of this ride and
lived to tell the tale. Inevitably who should be camped out side but Alan. ‘You
again?’ he laughed. We’d talked of this bothy the previous evening (an age ago)
and Alan had muttered about it being a dump. I didn’t fancy putting the tent up
if there was an easy option so I went in to be greeted by what seemed like a hallucination.
A dirt floor for sure but the room had several camp beds and even an old divan
single bed at the far end – how the hell had that got here?! Occupying beds 1
and 2 were Andy Williamson, last seen at Breakfast and Stephen Sloof, last seen
at Kinlochleven! I dragged the bike in and unpacked. There was even a folding
chair, so I sat in splendour eating food, drinking tea and reflecting on what
had certainly been the hardest, longest days biking of my entire life. Only 75 miles
but nearly 18 hours to achieve it. Sleep was instant….
Day 5 The only way out is
through
This is shite?
You know your doing an adventure race when 5.30 am is a lie in. I had a leisurely
breakfast and contemplated the day’s goals. I’d generally avoided this in
previous days not wanting to try to get to places that were unachievable, damaging
morale in the process. But today I knew I had to get within a reasonable shout
of the end. Potentially I could get to Tyndrum the next day and achieve my sub
6 day crassly optimistic pre-race target. Realistically I would get to a point
which would allow me to pass Fort Augustus
the next day with a final easy day back to base. Once again it was grey and
damp exiting Letterewe via the excellent path. This like many others in the
area had been repaired in the late ‘90’s by the now defunct Ross and Cromarty
Footpath Trust – a loose partnership of Scottish Natural Heritage, various
landowners, Scottish Enterprise and the a handful of local community groups. In
those days funding was plentiful and this trust carried out many miles of path
improvements spanning from An Teallach to Torridon. Post Land Reform this has
opened up vast wildernesses for the intrepid mountain biker to explore and lead
to the amazing phenomena of the trails at Torridon. Poolewe was reached after
the final schlep through the forest (on a track but ironically far soggier than
the preceding path including the infamous cow shit bog). This wee village
provided a valuable toilet stop and a shop. It was also significant in that it was the most westerly point of the route. I bumped into Rickie Cotter also
waiting for the shop to open, having bivvied the night in the ladies! The joys
of wild camping….. I ate and stashed food then got going. A road climb then the
infamous tollie path, a joke lost on those from south of the border as everyone
told me it was indeed shite. I withheld judgement. I’d ridden this in 2000 and
thought it a fine trail (on an Orange Patriot,) an easy climb on a made up path followed by a rough
descent with multiple lines and plenty rock riding. So it was today. The climb
was straightforward and the descent, I’m here to report, was bloody amazing. If
you raced downhill in the late ‘90’s you’d get it (when downhill courses were a
mess of roots, mud and rocks with none of this berms and jumps nonsense). A
wide eroded path with lines everywhere down which a careful eye could pick a
route. Logic suggests that you take it well easy on such terrain but stuff it,
I was in my element so got stuck in – Ice Cream Truck Party time! Halfway down
I passed Rickie Cotter – greetings and encouragement exchanged then off again.
Next up, the longest section of road on the route.
Black top cruising
To Kinlochewe it was wind assisted and easy. This gave me a chance to assess both my own condition and the bikes. Contact points OK but feels like a saddle sore coming on – must attend. Wrists fine (amazingly as my wrists always give me gyp on long rides) legs good, left knee nipping a bit – odd as this is my good one. Dodgy right knee no problem. The bike seemed OK but I was worrying about the effect of endless miles of granite / mud grinding paste on the drive train. Another issue was also occurring to me – brakes. How worn were they? I’d started with new sintered pads which typically would last for ages but this relentless mud was surely taking its toll. I had a spare set of part worn ones with me but these were for emergencies, not something I expected to use. Also of concern were the tyre side walls. Schwalbes Jumbo Jims are a fat bike revolution – huge but weighing massively less than Surly’s own offerings. These had been the clincher for taking this bike dropping a kilo off its weight and massively reducing rolling resistance. The trade off were the sidewalls which were thin and unprotected. I’d done mile after mile of rocky single track continuously accompanied by the scrape of tyre on rock. I had patches, thread and superglue with me but the thought of doing a tyre repair at the side of the road did not appeal…. Whatever, don’t look just ride. Kinlochewe provided further shopping opportunities and the excellent Whistlestop Café which gave another warm welcome and more fine food. This was turning into more of a gastronomic trip than an adventure ride! The road down to Torridon was headwind city and the previously fine weather was once more being replaced by murk and rain as the next mountain challenge loomed above me.
