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

Pennine Bridleway End to End

"I've ticked off a few big rides this year and I'm still thinking about more so I must enjoy them, right? Otherwise it's just masochism", so goes the internal monologue. I turn down the volume on that and look forward. Only a couple of days after returning from Crossduro Oxford I realised that every weekend until late September was taken up with gigs or family holiday. The weekend coming was also close to the summer Solstice which seemed like a good excuse to ride all night. A quick consider of the possibilities offered up the Yorkshire Dales 300 or the Pennine Bridleway. Both would be a big challenge but the Pennine Bridleway won out as I'd been mulling an attempt at the route for a year or two. 

Wife Jen generously offered to drop me at the Middleton Top start point and meet me at the end in Kirby Stephen. She also prepared my bike replacing the bottom bracket which was totally shot after the Capital Trail. Preparation for this kind of thing was definitely getting easier with practice, getting a reliable GPX file of the route was the main headache. I had no idea how long the 180 mile ride would take, Phil Simcock set a record of around 20 hours and 5 minutes in 2015, others had taken more than 24 hours over it. Only one way to find out...

Setting off from the former railway station at Middleton Top south of Matlock I'm feeling relaxed, the disused railway line is mainly flat and fast, a good fifteen mile warmup into a stiff westerly headwind. Limestone trails are beautiful at this time of year, yellow and blue wild flowers, cow parsley and long grass heavy with seed overhang the bright white stone. Further up the Tissington Trail at Parsley Hay I pass groups of school kids on Duke of Edinburgh expeditions, for many their first foray into the great outdoors without adult supervision. I'm glad to reach the end of this trail though and reach the first of many sections of single track on the PBW. The descent into and out of Chee Dale gets my heart rate right up and I have to make a conscious effort to shift into easier gears, there's another 20 000ft to climb in the next 24 hours.

Leaving the white stone of the White Peak for the Dark Peak feels good, real progress and a change of terrain. Mud, gritstone and moody grey skies, not that I get much chance to look up, I'm too busy staying upright on the challenging rocky sections south of Hayfield. A brief respite on the Sett Valley railway out of Hayfield before a climb up over Lantern Pike. My GPX route runs into trouble south of Glossop, a dispute over funding of the trail means the trail is officially closed with no official diversion. This throws me off route and I end up in someone's back garden high above Glossop. Back on track at Tintwhistle it's only a hop over the moors to familiar territory. Greenfield, Stanage, Buckstones are all dangerously close to home and a ripped rear tyre allows an opportunity for those 'wouldn't you prefer to be at home on the sofa?' thoughts that periodically surface during any challenge. Tyre fixed with a tubeless repair and I'm on my way, nearly one third of the distance under my belt but plenty of challenges ahead. A couple of minor mechanicals have me deploying cable ties and borrowing bottle cage bolts to make my left hand shifter work, at least it can be fixed. 

    

The setts of the old Rooley Moor road above Rochdale are always a slog, the ancient route to Whalley Abbey from  Rochdale  is wide and straight but decades of Pennine winters have left their mark. Near the summit above the popular trails at Lee Quarry the setts have parallel grooves worn into them where horse drawn carts have worn the stone away. A reminder of tougher times, when survival required routine hard physical labour. 

The steep descent into Stacksteads is over in a flash and a stop at the Coop is my last chance to pick up food today. Bags filled with bean wraps, croissants, chocolate bars and an emergency Coke I climb up towards Cliviger through the 'Gateageddon' section. There's a gate approximately every two hundred metres on which frustrates progress, fortunately the clouds have passed and evening sun lights the way. I even enjoy the climb out of Cliviger up to Hurstwood and Gorple. The new sections of trail between here and Wycoller are fantastic, fast rolling and well graded, there are even berms through some of the corners and a rock garden mid descent. It's early evening and lambs are playful on the lawn-like short grass alongside the trail, pheasants scatter from the trail ahead and I spot a couple of owls and a gull which is presumably far from home. There's a comedy moment above Wycoller when a lamb and a pheasant run directly at each other after being spooked by my bike before simultaneously changing direction at the very last second, the lamb looks very confused. 

I've ridden this middle section though to Settle once before on a recce ride, something I'm glad of as the trail gets very vague south of Long Preston and in the darkness it's difficult to spot the way marker posts. Still summer nights are always thick with insects looking for food, the odd one ends up in an eye, or worse, in my mouth. Dropping down into a steep wooded valley the thick scent of wild garlic hits me as I duck and dive through a tight tunnel of trees. On the far side of the woods Saturday night is in full swing, I pass several pubs with live bands and a large recently built house lit up like a christmas tree for all to see. Through the floor to ceiling windows I can see twenty or so immaculately dressed guests taking their places at a long table, I'd rather be out here I think to myself and press on north. I don't see anyone else until a farm near Long Preston where a farmer comes out to shine a torch in my face and ask what I'm doing. I apologise for scaring them, don't suppose they see many people out here at this time of night. 

