Highland Trail 550

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.  

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!”.  

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. 

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.