To Kinlochewe it was wind assisted and easy. This gave me a chance to assess both my own condition and the bikes. Contact points OK but feels like a saddle sore coming on – must attend. Wrists fine (amazingly as my wrists always give me gyp on long rides) legs good, left knee nipping a bit – odd as this is my good one. Dodgy right knee no problem. The bike seemed OK but I was worrying about the effect of endless miles of granite / mud grinding paste on the drive train. Another issue was also occurring to me – brakes. How worn were they? I’d started with new sintered pads which typically would last for ages but this relentless mud was surely taking its toll. I had a spare set of part worn ones with me but these were for emergencies, not something I expected to use. Also of concern were the tyre side walls. Schwalbes Jumbo Jims are a fat bike revolution – huge but weighing massively less than Surly’s own offerings. These had been the clincher for taking this bike dropping a kilo off its weight and massively reducing rolling resistance. The trade off were the sidewalls which were thin and unprotected. I’d done mile after mile of rocky single track continuously accompanied by the scrape of tyre on rock. I had patches, thread and superglue with me but the thought of doing a tyre repair at the side of the road did not appeal…. Whatever, don’t look just ride. Kinlochewe provided further shopping opportunities and the excellent Whistlestop Café which gave another warm welcome and more fine food. This was turning into more of a gastronomic trip than an adventure ride! The road down to Torridon was headwind city and the previously fine weather was once more being replaced by murk and rain as the next mountain challenge loomed above me.
Shred the Gnar dude
Torridon. Now a byword for extreme riding featured in
various mags, endless you tube vids and made famous by Danny, Steve and Hans
getting flown to the top and riding down on camera. Once the preserve of only a
hardened few mountain bikers with maps and determination, now the hang out for
an endless stream of fluro short and lid wearing dudes on full bouncers. They
weren’t in evidence today and who could blame them. This is the longest
continuous climb on the HT560 route topping out at 660m but starting at sea
level so you get to enjoy every metre…. Actually slightly less than my favourite
climb in the Ochills but harder, much harder. Any thoughts of riding this were
quickly dispelled. Since my last visit in 2013, the path was way looser and
rougher at a grade that needed maximum effort to ride – not on after over
400miles. The climb was gruesome and I knew what was coming having ridden down
it a couple of years previously. The rain was blasting in horizontally and
stopping brought an instant chill. I’d passed Rickie on the climb but not long
after paused to eat a bit before the final slog and noted she wasn’t far behind.
Suddenly staying in sight of a fellow rider seemed like an amazingly good idea.
The final climb was desperate – nearly 50lbs of bike on my shoulder trying to
climb a near scramble of a path up, and up and up… Finally topping out revealed
the major problem facing us. The wind was blowing straight up Coire Lair and
the rain now torrential. The descent was over 600m with barely a need to turn a
pedal and so would be bitterly cold. Rickie had caught me up by this point and
lead off on this descent that should have been a joyous blast but was instead a
grim essay in survival biking. An incapacitating fall here would be life
threatening given the cold. The road was only a few miles away but rescue would
be over an hour – too long in these conditions. The two of us picked our way
down the hill walking anything remotely dodgy. Dropping out of Coire Laire gave
respite from the weather and finally spat us out on the road, soaked and
chilled to the bone. Stephen Sloof was there too, similarly suffering, so we
cracked on to the warm oasis of the Loch Carron hotel, food and hopefully, in
my mind, a bed. Walking in we met Andy Williamson tucking into his main course
and smugly telling us he had his room organised. I went straight to the manager
and inquired about rooms – hallelujah he had rooms free. I’d ‘only’ done 60
miles and it was only 7pm but for me
this was the end of day 5. Turns out I was in good company as Alan and Javi had
also decided to call it a day here. 6 of us settled down for a night of luxury.
