Western Isles Tour

Bike touring is supposed to be relaxing, you don't have to worry about packing too much stuff, you don't have to worry about catching planes and all the monumental faff that goes with air travel, you just load up and go.

This went through my mind as I thrashed my aging car along the A82 towards Tyndrum. I was actually heading to Taynuilt which would leave a 10 mile bike ride to Oban where I was to catch the boat to South Uist. As usual I'd got my timings mixed up, so instead of a leisurely cruise along the road I was pedal to the metal in order to give me enough time to get the boat. Fortunately traffic was near non-existent at this early hour so I got to Taynuilt with about 1hr before my ferry was due to depart. A quick extraction of bike, put on shoes, lid and gloves, double check everything was on bike, lock car and go. The wee road to Oban from Taynuilt is a gem but does involve a reasonable climb. I was trying not to go too hard but as usual when I'm on a tight timescale I was pushing as hard as I could. At least the nice descent into Oban allowed me to catch my breath and cool off. The ferry was 15 minutes away thanks to my pace so I had time to get tickets and relax.


Sun over Mull. The sailing across to Lochboisdale takes around 5 hours and mixing bikes with ferries is definitely an all round good thing, you get to relax, eat lots of food (Calmac catering is good and surprisingly reasonably priced), and watch the fabulous scenery that is the minches. I also saw dolphins and a couple of minky whales as well as the tale flukes of something bigger - maybe a humback? The stresses of work and my mad dash over to Taynuilt evaporated in the morning sun.


As the boat docked in Lochboisdale a shower had just passed so it was into pleasant sunshine as I pedaled west to pick up the Machair path. This is a good track that runs up a chunk of the west coast of South Uist that I had ridden in 2012 after doing the beaches on the fat bike with friends. Another shower came in but it was short lived. The track is generally grassy with a few sandy bits. A map appraisal indicates some gaps but its all there on the ground. One section cuts through the golf course which is also grazed by cows, not something you would see on the Old Course.... You also pass by miles of white sandy beaches. 

The landscape is unique here - quite flat with a few low hills towards the east and no trees. Therein lies the problem - if the weather turns nasty there is nowhere to hide. That said there are a few hostels on the outer Hebrides, run by the Gatliff trust http://www.gatliff.org.uk/ and affiliated to the SYHA. They are basic hostels with space to camp and well worth considering if you are looking for shelter. Wild camping is possible in many places and generally welcomed by residents as long as you follow the usual rules.

The causeway between South Uist and Benbecula

I passed by Howmore hostel but it was only 5 so too early to stop. Shortly after this the route takes you back to the road but this also makes for pleasant cycling. I followed this over the causeway to Benbecula, quickly passed through and onto North Uist past another great wee campsite we'd used in 2012 and then up the main road to Loch Maddy. The forecast was not looking great so I was hoping to find digs here which would give an easy pedal to the Harris ferry the next day. This was in an independent hostel that was also an outdoor centre. A few bikers were there but they headed to the pub shortly afterwards. No-one else was in evidence so I got a room to myself. A quick shop got food and a few beers and I settled in for a pleasant evening. 


Sunset over Loch Maddy

The next morning was a bit damp and breezy so after a leisurely breakfast in the art centre cum café I hightailed it north to Bernaray to catch the Harris boat. This follows a convoluted route through a maze of tiny islets. A glance at the marine chart on the lounge wall shows why the ferry does so many twists and turns - the sea depth is often 2m or less and in particularly low tides it won't run.

From Leverburgh I followed the east coast road - a sinuous route following the coastline but with many ups and downs through the rocky landscape. It was still very grey but no rain fell and as I reached Tarbet there was a hint of the sky clearing. The signs of progress were everywhere - open shops, despite it being a Sunday! On my 2010 trip everything was firmly closed, a consequence of the strict religious nature of a decreasing minority of islanders. As more and more tourists have come to visit, and more and more people want to cash in on this, Sunday closing taboos have progressively reduced until now its pretty much the same as on the mainland. I don't care about the pros and cons of this, all I care about is being able to get food and drink on a Sunday. Previously Sundays had to be carefully planned with enough food to last all day. And if it rained, you were out in it!

