A wee cough (or three)

Bloody typical. I get the festive season out of the way after a couple of months upping my mileage on the bike and then I get one of those cold/flu type things. First the funny taste, then the painful sinuses, then the dribbly nose before getting into my lungs with those threads of thick green gunge. Thankfully, it arrived just as I was finishing up the job in Blacks and I had a brief delay between that and starting at Square Wheels. Of course, that gave me even more time to mope around the house, feeling sorry for myself, and looking at the mostly calm and settled weather through the windows. I've been in this position before and I know that it becomes a battle of will-power. On the one hand there's a desire to get out there and avoid cabin fever. On the other, not giving my body time to repair itself seems to make everything drag on even longer. One week, two weeks, three weeks and it's almost the end of the month. 

By this point, two things are beginning to worry me; First of all, my "training" for the Highland Trail Race is being impacted and I feel I'm further behind than I was at the start of December. That's two months effectively lost. Secondly, having achieved my "bivvy-a-month" target for 2013, I'm running out of days to get a start on 2014. 

So, with only a couple of days to go, I managed a short bike ride and then made plans for a high-level bivvy on Meall a'Bhuachaille. This turned out to be a bit of a disaster.  Rather than bike up, I packed up a rucksack and headed up from Glenmore. Despite not having walked with this sort of load for around a year, I was surprised at how quickly I was making progress up the path. There was plenty of snow cover in the Northern Corries but I didn't reach the snowline until I was at the shallow col. From here, I was plodding up through some soft snow, though with patches of grass and rock still around. So far, so good. However, the wind was gaining strength as I climbed and by the time I reached the summit it was both stronger and much, much colder than I'd anticipated. I ducked behind the cairn for a bit of respite and to consider my options. Bivvying up here was plainly out of the question. Even if I could have found a spot behind the cairn, the wind was whipping snow over and dumping it where I sat. Nowhere else on the broad ridge provided any better cover. I thought about an exit towards Ryvoan but was unsure as to how icy that route might be - a worry with no crampons. While I was cogitating, I was getting colder and colder, so in the end, I decided to bale out completely, head home and think about a plan for the following evening - the last of the month. 

As it happened, Mim had a couple of days off and was showing an interest in coming out with me. We therefore decided to head for a local bothy. She's never spent the night in a bothy before so a short walk in, in the dark, would be a wee bit of an adventure. We made sure we were well fed and stocked up with biscuits before heading in to Drakes Bothy from Dalnavert. It's an easy, straightforward walk with little chance of getting lost and I was experimenting with my LED Lenser H7 headtorch, comparing it to the little Zipka I've used in the past. Frankly, the amount of light this thing throws out is amazing, even on the lowest power setting and with the beam tuned in tight and power up high it was like wearing a wee laser beam. The weather was mild - remarkably so given my previous afternoons experience. 

The lower bunk was easier to get into!

Making myself at home

The bothy was unoccupied (though whoever had last been in had left the door unlocked) so we made ourselves comfy, got the tea and coffee on and settled down for the evening listening to Runrig from my phone. All in all, it's a pleasant wee spot and we soon warmed it up before turning in for the evening. 

We must have been cosy as we slept in a bit later than planned, so made a swift exit, making sure we tidied up after ourselves - to the extent of taking out some other folks rubbish (why do folk leave it - who do they think is coming to take it away?). By now, the weather had turned again and the puddles we'd been splashing through on the walk in had all turned solid. Passing a husky team out training, we were soon back at the van and home in a matter of minutes.

A cosy wee spot

So - 1/1 for 2014 now in the bag and already thinking about somewhere for February - and NOT leaving it to the last night this time!!!

Rounding off the year

As the end of December approached I was engaged in the normal pre-festive arrangements but also thinking of how and where I might fit in my final night out of the year. Amongst the advantages of moving to Aviemore I'd weighed up that we'd be much closer to the North West coast and yet hadn't quite made it through since we moved. This seemed like an excellent opportunity to correct that oversight. Looking around at a suitable bike route did, however, make things a bit more complicated and I eventually settled on a plan of camping one night and doing a separate, unladen, ride along the northernmost section of the Highland Trail route the following day.   