Not so for Fraser McBeath. I’d not seen him since the previous day but he
suddenly turned up at about 7.30, calmly drank a cup of tea and headed out into
the rain saying he was heading for Camban bothy in Glen Affric…. ‘Good on yer’
I thought but for me a good sleep, dry kit and an early start should see me
within easy reach of the finish by the end of tomorrow. Nothing would stop me
barring major injury or a serious mechanical. The beer I had with my meal tasted
like nectar….
Day 6 Lets get the hell
out of here
Go East!
I was the last of the dirty half dozen to leave the hotel
thanks to my typically casual pre start preps. A brief road climb provided
valuable heat in the legs and then I hit the dirt again. I passed Carl Hutchings
who hadn’t been able to find digs so had had to bivvy – he still looked as
unflustered as I’d seen him on previous occasions (ITI veteran, so naturally). The descent was a swampathon
par excellence – fat bike cruising! I passed Javi who was clearly suffering
with feet and knees giving him serious problems. Despite this he was as
cheerful as ever and determined to finish. I found the right trail to the gate
(see Iona Evans tale of her 2014 ride!) and hit tarmac once again. The route
follows and old road which climbs up above loch shiel – a pain but the view
over Eilean Donan castle to the Cuillins justified it. As I stopped for a photo, Andy rode past - "Never mind photos, this is a race!" whatever.
On the descent the expected happened – the front brake pads
hit metal. I stopped at the inverinate garage for breakfast part 2 and set to
changing them. Hmm, the lever took loads of pumps to get the pads back on the
disc and the resulting brake was well spongy. Somehow air had gotten in but
how?? Who knows but it would have to do. Alan, Rickie and Andy had all left by
the time I’d sorted this so I was alone again heading to Morvich and Glen
Licht. For a change the sun was shining but the hard westerly was cold and I’d
caught a glimpse of fresh snow above around 700 metres. Glen licht was an easy
pedal with a massive tailwind. The single track climb had found few friends from
previous editions of the HT but it was only 350m i.e. half yesterdays climb so
it couldn’t be that bad could it?
Once again as I started the climb the weather closed in with
cold horizontal rain. Thank god it was behind me but it didn’t bode well for
the next part of the route. For once I was compelled to put my headphones in
and distract myself from the struggle of this climb. My choice seemed
appropriate – Shostakovich’s mighty 5th symphony, his comment on the
Stalin regime, a fitting counterpoint to my own struggle with rock, gradient
and weather. The main steep finally eased but this just left me at the mercy of
the brutal wind and rain, then sleet and even snow. I felt my stomach churning
– would it be like this all the way to Tyndrum? Thoughts of barely making it to
Fort Augustus
this day loomed in my mind. The trail to Camban bothy should have been a joy
but it just seemed to go on and on. I guess the distance was finally taking its
toll as I felt weak for the first time in the ride. Onward and upwards I went
staring at the ground in front of me.
Finally the bothy came into view. Not only that but suddenly
the clouds cleared and the sun shone down neatly coinciding with the stunning
finale of the music in my ears – a perfect moment and my earlier gloom disappeared
instantly. From Camban the path became a track – wet but fast with the massive
tailwind. This would be a major jink east and it went past in no time with the
tailwind assist. The only dampner was my front brake. After only a few miles the
pads hit metal again. Shit – I had no more spares. A quick survey showed that
my rear pads were fine so these went on the front and the best of the rest went
on the back. But disaster struck once more – I pumped the front brake lever
with the bike lying on its side. The spongy front brake became a non existent
front brake. I rode off, my mind racing as to how I would sort this. If I could
get to Fort Bill
I would get a bleed kit and new pads but timings were suggesting that this
would cause me a big delay. Could I get down the descents on a back brake only?