From Tarbet I was heading for a trail that would take me to Rhenighidale hostel. On paper it looks somewhat precipitous but friends had done it and pronounced it a corker. On the steady climb away from the road I met a local mountainbiker to whom I chatted for a good half hour about our respective mountainbiking experiences. Eventually we went our separate ways leaving me to my own world again. 

The descent was steep and nadgery, just how I like it. A short push out of a gorge lead to more ace riding coming out on the road just as it descends to Rhenigidale. The last time I was here I rode in from the main north / south road which required a big climb, a descent back to sea level, another big climb and then back to sea level again. I faced this tomorrow...

The Start of the descent


Looking along the trail to Rhenigidale

Again I couldn't be bothered pitching my tent so settled into the hostel for another pleasant evening. Also in residence was a couple of guys who were hill walking in the area plus a couple of Spanish women who kept themselves to themselves. I chatted to the hill walkers for a while (and drank their whisky) then turned in.

Compact and bijou, Rhenigidale Hostel

Waking up the next morning I noted that all the others had gone. I was fairly chilled as I only had 35 miles to ride on the road to Stornaway to get the boat to Ullapool. Then I looked at my watch - 10.45. I did a double take before realising this was indeed the time... So much for an early start and a leisurely ride. I hastily finished breakfast packed up and left. There followed another mad thrash and as usual the wind had shifted to the North West making for a stiff headwind. The last time I did this I had more time but the wind was gale force so it took ages. Now here I was again, racing a ferry timetable. Still; it was sunny and the hills passed easily. Thereafter the road is fairly level and very quiet. I got to the port in good time in the event and once on board ship indulged myself again in a large meal. 

At Ullapool I stocked up with supplies and then it was decision time. The adventurous route would be to head south through Fisherfield and then follow the Highland Trail Route backwards to near Tyndrum before heading back to the car. But this was a big undertaking and the weather forecast wasn't that great. Plus having been through that May it was not as though I needed to do it again. But I was keen to scope out an easier way in and also to check out an alternative exit via the 'Postmans Path' from Letterewe  to Kinlochewe. Alan Goldsmith, route setter for the Highland trail had mentioned this route in an email exchange we had been having about changes to the first day route. He was thinking of putting it into the HT route and was keen for someone else to check it out.

So off I set heading east along the A835, turning off at Croftown. Where the HT route leaps up the Coffin Road I kept straight on until the road became a track. I followed this for a few K until it came to a vague end just before a wooded glen with a small river flowing through it. I was aiming for a bridge shown on the map. If I could get across it I would be able to pick up a new track built as part of a micro hydro scheme up onto the Gairloch road (This is marked on the 1:25k OS). A mile or so along this I'd turn off to Loch a Bhraoin, follow a track to its head and then a singletrack into the Strath na Sealga and Sheneval bothy.

Hmm, so much for that idea. I did start to cross but quickly realised that this would be a very bad idea as you were about 15 feet above a very rocky river bed. Bugger. No way could you take an ITT through here and no way could I get across. I briefly contemplated riding back out and then round the main road but my enthusiasm for Fisherfield had waned. So instead I back tracked to Ullapool and pitched camp in the Loch Broom holiday park. At least I could get a few pints in the Seaforth and a fish tea before turning in....

That night I hatched a plan. I was fancying some socialising so decided I would ride through to Aviemore, a trip of around 110miles. I was up early and away by 7am. Instead of reversing the HT route I missed out Ullapool hill and road up through the quarry. At Loch an Daimh I carried straight on a rough double track. Its marked on the OS as single but its double all the way through. The weather was clear and there wasn't a breath of wind. Unfortunately the midges were cashing in on this, hovering in clouds to wait for a sweaty bikepacker to pass by. As I was the only one, I got their full attention.... Knockdamph bothy provided shelter from the biting menaces for a second breakfast and then it was onwards towards the days second bothy, the Schoolhouse. What amazed me was the dryness of the trails. After the wet of the 2015 HT group start it was like a different world and very welcome. 

