About me

About Me

About me

Hi, Im Annie, an outdoor girl in the Scottish highlands. I work freelance in outdoor education, living in my van to save up for kit and trips.

Ive transitioned from climber to fell runner to mountain biker and now my main focus is overnight missions, bike packing or bike rafting.

This year im hoping to improve my photography and have a few awesome adventures lined up to tell stories though film so watch this space!

Continuing from 2018, i feel super lucky to be supported by two amazing companies, Alpacka Raft and Revelate Designs. These are both small companies who really love, believe in and thoroughly use the kit they make and sell. Alpacka Raft are also working hard to raise awareness around the arctic refuge and im proud to be part of them.

The photos used in the website are either taken by me or my partner Huw

Scottish Adventures

Cairngorms Loop ITT

The mist swirls in a damp mass, my light bounces back at me, the ground a veiled blur, as though looking through a shower curtain. My gpx track is taking me on a weird dog leg to the ruins of Bynack Lodge, an old shooting lodge, long ruined. Its an atmospheric place on a nice evening, but now the dancing mists make ghosts seem real, in this type of weather it easy to imagine them taking on a solid form. I can see the vague line of a tyre track in the wet grass, but it disappears in the low heather. I dismount and stumble in circles trying to find the trail. I’m freaking out a little, the outline of the lodge off to my left is felt rather than seen, A darker shadow, thicker air. I’m wasting time and eventually I give up and push down the burn line until I’m back on the actual trail.  

I try to ride out the rest of the rough quad track, but the thick mist is coating my eyelashes in huge water droplets and I cant see. Like windscreen wipers, I’m blinking fast to try and shed the water, I hit an unseen rock and nearly go over the bars. I’m not yet on the technical section along the ravine, a trail I normally love, and I’m already afraid of crashing. Its 3 am and I’ve been riding for nearly 22 hours. I’m reaching that vulnerable, emotion stage of the night. After another near miss, I have to reason with myself, its faster to walk than to crash and get hurt. Frustrated I push most of the way to the turn up to Fealar lodge. I’m moving slow and time is slipping by.  

We started at 5am yesterday. A small group, six riders. All with different aims, but here for the same reason. A love of riding bikes a long way, and to enjoy a challenge. We were all aiming to ride the loop as fast as we possibly could. The Cairngorms loop is a 185 mile route around and through the big mountains of the Cairngorms National Park. It covers very mixed terrain, rough land rover tracks, smooth tarmac and awkward slow singletrack. Numerous river crossings pepper the route, often making it impassable after heavy rain or snowmelt. We have lucked out with our weather, morning mists clearing into warm, bluebird days. The early wind died off and it was just a joy to be out.  

Id started off riding with El, as we cruised through the dark and mist of the morning. The gradually climbing cycle path proving a good warm up. We turned onto the land rover track that cuts through Gaicks pass as the sun began to rise. Bathed in pink light, our route stretched ahead and we shared excited, delighted looks. What a place to be. Reaching loch an Dun as the mist was lifting with the warmer air, rising faster as it reached the sunlit hillside. With the mist heavy on the glen Tromie side, it was a cold descent. Droplets encrusting the vegetation and spiders webs looking like huge pearled necklaces.  My Garmin battery died and I stopped in the warmest spot I could find to change it, annoyed it had already run down. We climbed out of the mist again, relieved to be in warmer air. The beautiful meadow singletrack along the river Feshie was delightful and the grass sparkled in the sun. I stopped to get water and have a wee, whilst El carried on. From this point we would both be alone until the finish.  

Tha Gaicks pass in mid winter

Unaware El had made a wrong turn as the inner and outer tracks cross on the gpx, I pushed on to bynack stables in the hopes of catching her. Eventually I realised she was either way faster or had gone wrong somewhere. The climb up onto the shoulder of bynack more is punctuated with water bars and big steps. Normally I enjoy the challenge in riding it, but today, with miles to go, I got off and pushed up whilst trying to eat. At the high point, the trail stretches away, with the huge rounded mass of Beinn a Bhuird in the distance. I love the descent down, rocky, technical, engaging and fast, it always entertains and delights me. Today was no exception, although I tried to ride with more caution than normal. I did not want to deal with a puncture from miss timing a water bar. The trail remains at around 700m for a long way. Often a brutal wind fires through the glen, with heavy rain showers close behind. Today though it was completely still. I stopped to absorb the silence, not caring if it wasted a precious minute. The warm air seemed to shimmer and I breathed deep, clean air filling my lungs and gratitude in my heart. A lot of folks will tell you riding ultra-distance is all about being able to suffer, in my mind it’s about being grateful for life, place and finding joy in every moment. To me these rides are about being at peace and meditation in movement.  

The normally awkward trail flowed seamlessly and before long I arrived at the fords of Avon River crossing. I stopped to chat with a walker, he also delighted with the weather and having a big day out. Leaving him I boulder hopped over the river with dry feet. This can be a very scary and consequential crossing when high, and I’ve had a moment here before, with the powerful water grabbing at my bike and pushing my legs. Today though its easy and gentle. After the crossing is a section with a couple of kilometres of pushing amongst boulders before cresting the top of the Lairig an laoigh.  

Fords of Avon crossing back in spring

Frogs are abundant as I push over the wet ground, springs bursting to the surface everywhere. I felt great as I rolled down into Glen Derry, happy to be greeted by its small but expanding forest. Lower down, the old granny pines dance and pull wild shapes, today in the sun they smell amazing. I’m looking forward to the Feshie Moor, it took me a while to find enjoyment in the exposed and often boggy section, but today in the sun I know it will ride well. I love the open views and the loops and twists of the endlessly wandering Geldie Burn. After the crossing at the Eidart, I go carefully, I’ve often met adders out sunbathing on this bit of trail, and today seems perfect snake weather.   

No snakes and a few kilometres later I arrive at the double crossing of the river feshie. There will be no more dry feet from here on, but the river is refreshing and I debate stripping off for a quick dip. Deciding against it I ride down the glen, the juniper, heather and pines filling the air with thick scents. I can imagine I’m in Europe as I weave along the dry singletrack, breathing in the heady perfume. The routes spits me out onto a long road section. Knowing I will find it hard, I focus on refuelling, eat and drink and just spin away for the next 30 km. Its feeling like early autumn and huge mushrooms sprout all along the road, distracting me from the dull miles. The birch are starting to go gold, tendrils of leaves shining gold in a green background.  

Eventually the track takes me off the road and into Abernethy forest. I normally find this a confusing maze of tracks and am grateful for my gpx to follow. As I pop out of the forest, im blown away by the view over Loch a Chnuic. The sun is low and the water is completely still. The pink light stretches all the way to the high cairngorms, back to where I was riding hours earlier. Through the delightful Eag pass to dorbach and the sun is setting properly. The heather is on fire in the deep orange light and I drink it all in before dusk descends. Id hoped to be through glen brown before dark, the trail crosses the river around six times, and its easier to find a rideable line in the light. I make it through and up the short climb after. Here I pull all my layers on for the next fast descent and get all my lights on.  

Its around 10 and fully dark as I ride through a deserted Tomintoul. The next section is a long land rover track that follows the river Avon up into the hills before turning off to take us past Loch Builg and then up the big climb over Culardoch pass. In my head it’s a fairly dull section, but tonight I pass what looks suspiciously like a wild cat and then have to slam on my brakes not to hit a hedgehog. Its cold and windy once I leave the trees behind, I’m glad I’m not planning to sleep. Just past loch Builg, the moon pops up over the hills. Its huge bright glow feels welcoming, like a friendly presence to join my ride. The mist is starting to form in the cooler air and tendrils rise and sway over every pool in the boggy ground.   

Midnight exactly as I crest the pass. I pause here to throw on my puffy jacket and look around. I can see mist below and know I will be descending back into cold damp air. The moon floats above, watching my progress. Riding into Braemar, I’m confused by bright multi-coloured lights in the castle grounds. As I ride past I stop to read the sign “Everything will be alright”. Its 1am and closing time in town. The streets are full of stragglers meandering around. They seem entertained by my presence and I enjoy the heckles. The road to Linn of Dee is full of both mist and deer. Its not a great combination and I take to shouting as soon as I catch the reflection of eyes in my lights. Shouting means they run earlier and we are less likely to collide, although I later round a bend to find around 10 deer lying lazily in the road and have to emergency stop to avoid them.  

After the mists of Glen Tilt I enjoy the warm air from Felar lodge. This is the “sting in the tail” section of the route. Id totally underestimated the amount of climbing to come, and time seems to fly by out of all proportion to the distance I’m covering. Id been ignoring pain in my bits, thinking id be home sooner, but now, as the light seeped back into the world, the pain became unbearable. For a while hopping off to push helped, but eventually even walking was causing me to yelp out loud. I stopped to laugh/cry, less than 5 miles to go, and I couldn’t move. Stripping off in a stream, I cooled down the fiery parts. Shoving my chamois into a bag, I was able to move in much more comfort without it.  

Id hoped to finish around sunrise, but I felt grateful to be watching it rise whislt still in the hills. The gentle light hitting the summit of beinn a Ghlo and slowly travelling along its flanks. From the final high point before Blair Athol, I stopped to look down on the inversion below and drink in the final moments of my ride. Id be glad to finish, but at the same time felt like I could keep riding forever. I wanted to stay out here in the mountains, with the amazing light and warm sun.  

Predictably I missed the turn off whilst flying down the road and gave myself some extra climbing back up. But then it was down into the mist, to Blair Athol and the official finish by the clock in the train station.  

Scottish Adventures

Highland Trail 550

My Spearfish set up

Saturday-Tyndrum to past Corrimony Bothy. Around 116 miles. 

As i make my way up the hill to the start line, every fibre of me is saying “don’t do this” “turn around” “you can still bail”. Did i really want to put my body through 550 miles of rough Scottish terrain and sleep deprivation? Did i want the expense (and difficulty in the current component market) of replacing the inevitable wear on my bike? Id taken a week off unpaid for this, as a freelancer that means it was already an expensive event. Right now, minutes before the start, i could think of a whole lot of ways to spend this week or that money, that would be more fun. 