No chance – two fast gravel road descents were coming up and the descent into
Kinlochleven and off the devils staircase would require all the braking I could
get. I stopped after a few miles for food and tried an old trick learned from
my days of riding old motorbikes. I tied the lever open and propped the bike
upright. The air bubble should be near the top of the hose and this should
allow it back into the master cylinder. After half and hour I removed the strap
and tried it. Happy days I had a front brake again - A bit spongy but good
enough.
Pizza time, a reprise!
The climb out of Tomich is
actually one of the biggest on the route but on a nice smooth gravel road. I
passed Rickie but there was no sign of Alan. Had he gone into the Tomich
hotel or was he pressing on for home?? Who knows but the Fort
Augustus pizza shop was calling me
so I screamed up the hill and blasted down the other side in defiance of my
dodgy brakes. The trail over to Fort Augustus
was a joy – a nice easy climb and a fine smooth single track descent. The sun
shone, the wind was behind me and I felt good. Fort
William looked on the cards for
today leaving only 40 odd miles for the next. However, of concern was some rather horrible creaks and cracks coming from my rear hub. It wasn't a constant noise, just every now and then. I briefly contemplated pulling the freewheel, but this would be a monumental faff. Keep riding, ignore the noises.
I arrived at the pizza shop but
no one else was there. Had Alan pressed on? Doubtful as he seemed to be
determined to patronise every eating establishment on route! He arrived on my
third slice shortly followed by Rickie. Alan had elected for a 9” pizza but me
and Rickie both demolished 12” ones with ease – the joys of long distance bike
riding. A quick stop at the shop for final snacks was curtailed by a tremendous
downpour. Javi had caught us up by this time but further disaster had struck –
his freewheel was failing. Poor bloke; I couldn’t believe his incredible
fortitude on keeping going despite such physical and now mechanical pain.
An evening’s ride
The rain eased and the three of us headed down the great
glen way for some easy miles. Showers came and went but the route is fairly
sheltered so no drama. Javi’s freewheel was hampering him so he quickly fell
behind. There was nothing we could do but this is when the rules of Adventure
racing seem harsh – no assistance too be given or received. Alan was nowhere to be seen - we thought he was behind but it turned out he'd gotten ahead as we bought supplies in the garage. So on we went chatting about the route, life the universe and everything
(Point of order – we were riding side by side, not drafting each other!) Rickie
decided to make use of a handy wood shed for a luxury bivvy but I was keen to
press on. The rain showers were more frequent as I approached Fort
Bill (as per usual, it always rains
when I’m here) and darkness was falling.
I’d planned to hit Glen Nevis campsite but suddenly the
thought of hard accommodation appealed - that inner wimp coming out again but I
felt justified in my decision as a):- it was chucking it down, b) I would get a
quick start and c) Alan G had stayed in 2 hotels on this ride so I was due one.
Not as easy as I thought as every place I went past on the run into town was
full. First attempt was the Corpach hostel - it turned out Alan got the last bed! One place had beds but it was £130 and the girl behind the desk looked somewhat askance at this soaked, filthy and smelly cyclist. I had one last try on the main road into the centre and hit lucky – the
end B&B of a terrace of several had vacancies. I knew I was onto a winner when the proprietor opened the door and all I could smell was stale cigarette smoke. A twin room for £30; what a
bargain. It was 10.30, and I’d done 104miles in 15 hours. Tomorrow
would see me back at Tyndrum in about 6 or so hours.
Day 7 And finally….