I knew the weather was to change early afternoon so made the most of the sun. On the climb over to Strath Cuileannach I paused frequently to take in the views.


I was amazed to be able to see Suilven and Canisp. During both my Highland Trail rides, this had been a cloud down / zero visibility traverse and hadn't realised that these spectacular bumps were visible this far away. Back tracking the HT route also felt strange, memories of the group start still fresh in my mind along with the people I was riding with and all of the chat we had. Pedaling steadily up towards Deanich Lodge I made a fine discovery - a partially buried fishing bothy that was unlocked and looked out onto the river. I paused for lunch and made a mental note to get here one evening for a bivvy.

On the climb over to Strath Vaich the sun finally departed under the growing cloud. I was making good progress however due to a stiff tailwind and in seemingly no time I was at Contin, availing myself of the shop. From here I would leave the HT route and strike south east to Inverness. In fact from here to Aviemore would be nearly all on road but I was quite happy with this as this trip was most definitely a tour, not a race!

From Contin there is a few miles of A road bashing to Muir of Ord, but a couple of miles past this you turn off on a great wee road along the north side of the Beauly Firth. The on / off drizzle became incessant rain here so it was on with the water proofs, grin and bear it. At the Kessock bridge I picked up NCN 1 and followed this (with a few minor detours) to the centre of Inverness. A snack and a cuppa in the Velocity cafe and bike workshop fortified me for the steady climb out of Shnecky up over the Slochd to Speyside. 

NCN 7 follows a rather long route to try to avoid the worst of the climb but I know this area well so took a large shortcut up through Culloden, and then a couple of wee roads to rejoin the NCN. The rain was continuous but I felt pretty strong as I passed the 100 mile mark. The NCN follows a mix of the old A9 and various bits of cycleway through Moy, Tomatin and finally over the Slochd pass at  nigh on 400m. Carbridge followed soon after and in view of the rain I stayed on road to Aviemore. My friends were very accommodating supplying drying facilities and a bed. In return I paid for our meal and beers in the Ski an Doo restaurant in town.

The next days plan was to head down to Dalwhinnie and into the Ben Alder area. This has become on of my favourite riding areas and I was keen to tackle the ace single track over the Bealach Dubh - a mountain bike classic route. I'd worked out this route for this trip:- Aviemore to Dalwhinnie, down by Loch Ericht, over to Loch Pattack, up and over the Bealach Dubh / Cumhain to Ben alder Cottage. Then; down to Loch Rannoch, over the Lairig Ghallabaich to Glen Lyon and finally the clincher - a track alongside Loch Lyon which connected over to the West Highland Way a few miles out of Tyndrum but wasn't shown on the OS map. I'd discovered it whilst looking at aerial photos of the area a few years ago and it looked a goer all the way with only a few river crossings of concern given the previous days rain.

Alan G had been chatting at that years Highland Trail about wanting to get the outward route off the West Highland Way as he was worried about a big group of bikes mixing it up with the usual WHW crowd. He'd emailed me soon after, suggesting the route head west from Loch Tulla to Loch Etive and up the single track. I'd noted that this was a bit of a marginal route these days... I had thought of getting the Ben Alder area into the route but this only seemed to work if you switched the start to Blair Atholl or Pitlochry, neither of which were an option for Alan. The revelation was the planning for this trip. You could reverse the above route and hey presto, a new day one route - Tyndrum down to Auch Farm, up and over to Loch Lyon, down the glen to Bridge of Balgie, over to Rannoch, up to Ben Alder Cottage, over the Beallach dubh and down the Pattack to connect to the current route at Loch Lagan - simples! 

So today would be a means of scoping this out and then it would be up to Alan. I had a leisurely start at about 1pm and then cruised down the back road (also NCN 7) to Newtonmore. I stopped for a meal and to pick up supplies and then continued on NCN 7 to Dalwhinnie. 