But… I remembered my motivations for being here. Covid had left me unemployed, living with my mum through lockdown one. Applying for hundreds of jobs i did not want, my escape from crushing anxiety and worry had been to ride my bike. Alot. Fife is not known for its mountain biking, so i had made my peace with pedalling. Gravel and road became my friends, and 50km became 100 and then some. Cycling had gotten me though not only the first lockdown, but it was my survival tool through all the subsequent lockdowns and uncertainty. And in another year of not traveling abroad, it was the Highland Trail that was giving me that tingling feeling of adventure, the nervous excitement of the unknown i crave. To drop out now would leave me feeling empty, i wanted a challenge and it was here and now.  

Ladys group start.

Due to covid we had a staggard start and Alan had grouped all the women together for an 8.10 lift-off. We chatted nervously, running through quick introductions before Alan shouted at us to Go! The first few minutes we rode as a group, keen to talk to everyone before we settled into our own paces. It wasn’t long though before competition set in and the racing snakes disappeared. Catching up with Dawn, who i rode with this winter, i was happy to take it easy. My aims for the event were simple, 1-Finish. 2-Finish in under 6 days. 3- Get pie at Lochinvar (Strawberry and Rhubarb in case you are wondering). And to me, to achieve that finish i was going to ride easy and smoothly, with as much fun as possible. I had the added pressure of returning to work the following Monday, as an outdoor education instructor in a school. I had to be both physically and mentally capable of having a group on the hill or in the gorge. I was not here for a full blown suffer fest. 

Dawn had been working on the hill right up to the Friday before the ride started and was planning on taking day one easy to recover. So i found myself alone from the start of Loch Lyon. By and large i would stay alone for the next 5 days, with only the odd spell of company as i was passed, or passed other riders. It was also at loch Lyon that I noticed my Garmin base map, which only showed big bodies of water and main roads, was way off from the purple line of the gpx track. According to my map, we were going to be doing a lot of swimming! This offset between map and track would haunt me through the race, leading to lots of mis turns and riding in circles to find which path i was meant to choose. Learning point: Get a good base map and practice! 

Although I’m confident in my pacing ability, it was unsettling to have the majority of the field fly past me over the next few hours. I started to wonder if i had misjudged my fitness or been overly optimistic about my goal of finishing in under 6 days. I reminded myself that i was here to enjoy the route, and my ride was my own. Maybe i would see some of these riders again, maybe not. I convinced myself it was irrelevant. As i made my way along the loch side, all the tension of the build to the ride evaporated. I felt a sense of joy overwhelm me and felt utterly free. For the next week, all i had to do was ride my bike, as long or little as i wished each day, eat and occasionally sleep. I felt selfishly free of responsibility, had my phone turned off and no camera to distract me. Bliss! 

Several hours in, i past Ruth, who had a puncture. Her choice of skinny gravel bike was brave, but she seemed super strong and I wasn’t surprised when she breezed past me a short while later. A bit further and i waved at Iwona, who had stopped for a chilled lunch break. It was a relief to find i hadn’t been completely dropped! These first few hours were fairly uninspiring, fast rolling with the odd steep climb. It was great to leave Loch Rannoch behind and head towards Ben Alder. The Ben Alder area is one of my favourite places in Scotland and I’ve bike packed round and through in all weathers. I was excited for the climb and fast descent down to Laggan. Iwona caught me up as we reached the boggy push to Ben Alder Cottage and it was nice to chat. I find it really interesting what motivates other people, and what in life had brought them to the start line. As we made our way up the singletrack, i got the impression Iwona was way more competitive than me. She told me off for letting her past “We are in a race you know, don’t let me through!”.  

Culra in different conditions

My family is the least competitive i know, so when i meet people for whom its a big motivator, i find it fascinating and sometimes amusing. I have wished it was more a driver for me, im sure id have had greater success in races if i cared more about getting on the podium, but having seen the shouting and crying of those who care too much, id rather be on my side of the spectrum. I used the climb to try and define how i viewed the other riders in the event. I failed to come up with a less cheesy answer, so apologies. Imagine a multi player computer game where you are all individuals trying to complete the level. If you complete it, you win a gold coin. However, there is not only one coin, but rather everyone who completes the level gets one. I felt the other riders, rather than being competition, were friends who might, through mutual encouragement, help each other succeed. I felt a warmth and companionship with them, all here to challenge ourselves and suffer the same trail and weather. Not that i think being motivated by beating others is wrong, its just different to the way my head works.  

Finally cresting the Bealch Dubh, I dropped my seat an inch, let off the brakes and felt like i was flying. My spearfish floated over water bars id never hopped before and I felt solid and strong. Giggling all the way to Culra bothy I was treated to a stunning rainbow, slung low over the meadow. It seemed to hover just a few meters above the riders in front, sunlight glistening off the rain wet grass. It was a moment of utter bliss and awe.  

Leaving the road at Laggan for the next steep up and over, i caught a glimpse of red. It couldn’t be! But it was, Id finally found Emma again. She had spent all winter on big ski missions, and judging by the speed she set off at, was feeling super fit. We rode together up the road, passing Alan, who was sensibly fuelling before the next big climb. He soon joined us for a quick chat before disappearing again. Leaving Emma to eat at the base of the coriarick, i trundled slowly upwards. Having never ridden it before the previous Autumn, a winter renting in Newtonmore had forced me to become friends with the pass in all weathers. Today i knew it would be a benign beast and let me over in plenty of time to get chips in Fort Augustus. 

Descending the Corrieyairck pass. Pic Beccy Waters/@dotwatcher.cc

Turning my light on as i left The Moorings, i mused over what I was doing wrong. An hour spent staring at chips rather than eating them left me feeling disheartened. I was however, powered by caffeine from three cups of tea and a pint of coke and excited to get up to Loch ma stac. Riding into darkness, with uncertainty over where to camp used to terrify me. Id worked on this fear over the winter, lots of long solo rides ending in darkness, and overnighters to new places, deliberately camping well after sunset. Tonight was going to be beautiful, clear and still. I was excited to be heading up into the hills again. Loch ma Stac was incredible, lit by a frosted moon, the rocky shore sparkled with frost. I had to keep stopping to look around and breathe in the serentity. I love the ride over the shore, technical, absorbing and interesting. All too soon i was on the horrible, slippery, bog rut death descent to corrimony bothy. Glancing at my watch i was shocked to see it was already 1.30 am. Time to call it a night. As id left the Mooring restaurant, I promised Emma id save her a bivi space next to me. I wasn’t really expecting her to follow me over the hill, but was delighted as she pulled up just as i was pitching my tent. Her stubbornness and utter determination was already impressive, and would be hugely inspiring to me over the coming days.  

Sunday- Corrimony to Merkland Lodge. Around 114miles.  

A cold night, shivering, watching condensation form and wondering whether to just get up. We set an alarm for 4.30 and grumbled as we rolled out. With a bit of downhill left, the frosty morning was bitterly cold. I was very grateful for my neoprene overshoes and puffy jacket. We spun easily and fast up the road to Struy where we began another steep climb to the infamous track of 1000 puddles. Id heard lots about this section, and had assumed everyone was over exaggerating the puddles. I can now tell you, having ridden it in VERY dry conditions, that they were not. Progress is frustrating, the fast track is lined with puddles deep enough to hide your granny in. Your choice is to ride though and hope you survive, ride around and hope you don’t sink in the sphagnum bog, or get off and walk. We chose a mixture of tactics, sometimes regretting our decisions as out cassettes crunched and brake pads shrieked from the muddy water. This route does not like your bike.  

After an age i hit the tarmac at Orrin and swooshed down to Contin. This was the only resupply on route I was stressed about making, as they shut early on Sundays and its a long way to the next shop. I cheered as Emma rolled in, we could now relax a bit having stocked up for the Northern Loop. More good news had come from Alan, the Oykel Bridge hotel was under new management and was happy to serve smelly, hungry riders again. It provided a very welcome food stop that we would pass twice on route.  

Shortly after leaving Contin, Emma decided to slow a bit and I was alone again. This whole section to Lochinver was new to me, i was looking forward to seeing the famous Alladale estate, a leader of rewilding and land stewardship in Scotland. The miles flew by, the going mainly fast land rover track. It was considerably flatter than the day before and progress felt easy and good. Aside from the steep hills, i had a rule of riding at a pace where i wasn’t sweaty or out of breath. Thats about as technical as i get. I was enjoying looking around and day dreaming, seeing new parts of the Highlands. In no time, i was through Alladale in a heavy rain shower and heading up past Croick farm. Phil Clark, on his beautiful green Jones singlespeed, glided past as the mighty outline of Suilven came into view. We were to yo yo with each other till the very end of the route, he much faster, but liked his sit down food and sleep. I preferred chugging away slowly. Having completed the route several times, he was an amazing source of information and seemed to know every possible distance and timing. It was always a highlight as he and Mike past me and gave me a few minutes of company every day.  

After another failed eating attempt at Oykel bridge hotel, this time macaroni cheese, i set off up Glen Cassely. With a stonking tail wind, it wasn’t long before the steep climb up and over the Loch Shin. As i crested the climb, the sky looked apocalyptical. Hues of purple and maroon highlighted by huge dark clouds. Something was coming our way, and in the gale force winds, fast. I layered up in all my clothes for the screaming descent to the loch. Again, i was very grateful for my conservative clothing choices as the wind chill was immense. The rain started properly at dusk and any thoughts i had of pushing on over the Bealach Horn dissolved. I pulled off the road around 11pm at Merkland Lodge, glad for a sheltered spot to sleep. I woke in a panic at midnight. Someone was shining a light right into my tent. Although im never outwardly nervous as a solo female, im usually very fussy about where i camp. A roadside spot was low down my list and i thought it was a drunk driver messing with me. Instead it turned out to be a fellow rider, in his tired state hadn’t realised he was disturbing me. I was quite rude and grumpy with him. If you read this, i apologise.  