A wee bit of googling suggested that I might find a nice spot at Achnahaird just north of Ullapool. Getting there was an easy drive but I was determined to not simply pitch outside the van so I'd loaded all the backpacking requirements into a recently-acquired rucksack figuring I'd give that a wee test too. Heading off in the dark, albeit with a headtorch was a bit daunting on account of the cliffs I knew were nearby but by keeping an ear open and scanning the horizon as I went I was able to make it down to the flatter, less rocky round near the beach. I managed to find a reasonably sheltered pitch and settled down to listen to the breakers and look at the stars overhead. I'd brought the tent rather than the bivvy bag but ended up lying mostly outside of it for a good part of the night. 

A fairly good night followed but I was awoken just before 7am by the noise of the wind - and the flapping of the tent. The wind direction had turned overnight and was now full-on into the doorway. Rather than struggle trying to get everything sorted again I decided to just strike camp immediately and made my way back to the van before preparing breakfast.

The rather improbable looking peak of Stac Polly

The drive round the coast to the start point of the ride at Achfary was interesting enough. The roads are narrow and windy and the by-now near gale force winds were threatening to have me in a ditch. Things hadn't improved any by the time I reached the little parking spot at the end of the road to Lone. As I sat in the van I could feel it rock and standing outside confirmed it was both cold and damp. Frankly, the prospect of heading into some of the UKs most remote countryside with a forecast of low cloud and the occasional snow shower was feeling somewhat daunting and I swithered about simply heading back home, maybe stopping somewhere more sheltered for a ride. 

Eventually, I gathered up the courage to get dressed, get my stuff together onto the bike and set off down the road to West Merkland. I'd originally hoped that this would be a nice wee warm-up but I was now heading straight into the wind and as I got alongside Loch Stack the exposure meant I was struggling to make anything beyond walking pace. Almost an hour later I reached the end of the track that would take me north. Although I was still a little reluctant, I was happy to have the wind behind me for a while and the climb up to the watershed started OK. However, it wasn't long before I was again being severely buffeted as the wind swirled amongst the neighbouring peaks. 

Looking north from the Bealach nam Meirleach (pass of the thieves)

Happy to reach the end of the climb it was finally time to enjoy the long and fast descent to Gobernuisgach. Just before the lodge I noticed a new bridge off to the left, marking the start of the second half of the loop. I was just two hours into it now, but I knew that the hardest section was still before me. The track along Glen Golly looked OK, wider and in better condition than I'd expected. However, the record December rainfall had made the whole thing completely soggy and I found the tyres were churning it up, impeding progress. I was frequently on and off the bike, chancing my arm for a bit before the front wheel would sink into axle-deep mud. By now, it was well into the afternoon and I was starting to calculate how far I'd get in the remaining daylight. I reckoned that my target had to be the Bealach Horn, leaving me just the downhill to the van to complete by torchlight. 

Creag Dubh track snaking uphill in the background

The end of Glen Golly was marked by a steep zig-zag climb up Creag Dubh which was a push all the way. A short section of more muddy track took me to within sight of the Bealach Horn but the track was fast deteriorating and I was walking more than riding. Meall Horn looked awesome, with the cliffs falling away to the two lochans but after my initial excitement at the thought of a bit of downhill riding I was more and more aware of the fact that I'd have to climb out of the glen in front of me. The track was also becoming increasingly difficult to follow as it fell away over deep peat hags. I was having to drop the bike down in front of me then jump down into the soft peat before lifting up to the next piece of "solid" ground, all the time aware of the darkening sky. The final obstacle was the Allt an Easain Ghil, the outflow from the lochan I'd spotted earlier. It looked like there would be a simple way across in shallower waters but it took me a few minutes to get across the slimy rocks using the bike to steady myself.