To this point it had been sunny if breezy. As I looked down to Loch Ericht however all I could see was a wall of cloud. Sure enough as I started on the big track, in came the horizontal dreich, the same as had accompanied us around the Highland Trail route day after day... Nowt for it but to get the gear on and keep going. I'd thought of getting over to Ben Alder Cottage for a night of luxury but I didn't want to ride this trail in this weather if I could avoid it. Salvation came in the form of Culra Bothy. I'd read that it was closed due to asbestos but the doors were unlocked. So after a quick check to see which room looked asbestos free (the main one) I settled in for a quiet night. Hmm. The rain, the boggy bit after the cottage and the rivers were of concern. But the only other option was to back track to Lochan Erba, go down to Fort William and then the WHW to Tyndrum, a lot further than my planned route. I'd no idea what the single track over the Bealach Dubh was actually like at this point other than my mates advice that it was a good one. Maybe in the dry but in the wet?? Oh well, I'd sleep on it and decide the next day.

The morning dawned clear and cool. I ate breakfast and packed up, decision made to stick to plan A. The single track starts at the bothy and early indications were good. A well made gravel trail with only the odd waterbar or cross drain to keep you on your toes. And it kept going, right up a shallow river valley, across a side burn over a good ford and then up a wide strath, the notch of the beallach appearing through the rising cloud. Despite the heavy rain the previous day, the path was dry and an absolute blast. The climb was steady too, right up to the final section which inevitably saw me off pushing. 




The first descent gave an inkling of what this trail was all about - fast and smooth with cross drains narrow enough to fly across without issue. Another short climb to the Cumhain then you are into the main event - a contouring descent all the way down to the cottage with lots of ups and downs, rocky bits, drops and a few tricky burn crossings. Part way down I passed a power barrow and various hand tools - bloody hell, someone was maintaining this, something not seen anywhere else in the Scottish Uplands that I'm aware of. 

Eventually it ended, I avoided the bothy as it was clearly occupied and I had no wish to wake anyone at this still early hour. Next up was about 2k of bog trotting. My mate had warned me of this although he noted that it was much shorter than as shown on the map. In a way this was the clincher for using this route in the HT. If it was a total schlep it would likely not meet the AG seal of approval. I knew I was seeing it at pretty much its worst so at least I could report back a realistic view of it. Hmm it was pretty wet. The line on the map didn't match what was waymarked despite following the rocky shoreline for the first few hundred meters, a route that would surely be firmer. Beyond this boggy bit it did improve. I tried to ride along the loch shore but this was a no no. It looked like a nice smooth gravel beach but underneath was saturated peat and I nearly came to grief when the front wheel sank in up to its axle. Back on line was better and not long after I hit a nice smooth gravel track. OK, not great but no worse than the Abhain rath and only a third of its length.

At Rannoch side I kept on the road as I need to use the Forestry Commission facilities halfway along. I knew that you could miss this road out on a high level track and this would what I would suggest Alan use for the HT. That said the trail up by the burn from the FC campsite is a gem. Shown on the OS as a track but actually a narrow gravel / loamy trail under the trees. The track over the moor was a lot better than I remembered from 1994 and the descent a blast. At Bridge of Balgie it was time for breakfast number 2 at the excellent cafe. 

This is roadie central and as usual I got not a few funny looks at my load out and a few raised eyebrows at my route (which was pretty easy overall...) Anyway, suitably fortified, I trundled up the glen and eventually reached the dam. Climbing up the track revealed a fine view and better yet - tailwind. Looks like the wind had swung to the south east which was nice....

Along the lochside was all easy riding. About halfway along you swing north into a side glen and the first river crossing. This was very wide but very shallow, despite the generally wet weather we'd been having and the heavy rain of the previous day. 

I cruised through easily and continued up to the point where the track finished on the map. On the ground it continued the same and then climbed steeply up another side glen, crossed a bridge and started a long descent down the allt Kinglass. The track crosses the river three times down here but all three were easy (a Scottish and Southern Energy pick up truck showed the way through the deepest!) Suddenly I was on the West Highland Way at Auch Farm - success!

Rather than head to Tyndrum I turned back north to Bridge of Orchy. I made a bad decision here - I should have rode round to forest lodge and then followed the track west to, and then down, Loch Etive to Taynuilt. For some reason I fancied an easy roll out down Glen Orchy. This was fine but lead to the last ten miles to Taynuilt being on the A85 excepting one bit on the old road. That said it was quiet enough on this Thurdsay afternoon.

