Barcelona or Bust

We emerge from Bordeaux airport at midnight. Cigarette smoke and cheap perfume taint the balmy night as we assemble our bikes under sodium lamps. Nearby, taxi drivers kick banter around to fill the slow, small hours. 
15 year old Arran and I have flown here to start a bike ride which will finish in 6 days time in Port de Pollença, Mallorca - if all goes to plan. First though, we must ride to Barcelona over some of the biggest mountain passes in south western Europe. That is the full extent of our plan, we're carrying bikepacking gear and will sleep and eat where we can.

The stark white light of Monday morning floods the white walls of the breakfast room in our hotel. We come round slowly from a short night's sleep. Suitably stuffed we meander out of Bordeaux along bike lanes which usher us towards the Atlantic coast. Suburbs give way to ancient pine heathland, bracken and heather sweltering under big blue skies. 

The afternoon sees heathland give way to fields of neck high corn. At times it’s a little like a labyrinth, kilometres of narrow lanes flanked by tight rows of head high corn, we blindly follow the arrows on my iPhone keeping an eye skyward for reassurance we are moving south. Skies are darkening by early evening, we hope the threat of rain is empty. That said, water is what we need. Thirst builds with the arrival of dusk, we need water before the morning but every village is dry. We try a few taps at houses shuttered up for the summer break but they are all dry. Ten minutes after sunset on another straight lane between fields I notice a sign outside the back gate of a farm house, “eau potable”. There’s a light on so I knock on the back door and check it’s ok to use the tap in the back garden “bien sur” replies the farmer. 

Lucky.

Fifteen minutes later Arran spots a five star bivvy spot. Short grass, trees for shelter, running water and a toilet. All beside a lake with enough breeze to keep the bugs at bay. Duck calls punctuate the darkness until sleep.

Day 2 

Tat tat tat tat.
Raindrops falling on my bivvy bag, the sky is sullen. We start the day with hike-a-bike up a steep clay track just as the heavens open.  Fat drops of rain which soak us both through and leave us feeling apprehensive - we're in trouble if the rest of the day is this slow and this wet but a forecast of dry skies later in the day keeps me optimistic. Near Lourdes we steal our first glimpse of the mountains through low cloud, YES! Our progress miraculously picks up by 3kph instantly. Security is tight in Lourdes, a tall security fence surrounds the religious centre and guards won’t even allow a bicycle into the area around the shrine. We stop at a cafe in a nearby village which promises a "museo de velo". Sure enough, a shrine to a former world cyclocross and Tour de France champion. It's a fitting start to our climb up the Tourmalet. As we creep past the 1000m contour I can smell and hear the mountains despite the poor visibility. Cold damp air carries the scent of cow dung and mountain herbs. Cowbells ring out from high above and the occasional whir of a free hub heralds another black lycra clad road warrior plummeting from the clouds. Our progress against gravity is less dramatic but no less determined, without a view progress is judged solely by the markers every 1km; “1670m 6km moyen 8.5%” - a warning, a sentence to serve, or the promise of emancipation. It depends on your point of view.

Arran on the Tourmalet old road

Emancipation is cold and wet, we summit soaked by sweat and drizzle anxious to descend from the cloud before we get chilled. A hotel is found on the descent, we're both ready for a good meal and a hot shower.

Arran climbing the upper section of the Tourmalet

Top of the Tourmalet

Tired!

Day 3

The Col d‘Aspin follows breakfast, our first col of the day bagged by 11am - an ascent into lazy cloud lingering at the saddle of peaks that vanish out of sight above us. Speed builds on the descent which winds down the mountain encircling an isolated hillock.

Col d'Aspin

 

It is reminiscent of Sa Calobra in places, testing the limits of my gravel tyres through the corners until we reach the town of Arreau. Its narrow streets are lined with centuries old houses and whilst it is charming we need to press on up the Col de Peyresource. We’re behind schedule and making up distance in the mountains will be hard work today. Skies have cleared at the col and we duck into a smoky wooden hut where lunch is being cooked.