Monday-Merkland lodge to a few km past Oykel bridge. Around 84 miles. 

Up At 4 am again, the rain still patterning away. Here, in my sheltered spot it was gentle, but i suspected once higher it might have a stronger edge. As i spun up the road in the murky dawn, deer lined both sides of the road. I watched as they jumped barbed wire fences, terrified one might get stuck. Turning off towards Gobernuisgach lodge, i stopped and huddled behind a building to eat an egg roll. I was right, the rain was pelting here, driven into my cheeks by the strong wind. The stark beauty made up for the fierce weather, bedrock mounds and cliffs making the land feel untamed and unwelcoming. I was glad to turn at the lodge and pick up a tail wind again. The Bealch Horn was another section of route id heard lots about. I had hoped to be going over in good weather, but it wasn’t to be. The hill tops shrouded by misty veils, occasionally shifting to offer me a glimpse of their majesty. The track dropped steeply into a tiny hidden meadow and i wished id know about it to camp at the night before. I filled my bottle here, the water sweet and delicious. The best tasting on route. All the way up Glen Golly i was impressed with the quality of the track. The wind helped my legs and i enjoyed the climb. All too soon i began the squishy ride down into An Dubh Loch, soon giving up riding after washing my front wheel out in the mud. This was no place to crash. The trail was running with water now and faded in huge peat hags. I lowered my bike carefully down, scared of catching my mech. Then scrabbled down after. Huge sheets of rain were now rushing over the loch. A solitary tent was holding its own against the weather. A beautiful spot to return to in better conditions. The hike up the steep, wet grass left my calves burning. Worried about pushing too hard my mantra was a steady count to 20, then stop, breathe and snack. Mike had passed me before the peat hags and was already well out of sight. I assumed he was thinking of a hot lunch at Kylesku.  

The mist closed in at the summit, the way behind me gone in a wall of white. The way ahead was now a mystery, i could only see about twenty meters ahead. i struggled to get my warm layers on without soaking them and switched out my sodden gloves for new ones. By now i was wearing both my waterproof trousers and waterproof shorts in the hopes they would keep me dry on the way down. The trail was a stream, and the stream crossings had become torrents. I picked my way down, not wanting to risk a puncture or crash up here. I was still plenty warm when i passed the split rock at the Lone, but grateful to be over without incident. Alan arrived as i was pushing up from Achfarry. He had scratched at Loch Shin, not being in the mood to embrace the Horn in the storm. He helpfully informed me Huw, my partner, had scratched and did i know why? 

A panic came over me. I think its really hard doing these races when your SO is also in them. Added stress in the build up as you both prep and try get bikes ready. Added stress as you each want the other to do well. Huw had picked up a vomiting bug on his last HT550 and had been rescued from the Bealach Horn by Scott, the only rider to stop and fully check on him. Emotions from that late night Raigmore visit came back to me and i turned my phone on for the first time since starting. Nothing from Huw. Great. Helpful. I decided to push on to Drumbeg, where i might find shelter and work out what was going on.  

Oblivious to the chaos he had caused in my head, Alan disappeared on up the climb. I carried on wondering if i would scratch to, if Huw was hurt or ill. I reassured myself that we have lots of friends in the highlands and someone would have come to help him. I later found out that our good friend Andy had picked him up, but of course, out in the rain and wind, my imagination did its worst.  

The relief of hitting the coast road was tempered by the realisation i was struggling to breathe. Was it the cold? Was it anxiousness over Huw? Either way by the time i passed Kylesku i was having to stop and force air in, my breath whistling and wheezing. I took the coast road slow, the tailwind helping, but having to stop on the climbs to suck in air. I started coughing uncontrollably, trying to drink water to calm things down. Eventually i remembered i had antihistamines with me and took one. By the time i arrived at Drumbeg i was much better. I sent Huw a message before stocking up on warm samosas and hummus rolls.  

Stephen and his wife who run the shop are an absolute delight. They fussed around us riders, offering us hot water bottles as we packed our food. I eventually accepted it as i tried (and failed) to change my brake pads. My hands were too cold and i figured there were no big descents for a while. Eventually id change them over a mug of tea in Ullapool. With no reply from Huw, i carried on to Lochinver. By the time i arrived at the Spar, my breathing issue was back and i was also suffering from heartburn, probably from existing mainly on coke, having struggled to eat so far. According to my research, the pie shop should have been open, but a big Closed sign hung in the door. As i was attempting to stuff a giant chocolate muffin in my mouth, Phil rolled up. He was carrying a bag that look like it might well contain pie! I could have hugged him as he informed it was indeed pie, the new set up hidden from the road. Phil told me he was aiming for dinner at Oykel Bridge, followed by a night in a cow shed. He gave me directions to it that i only half listened to, not dreaming id make it that far tonight.  

Burning my mouth on a flaming hot, delicious pie, i started the ride into Suileg Bothy. Another infamous bit of trail, it gradually fades out and leaves you with around a 4 hour push. Id thought at least i would watch the light change on suilven, the North Wests most iconic mountain, but it turns out from this angle its nothing special. Riding became pushing, some easy, some slow and frustrating. At the high point the bedrock was a really cool conglomerate, and made me pause to think about the complicated geology of Scotland. Soon after the rock would become sharp, slippery quartzite, hard under foot and tyre. Id thought the push was nearly over as I got a view of houses and the road. As the hill in front fell away, it became clear there was a long way yet, navigating around Cam Loch. I felt slow, my lungs still felt funny, and it looked like id be heading back into the rain as I went East. The lochside had several beautiful grassy meadows to pitch up in, and i imagined stopping to watch the sunset.  

I eventually hit the road and decided to use the tailwind to get a shimmy on. I miiight make the hotel in time for a brew. The light gradually faded as i rode east, the clouds darker and the air temperature dropped with every mile. A few km from Oykel bridge, lights on, i was joined by a barn owl. Like a beautiful white ghost, it flitted alongside, presumably hunting in my lights. It left me shortly before the hotel, where i had just missed out on that tea. The rain was back, my waterproofs soaking again. I tried to remember where the cow shed was, but didn’t want to waste time looking, or risk waking up any resident riders. I found myself a miserable spot of wet grass, under wet trees, in a sodden dark forest.  

Tuesday- Oykel Bride to Tollie Path. Around 70 miles. 

Today was going to be hard. Id barley slept, cold from my limp quilt, damp from the slow moisture ingress of the last few nights. Every time I lay flat, a coughing outbreak would force me upright. More antihistamines. How many is too many? I gladly got up around 4, happy to be leaving this dismal campsite. The sky was clearing as i left the forest and an hour later i was watching a Black Grouse Lek, four males leaping and shouting at each other. Lunging with legs outstretched and plumage fluffed. I watched for an incredible 15 minutes before they noticed their voyeur and took off, cackling to each other. Another absolute gem of a moment id never have experienced without the event.  

I passed my boss a short while later, he was camping out with a group on a bike exped. Unfortunately he was still asleep, no chance of a tea then! Ullapool was a welcome sight, i arrived before the croissants were out of the oven at Tesco. Popping to the loo whilst i waited, i discovered, to my absolute disgust, that my body was reminding me im female. Id started my period a week before the HT550 start, delighted it would be out the way for the event. It seemed however, my body, in protest to the long hours, was fighting my ride. Another bleed was well under way. How that’s even possible im not sure. I felt anger, i felt sabotaged. Why add extra discomfort to make a hard thing even tougher? I felt gross enough at three days in, i did not need any addition yucks. I tidied up as best i could and went to rummage in the feminine hygiene aisle. I’ve been a moon cup user since i was about 14. It struck me i have no idea what products were available, nor what might work for me. Lesson learnt, always be prepared. Grabbing the cheapest box of tampons and some hot croissants, i headed back out to my bike.  

A brake pad change with that long awaited tea at the garage, then heading out on the road. Two acquaintances stopped to say hi, again asking about Huw. All id had was in response to my text was “Don’t worry, I’m fine”. Thanks. That made me feel better. Feeling like a bad girlfriend, i told them i had no idea and carried on. In 2019 we had attempted to race the Colorado Trail. Huw had crashed early, and, thinking he had broken his wrist, i happily dropped out to help. I had a tent and he didn’t, it made sense. We had a great week hitchhiking back to Denver, meeting some of the most amazing folk along the way, stopping in beautiful places, and cheering Emma on as she smashed her first ultra. But Huw felt guilty id scratched and he clearly did not want me to do the same again. A whirlwind of emotion hit, worry and sadness that he wasn’t to get the ride he had hoped for. Emotions coupled with the busy road and close passes and i was in a bit of a low point as i turned off at Inverbroom Lodge.  

A crash on a greasy wooden bridge did not help, and as i started up the next climb, i fought to find a good head space. I feel like in ultras, I’m a bit like a spacewomen. Instead of oxygen flowing into my helmet, its positivity. And no negative thoughts are allowed to penetrate my bubble. I focussed on the scenery, the stunning gorge, the improving weather. I stopped to eat and fill my bottle. Another antihistamine. Something smelled sickly sweet, possible the bunches of light yellow Ash flowers. About ten minutes after smelling it, my throat would close and coughing would start again. The yellow mucus pellets were more common and i was worried. My nose was filled with gluey, bloody bogies, i couldn’t breathe, my butt was sore and i was worried about my boyfriend. Eventually i had to laugh. Only a few days ago, i was feeling strong, fit and super healthy. It hadn’t taken much to turn me into a 70yr old chain smoker. Finding the humour in those tough moments helps to see me onwards and with improved mood, even the boggy, pathless terrain didn’t phase me.  

Into Fisherfield, i place i adore, just not with a bike. I had ridden the classic ride through these amazing mountains about 6 years previously. Id never bothered coming back with a bike, but rather chose a packraft and feet for subsequent visits. Ive never understood why people like it so much. The scenery is spectacular, but the fun ride to push ratio is way off. Huge showers were running in from Loch na Sealga and it wasn’t long before the waterproofs wee firmly back on. Phil and Mike passed me as the pushing started, again amazing me with the speed they moved through the rough terrain. They were long gone as I arrived at the river crossing. I was grateful as i stripped off completely, the dark peaty water at belly button height. I crossed over, balancing on my tip toes and hoping i wouldn’t drop my bike. Safely over, i finished yesterdays pie and then went back in for a wash and a cool down.  

