GT 24: West Highland and Great Glen Way in Not Quite a Day

Midweek apprehension; a big weekend looms, plans and kit list ongoing but the memory of our last aborted attempt hangs heavy. The water bars of Conic Hill a reminder that we are heading back to serious mountain biking country where feed stops are 40 miles apart and black trail features surprise round every other corner. 

Dramatic skies on the M74 northbound

On the bright side we were returning better prepared and with some support, Emily had kindly agreed to drive the van from Glasgow to Inverness saving us an uncomfortable train journey back to Glasgow, and more importantly offering an escape route if something serious went wrong. The odds of 'something serious' going wrong seemed fairly high to me given that on our last attempt we managed two punctures, one concussion and a fatally collapsed freehub within 30 miles of the start. Hmm, maybe a weekend of football, IKEA and washing the car would be a better idea. 

Friday night and Saul, Emily and myself were out on the town in Glasgow, well nearly, we were in Nando's in search of a good veggie pre-ride meal. Our Ibis hotel room had more in common with a hospital than a hotel room but it was convenient for tomorrow's ride start at the Riverside Museum on the Clyde. After our meal we discussed the next day and foolishly convinced ourselves that we'd be done within 24 hours and therefore a late start would be a good idea to avoid getting to South Kessock near Inverness too early. Naivety was not our usual strategy.

Sleep interrupted by post revelry antagonism in the nearby car park and the incessant motorway noise, I was glad when it was finally time to ride. Along the riverside to the SECC where we spotted several cycle team buses parked up for the Tour of Britain stage the next day. 

A couple of cheeky selfies later and we were back at the Riverside museum, déjà vu. 

At least we had a better idea of the escape from Glasgow route and we were soon settling in for a big day as we rolled along an old railway line towards Loch Lomond. Amidst the walkers we passed a man carrying a bird of prey on his hand, we ignored the urge to shout 'nice bird'. This section was busy with walkers who often didn't hear our approach so progress was intermittent.

Start of the West Highland Way (WHW)

Busker in Milngavie

Problems with my eTrex GPS were worrying me, it was unable to load the route up despite testing it back at home the previous week. It was an hour into the ride before it loaded up the right maps and route, fortunately we knew this section from our last attempt. The climb up Conic Hill hadn't got any easier and we were really steady descending the far side, Saul was practicing his 'ride within myself' mantra avoiding the steps and carrying the technical sections. Passing the point where he crashed last time felt like an achievement and it was all new to us from here on.

Conic Hill

Loch Lomond went on forever, initially fun and at times technical singletrack became unrideable after several miles and we were into the 'hike a bike' section. We'd averaged around 12mph to here but this figure plummeted as we squeezed between rocks, climbed stairs and tried not to overbalance into the loch. Hours disappeared and we still couldn't see the head of the loch. Some parts were rideable but the drains and water bars had already caused two punctures to Saul's back wheel and we were soon replacing a third tube. My chain then snapped but fortunately I had a spare link and chain breaker so we were soon moving again. That was until I realised that I couldn't unclip from my right pedal due to a lost cleat bolt. Fortunately I carried spare bolts and cleat since a similar mishap whilst racing the Manx 100 had lost me valuable time and sapped my enthusiasm.

Hike a bike 'til you don't like

Another puncture

Progress on the rocky singletrack at the head of the loch was steady so we were relieved to finally find a fast double track taking us north towards Crianlarich and Tyndrum. We were surprised to pass several groups of young girls and family group walking the route here, so far we'd only encounter older couples. It was strange to think that these walkers were taking a week to walk a route that we hoped to complete around today. More quality singletrack led through dark pine woodland and across moorland blooming with purple heather but we had little time to take in the view and the drizzle and idles kept us moving until we reached the Green Welly in Tyndrum. 

6pm. It was hours later than we'd planned reach this point, the light was starting to fade and we had a major section of trail to tackle before Fort William, nine hours to tackle sixty miles seemed depressingly feeble. Nothing to do but stock up on overpriced flapjack and nuts and carry on. The track to Bridge of Orchy was fast as was the old drover's road up to Rannoch Moor but darkness  arrived just as we crossed one of the remotest sections of the route. A further puncture to Saul's rear wheel whilst descending to the Kings House was fixed by torchlight as midges feasted on any exposed flesh they could find. This had become 'Type 2' fun, we pressed on regardless. 