Groups of cyclists exchange banter whilst waiting for coffee and food. Monteban-de-Luchon is our next stop at the base of the col, the map suggests that food and water may be scarce from here so we stock up before climbing out of France to the Spanish border. Although this is not a major col temperatures of 30 degrees and the ever changing gradient (spiking at 15%) make it feel like hard work.

near Vielha

At the next town (Vielha), the first we encounter in Spain, we once more make a beeline for a supermarket where we bump into bikepacker Andis Boltins. We exchange notes about the next leg of our journey which will take us through the Vielha tunnel. Andis has ridden here from Barcelona - the reverse of our route. He reports that he rode straight through the long tunnel without trouble.
Riding off-road towards the tunnel Pyrenean peaks tower over us, I can't even tell where the tunnel starts. The valley we follow appears to end in a steep slope ahead with no sign of the main road. The 8k long Tunel el Vielha is a major landmark on our journey and we aren’t yet absolutely sure that we’ll be allowed to ride through it. My limited research suggested that we should use the service or old tunnel. At the tunnel entrance I use the emergency phone to check it’s ok to ride on. A misunderstanding results in us using the wrong entrance and minutes later a van speeds up behind us to inform us of our mistake. We return down the deserted old tunnel and enter the new three lane tunnel where a lane has ben closed just for us. Signs inform drivers of “cyclists en tunel". Wow, we get our own lane on the long climb through the tunnel!

The tunnel climbs slowly through the mountain and the sounds are alien, the shrieking hot brakes of lorries in the opposite carriageway, labouring artics crawling past us on their way up to the mouth of the tunnel. Eventually a small white light ahead grows and we exit the tunnel high above a Pyrenean valley. From here we cruise south out of the mountains into a less dramatic landscape, rounded hills replace dislocated limestone peaks, woodland replaces sunburnt mountain pasture. Unsure of what lies ahead we stop 20k later at the first town we encounter, water and an evening meal are required. The town throngs with people enjoying the cooler early evening air, low sun lights the streets and we seek out an open restaurant. It seems that we are early, drinks are ordered ahead of the kitchen opening at our restaurant. It's a good opportunity to catch up on photo editing whilst legs recuperate. The rest does us good, we decide to tackle one more Col before a bivvy, a climb of 650m by moonlight is an unexpected pleasure and we find a bivvy spot near the road at the base of the descent.

last Col of the day

 We’ve ridden 100 miles today and climbed around 12000 ft - we are getting back on track. The skies are beautifully clear, littered with constellations and I don't want to close my eyes. Unsurprisingly we are both fast asleep in minutes, and 6 am comes around rapidly.

Bikepacking - not that glamorous

Day 4

This is crunch day, we are 50km behind schedule if we are to reach Barcelona today and catch our ferry tomorrow. An early start improves optimism but the first town we reach is still closed up at 7.30 am. A strong coffee is ordered and eventually a patisserie opens up so I can buy Arran a large slab of pizza, he's going to need plenty f energy today. It's soon 30°C and water does not last long, quickly transformed to streams of sweat which spatter onto the smooth tarmac.

Arran eyes up another hill

There are a few hills on today’s route but by and large it undulates gently, reminding me of northern Greece. Blinding sun, sweat in my eyes, bleached fields - at least we are heading towards the sea. A three course meal at lunchtime is a good excuse to hide from the heat. Early afternoon is always an ordeal at this latitude, the shops close as temperatures peak and we're left out here grinding our way south. A few more hours and we’ll have won today if I can keep Arran fed though. Unexpectedly we find a shop open at the top of the next climb; half a melon, bread and water seem like a good idea. The melon is shared, its shell scraped clean, and we set off downhill rejuvenated. Urban sprawl replaces fields but it's hours before we get our first glimpse of the Barcelona skyline beyond the suburbs we thread through.

off road into Barcelona

Nearer the city we divert off road onto a series of gravel tracks running parallel to the railway lines and major roads which also head towards the city centre. The early evening sun lights roads deserted by commuters but once we reach the city centre noise and movement dominate. Bike lanes are everywhere and they throng with bikes, electric scooters, even roller skates. We do our best to tag along behind anyone who's moving fast and knows which lights are ok to run. Amidst this chaos it suddenly dawns on us - we’ve made it; 430 miles and 30000 ft of climbing over 4 days.