Creagan Meall Horn above An Dubh Loch

That took me to the fairly decent estate track up to the bealach which I was, again, having to push up. A few false summits went past and some sections of track were knee deep in snow but I made it just before the last of the daylight faded away. What followed, I still don't understand. What should have been a fast, balls-out descent back to Lone was, instead, a complete mince-fest. It felt like my bike was trying to throw me off. I couldn't tell if it was tyre pressures or something loose but I'd have sworn someone had put a hinge in the middle of the frame and I was struggling to keep it pointing in a straight line. This was particularly a problem due to the steep drop on my left and the fact that I was, by now, mostly operating by torchlight. I was just relieved to be able make out the occasional car headlamp in the distance, a sure sign that I was at least getting to a reasonable distance of the van and even more relieved when the track levelled out again for the final section - through a herd of deer - to the road.

In all, it had taken me 6 hours to complete the 47km circuit. About an hour of that was stationary at various points and an hour was on the initial 13km road section. On the way home, I cajoled myself with the notion that the rest of the Highland Trail route couldn't be any tougher...could it? 

Back on Track

There seems to be something in the air up here. It seems I've only just put all my overnight gear away and it's suddenly the end of the month with my planned monthly bivvy/camp not yet ticked off. With that in mind, and the desire to get in a decent cycle, I opted to explore a mostly off-road route from Aviemore down to the sea. I'd tried the Speyside way before but I knew I simply couldn't face all those gates and, in any case, it's always good to explore. So, I opted for the Dava Way this time. Like much of the Speyside Way, this follows the track of an old railway bed. That means gentle gradients and often little architectural delights.

It's a good spin. Pretty easy miles and through some gentle, rolling scenery usually away from the roads but with occasional loops towards them in the event a change of plan is required. Aware of it being a long night in November, I left after lunchtime, planning to ride the last few miles in the dark. This is all part of my "training" for the Highland Trail 550 in May and it's good to be able to assess lighting and comfort when there's nothing much at stake and I'm in no hurry. From home to Grantown on Spey, I stuck to the Speyside Way. This has a few gates at the Grantown end but nothing to slow me down too much. Through Grantown and it's straight onto the 24 mile Dava Way. There are a couple of minor detours of the railway bed but mostly it's just a case of spinning along. 

Reaching Dava itself means it's basically all downhill to the coast and I reached the  forests on the outskirts of Forres just as it started to get dark. I got a bit of a shock when I reached the High Street as it's been closed to traffic and the Christmas Market is just finishing. 

Thoughts of grabbing something in a cafe or from a chippy were put to one side as everywhere is completely packed and I then decided to head straight to Findhorn and take my chances there. On the way, I passed Sueno's Stone and took a couple of photos. It looks fantastic lit up in the dark night. In fact I think the relief-work is enhanced that way. 

Leaving Forres along Findhorn Bay I was exposed to the strong Westerly wind. I'd been mostly sheltered from it before and I was  suddenly aware that I'd be a wee bit exposed in my tent tonight. In Findhorn, I found the Kimberley Inn. It looked lovely and welcoming so I was in like a shot for some food and a beer (or two). Again, I was in no hurry to leave as it would be a long enough night in any case. 

Finding a pitch on the beach turns out to be fairly tricky. I was trying to find a sheltered enough spot with a view of the sea and with some sort of soil able to take a tent peg. After much searching around, I eventually found somewhere and tried to get settled in for the night. However, it wasn't long before one wall of the tent came crashing in and I was out again, trying to sort things out. Eventually, I moved the bike upwind of the tent and lay it down on the sandy soil. The three guy-lines were then attached to the bike and - lo and behold - the tent was finally stabilised. A wee dram or two completed my night and I was soon asleep despite the roaring of the wind.

A mid-night pee break had me scurrying out of the tent for a few minutes into a complete, flat calm and with the wind having died right down I was also feeling the heat a bit so left the zips open for some extra air when I got back in. 