The Devil's Staircase climb became a shove rewarded by the view back towards Rannoch Moor, tiny car headlights far below us the only clue to our progress. The top of the climb was cloaked in mist but the descent to 'The Electric Village' (Kinlochleven) was a blast despite the dark, wet conditions. What comes down must go back up, surely the next climb would be our last before Fort William? We had soon ground to a halt as Saul stopped to fix his Exposure light mount which unusually had worked its way loose. 

The long descent fooled us into thinking we were in the home straight for the WHW but the glow in the sky behind the ridge to our right confirmed my suspicion that there was more work to be done. We crawled up the steep climbs and dropped through deer fenced timber plantations to arrive at the back of Fort William. We headed to the rendezvous point but the van was nowhere to be seen so we had a look down Fort William high street to see if she was waiting at the end of the WHW. Again, no sign and I was growing frustrated as we wasted time dodging drunks in Fort William when we should be on our way to Inverness. A quick call and Emily and the van were located on the quayside, desperate for some real food I jumped in the van to pull out a sandwich I'd left in there the previous day.

Official end of the WHW

It was now 1am Sunday, hours later than we'd planned to arrive. We had eight hours to complete our ride, fortunately the Great Glen Way (GGW) started out fast and flat, a top gear mission in our tunnel of torchlight. To either side of our path was water but all we could see was the hard pack track stretching away into the darkness of the highland night. Occasional climbs broke up the monotony of the small hours and a donated caffeine gel kept me awake and on the trail. By this point I was craving some real food, flapjack, chocolate and cereal always lost their appeal after seventeen hours. Fortunately I had some nut butter sandwiches left but once they were exhausted my stomach grumbled, unaccustomed to the high energy diet we needed to complete this ride. I checked my watch and estimated how long it would take to the next village. It was pointless really, hours were flying by and we weren't hanging about but the scale of this ride was epic, we'd get there when we got there.

At Fort Augustus the character of the GGW changed, the GT24 opted for the high level GGW sections so we were once more grinding and shoving upwards through the forest round tight gravel hairpins. A wide singletrack roller coaster lurched towards the glimmer of dawn on the horizon. I fought with my gears which encrusted with mud were now very reluctant to work, I became convinced my brakes were dragging but it was just the thick gravel of the trail slowing progress.

Dawn arrived as we summited the second high level section of the GGW but we were far from done with our granny gears. More steep climbs and a great descent to Drumnadrochit for a final refuel before that last twenty miles into Inverness. We expected another climb and this one didn't disappoint but once done we rolled nearly all the way to Inverness, to our left the Northern highlands, to our right the the foothills of the Cairngorms. The last few miles were particularly great, a wide smooth downhill track was nirvana after some of the trails of the last twenty four hours and Inverness was bathed in sunshine. Along the riverside following the purple line on the GPS route to a final effort along the road into South Kessock where Emily waited patiently with here dog Spin. 10am, slower than expected at twenty five hours but we'd made it. Tough but not quite killer, there was unfinished business here.

When The Juju Isn't Good

You know how some people are superstitious? Well I'm not one of them. Don't walk under ladders? Well duh, there's a higher probability that something above will fall on you, and that's if you don't knock the ladder over. All that stuff about bad luck running in three's? A couple of bad things happen and you'll look for the third, it's known as confirmation bias. So if something bad happens I try not to let it phase me, I don't start looking for more bad stuff and I definitely don't use it as an excuse to dodge a 24 hour bike ride. Good, I'm glad we got that straight.

Where's all this going then?

Big rides take lots of preparation so they tend to get pencilled in early in the year and the last weekend in June had been picked long ago to ride the GT24. The GT24 is a point to point ride from the Riverside Museum on Glasgow dockside to South Kessock slipway near Inverness via the West Highland Way and the Great Glen Way. Approximately 170 miles and around 17000 feet of ascent, a big day out by anyone's standards. I planned to ride it with my riding partner Saul who was up for the challenge. The week beforehand was spent laying out and packing equipment, getting to grips with a new GPS and preparing bikes.