Pretty impressive at the age of 15.

Day 1

Day 2

Day 3

Day 4

The Cairngorm Loop(s)

Veggie haggis, neaps and tatties with a
pint of local ale and a Laphroaig chaser

Back in 2016 I came across a bikepacking website which described a 188 mile route through the Cairngorms. Having never ridden in the Cairngorms this went straight on my bucket list of big rides and I decided to ride it with regular mountain biking accomplice Saul in the spring of 2017. Such was our pessimism about the Scottish weather that we put two dates in the calendar (one was bound to be wet or stormy and nobody likes riding for twenty four hours in Scottish rain). Fortunately our pessimism was just that. On checking the Cairngorm mountain forecast a few days before we the first date we'd pencilled in the forecast was ideal; light winds, dry and sunny - better than an average day in Yorkshire. "What's our plan?" asked Saul. We had a couple of options: a) ride 'til you drop or b) split the route across two days and use one of the many bothies on the route. For some reason when faced with this type of question my default choice is the hardest framed as the easiest, i.e. we don't want to mess about carrying bulky sleeping gear so lets not bother with the sleeping bit, ride on through and sleep later. I questioned the logic of this plan as we sorted our gear in the car park of the Tourist Information Centre in Blair Atholl after a surprisingly good nights sleep in the back of my van. I remembered our GT24 trip last year, that was a tough day (and night) out, the possibility of a repeat performance did not currently excite me.

Things did not not start well, there was no data signal for my phone and the route had not completed synching offline. Without the route we would have to work from four OS maps, and we'd be changing map sheets every few miles. We rolled out to the Bridge of Tilt at 7am and enjoyed the early morning tranquility of the Blair Atholl Castle estate. Once down by the A9 we had the old road to ourselves, a good warmup for what lay ahead. Unexpectedly at this point there was a good data signal for my phone so I was able to pick up the route and follow it on screen, this would save us time and navigation faffing.

GPX trace loaded at last

 

Our first proper off road section was an easy estate track climb over the grouse moors to the first river crossing at Sronphadruig (not a typo!) Lodge, then a brief section of bog leading to typical Scottish singletrack hugging a steep grassy lochside. We rolled downhill on estate road to Loch an T-Seilich where spirits were lifted by deep blue skies and bright sunshine, so far so good. We'd be round in no time if the terrain continued like this I thought. 

 

Riding on through pine forest under blue skies we were both feeling optimistic about what lay ahead, progress was better than expected and navigation was generally straight forward although we did take a couple of wrong turns around Feshiebridge which required us to retrace our steps. The trail was blocked here by fallen trees so we took a bit of a singletrack diversion up into the woods, all part of mountain biking in these parts. 

Forest track became fast single track through the woods to the Glenmore Lodge on Loch Morlich, the sandy trail lined by small native pines and heather - near perfection on a day like this. I occasionally wondered whether I'd got this right; here we were in Scotland riding great trails through stunning scenery under blue skies. The usual Scottish defaults of rain, bog and midge were curiously absent, at least for now. Saul commented that we hadn't seen a single other person on the trail all morning, which was the cue for us to encounter every dog walker, sightseer and otherwise at-a-loose-end individual within a ten mile radius in the next mile. We were obviously getting close to civilisation (or a National Trust car park). At the head of the Loch Morlich wex stopped at the Glenmore campsite and topped our Camelbacks up with water in preparation for the climb up to the high point of the route which lay ahead. 