The West Highland
way is rubbish
Leaving the B & B at 6.30 in the rain felt good. Tonight I
would sleep in my own bed for many, many hours. I saw Rickie heading for the
all night garage for breakfast after an early start but I’d already stuffed
myself with most of the remainder of the food in my bag. The climb out of Glen
Nevis is a mere bump compared to what had gone before but once I again I
resorted to musical distraction – Shostakovich again, this time his 7th
symphony, written in Leningrad whilst the German Army laid siege to it, putting
my own troubles firmly into perspective. The rain came down but I was on the
home straight and feeling unstoppable. The grotty singletrack went by in short order and I was on the rough double track climb below the flanks of the mamores and
riding strongly. I’d done the strap trick on the brake lever overnight and the
front brake was performing well but even so I was careful down into
Kinlochleven as a crash now would be heartbreaking. The Icefactor café was shut
so I made do with a cold second breakfast courtesy of the co-op and headed off
for the final challenge – the climb up to the devils staircase. It seemed an
eternity ago since I had passed here on the way out, in the warm sunshine.
Today it was cloudy and cold – several inches of snow were lying above 700m and
although the rain had finally eased off, the wind was bitter. Ride, walk, ride,
walk – I barely noticed the trail. The top was reached and another careful descent
made in the face of the now continuous stream of walkers. People said this
section seemed to go on for ever but for me it was over in a blink, I was on the home straight!
The end
I was pushing on hard to get back before 1pm and I felt like I’d done an easy day’s ride, not 560
miles. OK my knees were definitely squeaking a bit but everything else felt
good. Finally the end came in site after one last push and for the first time I
let myself relax. I’d done it. I’d done the Highland Trail. 560 miles of hard
biking in weather best described as challenging. Nothing would faze me again
and no bike ride would be hard after this (not true as it turned out). There’d been a few low points but
these were totally over shone by the many highs and a few perfect moments that
I would never forget.
As I approached the finish line a guy jumped out of his
van and started cheering me – none other than Mike Toyn who had finished the
previous day, second person home. He congratulated me and we chatted about our
experiences. Alan’s friend Sarah was also there as the great man wasn’t far
behind so photos were taken and more congratulations made. Stephen Sloof
appeared to shake my hand. The feeling of achievement was like nothing I’d ever
felt before. It had taken me 6 days, 3 hours and 50 minutes and I was the sixth
person back – an achievement way beyond any expectation I had harboured at the start.
I headed down to the car, photographed my faithful steed and loaded it up. A
quick freshen up and change of clothes and then I headed back up to welcome
Alan and Rickie back. Alan had just made it back as I arrived and Rickie
arrived not long after. Handshakes and hugs were exchanged and we all looked at
each other knowing this ride had been a massive achievement.
I’d have never have done it without…..
The people I met made this ride. Sitting here writing this I
can hardly remember the hardships and pain. I’d met and chatted too many people
on the way and our shared tales of the crap weather, endless bogs and waist
deep rivers made it all worth while. Major thanks to Alan Goldsmith for
creating the route and organising the group start, Track leaders etc. etc. It’s
a lot of work for him and he doesn’t get a penny back – he just does it ‘cos he
cares. Bravo that man. Also cheers to Rob Waller, Andy Williamson, Carl
Hutchings, Javi Simon, Fraser McBeath, Alasdair Maclean, Steve from Callander, Karl
Booth, a few others I’ve forgotten and especially Rickie Cotter. I shared a bit
of the trail with all of you and you helped to make it easy. I hoped I helped
to make it easy for you too. Also big cheers to Iona for
major inspiration, motivation, help, advice and threats of endless slagging off
if I failed. Also cheers to her man Rob at www.backcountrybiking.co.uk for
supplying revelate bags, the tent and sleeping bag at great prices, as well as
the threat of abuse if I jacked it again. And finally thanks to my ride - my
beloved Ice Cream Truck for going the distance. Fat bikes rule!!