All set at Glasgow riverside

A Friday night post work dash by van up to Glasgow saw Saul and I installed in a Premier Inn at Milngavie for an early start on Saturday. Unfortunately Saul had caught the wheel arch of his van on a neighbour's car at home before we left on Friday night but our thoughts were on the challenge ahead of us, no time to dwell on a minor scrape to the van. Saturday morning arrived and we discovered a flat tyre on the van, not the end of the world, just a minor inconvenience. Changing the wheel delayed us by thirty minutes but we were still riding by 8.30am, I did remark to Saul "let's hope these things don't come in threes".

Group selfie. We were photobombed

Ride progress from the dockside to Milngavie was initially slow, the surprisingly scenic route followed cycle ways through a wooded valleys where locals were being instructed as part of some sort of boot camp course. The path split often as our route wound its way from the Clyde towards the hills so frequent maps checks were required as we did our best to stay on course.

From Milngavie we were able to use the GPS and we were soon clear of Glasgow, riding in the sunshine alongside a lochan flanked by rhododendron bushes in bloom towards the distant highlands. The views were great, it was warm and so far the going had been good, a disused railway, minor roads and forest tracks led towards Conic Hill on the shores of Loch Lomond. This was the first proper climb of the day and the path was busy with walkers and runners so upward progress was often interrupted. The terrain became trickier here as well, big rock steps prevented the trail from being washed away and made the ascent more challenging, we hadn't yet met any other riders and I was glad that I wasn't on my gravel bike with its skinnier tyres and minimal suspension.

Mount Conic

We stopped at the top of Conic Hill to admire the view over Loch Lomond whilst I attempted to sort out the indexing on my gears, it had become really poor over the last few miles and I couldn't work out why. We did the best we could and it seemed ok without me on the bike. Time for a big descent down to the Loch, the rock steps need restraint if we were to stay puncture free and avoid delays. There were too many walkers about anyway to pick up much speed, many of whom seeming slightly incredulous as we rode down the rocky steps towards the forested shoreline of the Loch.  I had moved right off the steps onto the grass when I saw Saul go over his handlebars and land on the steps before bouncing to a halt off two more granite steps. I winced, but he got up, straightened his handlebars and looked to be about to ride on before thinking better of it. I ditched my bike and crossed the steps to check he was ok. A moment was needed to work out the damage. With adrenaline coursing through veins it was often a few minutes before all injuries were reckoned. Saul's helmet had fortunately protected his head but he felt nauseous and had double vision which suggested that his injuries were more serious than we initially thought. 

The walkers we had passed further up the hill slowly came past and I took in the view whilst Saul waited for his vision to settle. After fifteen minutes or so he was clear to continue however steps were walked and progress was much steadier. We carried the bikes over a narrow gate from the steep grassy hill and descended into a pretty pine woodland on the shores of the Loch. I could tell from the pace that Saul wasn't right and we stopped in a loch side car park were Ibuprofin was administered. Another twenty minutes passed and it was becoming obvious that a change of plan was needed, he agreed that he wasn't in any condition to be riding further today. Whilst an ambulance wasn't required I needed to get his van so I set off back to Glasgow. 

Five miles later and an unfamiliar grating sound from the rear of the bike was starting to worry me. It sounded like carbon fibre on carbon fibre and the back end of the bike felt vague. The chain was also jumping off every time I stood up to pedal and I was starting to get irritated with these mechanical problems. I stopped and tried to work out what was going on. Problem number one was a slow puncture which I pumped up and hoped that the tubeless tyre sealant would seal. The rear mech looked to be badly aligned and I was confused about why this was, the bike had been fine only forty miles ago and it wasn't like I had fallen off or hit the rear mech in the meantime. Regardless, I had a van to fetch so I pressed on as the chorus of mechanical destruction grew louder with every revolution. Of course the tyre went soft again and after a few more miles I was forced to stop and install an inner tube. It was only when I removed the wheel that I noticed the rear cassette was loose on the freewheel. Mental cogs whirred and realised that the freewheel condition was terminal, if I went easy on it I might make it to the Clyde, jump up and down on it and I would have no chance. Inner tube installed and I chose a route following the busy A81 into Glasgow. The bike was now changing gear twice a pedal stroke which was frustrating but I focused on getting the van and ignored the cacophony from the back of the bike. 