Early morning and the wind had returned. Still, I made the most of breakfast before packing everything quickly away and heading back the way I'd come the night before. I was expecting the return trip to be quite a bit slower and harder work as I was now fighting the headwind all the way but despite this, and the fact that I was  generally trending uphill all day, I actually made good progress and had enough time to stop in Macleans Bakery in Grantown on Spey for a bit of lunch. 

In total, I covered over 140km and took around 13 hours over the two days. Thinking about this, I reflect that I'll need to do that sort of distance every day, for 8 days in a row and over much rougher terrain if I'm to complete the Highland Trail Race in May!!

The Race is On

I've never been much of a competitor - not in sports anyway. As a youngster I had neither the skills for the likes of football nor the fitness for anything more athletic. My participation in cycling has, almost always, been for relaxation, for enjoyment and for simply enjoying the outdoors. However, back in 2007 I was persuaded to take part in an event called 70 Wild Miles. This is/was a triathlon set around the Glencoe area that would involve me only in the cycle part - a 47 mile ride from the Grey Corries to Taynuilt. I can't deny that there was a frisson of excitement as I pinned the number to my jersey and stuck one on my bike. It was a nice ride, though I struggled on one particular climb, and I gave it my all approaching the finish line. 

Looking up the timesheets later that night confirmed that I had done "OK", but plainly there were a lot of folk better trained and fitter than I was. The event was primarily about fundraising but it had started a little spark in me to see what else I might be able to compete in. 

Fast forward a year and I found myself back at the Grey Corries to do it all over again. This time, I'd actually put a bit of effort into a training plan, I'd even bought a lighter/quicker bike. Again, I rather enjoyed the experience and, but for a handful of seconds, the team I was in would actually have won the event.

With a bit of enthusiasm now, I joined a group of internet-based buddies to do a wee bit of off-road racing in the Sleepless in the Saddle event. To be honest, I was cursing the guy that talked me into it as rain turned the track into a muddy slop that left me carrying the bike round the nine mile course for over two hours.  

Other than that, I've taken part in a few Sportives. These can hardly be classified as races, though many riders take them very seriously indeed. I find they can be a great way of meeting other riders and, on the busier events, the sight of someone a little ahead of me makes me work a wee bit harder just to catch them up. My goal with any Sportive has been just to finish in the top half of the field and I've been able to achieve that.

One event that many folk have asked me about is the Strathpuffer. I've often considered it and even went to help out a friend one year. However, the idea of riding round a forest for 24 hours, in January, mainly in he dark and with the risk of snow, ice and/or mud hasn't quite grabbed me enough.


So - fast forward to 2013 and what have I done? I've only gone and entered a mountain bike race. However, this is a race like no other. This is 560 miles through the Scottish Highlands, unsupported, in the manner of an Individual TIme Trial - http://www.highlandtrail.net/ I have no doubt whatsoever that this will be, by far, the toughest thing I've ever done. To put it in perspective, my Lands End to John o'Groats ride was 10 days of around 100 miles but with a comfy bed each evening, food provided and with luggage all carried for me. For the HT550, I'll be carrying my food, water, bedding, clothing etc and I'll have to do 70 miles per day regardless of how much of that is walking and carrying or pushing my bike. To say I'm apprehensive would be a massive understatement. 

A quick calculation shows that I have six months to get fit, develop my "camp-craft" and work out what kit I'll need and how little I can get away with. With a fall-out rate of almost 50% in last-years inaugural (though shorter) event I'm going to be very pleased just to make it round in the 8-day cut-off time whereas the fast guys (like Mike Hall - current record holder for the unsupported circumnavigation of the globe by bicycle) will likely do it in 4 days.

Sounds like I have two challenges to manage into 2014 then; get ready for the HT550 and yet not lose the fun and relaxation that I normally associate with riding my bike and camping. Expect this blog to be full of anguish, head-shaking and sheer panic for the next six months!!!

The Old Ways

In an effort to resuscitate my relationship with Scotways after a summer in which I've neglected my route surveying - and with a bit of a more selfish wish to follow through on an old project of my own - I recently cycled the old military road from Aviemore over the Slochd to near Tomatin. I'd already been over a bit of the route a few years ago and was always fascinated by the sight of the old road at my start and finish points.

