I carried on through Fort Augustus into Invermorriston. I thought of stopping in the carpark and pulled in to check for, "NO OVERNIGHT PARKING" signs. They were everywhere although there were a glut of people obviously overnight parking including a car with two mountain bikes locked to the front grille.
I decided to carry on up to Cannich and camp there, hoping to persuade the campsite to look after my van for a few days in exchange for a few coins. Unfortunately road closures on the A82 put paid to that idea (explaining the overnight camping rash in Invermorriston) and I scrummed down in a layby. By power-lifting EmVee onto one side of the van, I managed to climb into the back without putting my nose outside and crawl into the sleeping bag in about 10 minutes. Result. Fleece hat over my eyes, I mostly slept through the occasional passing vehicle.
At 5am I woke up to the sound of moving traffic. I was stiff from a night in a narrow space and the thought of climbing out of Invermorriston to Loch Na Stac for the second time in two months filled me with dread so I drove on up to Cannich and headed for the Corrimony Cairn car park where there were no "NO OVERNIGHT PARKING" signs. I set off on my ride with a belly full of Cream Crunch biscuits and strawberries. The good stuff was packed in my bags and I consumed everything I was carrying on the ride over to Contin.
The scenery was big, wide and open, the trails were in a similar condition. I was enjoying myself and making progress. The few remaining showers didn't bother me much.
In the stores, I took the time for a chat with the owner over coffee machine cleaning then sat outside and scoffed sausage roll and a chicken sandwich whilst watching a clueless bufoon nearly mow into a family turning off the road before aggressively challenging some motorcyclists on their riding technique. He was brusquely sent on his way by the Glaswegian biker who was then immensely civil to me as he popped into the store for supplies.
I now understand the "Road of a Thousand Puddles" nickname and appreciated the Hydrobothy's shelter, initially from the breeze which had gotten rather stiff and battering and then from the rain which hammered down for around 10 minutes - just long enough for me to cool down properly after my packet of crisps shelter feed. Hopes raised for a bit of speedy road riding at the sight of a little white van but it was just a long way away and finally a large, lumbering toyota Hilux came into view - two Scottish Hydro workers made me realise they were the only people I'd seen on the trail all day.
I envied their work then continued on my way.
Through sqally showers and a stiff breeze, I stoically pushed through towards Oykel Bridge, focussed on getting there within the day, thanks to Karl Brooks putting the idea in my head that it was achievable. I still saw no-one and chatted to the cows instead in between battling the breeze and enjoying the sunny spells.
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| This blonde was a bit pretty |
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| Cute little bear |
I got a bit tired, (or was it a bit cocky?) when I spied a big old building by a road and got quite excited that I'd made it to Oykel Bridge by 4pm. Could I, in fact, conceive of riding the top loop too? When I realised it was only the Alladale reserve, I was put back in my place. An eerily empty building (though obviously used by school and scout groups) in the middle of nowhere.
When I did finally reach Oykel Bridge after 11 hours riding and 13 hours outdoors, it was 7:30pm and time for dinner. After race reports of a poor welcome at the hotel, I decided to save myself the descent and climb back out and cut the corner off to rejoin the return route at the Schoolhouse bothy. In race mode I wouldn't have stopped the night but with heavy rain forecast between 9pm and 11pm, I decided not to get soaked on the first night and take my rest when the opportunity presented itself.
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| A rather luxurious bivi |
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| 'Twas the night before solstice in the highlands |
I shared the building with Paul (a quiet student) and Dave and Caroline from Sheffield (no really). When they asked me a few questions about how far I was going and where I was going, I was ashamed to admit that, although I had a vague idea, I didn't really know how long loop 2 was or, after Oykel Bridge, what my next moves were.
I put my dinner on and pulled out my cheat-sheets to figure it out. 30km then 70km were the order of the next day, to Ullapool then to Kinlochewe, then Torridon and Glen Affric.
I cooked my dehydrated food sachet in the stone grate and snuggled up on the wooden bench, a little annoyed that the promised rain hadn't materialised to justify my early night. Just as I pulled my hat over my eyes again to keep out the persistently illuminated grey sky and dozed off, the rain started to sheet on the tin roof. Rather than keep me awake, it lulled me to sleep.
I was up with the dawn but took the time to holiday on porridge and coffee, still making it out the door by 7:30 and polishing off a lot more food on my way to Ullapool - my first opportunity to check in on the phone with loved ones. I was hiding under the trees on the edge of town whilst a wall of rain made its way through the valley. Sure enough, as soon as I saw the other side of the bay the rain had cleared and I found my way to the cafe to share lunch with another couple from Sheffield - this time from Sheffield, Tazmania. I listened with sympathy to their ageing stories of not being able to sleep on camp matresses anymore despite their love of remote places. I sewed the thought in their minds that thermarest has come along somewhat over the last few years and empathised with their pillow woes in rented accommodation, admitting that I have travelled for work with two pillows in the car.
Next it was time for the tescos trip. Suitable Macarons sourced as well as sweeties and crisps for the road ahead and a pair of waterproof gloves from the outdoor shop, to guarantee good weather for the rest of the trip (the marigolds got a pinhole between two fingers and sadly started to let water in).