The high rise flats of north Glasgow eventually came into view followed by the river Clyde snaking its way towards the wide open spaces of Argyll and Bute. Downhill to the riverside and I arrived at the van which was quickly packed up so I could head back to Lock Lomond for Saul.

I reflected back on the day's problems, in many ways it was good that I'd turned back when I did or we'd have been in a much less accessible spot on the isolated east shore of Lock Lomond when mechanical disaster struck. Accidents happen off road and without their threat what we do would be much less exciting. We'd both ride another day, but maybe I'd be carrying a horseshoe next time.

Hebridean Trailer tour

In May 2016 I was part of a group of four who toured the Outer Hebrides on hardtail mountain bikes towing BOB trailers, this is an account of that trip.

Day 1

Lefty and BOB at Oban ferry terminal

After a long journey north by van I was relieved to be setting sail from Oban on the Cal Mac ferry to Barra, the town had been hectic with Friday afternoon traffic and the tranquility of Barra seemed a world away. Steaming out past Tobermory and into the Minch the seas built to a good swell in the strong wind and the ship listed to port. As it corkscrewed through the waves I wondered whether we'd find a pile of cars and campervans below decks on arrival.
Every few waves a plume of spray would billow up and over the bow of the ferry washing the salty residue of an earlier rough crossing from the lounge portholes. Those passengers who were brave enough to attempt to walk round the ship staggered like the dregs emerging from a Stornoway nightspot. Through the spray we saw stunning views of the islands of Rhum, Eigg and Muck which slowly gave way to the classic vista of the Black Cuilin from Loch Scavaig. Eventually we spied the rugged hills of Barra and Vatersay emerging over the horizon, the ship rounded a headland and we entered the sheltered harbour of Castlebay on the east side of Barra with its castle keeping watch over the haven. We disembarked to the former herring port and headed north west to our camp site into a stiff headwind.

After a meal at the Castlebay Hotel a few hours later we rode south to the Isle of Vatersay and were rewarded by a sunset reminiscent of the closing scene from the horror film The Wickerman. The fat burning solar ball absorbed without trace into the Atlantic as we crossed the causeway onto the island. As the sky turned from orange to blue, purple and finally darkest blue we speculated on the distance to the next landfall heading west; Newfoundland.

Barra Airport

 

Day 2

An early start to catch our first ferry from Barra, unfortunately our schedule proved optimistic as it turned out that twenty minutes was not long enough to break camp. It wasn't a big deal, a later ferry would be fine and we now had time to explore north Barra. A meander through dune lined lanes led over a moor to the airport, the only one in the rock ramp led  from the road to the beach and we rode across the runway to the terminal building. Not a soul to be seen at the terminal but the sun was making its presence felt so a lie down in the dunes to listen to the birdsong and drink in the tranquility was a luxury not often enjoyed whilst out on the bike. A spin up to the northerly end of the road and it was time to board the ferry to Eriskay. We shared the busy ferry with three football teams and several cars full of shrubs headed for a church plant sale. On disembarking we lugged our trailers up the climb out of the port and past the brightly painted sheds and houses of Eriskay to descend to a long causeway marking the approach to South Uist. After a cafe stop to refuel on coffee and carrot cake at the south end of the island we ventured on to the Machair Trail, a sandy track weaving close the the beach up the west side of the island.

Heading north into a stiff headwind we alternated between admiring the white sandy beaches stretching on for miles to our left and the hills to our right. After a few miles we strayed on to the beach and rode just beyond the reach of the incoming waves. Eventually the beach gave way to stone and rock so it was time to head back inland on to the Machair trail. Pushing our bikes up through the dunes we noticed a sheep lying on its back, initially it seemed dead but a waving leg suggested otherwise. The sheep had a hoof stuck in the fence, it seemed weak and could have been stuck for several days. I grabbed the stuck hoof, fortunately the wire hadn't cut the hoof or leg and I prised the wire out and put the sheep on its feet. It wasn't happy, nostrils foaming and unable to balance we fed it some water and left it hoping it would rest and recover. 