By the time I reach Settle it's a new day but Saturday night's party is still in full swing at the Rugby Club where the local Moto Guzzi (motorcycle) Club are having their Summer Camp. I stop round the back of a dilapidated barn for ten minutes above the town to eat bean wraps and enjoy the view. Noisy bunch down there, most of them are customers of ours at work. I don't know the route from here very well, a glance at the map during the week showed it climbing over the south eastern shoulder of Ingleborough not far from Gaping Gill. To get there the route meanders along farm tracks and winding single track between crumbling limestone dry stone walls before climbing onto the flanks of Ingleborough. I push up one particularly loose, steep climb and am aware that I'm tiring, this is the most difficult time of night, my body clock wants to shut everything down for rest and yet I need to keep going. The emergency Coke is pulled from my pack and downed, within ten minutes I'm more alert and I imagine that I can see the silhouette of Ingleborough to the north east, the sky is slowly modulating from black to darkest blue grey.

Climbing up the track to Cam End I feel stronger with the dawn of a new day, the climbs are all ridden with the assistance of a tail wind and the well surfaced track encourages rapid climbing. I was last here twenty years ago in an ageing Land Rover which later caught fire near Settle after some over enthusiastic green laning. Back then the former Roman road was pot holed and rutted, this morning I find it in better condition than many roads in West Yorkshire. To my right I can see a couple of bright LED lights, I assume they are other cyclists on the road climb to Hawes but they are of course lights outside a house, at least I'm not yet hallucinating as I did on my 600k day ride. The descent from Cam End is another highlight of the route, a smooth and well surfaced strip of single track snakes down the hill to the junction with the Dent road. I laugh out loud at several points as I'm launched skyward, maybe that's an effect of sleep deprivation.

Descending the Old Coal Road to Garsdale Head I'm under the impression that the climbing is pretty much done for this ride. I'm proved very wrong, there are at least two more largish climbs and I'm not ready for them. Enthusiasm ebbs as the minutes tick past, I'm conscious that any hope of a sub twenty hour time has gone. I just want to finish now but the real stinger is the final climb, it looks like the trail funding ran out here, the track is way marked over lumpy moorland but there's no surface and no easy grading. The route heads straight up from the valley bottom to the ridge. I push most of it which makes it painfully slow but I no longer have the strength to keep the bike moving in a straight line at granny gear pace. I can't help thinking that whoever planned this section had a wicked sense of humour. At least the descent on the far side is better, finally on the road to Kirby Stephen I've just about cracked it. I roll in to the railway station at 0645, 21 hours and thirty six minutes after I left Middleton Top. I get a lift from here, I've no enthusiasm for a twenty mile road ride for a shower and change of clothes. Sunday is going to be a day of rest. 

Credits

• Velofondista for last minute bike preparation
• Jen for support, supplies, lifts and endless patience

Stats

• 20 300ft climbing
• 181 miles
• 9.9mph moving average
• 21hours 36minutes elapsed time

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

Stadium Riders Do 5 Stanes

Mabie Thursday, a sortie north into the eye of winter storm Doris, fingers crossed that she'll blow over leaving us in peace to enjoy as much of the 7 Stanes as we can squeeze into four days. The area around Dumfries has some of the finest trail centres in the UK so eldest son Arran and I are excited to be escaping work and school routines for a few days to rediscover some singletrack skills. 

The weather clears as we pass the market town of Dumfries and glimpse our first sight of Mabie Forest, Google maps routes us round the back of the Forestry Commission woodland onto a dead end track from which we retrace our steps to eventually find the Mabie trail centre car park. It's low key as trail centres go, a car park with a hotel at the top of the drive, no riders' cafe or top end bike shop bike with frames to drool over and ten pound inner tubes. Mabie has a car park and trails, that'll do me and the rest of  the Stadium Riders who we meet up with shortly after 1pm. From the car park we soon spot the Stane, the large headless lady in marble makes the first photo opportunity of the day. Quality singletrack abounds here both on the climbs and descents, there are loads of rocky natural features and enough 'will I won't I?!' moments on the red grade to keep it interesting. 

The native rock is sharp like unweathered slate and it claims a couple of inner tubes within our group. The singletrack ebbs and flows, gentle undulations until we encounter the Scorpion, a tough steep and sustained climb which has the singlespeed riders in the group gasping for precious oxygen. I'm granted an easy time, twenty gears and plush full suspension makes a welcome change to recent singlespeed road training rides. By half past four we are all ripping down the final descent towards the hotel, rusty off road skills are returning and it's a promising start to a long weekend of trails.

Still, cloudless skies are a welcome surprise as I open the curtains the next morning to a pastoral idyll of grazing sheep and cows as low light casts long shadows across closely cropped green meadows. Forty minutes drive on icy roads later and we arrive at Clatteringshaws loch for a loop taking in Glentrool and Kirroughtree trail centres. Before we set off west though we need to visit the Bruce stone, one of several in honour of Robert the Bruce, King of Scots.

the first Bruce Stone of the day

The approach to the stone is idyllic, a short cruise though dappled woodland to views of snow capped hills on the far side of the deep blue loch. Photos taken and we retrace our steps to the car park and then down the main road to the impressive dam that holds back the waters of Loch Clatteringshaws for hydro electric generation. We soon escape the road for a forest road that meanders through majestic scenery to a pass where the giant's axe head Stane lies.