I knew the next section would be hard, a steep physical push followed by rideable but technical trail all the way to poolewe. I wasn’t prepared for just how slow i would feel. I had to accept my lungs just weren’t working properly, any deep breath resulted in wheezing and coughing. I couldn’t exert even the tiniest amount. At some points i was simply taking one step, rest, step, rest. The sunset was slow, beautiful and blinding. I was relieved to drop down into the woods and to be able to see again. Unfortunately whatever was causing my hay fever was around in large numbers. By poolewe i simply got off, and began pushing up the road to the Tollie path. I could not breath deeply enough to ride anymore.  

Wednesday- Tollie path to Fort Augustus. Around 113 miles. 

I had allowed myself a generous five hour lie down, as the shop in kinlochewe didnt open till after eight and i didn’t want to be hanging around. Sleep hadn’t been forthcoming, a cold mist had enveloped my tent and the coughing had kept me awake. I was not looking forward to another night like it. The tollie path is another trail id taken my bike on many years back, and not bothered with since. The top is fun, slabby rocks to play on, but it quickly deteriorates into a jumble of ruts and loose rock, before just becoming a stream bed. Cursing Alan for sending us here i pushed as fast as i could, keen to get it over with. Eventually i met the road again and cruised into kinlochewe half an hour before the shop opened. Hopping on the Wifi whilst i waited, i saw Emma was only an hour and a bit back. Delighted, i thought she must be feeling good and decided to wait and see her through. Several teas and croissants later and Emma rolled in. Instead of the strong, happy rider i was expecting, she was wild eyed and slightly confused. It turned out due to damp kit, she had chosen to keep moving rather then sleep and had pulled an all nighter. We swopped stories and compared sore bums before Emma told me to get on with it.  

Having eaten a lot whilst waiting, i found myself feeling significantly better. The road to Torridon went fast and soon i was flying down the Achneshellach descent. I kept having to remind myself i was tired and my decision making would be slow, but it felt amazing playing on the rocky slabs and techy corners. I met Emmas dad along the trail, he was so proud of her it made me tear up . He was worried about her lack of sleep, but i assured him she was plenty stubborn and would be fine. It warmed up as i started the climb from attadale to dornie and i paused for a quick wash in a stream. This was another new section for me, and my initial optimism over how fast it would be, was soon dampened when i hit the grassy singletrack of misery in Glen Ling. A few more km of pushing before finally hitting the road. Out of Dornie is an amazing switchback climb, it shoots you up above Loch Duich. I felt like i was in the alps, warm sunlight, steep tarmac and good views. My breathing was finally getting easier and i started to enjoy the ride again.  

The wind shot me up glen Licht, towards the steep climb into glen Affric. I was worried about this section, but looking forward to it, another new place. Steep wet cobble stones and dramatic waterfalls accompanied the hard push up into the hills. Mist again shrouded the mountains and it felt like it might pour at any minute. The chimney was smoking at camban bothy as i passed and i soon reached Altbeaithe hostel. From here the track is formed of mostly river rocks, and is harsh on hands and bum. I was relieved to reach the better track along Loch Affric. The section from here to Tomich passed slowly, lots of fire roads weaving through commercial plantation. I arrived at Tomich in time to put my lights on and start the next big climb up the powerline track. I had ridden this in the winter, into a gale force headwind. It had felt intimidating and i was a bit nervous. Tonight it was calm and i was surprised how easy it felt. The summit was in drizzly mist, so i pulled my jacket back on for the descent. One more climb before Fort Augustus.  

The old military road is is overgrown and slippery. Numerous stream crossing line the route. I was glad id been over before, because its a much slower frustrating route than it looks on the map. The descent starts on fast double track, before you peel off onto a horrible bit of singletrack into F.A. Having missed the turning onto the singletrack over winter, i rode slowly till i found it. As wet and unpleasant as the last time i rode it, it soon spits you out on the edge of the village.  

Thursday- Fort Augustus to Tyndrum, around 75 miles. 

I love being awake when the world is sleeping. Arriving into Fort Augustus at 3 am, the streets empty of the normal tourist chaos, felt special. I passed a group of riders tucked up on the great glen, the air was much colder down here and i was glad i was not going to stop. This was one of my least favourite parts of the route, flat, dull and longer than you expect. Around dawn my feet, which had gradually been getting more painful, started to become unbearable. I stopped to take my shoes off and massage then. Horrible, white, swollen stumps greeted me. I took off my liner socks to give a bit more room in the shoes, and the pain relief was wonderful. Arriving in fort william around 7, desperate for food, i headed to the garage closest to the route. Id run out of food apart from shortbread, so the last 6 hours id been trying to eat the dry sweet biscuits and struggling. Reluctantly the lady in the garage served me, asking if the hot drinks machine had any tea, she told me i had to buy an entire bag of 80 bags if i wanted a brew. That’d be a no then! downing yet more coke and an egg sandwich, i felt ready for the next undulating section to Kinlochleven.  

10am was a bad time to be dropping into Larig Mor. The west highland way, busiest section of the entire route was heaving with walkers. Id been riding solidly for over 24hrs, my feet and butt were agony, my hands were swelling up, i was dressed for the winter conditions we had started in, now it was sunny and mid teens. I was as uncomfortable as id ever been, yet feeling proud of my ride and strong. And those walkers, well, large groups of laddy men out for a hike, they decided to make comments about my appearance, my lack of a bra (despite everything being tucked away under a T shirt and insulated gilet), the fact i was a women alone, the fact i had a bike and clearly needed a man to help me with it. I think if you ever wonder why women don’t want to do things alone, follow a lady biker on the westie way on a busy weekend. You will understand why so many of us are tired and fed up. All my good mood dissolved as i heard “all right love, you need a man to help push that” “where’s your boyfriend, left you behind has he?” “Ill be your knight in shining armour” (yes, really). I am honestly so fed up of male “banter” and especially so when I’m in the hills, trying to mind my own business and do what i love. Please tell your mates to shut the F up if they think they are being funny. Its not, it makes us feel self conscious and vulnerable, and can ruin a brilliant day out. If i ever ride the HT550 again, i will be timing my ride to finish in the dark. 

By the time I was over the Devils Staircase i was raging. Unfortunately for El, Liam and Huw, who were out to see riders through, all my internal exasperation flowed out and i subjected them to a massive man rant. I’m so sorry! Seeing them also burst my little bubble of self containment and suddenly the pain hit me. The next few miles were absolute agony, unable to sit down on my arse, unable to stand on my feet. My knee was screaming at me too and my shifting thumb was so swollen i could barely use it. It was a good moment to realise how powerful the mind is, that id been feeling mostly ok until my positive bubble had burst. Now i wondered how I was going to finish. Any thoughts of flying through the last section past the kings house were gone. “What’s the point of bringing a bike if you can even ride it” Thanks lad, super helpful, think i passed your dad up ahead.. 

Just as my wheels were falling off, Mike and Phil came alongside. We were on the endless, torturous cobbles just passed the ski centre. Attempting to keep up with Phil and make conversation helped me focus again, along to the sneaky new push Alan had added for our entertainment this year. There’s a perfectly ridable road, but no, we need to push up another 100m, for a short and meh descent right back down. In the grand scheme of the race its nothing, but right then, so close to the finish and in my negative space, it really felt like a huge deal. Then the final hurdle on the course, lifting the bike over the stile to cross under the rail bridge and a short push up some single-track. I kid you not, three different men told me i wouldn’t be able to do it, that i should go back to the road and ride tarmac instead. Resisting the urge to shove thier walking poles up somewhere, I slowly pushed up onto the track. From here it was 5 minutes to the finish line.  

The finish. Pic Beccy Waters/ @dotwatcher.cc
Scottish Adventures

Fat Tyres and Snowy Summits

What makes winter special? Is it the change of a landscape, from its familliar curves and creases? Or is it the challenge, staying comfortable, warm and orientated in a world of white? Or simply the fun of fresh tracks in a newly surfaced playground?

Whatever the reason, I look forward to the first dusting of snow over the mountains, and of heading up into that new world to explore. Scottish winter is a fleeting beast. We may get snow, but it’s often combined with such bad weather that accessing it is hard. Then it can all melt in a day or so. This can repeat from late October all the way till the end of April, and any slight lull, of good snow and calm is a priceless day, to be cherished and utilised fully.

Imagine then, my delight and excitement when some early season snow combined with a slight lull and some free time. Plans were swiftly made, as usual here, with A,B and C options. None of the forecasts agreed on what was actually going to happen, some suggesting bluebird conditions and minus 3, others spke of misty murk, wind and rising temperatures. In the end the murk won, so I ended up on a much shortened version of plan A.

It was a sweaty pedal up the road to the ski station and start of the trail. A temperature inversion meant I had overdressed and had to strip to my baselayer as I ground up past some misty reindeer. Finally, on hitting the trail the fun began, as climbing steadily, mist blowing around in huge veils, I made my way closer to the looming mountains.

Being October break, the trail i had chosen was busier than anticipated. I often try to avoid other hill users, as there seems to be something about the combination of Girl+bike+Solo that outrages a certain type of person so much, that the normal social boundaries of keeping thoughts to themselves get switched off. Over the years I have had numerous tellings off, from the common “thats impossible, you wont be able to do that”, to “Where’s your boyfriend, why isn’t he looking after you?”, and one particualy offended gentleman who told me he was going to call mountain rescue, as I was so clearly incompetent that I was going to need them, and that I should think about what a waste of taxpayer’s money I was. Fortunatly he never made the call, and I did not come close to needing assistance. Whilst it is easy to laugh about these encounters later, at the time they can chip away at your self confidence and suck all the fun out of the day.