A Leisurely Cairngorms tour

Its fair to say that the weather this year has been pretty crap. Winter below 500m involved a lot of wind and rain. Above there was plenty of snow but storm force winds and skiing don't really work. Spring wasn't much better and as for the Highland Trail....

There was a brief respite in June with a couple of good weeks including my assault on the capital trail in midsummer. Thereafter is was back to more wind and rain with only a brief glimpse of the sun here and there.

I was keen to do a weekend trip and after a couple of abortive goes finally made it out on the last week in July. I'd blagged a Monday off and the weather forecast wasn't too bad so I stuck to a tried and tested formula - drive up to Blair Atholl after work, abandon the car in the visitor center car park and head up the long strath that is Glen Tilt. 


Glen Tilt single track. Up or down its peachy

I'd last done this in early May, to the accompaniment of much rain and then even snow. So today it was most pleasant to be twiddling my way up the glen in sunshine with a stiff breeze behind me. My timings were identical to the last time but darkness was over an hour later so there was no hurry. I passed my frozen campsite of May and carried on to the ruins of Bynack Lodge, somewhere I've been meaning to camp for years. Another tent was already there so I moved away and pitched up. The evening stayed pleasant and I woke to more dryness and warmth.


The Geldie was low and as usual the run out to Linn of Dee was bliss. For a change I missed out Braemar and headed to the Linn of Quoich. From here there is a good track up the glen that I had last ridden in 2014 on a cold April day with the rivers full of snow melt. Today it was lovely with the smell of juniper and bog mirtle strong in my nose, even the midges were nowhere to be seen! From the track end a good path continues east ish. This is not marked on the OS but was put in by the NTS as a way to get to Ben Avon from the Quoich. Its very pleasant rolling in and out of the scots pine woodland, climbing steadily but easily. It was also dry, dry! 

Beyond the woods it becomes more of a stony trail but easy going with only the crossing of the upper Quoich water a challenge. Thereafter it climbs more steeply to join the main trail out of Glen An ti-Sluggain. 

Looking back down the Quoich Water

Looking up towards Ben Avon

Now usually I might turn north towards the vast amphitheater of Ben Avon and climb over into Glen Gairn and then down the fab single track. Today I was keen to explore Glen An ti-Sluggain and I'm glad I did. The trail was easy but passed through a narrow rocky gorge containing the ruins of an old lodge. Somewhere above me was the famous secret howf but not knowing where, I couldn't be bothered hunting for it this fine sunny day.


At Alt Durie I turned north once more and started the steady climb over to Glen Gairn. For a change I turned off on a lesser track which doesn't climb as much. Its pretty rough though but made for a fine challenge and a more interesting descent than the blast down the Cairngorms loop route. 


Near the top looking across to Loch Builg

Phew, there was a bridge - it was shown on the map but that doesn't necessarily mean its actually there... Then it was the short climb up to Loch builg and the fine single track into upper Glen Avon. The sun was shining but I knew rain was expected that night. I was in full on touring mode so on the cruise down to Tomintoul I decided I would stop at the hostel. There is an unofficial campsite next to the games field but there are no facilities so its a bit rough and ready. If I was going to wild camp I was going to do it properly, likewise if I was going to pay, I wanted some luxury (and a few beers!)

So I got to the hostel early enough to have a siesta before tea, a wander round Tomintoul and (of course) some fine ales in the pub.

The next morning was indeed wet and I was in no rush, only needing to get to Aviemore. I had a leisurely start and headed down to the Fire station Cafe for breakfast. Thereafter it was the usual route via Glen Brown, the egg path and Abernethy. The rain had stopped by the time I set off and soon enough the sun was out again. 

From Abernethy I went up the Ryvoan pass noting that the track across the top had indeed been re-surfaced since my last visit last year. Odd as it wasn't that bad and it only really goes to the bothy.