NCN route 7 into Glentrool

From here we drop into Glentrool down a fast and loose forest track, across a river and up a short sharp climb later to another Bruce Stone just as a rain shower passes overhead.

Bruce Stone No 2

The blue sky is darkening but we're undeterred, this is Scotland and it will rain sooner or later (or more likely sooner and later). A brief diversion onto a new piece of riverside singletrack leads on to more quiet forest roads and eventually quiet lanes into Newton Stewart. We stop to attempt a repair to the rear mech on one of the electric bikes, the XT mech has stuck and won't take up the drivetrain chain tension. Fifteen minutes later and it's only slightly improved so we set it the chain to the middle of the cassette and hope that there aren't any steep hills left. Of course there is a steep hill leaving Newton Stewart but a dose of 'turbo' on the Trek eBike sees it cresting the climb ahead of me. The Kirroughtree trails have a new visitor centre and cafe and we've arrived just in time for an al fresco lunch and meet up with Arran who's been riding the red, unfortunately we don't have time or sufficient battery power on the eBikes to ride it today so we press on up the valley for the last ten or so miles back to Clatteringshaws. 

We ride through woodland and up onto the moor where some heavy duty forestry work is taking place, the track is ridged from the tracks of forestry machines and massive stacks of timber line the trail. Round the corner is McMoab's Stone, a challenging rock slab descent that can be rolled if you are feeling brave. Saul and I ride the approach to the stone which is very technical and increasingly slippery now fine mizzle is blowing in from the Irish Sea. Saul rides the stone on his rigid steel bike, I don't. I'm waiting for a dry summer day.

It's a only a few miles back from here but Sandra needs a push on the slopes to nurse the tired eBike back, the battery alarms are showing and these are heavy bikes without battery assistance. We make it back to the vans just as the rain gets serious.

the Kirroughtree gemstone

We get a weather upgrade on Saturday morning, Met Office predictions of doomsday are cast aside because the skies outside are dry and three of us are headed to Kirroughtree for a lap of the red whilst the rest of our group drag themselves out of bed. We are the first van in the car park so we have the trails to ourselves and we don't see another rider for more than an hour. The singletrack is the start to the day that we wanted, technical rocky sections break up undulating climbs whilst the descents flow nicely into slippery rocky sections. It's so good that we head straight back up the red route for a second lap, this time we descend the Jabberwocky for which I need all the suspension my Cannondale Habit offers, tyres skate unpredictably over wet rock but I make it down grinning. Second time round the red route rides more instinctively, we are all getting a feel for it again. Van packed up and we return to the house in time for lunchtime pancakes.

Kids are all raring to go after lunch and it is to Dalbeattie trail centre that we drive. Another tough, rocky and technical red route, 27km of undulating trail mostly made up of singletrack with some challenging rocky features. The best known slab features are avoided today, they are green and greasy and we don't want to spend the afternoon in A & E. there are still some nice flowing sections of trail with lumps of granite to launch you skyward plus enough smaller slabs of rock and little chutes to keep the heart rate up. By half way the kids are tiring but they ride on excited by the prospect of another jump or berm. We are the last vans to leave the car park as darkness falls.

Ae Forrest is our fifth and final Stane of the trip, the cloud base lowers as we near Dumfries and by the time we are riding a fine drizzle is slowly soaking all in the group. The singletrack climbs on the red are largely well graded and easily ride-able but Arran and the other kids are riding for the fourth consecutive day, and they are feeling it on the climbs. Singlespeeding is particularly tough so I swap bikes with Arran for the top part of the climb to give him a chance to spin on a geared bike. At the top of the climb we check the map and look for escape options if the now driving rain becomes too much. The map promises three more climbs and three more descents, the last one shows particular promise so we agree to press on. The kids tough it out and we do our best to keep moving and keep warm, at points we are riding into horizontal rain but the climbs are well graded and the descents bermed and fast so spirits remain positive. The Stane is at the top of the final climb, it's so wet I struggle to operate the touch-screen on my phone to use the camera. Everyone is getting cold now and the final downhill, although the highlight of the ride, is enjoyed in varying degrees by the riders depending on a) how much suspension they have and b) how many fingers, thumbs and toes still have blood circulating to them. The final Ae downhill is a corker and has a parallel path for riders to push up so they can keep going back for more, the black option has some Alpine sized berms and drop-offs which I only get away with due to the suspension on my bike. Back at the vans everyone is in survival mode, desperate to warm up. Someone asks 'why would you ride on a day like today?' Because despite the cold and wet, the wind and weather, these are the days where you realise that you can go further and overcome more hardship than you thought possible. For the kids in the group that's a valuable lesson.

tired and cold but ready for more