However, on this Tuesday only reasonable humans seemed to be around. Maybe it was due to unexpected snowy conditions, or finding their nav skills tested in the clag, but the people I met were really friendly and keen to ask me advice ( Not even my bright pink jacket put them off 😉 ) on snow conditions, crampons and navigation. I’m no expert, but I’m always happy to help and it was nice to be able to chat without being accused of idiocy.

The riding was great as soon as I hit the snow line. Crunchy crisp snow provided a great surface for the huge tires to grip and trundle though. There is an amazing bit of traversing trail, which banks out with snow later in the season but today was just under 5 or 6 inches deep. I followed it along the edge of the mountain with the steep side of the Lairig Grhu just off to my right. My favourite view is from along here, looking across into Lochan Uaine, the dark, turquoise pool that sits under Angel’s Peak. The mists parted for just long enough to give me a glimpse of the cold water and craggy cliffs before closing back up.

All the way to Beinn MacDhui the sun threatened to break through, but every time the clouds fought back, and swallowed up the light. The wind had dropped by now, and the hill was as peacefull as I’ve ever seen it. Voices drifted, but everyone remained hidden from sight in the clouds. At the top I lingered, hoping that the Met Office forecast might have it right, and that the veil might lift. Of course, it only got worse and I headed off on a bearing to take me to my campsite for the night, 400m further down the mountain.

After a bit of faff having to stop and recheck my navigation bearing (it’s pretty hard riding over snow covered boulders while following one) The line of the trail down became clear. The snow had filled in many of the cracks and holes between the big granite rocks, so brakes off and flying into the snowdrifts.

Loch Etchachan was mirror-like, the crags surrounding it reflected perfectly. The sun appeared for a moment and the whole world sparkled. I felt like the luckiest person alive to be able to call this spot my home for the night. A busy place in summer, now in the winter chill, it was mine alone.

I love camping, getting to sit with a cup of hot tea and absorb the land around me. The silence of being alone allows me to tune into the small sounds from every direction. The waterfall on the opposite side of the corrie, or the tiny stream trickling to my right; the stag away up the hill, that ptarmigan grumbling over there. I Watch the light fade from the sky and the change shadow brings. These are things you only get from camping out, that whole immersion in the mountain.

The night passed in stillness. Cold condensation crstallised in the tent and snow gently pattered on the outside. I’d set my alarm for pre-dawn in case of good weather and a big day ahead. Instead, I poked my head out into the swirling snow and settled back for an extra hour’s sleep. A lazy morning of tea drinking and photo-taking followed, enjoying the last solitude before heading down into the busier glen below.

Scottish Adventures

Girls bothy night out

Time, its often the hardest thing to find. Fortunately one of my freinds, Emma, is great at organising people, and persistant enough to make things happen. As so often, with plans made way in advance, the weather decided not to play nice for the weekend. So we scaled back our plans, loaded up with as much wood as we could carry and heaved our bikes and bodies up a pretty big hill to find a secluded bothy.

Im not a massive fan of bothys, so often they just feel cold, damp and lonely. However for a very wet november night, in the pouring rain and filled with friends they can be transformed into the most welcoming and homely space around.

Nicky, one of my friends who never lets simple things, like practicalitys, get in the way of her ideas, volunteered to cook for all seven of us. I carried the food (massive bag of vegtables, chickpeas and halloumi) in and she prepared the most delicous feast.

Saturday being Josies birthday, Jenny had carried in an entire, homebaked cake! She even managed without squishing it too much. Josie is Irish and had been hoping for a Guinness cake, but it had all been sold out, so Jenny used a great local ale instead to make a Black Gold cake. Yum!

And then all that was left of the night was warmth and laughter around the fire before a cosy night sleep.

Waking in a bothy, the heat of last night fire long seeped through the stone walls, grey light peering in through the windows is hard. Motivating yourself to get up and get out there in the rain and to put on those wet shoes and finally shut the door behind.

Once we were finally out and riding, despite the headwind and persistant rain it was fine. Bikes are always good, and bikes with friends even better!

International Adventures

Arizona Trail Race 300

An ultra race can often blur into a very long indistinct line, punctuated with intense moments of joy, pain or misery. Often ones emotions can swing and change in a second. Ones thought process can become irrational and extreme very quickly, especially when feeling disorientated during darkness. Its quite funny looking back at what was going on in my head. This post is a record of my experience during the 300.

Pre race briefing

*7.30 am thursday* This is real, this is happening. Breathe, breathe! I’m surrounded by blokes on full-sus bikes in skin-tight lycra. Me and my little pink hardtail feel very out of place. Where are all the girls!?

*around 4pm somewhere near Gardner canyon* The trail is lined with bright yellow flowers and as I stop to take a photo, a sideburned 750 rider cruises by “it’s so beautiful”, he says. I laugh in happiness and agreement.

*sunset in the santa ritas* I feel awful and have done for a few hours, I’ve got a splitting headache and haven’t been able to eat since Kentucky camp. I get off to push up another steep climb and then pause and look around. The sun is low, casting beautiful golden light on the hills, the long grass glows in the long rays. Absolute silence surrounds me. I remember Kait’s cookies, and grab one out, delighted to find I can eat it. When I carry on everything seems that little bit better.

*10.30pm* Stopping on a ridge line to try and eat, I turn my light off to enjoy the dark. A huge moon casts a silver tint over everything and I can see the shadowy outlines of the hills. As I eat I become aware of a munching sound, I’m not the only one having dinner. Using my helmet light I find, a foot away from me, a very big mouse tucking into a prickly pear. Unperturbed by my light, Mr Mouse lets me watch him as I finish my wrap.

*11pm* Surrounded by coyote howls. the washes are endless. I’m feeling very disoriented. Where is the road?

*1am friday* I’m pushing my bike round and round in a wash. I’ve just crossed under a road and I cant find the trail. my brain wont work, I cant use my Garmin properly, I’m feeling so useless. Another equally tired rider joins me and we stare stupidly into the dark together. Eventually we see lights zooming by on our left. The trail!

*2.30am* Finally arrive at colossal cave campsite and have to ask where the spigot is. There are a bunch of riders stopping here and I decide to join them. After filling my bag of oats and protein powder with water I force myself to eat. This boost of easy to stomach food is my lifesaver on a day when I’ve eaten half of what I should have. Lying down I get about 20minutes sleep before I wake, shivering uncontrollably. Better get up then. In the bright moonlight, I move to the toilets for some privacy to apply chamois cream, but someones helpfully sleeping there, so I push a bit up the trail before getting my bum out. As I’m lathering on a handful of cream I hear a discrete cough and realize someone is bivving a few meters away, and the full moon bouncing off my buns was giving them more than they had bargained for.

*5am* The first light outline the hills behind me. Ahead the moon is starting to fade between the Sonora cactus. The road stretches right to the moon and the blushing sky. A young lad on a town bikes sits and watches the beauty too, I wonder if he slept up here last night or if he rode out for sunrise.

*7am rocking k mart* Why wont the shop open? Why today? Come on, we are waiting! Eventually we give up on the k-mart, I’ve been drooling for crisps, I’m so hungry but cant eat any of my sweet food. I do some math, optimistically figure i can make summer haven before the restaurants shut. I don’t know how to find another shop here anyway, my British phone doesn’t do data.

*10.30am* What is this track? This is awful. We don’t even have to do this, why are we doing this.? What is the point of this horrible loop? How do people even drive this? Argh! Wait, why is there a blue line on my garmin? Theres been no junction? Oh there was. GAHH!

*11am* I’m lost again. In another wash. This time with Bob for company. It might have been him last night too but I was too tired to tell. This is frustrating. But then, Gila Monster! Everything is forgotten as we rush to take a photo and watch this cool dude swagger about.

*2.30pm* We reach the creek before the Molina hike a bike. The water feels so delicious as I soak my feet in it. I’m bonking hard, as we rest in the shade and purify water I try force down more food and almost throw up in front of the boys. We start dreaming of how much food we will buy at the top. Fries, burgers, pizza, cold lemonade. I’ve never been so hungry, and yet unable to keep food down.

*4.30pm* Why the F are we pushing up trails when there’s a great big road right there!? Come on! I just want to ride my bike! I just want to get up this stupid hill!

*5.30pm* Im too hot, whens sunset? Come on darkness!

*6.30pm* Finally shade. I’m still to hot, cool down already! Why is this road so busy? Why does everyone have such noisy trucks? Why are you passing so close? Why am I only going 1mile per hour??

*7pm* Moonrise. How beautiful. And look at the lights of Tuscon. Its so stunning.

*11pm* I need a catnap. I hope there are no bears. I hope no one worries if my dot stops on the highway. Hah! No one is watching my dot anyway.

*12.30am saturday* What is this!? Is this a joke? The organizer has such a sick sense of humor, grin inducing singletrack indeed. Why am I pushing my bike in a stream, where are all the other tracks, did i get a booby-trapped gpx track? Am I going round in circles? Am I ever going to get out?

*1am* I hate this! I’m stuck, wheres the trail? S**t, there’s a huge drop there, cant go that way! Why does my GPX track have a road called help me? Have I been stitched up? I’m crying now, from frustration, anger, but I’m also a bit afraid, the canyon feels very exposed in the dark, I don’t know where I’m going, I don’t trust the gpx but i have no choice but to follow it. Better toughen up.

*1.45* The toilets at Summerhaven! Woohoo! I’m alive! I sit in a corner and shiver in relief for 20min.

*2.30am* Yes! Im amazing, just aced that ridiculously steep loose singletrack, i can totally do this sleep deprived riding thing.

*2.35am* No no no no that was the wrong way. Stupid Annie! ugh its harder pushing up than it was riding down.

*4am* Im gonna puke again. Lets stop and lie down and see if my stomach can settle. Wow, look at all those stars. The sky is amazing. I feel so small, who cares about how fast a tiny person on a bike on a tiny mountain in the middle of a huge continent can ride one short bit of trail.

*4.30am* Skunk!

*6am* Sunrise!!!! Look at that, is incredible! Im so happy, this is the only place i want to be right now. Look at it!