Then it was down glen more and, of course, the mandatory stop for a beer at the Glen more cafe and bar. Suitably fortified I headed along the old logging way to Aviemore and to my mates place. More fine food and drink and a somewhat late night followed....

Monday dawned grey and breezy. I had to head back to Blair Atholl that day but instead of the usual Gaik route I decided to chance the Minigaig as it offers a much more entertaining route. Instead of following the official Right of Way I headed first into Glen Feshie and then climbed steeply out of the glen just after the lodge. 

Glen Feshie

This route links the Minigaig summit to Glen Feshie and misses the now vague and little used Minigaig route north of the pass. Its a big, long climb but my form was still feeling the benefit of my earlier ITT's so I got up no bother, faffed a bit on the steep descent off the trig point and marched firmly up the other side. Beyond here its a case of pick a sheep track and follow it. The riding is generally OK, despite being off path and I soon descended to the main Minigaig route.

Descending it showed just how little use this route gets these days. When I first rode this some 10 years previous the path was clear and quite eroded. Now much of it is overgrown and its starting to vague out in places. I know the route well however and the GPS also kept me right. 

Last dod of snow on the Minigaig. On my trip over here in the snow in March I was riding about 2m above this burn line on a nice compacted layer of spring snow.

I wasn't sure how the final descent would go as its a steep climb when you do it south to north. In the event it was a gem and all rideable with care. Then it was a case of the easy roll out down Glen Bruar, a further climb over into Atholl estate and another easy track back to Blair Atholl.

After the ardors of much of my riding so far this year this was a fine easy tour. It was so relaxing be able to take my time, not stress about timings or worry about finding camp spots. Proper cycle touring!

The Inaugural Capital Trail

Says someone on the Bearbones Bikepacking Forum - "Anyone seen that capital trail starting in Edinburgh? anyone doing it?". Hmm sounds interesting. Starts in Portobello, just down the road, 150 miles round the borders on many trails I've done many times before plus a few new ones. The route had been set by a guy called Markus Stitz, a fellow veteran of the Highland Trail. He was running a group start as part of the Edinburgh Cycling Festival and it looked like it was going to be popular so should be social.

I was in, it cost £20 which seemed a bit dubious given that this could make it an 'official' event but I didn't care what the legal niceties were, I just saw it as good value for 150miles of entertainment..... The only minor difficulty was the fact that I was still recovering from the Highland Trail with knees still a bit sore and various other minor ailments. Oh well it should be fairly relaxed so no bother right?

Closer route homework revealed a rather scary climbing total (5500m which is quite a lot more than any bit of the HT but typical of the borders where you cross many valleys) but generally easy going. That said my prep was casual. The only good news was a couple of weeks of dry weather before the start which should make for dry trails - a fine antidote to the HT schleppathon. Slightly less promising was the weather forecast for the weekend which looked like easterlies and cold rain.

In the event the Saturday of the ride was sunny if cool as I headed to the start. The social kicked off immediately chatting to Marcus and others, inevitably, about the Highland Trail. Alastair Maclean was also there. I'd last seen him in Suileg Bothy so it was good to catch up with one of the many people I rode with in May. I have to say that we milked it a bit, talking about the Highland Trail surrounded by a group of folk in awe of our achievements (OK I exaggerate) but I did feel absurdly pleased to get the attention. There was much chat about whether to push through the whole route or bivvy. In a fit of daring I'd only packed my newly acquired event bivvy bag as shelter, although as usual I'd chucked the stove in as well. I knew I could do the route in a oner but the thought of riding back through Edinburgh at 3am did not appeal, particularly on the last section through Niddrie and Leith. The threat of getting mugged or chibbed not something I felt was part of the bikepacking challenge.


The start itself was on the beach, something that the various fat bikers were smug about. At 8am prompt we were off in a big procession along the prom and then the road to musselburgh to the doubtless displeasure of the various motorists on the road that morning. We then headed roughly south east following a pretty convoluted route but actually on trails I knew very well from my Edinburgh years. It did make for tricky nav however. I'm still a bit green at following a GPX track and inevitably, when the group got spread out, I started making errors. Mind you one section seemed to follow a river and it was only another guy who told me the gpx was wrong and to follow him that kept me right.