 

The climb was on steep and wide gritty single track littered with water bars which tested strength. The single fork on my Cannondale F29er wandered skyward as I wheelied it up each stone step and I was reminded of our two rides up Conic Hill on the West Highland Way last year, at least the sun was shining today. We chatted to a couple of fell walkers at the top of the climb whilst we stopped for some lunch. Above us to the west was Cairn Gorm, the mountain, cloaked in snow. We had climbed to 2,600 feet, altitude that was soon eroded by an exciting jump strewn descent from the pass to the fords of Avon. Our progress was slowed here as the trail became strewn with large rocks, focus was required to pick a rideable line through a rock garden which stretched for miles down the valley. Some sections were walked, they could have been ridden on a full suspension bike or by riders who weren't pacing themselves for another twenty hours on the bike but we needed to conserve energy. 

Consequently the descent to the shelter at the Fords of Avon was slow and frustrating in places, but hike-a-bike is often the price of reaching the remote and spectacular vistas that surrounded us. The Fords of Avon shelter was actually a small shed nestled in behind a deep dry stone wall, it felt cosy inside and must be a life saver for those caught out by the elements. Luckily no such problems for us today as from here the trail slowly improved to a fast flowing ribbon of dry sandy earth down into the valley and along to a disused farm house. Not long after we reached a brief section of road at the Linn of Dee and took advantage of the tail wind as we headed south west up the valley on the final section of our first ring of the loop. The valley was wide and featureless, I was aware that we'd be returning here in several hours time as the second ring of our loop returned along this track but split off to the south further along. We stopped at the fork and I enjoyed a couple more of the burritos I was carrying, both slightly worse for wear after sixty miles off road. Meanwhile Saul attempted his customary afternoon nap, we weren't racing today.

After the earlier delays caused by hike-a-bike I was apprehensive about whether there were several more miles of it coming up on the climb over the watershed to Glen Feshie. The estate track became a grassy and boggy single track which forced us to dismount every hundred metres or so to cross peaty morass. At least the climb to the watershed was gentle and eventually we started to descend again into Glen Feshie. The valley was steep sided and clad in thick heather, we lost height rapidly whilst the river Feshie surged in size with the addition of each stream tumbling down the side of the hill from high above. After a brief stop to enjoy the late afternoon sunshine we needed to ford the river, fortunately it had been fairly dry here in recent days yet I was soon wading knee, and then thigh deep in the crystal clear water. The current tugged at the wheels of my bike sweeping it from the riverbed and dragging us downstream. Not a crossing I'd want to attempt in the middle of a wet spell. From here we enjoyed a mixture of estate road and trail centre quality singletrack as we followed the valley west back to Feshiebridge. Littering the now meandering river bed was the aftermath of a big winter storm, uprooted trees and sections of road and trail stolen by flood waters desperate to escape the glen. 

Our second visit of the day to Feshiebridge meant that we'd completed one ring of the loop, just the northern outer ring remained and fortunately we were now making good time on the road northwards for a few miles towards Aviemore. Lush woodland bathed in golden evening light and a few easy miles were just what we needed, a chance to let arms and wrists recover from the miles we'd covered in the mountains. We spent the hour before sunset riding quiet forest tracks disturbing the occasional deer under clear blue skies now tinged with all the colours of the spectrum from yellow to violet. The cold north easterly wind gained strength and extra layers were donned. Within a few miles I was wearing everything I was carrying including the white leg warmers that made me look like a marooned roadie up here on the mountain trails. Lights were needed as we approached Tomintoul and I looked into the cosy houses that we passed with a some envy. Would I swap a peat fire, a dram and a good night's sleep for our adventure?  

We reached Tomintoul just in time to find an open pub where Saul bought us crisps, coke and cake for later.  The ride from here to Inchrory in the absolute darkness of a Highland night was through thick mist and I became disorientated, unable to tell whether we were climbing up a valley or descending. After ten miles or so the trail kicked skywards on a steep gravel climb which rewarded with the most amazing views as we exited through the top of the low cloud into a starry moonlit vista which looked too beautiful to be real. Mountain tops poked though cotton wool cloud to soak up the milky glow of the moon whilst a thousand and one stars vied for attention above us. We stopped and turned our lights off so we could fully appreciate the beauty around us. It was a view that you would never see unless you were to stray from routine to enter this parallel nocturnal world, thoughts of cold fingers, aching legs and other temporary hardships vanished in the face of the beauty that surrounded us. 