On the road out of town, an unidentified vehicle overtook me, hands waving out of the window, I was pleased to see two brand new pillows pressed against the rear window of the hire car. The couple from Tazmania had taken my advice.
And so to the Coffin Road where, thanks to rest and much faff in Ullapool I was feeling relatively fresh. I enjoyed the breeze and the rest at the top of the climb, looking over the meadows below. On the ride over to the Dundonnel Road I particularly enjoyed picking my choice of Highland Trail route-finding around the bogs - convinced I could tell whose line belonged to who - at least it was fairly obvious which tracks had the bog-hopping skills and I chose those tracks to follow.
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| Top of Coffin |
The descent was another matter. I enjoyed single track, cursed single track and felt a little sad to be leaving some of the hanging valleys behind with their tempting looking boathouses.
From the Dundonnel Road I was momentarily joined by around 10 hikers in different groups, setting out for An Teallach and beyond for the solstice weekend. They warned of busy bothies and I wasn't bothered. A clear forecast and a tent was all I needed. I stopped part way and brewed up some food, letting the hoardes subside and fuelling on one of them Macarons. Bloody hell they're sweet!
By the time I was back on the trail, the majority of hikers had turned off for their bothies and I enjoyed the ride to Sheneval alone with the deer and highland coo again.
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| Deer on the river crossing |
The bothy was heaving. At least 10 people were milling around outside watching the sunset and a small tent farm was springing up. I pushed my bike on by and talked to a young mountain leader out for the Fisherfield 6 tomorow.
I explained my nervousness for the route ahead but also that I had my shelter in tow.
The whole crossing went as intended and I pushed through the bogs until I found a patch of dry-ish flat-ish grass by the river to perch my tent on and somewhere to lean the bike up. Navigating by torch light had just gotten difficult - though the remaining daylight made it possible wihtout a head light - it was just slow. My feet were pretty wet from bog hopping and I reminded myself I was OK as I peeled off into something dry. I really was very OK but somehow my excitement levels were too high to be conducive to effective sleeping and calm.
I was having a minor wobble that my battery had not charged all day (loose connector) and I was already onto my second, spare Garmin as my highly efficient model had too little battery (and an erroneous charge reading) when I left the car. I sucked what remaining battery power I had into the GPS and hoarded all my electronics in my coat.
At 3am I woke up shivering but chocolate put paid to that and I went back to sleep until the much more appropriate 6am when some hikers walked past my head.
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| Morning |
I had a nosey at the other bothies then crossed the beautiful Causeway which I'd been looking forwards to since I checked the route out, years ago.
I was very jealous of the fellow bike packers camped at the edge of the causeway though I figured their view had not been as spectactular last night. That said, the sense of awe for the place had not waned although it felt a little less intimidating now that I had crossed it... though there was the slight reluctance to leave.
The sun was beating down by the time I started the long and relentless climb out to Letterewe and I was down to just my bib shorts. I didn't think I'd be sleeveless for long so I wouldn't get burned. More Macaroon got me through the rest of the day, as well as some chocolate also bought in Ullapool.
Briefly, Letterewe was like civilisation - Scottish Hipsters in full tweed, waistcoated and flat capped strutted around the main house, looking like they were doing gardening chores and American tourists scattered, calling "biiiiyek" at eachother, not knowing which way I was turning on the postie path, then horrified at my choices. Alan had warned me that it would be bracken bound and unrideable by summer but I chanced it as it was only just sumer and the chance paid off, with most of it only being 6 inch tall and the worst only just below handlebar height.
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| Bracken baby |
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| Cross this |
At the river gully, an exposed boulder caused me to drop the full weight of the bike unluckily and uncomfortably onto my helmet, writing it off (as I later discovered) with a hairline fracture at the forehead and a large chainring bite in the back but at least it wasn't my head sandwiched between bike and boulder.
I had little food left and one packet of tictacs was set to last me the whole length of the Postie path. I find it incredble what can be achieved on a packet of tictacs.
With the heat belting down, I was back to taking frequent breaks and gathering water wherever I could get it. Some rivers were less savoury than others - just below houses - though none of them actually seem to have caused me any issues.
When I got to loch level, where the sun was most captive and reflective, I suffered wearing my jersey to stop my shoulders burning - just in case the factor 50 suncream was insufficient. It was 4pm. 6 hours since I had told myself then sun would go in soon.
Despite the delays, I couldn't bring myself to panic too much about missing the shop until I finally got to Kinlochewe and realised that 34km had taken me almost 9 hours. The pub was still open and I sat indoors, in the shade, consdering my options.
With a 3 course meal at my table, the situation improved. When the waiter agreed to charge my battery, the situation improved further. When I went to pay the bill and discovered the stash of cakes and crisps / peanuts, the situation became salvageable. Torridon was on!
Some of the other guests called me brave for continuing after dinner and I did contest that brave / stupid are sometimes inseparable but as I cycled past the sterile environment of the Kinlochewe Caravan and Camping club site, I realised that I was the clever one. For the first time this week I was starting to behave like a racer (give or take the patience for a 3-course meal). I ploughed on down the road and easy trail well into Torridonian Sandstone (though pausing for plenty of photos) and started the long toil over the mountain towards Attadale - the Ironman route I never got to run in 2014.