For those that are unfamiliar with the military roads in Scotland, a bit of background; they are often attributed to General Wade who was tasked with improving the lines of communication in Scotland after the first Jacobite rebellion. He was followed by Major William Caulfield, whom history has rather forgotten. Of course, other older - and newer - military roads also exist and both Wade and Caulfield were often happy to use existing routes through the Highlands as a base for their roads. 

My introduction to these old roads was via my father who would often tell us when we were driving along sections that have now been used as the alignment for the modern roads. Most folk who've driven anywhere in Scotland will have been along one section or another, especially if you've ever been on the A9. He was always fascinated by their "antiquity" and I guess he passed that on to me. Of course, being a keen walker and cyclist, I've been able to find more sections than he ever knew existed. 

One of the issues with 300-year old roads is that most have gradually been over-laid, dug up, planted with trees or built on. It's therefore great to come across a section that is still largely intact, or at least where the existing line is both visible and can be followed on foot or on bike. 

As the section nearest Aviemore is now split by the A9 I headed onto the Wade Road from the access track to Kinveachy Lodge. the old route is plainly visible, though now barely used. 

Easy to miss this junction

 Like the Romans before him, Wade was keen to follow straight lines where possible so while he new track winds up in a couple of bends, Wade just goes straight up the hill. By paying close attention to the map I found the first confusing junction and headed further uphill, further away from any traffic noise. 

From here, the road carries on over some lovely, lonely countryside now bypassed by the more modern re-alignment of the road through and past Carrbridge. The route is briefly shared with an off-road alternative to National Cycle Network (NCN) route 7, including the use of the bridge at Sluggan. 

The beautiful Sluggan Bridge. Not Wades - he just forded the river. This was Caulfields work.

Where the two diverge at Insharn, the Wade route has a short, steeper climb through a bit of forest before coming out higher up and presenting an open view of the Slochd. 

Ah - here's a typical Wade bridge near Slochd.

A short descent over the Inverness-Perth railway line brought me back down to the old A9 and then it was a bit of a wait getting across the new A9.

Up until this point, the track has all been easy cycling so I was looking forward to the last few miles down to Raigbeg. It all started easily enough, with a new track joining up with the alignment of the old Wade Road near one of the numerous marker stones that infrequently mark the route. 

Marker stone. One of many on the route.

 Those travelling South would have had their first view of the Cairngorms from here and I can imagine the mix of awe and dread at seeing this during winter.

Snow-capped Cairngorms in mid October.

The track here is now used for access to a telecommunications mast so is in good condition as it crosses the spine of the hill, away form the noise of the traffic on the A9. Shortly though, the Wade Road becomes not much more than a depression in the heather. 

The line of the road is just visible but wider tyres would have been preferred.

 I managed to cycle most of it - through wishing I'd had the benefit of the Fatbikes 4" tyres - but it eventually defeated me as the depression got deeper, the ground got softer and the gorse got thicker. 

The old road seems to have been completely swamped here

A short diversion onto the shorter heather alongside got me almost all the way down to Raigbeg where the old road re-asserts itself at another marker stone. 

Another marker stone

From here, it's a short ride down to the houses at Raigbeg and along to Tomatin. 

Made it!

It's such a shame that there's a short unrideable section near the end of this route as it otherwise provides a pleasant off-road extension to NCN7 down to Tomatin but other than that it's a great way to get some idea of what General Wade was thinking when he was given the job of creating a road network for the Highlands. That he was held in high regard for his work, we can be in doubt. After all, he even made it into a version of the National Anthem....

Lord, Grant that Marshal Wade,

May by thy mighty aid,

Victory bring.

May he sedition hush,

and like a torrent rush,

Rebellious Scots to crush,

God save the King.

For those looking to sample some of this for themselves, the complete route description can be found on the ScotWays Heritage Paths website here.