*8am oracle* CRISPS CRISPS CRISPS. Oh man that is so good! Food is so wonderful! Oh man food!

*10 am* This underpass is the best place in the world. Its so shady and cool and comfortable. I could live here. CRISPS!

*2pm somewhere before bloodsucker wash* Man its getting windy. I cant even push straight. And these spiky things are getting blown at me. I need a wee.

*2.05* Ouch! My bum is on fire! Oh S**T. My chamois is filled with tiny thorns. No no no no.

*3pm* Chollas to my left. Chollas to my right. Chollas on my tyre. Chollas on my grips. Chollas in my leg..

*4pm* Shade. Thank you Sonora. I love you.

*4.30* Bird. Wait, that looks funny. Black and white stripes. On the trail, i wander what it is. *bends down* SNAKE!!!!

*4.31* Please be nice mr snake. look, im going really slow, i didnt mean to scare you. I just want to go past in peace. Whew!

*4.45* WTF! WTF! *Jumps off bike* S**t S**t S**t its another huge rattlesnake. Mr snake if you had kept quiet id be long gone and you wouldn’t have to put up with me staring at you. Id have ridden right past and not nearly jumped on you! Stupid snakes.

*5pm* Ooh whats this dude? Hes so cute! Like a tiny, grumpy dinosaur. Hello!

*6.30 freeman road* Where the water? Why cant i find it? Hi Cow, can you show me the water please. Evan! Thank you, you’re so nice.

*6.45pm at the water cache* I chat to Evan as Liz and a singlespeed dude catch us up. Wow look at Lizs legs, they are incredible! She is super stoked and stops with the others to refuel as i head off.

*10pm* Emergency stop! Death mouse. Death vole. Death bird. Come on guys i dont want to hit you! Stop running infront of my bike please! (I dont think i hit anything)


*2am ripley ridge Sunday* Liz has stopped for a sleep but want to chat about packrafting. Im so confused. Where is her energy coming from? I need to keep going. Down and up, down and up.

*2.30am* I keep feeling like ive been turned around and am going backwards. I lie next to the trail for half an hour to rest my head. The ground is so comfy.

*3am* Will this never end! Why am i going up on a descent? Why cant the trail go down. I want to be at Kelvin!

*3.30 kelvin spigot* Hah, look chairs. So tempting. How does this spigot work? Please let there be water, why is there no water? Oh, you push down. I knew that. How much to take, i dont want to push an extra three kilos around the Gila.. hmm ill take 4 liters and get from the river later.

*7am* Pavel! “if you were faster, you could sleep more” Thanks Pavel, im doing the best i can..

*8.30* Ive messed up. I cant drink that brown water, i have no filter. Do i take some as backup or go with my 3 liters? Hmm, possibly 8 hours to the end.. in the heat… with only salty food… do i wait till evening when its cooler? Sign, board, tell me what to do! You make this next bit look ok. Ill go for it and stop eating. Who needs food?

*10am* Man its hot! Everything is sweating. Im so shiny.

*10.30* So Hot. must be nearly there. Sip sip, dont gulp. Save water. Just keep walking. 1.2.3.4.1.2.3.4. OMG percy pig! Sweets! Im not going to bonk.

*11.30* Top! yes, im going to make it! im not going to dehydrate and die! Ive done it!

*11.35* That wasn’t the top…

*12.30* Real top! Yaaasssssss! Downhill all the way baby!

*12.45* Why am i pushing uphill again? That signboard showed nice gentle downhill..

*1.30pm* Who built this trail? This is awful. Why cant it go down? Why is it so wiggly? This sucks!

*2.30* Last 750ml water. This really sucks. I hate this. Im never doing this again. Whoever built this should be shot. Where is the end? WHERE IS THE END?

*3.15* Im sure i saw the car park. Where is it? Why am i going up? Who put all these rocks here? Junction, which way? Up? Is this ever going to end?

*3.30* I think im done, theres the crew. Finally, that trail was horrible! oh look, i still have a full bottle and half a bag of percy pigs. Silly me, didnt have to feel so hard. A shady seat. Thank goodness. Can i cry now?

AZT300 was my first multiday ultra. I owe massive thanks to two incredible humans, Kait Boyle and Kurt Refsnider for all their advice, encouragement and for being at the end with a shady seat and a cold sprite.

Gear Tests

Review: Hyperlight Mountain Gear UltaMid 2

One of the most common bits of kit I get asked about is the UltaMid 2. Hopefully I can answer some of those questions here. Since we bought the UltaMid 2, we have used it for three weeks in Swedish winter on snow (outer only), Greenland for four weeks and around 50 nights in the UK in both summer and winter conditions. The inner and outer are bought seperatly and can be used independantly from each other.

Firstly, this is a very light set up, including guy lines the outer weighs in at 500g, the full inner (DCF11 floor and bug mesh) weighs just under 600g. So without pegs and pole, you end up with a very roomy 2 man tent at around 1.1kg. The Dyneema Composite Fabric (DCF) claims to be much tougher, abrasion resistant and durable compared to sil nylon, whist being considerably lighter. This does also make your wallet significantly lighter if you consider buying it. Dyneema claim that for its strength performance, it has the lowest carbon footprint of any material.

So, first impressions, the ultaMid 2 is much bulkier than expected, especially considering its weight. The fabric has compressed by around a third in the two and a bit years we have had it though, and now packs smaller than our old Hilleberg nammatja 2.

500ml water bottle for scale, inner and outer

The outer arrives with perimeter guy lines and extra cord for creating guy lines for the additional eight attachment points. If you want line locks for these you need to buy them separately. In our experience in windy conditions these are fairly essential for stabilization and stopping flapping. Pegs are bought separately as well.

No pole is provided, the UltaMid 2 is designed to be used with walking poles or a paddle. For the bike packers, we bought an extendable pole from Ruta Locura We are using a 60inch pole with an extension that brings it up another 6 or so inches. In the UK Bear Bones bikepacking also do made to order carbon poles but dont seem to have an option if you want an extendable section.

extendable 60in pole in .600 carbon fibre from Ruta Locura

Whilst pitching the ultamid is simple, pitching it well takes a bit of practice, especially on your own. Once up and correctly tensioned, it is brilliant at shedding wind (we have used it in gust of up to 60mph) and surprisingly non flappy. A huge advantage of the shape, is it is non directional, so there are no nasty surprises if the wind swings in the night. It is also good in the snow, with it just running down the sides rather than weighing on top. The DCF has another advantage over nylon, which is it doesn’t stretch and contract as it wets or drys, meaning once its pitched you shouldn’t have to adjust it if conditions change.

The UltaMid can be pitched at different heights, allowing for more air flow in warm conditions. It has two mesh vents at the top that can be shut with velcro. The large cone allows for a range of width poles to be used, from a fat paddle to skinny walking pole.

The mesh inner has a really deep bathtub floor, perfect for Scottish boggy conditions. It clips into the outer at the four corners and the pole sits inside it. The mesh inner is very airy, it definitely isn’t a cosy tent, so if you prefer to cocoon yourself away from the weather, this might not be perfect for you. However it lets lots of light in and very importantly is midge proof. The inner sits well away from the outer and allows great air flow reducing condensation. The one slight disadvantage is the inner extends almost all the way to the door, leaving very little porch space to cook with the door shut. It is possible to un clip one corner and fold it back if needed though.

The cost of the inner is a bit of a shock, innitially I looked into making one for us, but after costing up the fabric we decided to suck it up and buy it (the fabric for the floor in the same spec dyneema, would alone cost the same as the whole thing from hyperlight) and it has been well worth it for us, in the conditions we have used it in.

Inner coming all the way to the front
airy mesh inner
Fast drying once the suns up

We were initially skeptical that such a big, lightweight tent would prove as capable in bad conditions as the Nammatja, and after extended testing, decided we were happy enough with it to sell the nammatja. So, how has it really been to use? Our first Ultamid leaked very badly in heavy rain. We warrantied it through the shop we bought it from. Hyperlight said it was a rare manufacturing error and replaced it right away. The second outer still leaks through a couple of points, although not as much. We contacted Hyperlight and were told to send it back for repair. As we use it so often, and sending it back to America would take time, they have instead sent us some sticky dyneema which should solve the problem. The second downside is the lightweight zip, this is the weakest point of the tent and is starting to show wear. The way the tent tensions, means it is easy to put a bit to much tautness on the zip which can damage it. Unlike most tent zips that have a storm flap, this one has no protection, so, despite being a waterproof zip, in heavy rain moisture does get though. Im not sure why it doesn’t come specced with a heavy duty molded zip that will last the life of the fabric.

First class camping

Despite all that, this is an amazing tent, is is a delight to live in. Unlike other tents that can feel a bit gloomy and cramped, this creates an enjoyable space to be outdoors in. Being able to fully open the front in good weather but have to bug proofing is fantastic. It is very roomy, plenty of space for two people to relax in, and if you pitch it with the pole offset, can sleep three, even on neo air mats. From using it in a very wide range of conditions i feel confident that it can handle all but the very worst high mountain storm. For us, on long bike packing trips, this has been a bit of a game changer. It is a third of the weight of our old tent, whilst being more spacious and nicer to live in. That weight saving means we can carry more food, and stay out longer so we can have bigger adventures!

Available to buy in the UK from Backcountry.scot

Frozen
Scottish Adventures

Of Eagles and Adders

A warm winters Cairngorm bikepack

Ive been here before, riding up this long glen into a mighty headwind. That day was almost exactly a year ago, but that is where the similarity’s end. Today the wind is coming from the south, its venturing from hot, exotic countries, the track is dry, fast. The rivers however are high, as the last of the snow in the hills melts before the hairdryer winds and rushes away, on a long journey to the sea. Last year i peddled slowly over two foot of neve and crust, the snow deep and refrozen, wheel ruts from the estate vehicle proving hard work. I crossed big chunks of ice, avalanche debris from a few days before and was glad of deep footsteps to follow over the steep hillside, comforted that some else had been here. The wind although also southerly, was spinning round from the cold north, and brought with it frozen noses and hot aches. The land felt bleak, inhospitable and lifeless.