The next few miles were slow going, deep sand sucked the energy from our cranks, trailers digging in and making subtle changes in direction near impossible. The Machair gave way to grass, gravel and on reaching tarmac it was like the brakes had been taken off, we rolled free again.

The head wind and missed early ferry had put us behind schedule so we slogged out a few more miles on the main road and called it a day in the village of Linaclate at the south end of Benbecula. 

Day 3

A day of tarmac; we spun away putting in steady miles northward to the hum of a rumbling bearing on one of the BOB trailers. Benbecula gave way to North Uist by way of several boulder lined causeways. North Uist was unremarkable bar the abandoned cars and houses which were had been  a persistent theme of the southernmost Outer Hebrides. The scrap industry was literally dead and buried in a shallow grave out here.

A singletrack road across the centre of the island climbed past piles of cut peat to the dizzying height of forty two metres only to descend down through a valley where birders stood with large lenses hoping to catch a glimpse of the golden eagle that had been spotted earlier in the day. More single track road and a causeway led north east to the ferry terminal on Berneray but not before we'd stopped to fix a mechanical problem on an electric bike which was in danger of ruining a couple's touring holiday

The ferry to Harris passed beautiful islands as it felt its way through the notoriously difficult sound of Harris but my fellow riders were all asleep after a quayside lunch of bread and hummous. Harris was big and rugged after the flatlands of The southern islands. The sight of mountains with their heads in the clouds was most welcome as was the wide sandy beach where we joined the kite surfers playing on the beach. Finding out way off the beach was tougher and required a push up through the dunes and across a field to teach the main road. Further up the loch we turned off this road onto a track which summited a pass to drop through a quarry and back to the road. We were nearly there, a few more miles past past smoking chimneys and we arrived at our hostel looking out over the Minch.

Harris estuary

Quarry on Harris

Golden sand on Harris

Day 4

Monday dawned and breakfast was had in the reflection of the sun shimmering over the Minch. Soon after we headed off to Tarbert by way of a path that occasionally disappeared only to reappear a hundred metres later. We stocked up on essential provisions in Tarbert as there weren't any shops or cafes on today's route; I chose oatcakes, smoked salmon, hummous and chocolate, others opted for pittas, chocolate bars and Muller rice. A brief pull up out of Tarbert and we set off up the Postman's Walk. This was the only route over land to the hamlet of Rhenigeadal until the locals finally got their own road in 1989. The climb to the top of the hill was technical at times but gave no warning of the descent that would face us. Two puncture repairs later and we rolled off over the top down to the classic zig-zagging descent that this route was notorious for, at times it seemed unfeasible that it was impossible to get round the tight, technical switch backs but when you did get one right it was a fantastic feeling. Brake levers were frantically feathered in the quest for grip whilst gravity sucked us down the steep grassy lower slopes to the rocky beach.

A quick tot up confirmed we'd all made it although a couple of tyres had sustained cuts on the way down. A brief carry up and we were happily contouring along the steep sided cliff towards Rhenigeadal.
    
Out of the valley and some road miles were put in to reach the second trail of the day, a long Land Rover track leading up a valley to a pass where I was surprised by an enormous bird of prey taking off to circle overhead. Dark brown wings with a patch of golden feathers, this was a golden eagle - one of the rarest native birds in the UK and a real privilege to experience in this landscape. A fast stony descent and long slog of a grassy climb took us up to the 1150 feet from where we descended rapidly to a long track leading down the Glen past the hide were visitors waited patiently for a golden eagle to pass. 
One last trail finishing with a fast grassy descent and lochside path capped the day of nicely; 6886 feet of climbing over 48 miles.