Eventually we climbed away from the lowlands of East Lothian and up into the Lammermuir hills on another track I knew well. This crosses a big moor and then the the route turns off along various other estate tracks, passed Bunnies Bothy and down a long long valley to the A697.

A brief stint on this and then it was the Southern Upland Way. Given my experience on the western bit of this in April I was a bit dubious but this section is all good. Its a mix of woodland, farmland and short moor sections all the way to Melrose. I was a bit concerned when I saw Markus heading back towards me only for him to shamefacedly admit that he'd gone wrong. 
"But its your route" says I. 
"I know but I haven't done this bit before".... 
Hmm, oh well maybe my nav isn't so bad after all. 


Melrose saw the first real opportunity for food. Myself, Markus, David and the guy who had kept me on route earlier sat in the sun eating lunch courtesy of the Co-op. 

More of the same followed on some new trails and then it was the long climb from the tweed valley up onto the three Brethern to rejoin the SUW. I've only ever come down this so I knew what to expect. My pace to this point had been on the high side of steady so I started to feel it a bit at this point. That said I got up the whole lot thanks to my ultra low granny gear (20-34).


The next section is the longest moor crossing of the lot. Fortuitously we had a stiff tailwind and the trails were dry. It was starting to cloud over however, the rain on its way. I know this section well so settled down to a steady rhythm, only spoiled by a puncture, caused by a thorn picked up earlier. I switched the tube but in a fit of keen-ness also fixed the hole to keep a spare tube. The route has several ups and downs, finally clattering down a rough track to Traquair.


Another new trail followed the Quair water up to Glenshiel Banks. Thereafter was the only significant hike-a-bike on the route, straight up the head of the valley to the old ROW from Peebles to St Marys Loch. A right turn on this and a last climb saw me at the top of one of my favourite descents along the cross borders drove road to Peebles. Its a blast with a few rough bits but mainly a smooth, fast grassy trail with some fabulous jumps. Entering Peebles I decided to get food before the next section round the Glentress trail centre. This took the form of fish and chips but a quick search of my bags indicated I could do with some more food for the rest of the route, given that I'd not be passing any more shops - Sainsburys provided.

The next section involved climbing out of Peebles into Glentress Forest, up the red climb and then a mash up of the red and blue descents back to the car park. To be quite honest I couldn't be arsed with any of this. I knew that Markus was trying to show case the good riding in the Borders and the seven stanes trail centers are a big part of this so fair play. But I was now feeling pretty knackered and the endless switch backs up, and the humps, bumps, jumps and berms on the way down were nothing but an embuggerance. Fortunately the trail centre warriors were pretty much done for the day so at least I had the place to myself. The people I had been riding with all seemed to have disappeared, not stopping in Peebles for food it seemed. Just as well as I was like a sack of spuds balanced on the seat as I flopped down the trails.

Exiting onto the main road, I couldn't resist the Glentress Hotel. I ordered a latte and crisps and collapsed in a nice armchair. At a table nearby I noticed a gang of Trail Center heroes eating dinner, drinking and telling lies to each other. I felt so removed from this (apparently main stream) part of mountainbiking that I was almost doing another sport entirely. I got some funny looks from them as I departed, in lycra not baggies, attaching my light to my lid.

On the roll along the railway path back to Peebles I felt the beginnings of recovery so cruised through the town without stopping again. Hmm, I felt a few spots of rain as I headed out along the old drove road route to West Linton. This was another new one for me, although I had had a small amount of involvement in its creation in my Paths for All days several years before. More nice riding, more nice trails but a stiff, cold breeze and light dreich was following me. 

Entering Cloich Forest I recalled that this was the venue for one of the earliest ever mountain bike races in the UK, covered in the first edition of 'Mountain bike Action' magazine and the first time I'd heard of the town of Peebles. Fuck knows where the race went as all I could see was sitka spruce trees and big tracks. I rode through here in the '90s and got shouted at by a farmer on the south side. Oh blessed land reform.