Today it feels like a warm April spring, looking around there is life crawling out from where its hidden all winter. Caterpillars cross the trail, and i have to make drunken wiggles to avoid them. A few bugs drift in the yellow grass, the light glinting off their wings. The birds swoop about and call to each other, sounding delighted as the low sun warms their feathers. A large solitary frog hops slowly along on his own journey. Riding past the hazel, catkins appearing, and the birch, twigs turning deep purple as they start to bud it feels like everything is on the brink of bursting into life. Summer could be just days away. Yet it is only mid February.

I head through the Gaicks pass in the afternoon light, a bit of ice still clinging to the edge of Loch an Duin. The singletrack is a delight to ride, dry, challenging, cut into the steep hillside, it is beautiful. The remaining ice falls on the far side crash down every so often, emitting a loud booming that reverberates off the steep scree sides. As i head past the old, crumbing lodge over the watershed, the sun is starting to sink and my thoughts turn to camp.

I find a small flat spot, perched high above the river, just below the track. The hills stretch endlessly, brown moor, rolling and falling away like a gentle ocean swell. I sit and drink tea as the light fades, enjoying every colour change as the shadows deepen and gradually immerse the detail in gloom. At around 450m the temperature drops with the light and soon I take to my sleeping bag, to read away the time until bed. A thick, heavy mist encompasses the tent, and soon everything is damp. The moon, about three quarters full, occasionally shines brightly through, casting everything in a beautiful silvery light. Its not so cold that i shiver, but too cold for sleep. I lie, listen and watch the moon track its gentle arch over the tent.

By morning this has turned to solid ice, coating both sides of the outer and to my dismay and amusement, both shoes and socks are firmly frozen, having been saturated during the river crossings of the day before. Ive camped on the wrong side of the glen for the early sun, and so i sit and wait as it creeps slowly closer, rising up towards me, until it eventually hits the tent and brings some much desired warmth to help defrost. I’m only a couple hours ride from where i will meet a friend in Blair Athol early afternoon, so there’s plenty of time for my foot wear to warm, drink many cups of tea and snooze in the now warm sunny tent.

After meeting Iona, we ride up glen tilt, the sun coating everything with its warmth. We can almost smell those mid summer bbqs and sweat in our thin fleeces. With a light tail wind we make good time up the double track, passing endless good camp spots. The single track, sometimes flowing, sometimes awkward, but always enjoyable speeds by. As we start it we cross the beautiful bridge over the falls of tarf, the sign, saying donated by the Rights of Way society, reminds us that we are lucky to have passage through this land. In fact Glen Tilt was involved in one of the first and most historic battles for land access way back in 1847. John Balfour, a botanist from Edinburgh and his students, were denied access to the glen by the Lord Athol and his ghillies. the following skirmish resulted in a court case and eventual recognition of the glen as a right of way. I always give thanks as i pass this spot, access to the land is one of things i value most highly and one of the best things about living in Scotland is our access code.

Looking back into the sinking sun

We reach the headwaters and drop out of the narrow section of the glen as dusk starts to descend. Deciding to push on with the rising winds we eventually pitch up in the lee of one of the remaining walls of Bynack Lodge. Iona has brought along some top class reading material, Geographer magazine, and we go to bed much better educated. The night is wild, even in the shelter of the ruin, wind crashes into the tent, and roars through the old larch trees. Rain pelts the tent with big heavy drops. Another sleepless night, with a midnight trip to tighten the guy lines, at least much warmer than the last.

Up early, we are relieved to find the big ford over the Geldie is passable with only a few face pulls and screaming hot aches. Then we set out for the long journey over the moor. We pass through the new deer fences that Mar estate have put up to protect the new plantings and then out onto the single track. Usually passing along this bog pitted trail late in the day and tired, its a nice surprise to find how ride able and flowy it can be. Iona spots a lone golden eagle about half way along, and we stop to admire its graceful circles high above. In the browns and yellows up here, it is clear that true spring is still a long way off, despite the balmy temperature. The Eidart is running high and plumes of spray rise up and sprinkle us as we cross the narrow bridge, its an impressive sight with the snow melt. Riding the narrow trail down to the broken shelter, i spot an adder in the way, somehow avoiding it by inches, i stop and shout for Iona to slow down. This is only the second of these beautiful snakes Ive ever seen. This one is sluggish, they don’t usually emerge till March, and we were able to have a close look before leaving it in peace.

I love descending off the moor into Glen Feshie, this beautiful glen is one of the few places in Scotland that feels like the glaciers left it recently. The river is turbulent, always changing course and cutting new lines, the result is a big gravel out wash that can make you feel like you are in Canada or Patagonia. This feeling is compounded by the lush vegetation, even in February, every shade of green is here, the deep underwater hue of the Gnarled Scots pine grannies, the bright Junipers and the rich greens of the blaeberry. Every fallen tree is covered in a vibrant array of lichens, moss and tiny new saplings. This, due to a lot of hard work by the estate, is an ecosystem in recovery. Those who don’t see the value and joy in forests, and who believe Scotland is more beautiful for the barren moors, should visit. I cant imagine they would remain unmoved by their time here.


Devils matchsticks looking spectacular

From here it is a short spin, via a few favorite places, back to Aviemore. This was not the weekend id expected, having been hoping for some good winter to play on the hills, but as ever, there’s never anything to be lost by being out, there will always be joy to be found, and unexpected sights to take inspiration into the next week of work.

Scottish Adventures

A (nearly) winter solstice micro adventure.

Winter solstice isn’t a particularly significant date for me, but i feel its worth heading out into the dark, if only to remind myself that its not that bad, and that the worst of it has passed. The 21st came and went this year with me unable to make it out. Fortunately both circumstance and weather linked up for a wild night out on the 23rd instead.

Pushing my bike up the mountain in fine drizzle, no sign of the freezing level and i questioned my motives. Why was i pushing up into the clag and impending dark on my own? Was there really some fun to be found up there among the puddles of thawing snow and wet brown moor? An older couple emerged out of the clouds on their way back down too a hot meal, bright lights and warm bed. They clearly questioned my motives too, subtly suggesting they thought i was better off turning back, i might get lost in the mist, that there was no snow pack to pitch a tent on and that my bike would be a cumbersome lump. Its a good thing im used to ignoring advice from strangers.

You see, its a rare event to get a forecast of low winds and the promise of a clear dawn and sunrise, so this was too good an opportunity to turn down. Although with the continuing rain and map and compass nav, i was wondering if it was in fact going to clear and be worth it. Cresting the brow, surrounded by greyness, only clumps of brown grass poking through the damp snow i started searching for a possible camp. The much depleted snow offered little base to pitch on, but after searching out a re entrant, a change in shape on the hillside that had trapped the windblown snow, i found a good patch. Pitching the tent in the gloaming, the temperature dropped and my wet waterproofs started to freeze into a crisp shell. To get the pegs to hold required stamping the snow, and waiting for it to consolidate hard before tensioning the guylines. The next job was filling in all the gaps around the base of the tent to prevent drafts and spin drift blowing through in the night. Eventually i was able to fling in all my kit and get about the serious business of trying to get warm and dry.

The freezing rain continued into the night, coating everything in an icy tomb. The night was wild, long, dark. A few times i stuck my head out to see if it had cleared, but until shortly before dawn, the murk lurked, the full moon peering down through frosted glass.

The following morning as i lay in the still dark tent, the overwhelming pressure of silence. Absolute stillness.

This is the reason to endure a cold night, to open the tent and find yourself alone with the mountain in all its beauty. To welcome in the new day with such a deep peace and happiness, to watch the light grow and slowly, gently illuminate the world.

Frozen
A cold dawn

There is no glamour up here, none is needed as the setting moon is slowly devoured by the light. Shivering to get the stove on for a much needed brew, the only thing to do is sit and watch, absorbing every shape revealed by the changing light. Watch the colours change, the deep purples warming into streaks of gold, too bright to look into as the sun emerges above the horizon. The first ray of sun hitting your frozen cheeks is the biggest joy and its the best tasting tea that warms your insides. For me there is no greater happiness than the freedom of a calm, sunlight mountain, and when its all yours to enjoy..

In the light it becomes clear the extent of the freezing rain, and it takes a long time to shatter the cold clear frosting to get packed up.

A bit of defrosting later and Madame Beargrease was ready to roll over the crunchy snow. We made it to the munro summit for a mince pie breakfast and admire the view, looking straight down into a deep, mist filled glen, before bouncing and swooshing our way back into the glen far below and home in time for Christmas eve.

Scottish Adventures

Wild night out

The forecast has lied to me today. It was meant to be clear, sunny, one of those rare Scottish bluebird days when anything is possible. Not that id planned on being very ambitious, but id hoped at least for the chance of a winter tan! Instead I find myself being chased down, and inevitably caught by endless snow showers. The gusting wind, at least is pushing me in the right direction. The loch is dark, broody water frozen along the edge, waves preventing ice coating the entire surface.

Id planned on a couple of nights out, two days biking in one of my favorite places to access a fairly remote munro. As it was, packing the bike in a heavy snow shower, i decided to remove my hill kit as it seemed less likely id make it that far with all the extra white stuff.

This looped tree with its icicles caught my eye.

I follow a snowy track, driven a day ago the estate. The compact snow feels amazing under my big tires, smooth and almost silent. The white surface is marred here and there by spots of red. It was obviously a successful stalk, although with the huge number of deer tracks around, its no surprise.

Given the conditions, im unsure of how far I will make it. Im a bit apprehensive of heading too far into the hills in the deteriorating conditions. Im all too aware of the limitations of my bike, and also my body, currently full of cold and not entirely recovered from the Strathpuffer two weeks ago. Its a worry, with all the dry powder being blown around that the tracks fill in and become un rideable. It would be an embarrassing call to work, to say im snowed in up a remote glen..