Kit list (Nerds and gear
freaks only)
By and large all my kit worked well, keeping me warm and
dryish most of the time. The only issue I had was contantly taking waterproofs
on an off on day 4 as I had my frame bag full of food so had to stow jacket and
trousers in the front dry bag, which was a pain to take off, open, close and re
attach. Otheres were using small ruckscacks as well as bar rolls and seat packs
so I may try this next time.
Bike – Surly Ice Cream Truck with 1x10; Middleburn cranks
with 27t ring, one up 42t sprok and rad cage. Holy Rolling Darryl rims, hope
hubs and Schwalbe Jumbo Jim tyres and tubes. I ran the tyres mainly at about
20psi rear and 15 front as a reasonable compromise to save time. I only pumped
them up for the two long road sections. Hope FR stem (extra short) Big high and
wide bars for manhandling the beast through the gnar. The bare bike with
mudguards weighed 32lbs. Apart from the braking issues (my own fault for not bringing two sets of spare pads) the bike was flawless, more or less. The horrible noises that started emerging from the rear hub on the Thursday were due to one of the wee freewheel bearings disintegrating and bits of it getting chewed up in the ratchet. How it didn't jam solid I don't know, and thank goodness I didn't try to take it apart as it would have never gone back together again...
Sleeping – Vango helium pro carbon tent on a wildcat bar
harness; Criterium quantum 200 sleeping bag (cosy!), Thermorest neo air 2/3rds
mat, exped pillow in a Revelate terrapin.
Junk - Vango Ti gas stove and alpkit ti cup with a tin foil
pie case lid. Toppeak alien multi tool, leatherman, lots of patches and tub
tyre thread for tyre repairs (not needed), two spare JJ tubes (not needed for punctures
or for river crossings), Lezyne micro floor drive HV pump (300 pumps to 30psi!)
in a revelate frame bag (designed for my fargo), gas tank and two fuel cells. I
used a garmin Dakota 20 GPS and a pink rubber rat which squeaked.
Eating – I started with a handful of fruit nked bars, 2
bananas, some banana loaf a work colleague made for me, haribo, cashew nuts,
energy drink powder sachets and a foldable bottle, 8 gels, energy tabs, a
mountain house dried curry, a sachet of instant porridge.
Drinking – water, valuables, spot tracker and selected food
stuffs went in a camelbak lobo
Clothing – I wore a pair of DHB aeron pro shorts (all week!),
cheapo DHB roubaix longs, a Helly
hensen merino base layer and a Torm merino cycling shirt. Gloves were spesh
gell gloves when it was dry and a pair of sealskin gloves the rest of the time.
I wore sealskin socks and a pair of bridgedale merino wool medium weight
walking socks with Shimano Goretex spd boots. My feet were warm. In the bag
went my PJ’s – merino longs and another HH merino top as well as an ancient
thin microfleece top. Over the top went a Paramo Quito jacket (exceptional) a
pair of cheap vaude over trousers and some unknown gaiters which fell apart
just before Ullapool and were replaced by another pair of unknown gaiters. Lid
was some fox effort I got cheap from CRC.
And again finally….
People talk about taking yourself out of your comfort zone for various life affirming reasons. I blew through my comfort zone at about 3pm on the first day and just kept accelerating. Every day I said to myself "well that's over with, nothing will be harder than that!" Every day it got harder... My decision to take the fat bike was based on its ability to
ride over / through anything. The endless bogs and wet trails made it my
perfect choice and it never seemed heavy or draggy on the endless miles of
double track and road. That said the first person home for this ride was on a
rigid single speed 29er so don’t take this as a recommendation! Ideally you’d
take some kind of carbon or ti framed lightweight with 4” tyres rather than my
4.8’s but I do real, not ideal. And for all those cynics and journos who think
that fat bikes are joke bikes only for riding on the beach, get it richt up
yer!!
Phil Clarke, 5th
June 2015