Day 5

The day started bright but rain was forecast so we were eager get started. Andrew and I had booked sea kayaks for an hour before we would head off to catch the Uig ferry. Out on the sea loch we paddled out into the swell in search of wildlife; we found very little until I heard a snorting sound behind me and turned to see the nostrils, whiskers and eyes of a seal grabbing a breath before diving again for fish. We saw very little else bar some terns and gulls, it was time to get the ferry anyway so we landed the kayaks and pedalled off to Uig just as the rain started to come down. By the time we landed in Uig rain had set in and the ride from Uig to Sligachan via the Quirang was no fun at all, the road to Portree stretched on as far as we could see whilst the mountains his under a thick misty cloak. Eventually we reached Portree where some hot food lifted spirits for the final few miles. As we neared Sligachan The thick scent of gorse bloom welcomed us to the Cuillin, the rain stopped and there was even a patch of blue sky over the Red Peak. Balance restored, I looked forward to sampling a couple of peaty drams at the Sligachan Hotel.
 
 

Day 6

Rain on the tent woke me at 4, I turned over and drifted off again. It was still raining at 5 so I cancelled my 6.15am alarm, intended for an early morning ride in the direction of the Cuillin, I didn't fancy getting wetter than necessary and the trail would be hard going in the rain. The thirty  miles to the ferry were wet and fast, we averaged nearly seventeen mph towing the trailers and were at Armadale in good time for the Mallaig sailing. The last section into Armadale was pure sensory delight, the scent of broom in bloom, gorse, wild garlic and bluebells a real treat. The Mallaig crossing was quick and once in the town we found some lunch at a chippy, the haggis and chips tasted good; more so eaten in the fresh air on Mallaig platform watching the steam special manoeuvring around in the station. The sun emerged and we basked in welcome rays.
      
Tents pitched and trailers parked at a campsite near Arisaig, I headed off with Saul to ride the singletrack from Morar to Tarbet on the shores of loch Nevis. A fast road start led up the west shore of Loch Morar to the start of the trail, initially it meandered lochside through oak woodland, bracken fronds under the trees and verdant grass seeking light under the virgin oak leaves. The trail soon took a left turn up over a minor headland, sharp boulders and tight turns made this a technical challenge and our speed dropped off as we dismounted to get past the toughest sections. Technical sections alternated with faster sweeping grassy parts where speed could be picked up. Eventually we arrived at a large white house on the shores of Loch Morar where we headed left up and over a small pass on a Land Rover track to the hamlet of Tarbet. I spent 10 minutes repairing the tyre I'd ripped on the descent into Tarbet whilst chatting to a farmer. Disappointingly Knoydart remained elusive under cloud across the bay to the north so we spun back up the hill and down to return on the lochside singletrack. Happily the trail flowed much better in this direction, seemingly impossible rocky sections were rolled clean and boots were rarely dabbed. In no time we arrived back at the campsite to get cleaned up for tea, 

Day 7

Today's weather was forecast to be wet from mid morning so we were keen to get going towards Strontian. Some farm tracks near Arisaig made a welcome change from busy roads and we were soon donning full waterproofs and heading towards Gleneig on Loch Ailort. The rain became heavy and we were all pleased to stop at a cafe in Acharacle after 30 miles. The remaining 12 miles to Strontian were undulating and occasionally not unlike being in the midst of an Atlantic storm at sea, such was the strength of the south easterly headwind. Soon enough though we arrived at the campsite where I lit a fire in the communal area's wood burner and relaxed  for the rest of the afternoon. Some days it's good to do nothing.

Day 8

Rain on the fly sheet of the tent woke me again at 4 and by 4.45am I was getting up to ride the last leg of our trip down to Fishnish for the Oban ferry. An easy spin through Strontian and round the head of Loch Sunart led to a tough 850 ft climb from the side of the loch over a pass and eventually down to the Fishnish ferry terminal. We saw more deer on this 20 mile section of road over the moors south through Ardnamurchan than we had during the entire rest of the week; it had been worth the early start. As we dropped down from the high moor the scenery changed from peat moorland to lush woodland, rhododendron, broom and flowering gorse. After ninety minutes we arrived at Fishnish for the first ferry of the day, the second was another short crossing into Oban where we returned to the van and celebrated the end of a great week on the bikes. 

Gear used

• Cannondale F29er Lefty bike
• BOB Ibex single wheel trailer
• MSR Hubba Hubba 2 man tent
• Trangia stove
• OMM waterproofs