The desire to reach the Hills, the stark beauty i crave drives me on. There is a spot by the loch that Ive always wanted to camp at, just removed from the hills, but with the looming peaks as an incredible back drop. Eventually the track runs out as I leave one estate and cross the no mans land to the next. The snow, deeper here, hides thick bog and wheel swallowing ruts. My progress slows and I pause at an old bridge, admiring the last blast of sun, before it is swallowed for the day by the snow.

As I approach my longed for camp site, the weather really turns. Snow blasts horizontally, exfoliating my exposed cheeks and flying across the frozen loch surface. This is no place to camp tonight. I cross the narrow bridge, its missing a few more slats since the last time i was here. It hangs from chains, just a foot wide, and swings and creaks ominously as i cross. The river here, ice covered, is over waist deep, not a spot to fall in, alone, in a blizzard. It with relief i leave the icy slats behind and pick up the track again.

Up ahead, nestled between the hills is an old bothy. It was one of my favorites, unfortunately it has been shut since asbestos was discovered in the roof. It remains unlocked however and although id rather camp, its a comfort knowing it there as darkness curls around me.


Its a lonely and bleak sight, the hills obscured by snow and the fading light casting everything in a blueness, i could be under water. The wind has strengthened and the temperature is plummeting. I make the decision to stay in the bothy. Its not recommended and not what i had planned, but then, the weather wasn’t what i had planned either. As the wind gusts harder through the night im glad of my choice, spin drift is flung hard at the windows and the wind whooshes down the old chimney. I go out for a final wee before bed, and gaze upwards. The sky has cleared to reveal an infinite expanse of stars, dark, free of any pollution. In the lee of the hut I gaze for what feels like an eternity, shooting stars plummet silently and satellites rush on their endless journey. The power of the night, it humbles us, strips us of any pretense of greatness, or human arrogance. We are laid bare under it, vulnerable. A pile of spin drift is flung over the bothy and down my neck, raising me, and i head inside for sleep.

Suddenly im awake. Im convinced there is someone here with me, in this small room. Panicking i sit up and peer round. Nothing. In the cold light drifting through the window, everything is as it was, just the empty wooden platforms, the candlesticks still line the mantle piece and my bags still hanging out of reach of the mice. I was dreaming of an old man, sat on the bench at my feet, offering to share a sandwich. But neither he, nor any demons are with me. I lie back and listen to the sounds, the chap of the door latch in the wind, the woomph as it rushes down the fireplace, the creak of the old roof. Nothing out of place. And yet im convinced there are shadows outside the frosted window and i still feel a strong presence.

In the morning I find deer tracks all around the hut, they must have sought shelter from the storm, and it was likely their presence i felt in the night. The good weather seems to have arrived, and the mountains, hidden the night before stand in all their glory. The sunrises slowly over the horizon, catching the peaks and ridges of the mountains. I stay out and watch and wait, not wanting to miss a second of the changing light. Finally once the sun has hit the bothy, i head inside for breakfast.

The ride out, tracing my route of the day before reveals how tired I am. The drifted snow makes for hard work and i have to stop often to catch my breath. Surrounded by so much beauty though my tiredness does not matter. Everything glistens, sparkles, like a sequin spangled dress.

Theres always a sadness when leaving the hills behind, a kind of grieving, like parting with a loved one. Every moment of freedom I have in them is precious, it never feels like enough time. Never long enough to sit and absorb.

International Adventures

Road Closed

Crossing Iceland in spring 2016

I can hear the ice cracking and groaning on the sluggish river. My breath turns to to stardust and tinkles gently back onto my face. Through the open tent door, the night sky is alive, dancing, playing, a giant ever changing kaleidoscope. Im in the heart of the Icelandic highlands and this is probably the coldest night of my life. My water bottle is tucked into an armpit, the gas at my feet and the down in my bag grows ever crispier as as the new moon rises and passes across the sky. Next to me Huw looks much toastier in his posh PHD bag and in a moment of jealousy I consider waking him up to zip them together. The inside of the tent glistens as tiny ice crystals grow frantically and then drop off to cover us like sugar icing.

We had planned this trip for months, gained the skills we thought we would require through our Winter Mountain Leader training and assessments and we were here! Shivering through endless sleepless nights and loving almost every moment. Quite where our desire to fat bike across the icelandic highlands on snow came from im not sure, im a committed sun lover and Huw can get pretty grumbly when hes not comfortable for long periods. But we had booked our flights way in advance, whilst dreaming of dry, crisp winter mornings and there was no backing out. After spending a long few months stomping, digging and pacing through a Scottish winter, my stokens flying out to an equally sleety and windy Reykjavik were at an all time low. They were further sunk when the bus driver told us he was not allowed to stop at our hostel despite driving past it but would drop us off a kilometer away. In the dark and the rain with two 30kg bike boxes. Lots of swearing, sweating and being laughed at ensured before getting into the warmth and finding out there was a 24 hr supermarket near by. Perfect!

We knew that the Icelandic weather is even more fickle than our own and had arrived with no plan and every plan. Checking the forecasts every 15 minutes we decided to set off towards gulfoss and the start of the kjolur route into the highlands. Those first few days riding on the road were a nightmare. Goggles on, blizzards, drifting snow, mighty headwinds, side winds catching the frame bags like a sail and scary drivers. My Salsa Beargrease felt good, not too sluggish on the road, but she was desperate to find some snow. Our maximum elevation was a measly 200m but we felt as though on the Cairngorm plateau at 1000. Serious doubts were creeping in. Unfortunately our route was part of the golden circle tour, so every camera toting tourist was en route with us, not helping our mood. If you read my previous Iceland post you will understand our building frustration… To make matters worse the heavy bikes, big tires, head winds and residual tiredness meant a 30km day was success. We had been doing 120km days on rough dirt roads on our last trip in Patagonia and were feeling incapable and useless. The one bit of enjoyment, once we had stomped tent pegs into the frozen ground and got our first brew on was the camping. Icelandic wild camping is just pure bliss. Our very best Patagonian camp spot probably equaled our very worst Icelandic one.

After a very brief stop at the selfie stick shopping malls of Geyser and a quick spin over shifting tectonic plates at Pingvellir we made a break for the end of the tarmac.Our last chance to check the weather and thaw our feet was at the giant canteen of Gulfoss. As we arrived, getting blown around by the winds rushing off the icecaps, my thoughts were of going no further. If we were only achieving 30km on tarmac, how could we cover the next few hundred, remote, snowy kilometers fast enough not to run out of food or into a storm. We hadn’t had a chance to test the bikes either as they had arrived just days before we left and we were unsure of how they would perform on the mixed conditions we were expecting. With hot cup of tea and warming up by a heater we went through our list of forecasts (Over the month we were there we found YR.no and WindyTY to be the most accurate. WindyTY if of course just great to be mesmerized by, to stay in the warmth longer).

A weather window! Four days before the next big front, the winds dropping and spinning from North to South and there might even be a dash of sunlight. We had faced numerous Go Pros, worried Icelanders telling us we WOULD DIE and overpriced processed cheese to get here, to the edge of the highlands. With this forecast we had no choice but to go for it!

Our sensible heads still firmly screwed on, we decided to spend the rest of the day climbing up to a pass, seeing the conditions and camping just on the other side, that way we had more time to rethink and bail if the forecasts were lying. Passing the road closed sign, away from the crowds, leaving behind the weaving Jimneys, Ugg boots, trendy haircuts and faux fur collars was like coming back to life. Enthusiasm filled us and we began having fun as we slid and stumbled upwards.

Cresting that horizon, staring down and outwards for infinity across the empty vastness of the highlands is a moment i will never forget. The landscape stretched out on all sides, expanding into a white, mountain filled vista. We were going into it, all the way, further than we could see. We were going to do it! Do what we (and many others) thought impossible! Laughing and whooping we freewheeled downwards. Skidding and washing out as the snow changed under our tires and we adjusted to a new way of riding. The noise of the fat tires on the surface of the snow, cracking, swooshing, silent. We soon learned to read the snow by the sounds and were able to weave routes around the soft slab.

That first night in the highlands is where we rejoin the start of this blog, shivering in our mighty hilleberg palace..

We learnt a lot about cold, Scotland rarely gets below minus 6, here we though it might have been around -15. Our gas barely worked, our tent did funny things and got quite hard to pitch right, metal sporks are a bad idea, vapor liners in boots and bags would have been clever, cheese freezes, even plastic cheese and snow balls are not good loo roll!

The next few days passed in a blur of snowy wonder, rolling through the awe inspiring landscape, with only the sound of our tires and the distant boom of cracking ice on some hidden river. A thaw the week before had left perfect fat bike conditions, refrozen neve. It was one enormous icy play ground. We were cautious with our route, trying to roughly follow where the road went to avoid ending up on a suspect frozen loch or lost in moraine piles. The conditions could change rapidly so we worked to make time whilst we could,  in case the clouds rolled in and we would be reduced to going walking pace on a bearing.

Stopping at Hveravellir hot springs we were amazed to find the hut open. Its the first winter ever they have stayed open. It would have been rude not to, so we splashed our budget and had the hot spring and hut to ourselves. And bought the entire supply of cookies. It was great to dry out sodden sleeping bags after some very long cold nights and drink endless cups of tea. We would have stayed longer but the weather was due to break so we swiftly left our comforts and headed out once more.

One more night and we dropped height, out of the snow and heading back for civilization. We had achieved our ultimate goal, of crossing the highlands!We know we were incredibly lucky with the conditions, it could so easily not have happened. Just a few weeks before some British guys had been all over the news for getting rescued multiple times but still going back. The anti idiot tourist sentiment in Iceland was high and we were terrified we would end up on that list.We played it very safe, having multiple get outs and having been about as prepped as we could. But the weather you cannot fool and luckily for us it was calm and benign.

With a couple more weeks we investigated some of Icelands other awesome places, hot springs, thermal outdoor pools, did some unloaded riding and ate as much skyr as we could fit in our belly’s.

Again Iceland was an incredible experience, the Icelanders are lovely, the landscape is weird and incredible and skyr is delicious. Now can someone please give me a job there?