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| Rainbow clouds over Ben Eighe |
Behind me I watched the sun set over the Fisherfield 6 and took regulr breaks to feed my brain which was starting to get annoyed by drains on the path.
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| Fisherfield sunset from Torridon |
These were soon replaced by exciting slabs though, which - with my new tyres on - I enjoyed riding right up until the point they got so steep that my arse regularly kept trying to overtake my head.
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| Sorry for your cake Margaret, Torridon happened. |
Eventually, the helmet light had to go on to help define the trail features ahead and to help me identify a spot to bivi as I got more sweary and sleepy. A waterfall provided just enough breeze to keep the biting midges at bay and I found a reasonbaly dry 4 x 7 foot stretch of spagnum moss on which to pitch. The Garmin went back on charge and so did I when I woke at 3am with hunger pangs again.
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| Another hot day in Paradise, looking back to my bivi spot from Attadale |
It was a difficult morning next day but again, 7am walkers provided stimulus and honey-roast peanuts provided breakfast. I hadn't stopped far from Attadale station but missed the opportunity to visit it as I missed a turn - at least I know for next time.
The Strathcarron Hotel provided breakfast in the form of haggis in a bun and polystyrene tray. The new owners made me feel very welcome so I'll be back there if I need to. They're open from 9am. I took my leave of them and the german tourist and enjoyed the ciruit of Attadlae gardens before the final leg to Dornie - back to the seaside.
I don't remember much of this bit. I was getting a little tired but I had a fair ammount of food to keep me going. I was glad, briefly to be back down the other side and onto the road for some speed but drivers soon started to get annoying. I arrived in time for the bakery and had a double helping of iced coffee shake, cake, supplies and a can of cold sugary drink before deciding I had time to go a couple of miles off-course to visit my parents, staying at Glen Shiel on a walking holiday.
I sneaked a little shower whilst waiting for the olds to show, washing 3 days of factor 50 and sweat off, drying myself with my shirt and sitting in the sun to dry. It was briefly like a different world before continuing on my journey. My dad and I talked about mountaineering for a while then his only warning was to make sure I sleep before driving home. No warnings abnout riding my bike in the munros in the dark. I love him.
I figured 6 hours before dark to do 55km on reasonable trails was do-able-to-ambitous but acknowledged that I still had Monday to work with and could just concentrate on getting as far back as possible on Sunday night.
Glen Affric was everything I expected and more. I pretty much knew what the trail would be like even though I've not travelled all of it before. The mountains and hidden valleys however were another matter. They just went on and on, overlapping, ever-climbing.
I stopped part way up as the rain passed over, brewing up my dinner in full water proofs in anticipation of a storm that never came. In the end I stuck with the coat but removed the leggings and continued in shorts through the evening.
The lights of the youth hostel were moderately tempting but I remembered my promise to cover as much ground as possible. The summit bothy would have been single occupancy and whilst tempting, was also a little spooky and far from home.
I tried to look over my shoulder for the sunset but it never came. We had reverted to normal Scottish conditions and there was just a gradual greying of the sky. The track out of Glen Affric was so wet I started to wonder if I'd got the "Road of a Thousand Puddles" a bit wrong. Some could have drowned a small child. I poked my way around anything I couldn't see the bottom of which took some time, so down at the final bit of accommodation (private University club bothy), it was already dim enough to warrant lights for the section along the Loch shore.
Tents came and went in the darkness, abandoned piles of pots and pans where people had rushed indoors away from midges. I continued in search of the Shangri-La of flat, shelter with just enough breeze but none was forthcoming so I went for the carpark at the end of the Affric road and spent too much time pitching on a (too) carefully selected flat spot and tying my guy ropes to a bench because I couln't find anywhere to get my 8th peg in.
Because I thought I could quickly get my tent up I hadnt worn leggings or a midge net and had been eaten alive.
Right next to the river again, I spent a whole 4 hours sleeping soundly before the alarm clock went off again. Remarkably (not) there are no pictures of this bivi spot as I threw everything (I wasn't wearing) into the bike bags willy-nilly as quickly as possible and started riding into a breeze until I could at least take my oh-shit coat off. The weather obliged to let me keep my other waterproof layers on, nodding in shared recognition at 7am to a fisherman walking through Tomich in full waders.
The climb out of Tomich was on the road but without any breakfast, the slowest of my life. I gritted my teeth and slogged it out despite a growing desire to hide my bags in the bushes and ride to the van unloaded to drive back for my gear.
The greatest relief was the van still being there when I returned and as I disassembled my bike to give myself space to sleep in the van, I didn't even care that a coach load of old-lady tourists had turned up to visit the cairn and, now, watch a lady mountain biker get quickly naked.
For the first time in my life I drove away from my wheels, leaning against the back of the van but thankfully realised after a couple of miles and headed back. After I finished Friday's packet of biscuits my lunch stop turned into a long and sleepy one before the rest of a VERY self-satisfied drive home.
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