As if this wasn't reward enough the descent into Braemar was fantastic fun and had us grinning into the darkness, we flew round natural berms and plummeted towards the valley floor. The centre of Braemar was unsurprisingly deathly quiet, we sat on a bench in the centre and enjoyed the cakes from Tomintoul before pressing on up the road on our second visit to the Linn of Dee. There was a possibility of more hike-a-bike up the Dee valley but fortunately little transpired. We followed a tight sheep track above the river until we realised that we'd gone too far and missed our turnoff. It was difficult in the darkness to see where we'd missed the turn but we found it and trudged up steep switchbacks to the top of the hill where we'd be able to ride again. As the sky slowly became graphite, then dark blue and then lighter blue we noticed the grass become crusty. There was a frost up here, we kept moving anxious to finish the loop before the chill could bite. The top of the climb led to a stream crossing where we found a farm high in the hills. A new farm access track allowed quick progress southwards towards Blair Atholl but the cold air chilled us on the descents and our bikes also suffered. Gear changes became more and more difficult until I could no longer change gear and was forced to climb and descend using the same gear. I guessed that the cables that had earlier been immersed in the River Feshie had now frozen preventing any change of gear. Not to worry, we're nearly back I thought. Or we would have been nearly back, except we talked ourselves into misreading the map and ignoring the GPS trace at the next turnoff, fatigued group think rewarded by seventeen bleak road miles running on fumes through freezing fog to Blair Atholl. Conversation dried up replaced by a silent focus to finish, I hoped for more climbing to warm up frozen digits and a chilled core. By the time we reached the van I was so cold I had stopped noticing but it took two hours in the van wearing a down jacket with the heater on before I felt warm again. Driving south between roadside naps we were pleased to be finished but sad to be leaving Scotland on such a beautiful sunny day, we'll return soon for another epic no doubt.

Gear

Cannondale F29er 

Apidura half frame bag

Exposure lights

Stats

200 miles, 12,478ft climbing, 19hrs 36mins moving time

Thanks to Velofondista for bike preparation and Saul Muldoon for some of the photos

Singlespeed Sand Racing at Battle on the Beach

New Year's Eve is an odd place to start a beach race but that is where this one starts. Wannabe racers need to have their index fingers poised at midnight, credit card in hand to stand a chance of bagging a place in the always oversubscribed Battle on the Beach race. Some may have celebratory champagne in hand as they scrabble to register before the event sells out, I did, but reactions need to be quick to get registered before the entries sell out. That otherwise serially underwhelming evening is fortunately in stark contrast to the excitement on the start line at Pembrey as hundreds squeeze behind metal barriers into the natural funnel between sand dunes in early spring each year.

Start Line at Battle on the Beach photo © Stephen Smith

Arran at Bike Park Wales

Stadium Riders were fielding a good turnout this year and most of us had enjoyed an exciting day of riding at Bike Park Wales the day before. We were amongst the first to ride the new blue trail 'Popty Ping' which was well worth the climb, even for Arran on his single speed. We camped at Pembrey Country Park on Saturday night in a field of camper vans and tents between the woods and sea, the weather was perfect and the company good as we shared Saul's trademark 'go faster pasta' under starry skies. Earlier Claire, San, Saul and I had raced the 'Battle on the Dark' night time trial which used a shortened version of Sunday's full race lap; six miles of full throttle torchlit effort. The sunset was stunning, the sky painted blue, pink and purple for the thirty minutes that we queued up by the beach waiting for the darkness to fall, and the race to begin. 

tick tock, tick tock © Stephen Smith

This time trial is unique, the first half is spent chasing down lights on the beach and in the case of the singlespeeders maintaining a cadence more suited to roller racing until the feint flashing lights further down the beach are hunted down and the exit into the woods is reached. Dismount and a short run up a soft sandy dune leads to the return leg  through the woods. Twisty singletrack gives way to forest road and sandy double track, occasional steep climbs gain the rider ten metres of altitude before plunging back down into the woods. It's not long before I can hear the music and tannoy of the finish line and we can return for some food and a peaceful night's sleep on the camp site. 