It was dreiching in earnest now and getting dark. I was also starting to feel tired so a bivvy was in order. Conscious of my lack of tent I was after shelter. An old farm cottage looked promising but was firmly boarded up and short of a bit of B&E off limits. I was also leaving the forest so it was now or never. A final clump of sitka came to the rescue. I dragged my bike up into them and sure enough under the dense network of branches it was dry. Out came the bivvy bag, shove in sleeping bag, inflate mat, err.... now what. Strip off (brrrr) into base layer and into bag. All dry. Final snack then zip up and snuggle in. 

I wasn't feeling hugely comfortable and lay awake for quite a while. Eventually I nodded off but woke at 3am, thanks to my bladder calling. Guess that's my nights sleep then. Trying for more seemed pointless and it looked like the rain was getting heavier so best exit now whilst I'm dry. Further gyrations to get dressed then out, cook porridge and make tea, eat, pack up, get going. Hmm pretty quick so I see why the ultralight fast brigade use this set up.

A short moor crossing followed and further woods but it was all getting quite damp. Onwards to West Linton was flatish but I knew that it would be a big old climb up the Pentlands. Along to Carlops first on a bit of the deserted A902 more trail and back road and then the start at nine mile burn. I'd last done this climb in about 1990-something but I'd forgotten how big it was and feeling somewhat wabbit at this early hour, I couldn't be bothered even trying to ride it. So I pushed and pushed into the mist and drizzle, reflecting that this was the last big climb of the route and Embra beckoned.

I enjoyed the Pentlands traverse. This was a regular biking destination when I was at Uni here. There are lots of good trails but it was always a case of keeping one step ahead of the Ranger service who were (in)famously anti mountain biking and the hill walkers, who thought we were the spawn of satan...

There was a bunch of tents just before the descent to Bavelaw so I crept passed sharpish and bombed down to the castle, the trail showing signs of being much improved since I was last here. Next it was the great route back over into Loganlee, also much upgraded, past the reservoirs and the (really) final climb up and over to Currie.

More memories - the Water of Leith Walkway. If you are new to this area you'd hardly believe that for many years cycling was banned on this flat, wide old railway path. Not that we cared and rode along it anyway. Now its an official cycleway although still unsurfaced. It was raining in earnest now but I was at the point where I didn't care with only a few miles to go and plenty of gear on. The route spat us out into the town center and even went down the Royal Mile. My earlier propensity at fixing the puncture paid off as I became aware that my back tyre was going flat again, thanks to a thorn picked up on the water of Leith. I sat in a bus shelter on the Royal Mile fixing it and wondering why there was a string of women walking up the street. Turns out it was the 'Moonwalk' cancer charity thing. They ignored me so I ignored them.

More navigational faffing ensued trying to follow the route past Arthur's Seat to Duddingston, finally hitting the cycleway back to portobelly. I got back at 8.30 am 24 and a half hours after leaving. I texted 'race control' to say I was done and got a cheery message back. 


Suddenly a van door opened beside me and there was Markus who'd pushed through and been back a few hours. First back was a guy on a single speed who'd made last orders at the pub - time 15 1/2 hours. A few others had followed including Alastair who'd gone straight home. I chatted with Markus who'd kindly made me coffee then another couple of blokes turned up and soon after the cafe opened so there we sat eating bacon rolls, drinking tea and talking about the route which we all agreed was a good 'un barring a few minor details. Eventually I said cheerio and headed back to the car. There was to be a pub meet up that night but I knew that I'd be sleeping then so headed home quite pleased with myself.

Highland Trail 2015

Introduction

On the 25^th 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??

Ah yes the bike. You see in November last year I took delivery of one of the first Surly Ice Cream Truck frames. For some reason as soon as I got it I knew that this would be my beast of burden for the HT. Think Surly, think steel frames, bomb proof, lifestyle, attitude etc. adventure racing? Err maybe not. Whatever, I’d done all my training on it and thanks to a bit of careful kit trimming my overall load was much less than on my 2014 attempt so no problem right? Whatever. It looked utterly sorted lent against the motor, capable of dealing with anything. Question was - was I?

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.

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.

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 5^th 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 7^th 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 threw 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, 5^th June 2015