Track stand off

Most races start early but this one leaves plenty of time for fretting pre-race if you are that way inclined. Fortunately a beautiful sunny morning and plenty of activity at Camp Stadium Riders left little time for worry. San, Arran and I took a spin down to the beach to take some photos and make the most of the glorious weather. We left it a tad late to return and the thirty minutes after we returned were hectic. Last minute bike adjustments, something to eat and drink and packing of the vans to enable a quick getaway post race. We rolled down to the start line for 11.30am, thirty minutes to spare notionally but any later and you'd be at the very back of the funnel of riders on the start line. I was lucky enough to have been seeded so I slipped though the queues and down to the very front of the start line, up against the barriers between two of the fastest riders here: last year's winner and George Budd (winner of last year's Dirty Reiver gravel race). I'm a bit out of place on my steel singlespeed amongst the skin suits, shaved legs and sponsored riders and these riders all seem to know each other, masking nerves with banter and chat about the new season. There's still a good variety of bikes down here at the front from fat bikes to skinny cross bikes, there's not obvious choice for this race although last year's winners are on mountain bikes with skinny bars and taped bar ends. 

© Stephen Smith

Meanwhile a DJ pumps out '90's hits and our compere builds the excitement in the start funnel. Fifteen minutes, five minutes, two minutes, one minute... and... FOGHORN!!! A frantic scramble throught the soft sand to the hard packed beach where speed can be attained. Easily a hundred riders pass me as I leave it late to mount my bike and get going. Once spinning I concentrate on maintaining that cadence. Frequent heart rate checks ensure that I'm not overcooking it at this early stage, it's like a motorcycle track day where I'd watch the tacho, you can't stay north of the red line for an hour and a half. There is a tail wind down the beach this year which the single speeders can't really benefit from, I remark on this to Charlie the Bikemonger as I pass him, he's smiling whilst I spin furiously in an attempt to catch the riders in front before the singletrack through the woods. Towards the end of the beach a few riders are already flagging, others are busy shouting at anyone who passes a bit close. I've got my race head on now, eyes down focused on what's ahead. The sections back through the woods seem less congested than last year and by the second lap I get a clear run at most of the hills. It doesn't lessen the amount of grunt needed to climb them on my 34T x 15T gear. Marshalls shout much appreciated encouragement and by the second lap slower riders are happy to move over to let faster ones though. 

lap 2, before it started to hurt © Stephen Smith

The third lap splits left at around seven miles on to a wider track through the woods to give us a chance to battle it out with our peers. I can see one guy a hundred metres ahead but I can't catch him on the flat. The finish draws closer and I make a last effort over the timing mat. I catch my breath on the grass overlooking the finish, Saul is in a few minutes later followed by Claire and Gary. San is nowhere to be seen, we wonder whether he's stopped to take some photos but it's his low singlespeed gear that has held him up. Its good to have finished the first proper race of the year, after much hanging around I find out that I've won the singlespeed category so swag and a framed award are presented, podium photos snatched and then back to the van for a long drive home. 

 A Cycling do a great job of organising the event (as well as others through the year) so if you haven't yet raced it I'd certainly recommend giving it a go. I'm sure we'll be back as Arran wants to race next year, the only question is what to ride... 

All quiet on the beach © Stephen Smith 

Clare racing © Stephen Smith

Tandem fat bike! © Stephen Smith

San spinning his singlespeed fat bike © Stephen Smith 

the winning pair, real pros © Stephen Smith

Saul spinning hard © Stephen Smith

Big thanks to Saul for organising and Stephen Smith for the photos.

Gear Used:

Skookum 853 singlespeed running 34T x 15T, Niner fork, cutdown bars and bar ends