“Never,” we said. Over the last decade of late May bikepacking adventures, we have watched competitors on the Highland 500 – and its more recent and punishing 550-mile iteration – slogging around northern Scotland… and more often than not they’ve looked miserable. “We’re never doing that.”
Yet somehow, in 2023, Becky and I found ourselves lining up for Team Vinyl Bear at the Grand Depart of what Dotwatcher calls ‘one of the original European bikepacking races and notoriously one of the hardest on the calendar’. Participants must be entirely self-supported and accept no outside help, with no caching of food, pre-booking of accommodation or use of resources not equally available to all riders. The route is largely off road and includes some of the roughest and most remote parts of northern Scotland. The entry fee is a donation to the John Muir Trust and the reward for successful completion is a free meal at the Real Food Café.
This year, organiser Alan Goldsmith set out with the goal of achieving a 50:50 male/female ratio on the start line, reserving places for suitably capable women who were keen to give it a go. Until 2023, only 29 women had ever completed the event. So, against our better judgement, we found ourselves making up the numbers. The aim of equal participation was very nearly achieved, with 26 women (including several hardy route veterans) and 33 men finally lining up on the start line in Tyndrum on 27th May 2023.
We were in the company in some cases of sponsored athletes who spend much of their time following a race circuit but neither of us are racers. We are ‘normal’ people with engaging full-time jobs, putting in the training miles on evenings and weekends around other interests and commitments, so we never had any illusions about being serious competitors. Just the idea of finishing the route – the objective of riders in the Grand Depart being to complete in eight days or less – seemed fanciful.
The pack leaders complete the race in less than four days. This year, Angus Young broke the course record and completed the route in a provisional time of 3 days, 7 hours and 25 minutes and six women completed the course in under five days.
That may mean very little to you but perhaps after reading my account of our experiences you may begin to appreciate just what a monumental and seemingly superhuman achievement that is!
Getting to the start is half the battle
While we didn’t face the same challenges as Georgie Rutherford, who arrived from NZ only have her bike and kit stolen a few days before the race (and still managed to finish in under six days!), just arriving with a functioning bike seemed to be a challenge. I have one offroad rig which has to serve for everything from alpine downhill to bikepacking journeys, so it works hard. Half my bike seemed to end up in the metal recycling in the run up to the trip and the bike that made it to the start line was definitely Trigger’s Broom, with new forks, running gear, bearings… I burned through a ridiculous number of bottom brackets during my longer training rides and every time I rode, something else seemed to go wrong, so I spent from January through to the end of May generally covered in oil from tinkering. I made grateful use of friends and of Drosi Bikes’ amazing women’s bike maintenance workshops to help me work through some of the thornier issues!
Training basically comprised making sure I rode at least three times a week. I incorporated some training into my working life, riding to team meetings where they happened within striking distance of home and did a couple of bikepacking journeys to be sure of my luggage systems and refamiliarize myself with riding a fully loaded bike. I worked in a few longer rides that matched the distances and elevation I would need to cover each day on the HT550 and ensured I did multiple days back-to-back so my bottom knew what to expect. I roped my husband into a four-day figure of eight around the North York Moors on the pretense that it was a holiday.
The thought of the riding per se wasn’t actually what daunted me the most, however, it was the need to sort a Spot Tracker, register on Trackleaders, record gpx tracks (I was a Strava virgin until this trip) and take photos of my bike with level pedals for various websites… the regular emails and the buildup created a sense of tense anticipation that I’d never really had for trips that I’d planned myself. I had to think about keeping devices charged, when my usual response to the wilderness was just to turn the world off and save my batteries for emergencies.
For me, one of the hardest parts for my impatient soul was hanging around the start line at the Real Food Café, chatting to other participants and just waiting for the off. Once I was actually on my bike and riding out into the hills, the awkwardness and anxiety melted away and I was relieved to finally be underway. From then on, I just had to try my best and what would be would be.
Becky and I had agreed we should plan to ride together until one or other of us really had enough, had a major mechanical or if we were really moving at very different paces: we had a very similar mindset about the route – we can’t function without sleep and proper nutrition and were just taking a day at a time – and are not dissimilar in pace, although we often naturally drifted apart on certain sections and regrouped at key points. We were, however, entirely independent of one another. Anything can happen out there and one of us might well have ended up riding alone. After all, as Dotwatcher says, a ‘finish here is not guaranteed for anybody; race favourites Kurt Refsnider and James Hayden pulled out early for different reasons. Four-time finisher, Mike Toyn, who first competed in 2013 also pulled the plug for the first time. This race is easy for nobody and demands the stars to align’.
This is too easy
Day One sees riders head out on the West Highland Way then hang a right to Loch Lyon. The weather was drizzly and cool – perfect riding weather in my book – and the double track sped us along, up and over into Rannoch Forest and down an enjoyable swoop to Bridge of Gaur. We even made ourselves ride past the café at Bridge of Balgie, knowing we had to put down a decent marker on the first day if we had any hope of making anything close to eight days around the course. Having ridden much of the route – at least in reverse – at some point, we were painfully aware that this was the easy bit: spinning fast along tracks and minor roads was winning us kms without the sufferfest we knew was to come later in the route. After Loch Rannoch, we were on familiar territory as we climbed over the Loch Ericht, remembering the rather boggy and indistinct path along its shores to Ben Alder cottage bothy. We caught up with Ruth, who we had met on the Dyfi Winter Warmup through a mutual friend and persuaded to sign up for the HT550 and rode the next sections together, chatting away. The climb up to Bealach Cumhann (an excellent descent we remembered from a previous year) was surprisingly rideable. A brief downpour caught us at the top but passed as soon as it came and we enjoyed the now sunny section to Bealach Dubh and then down on excellent singletrack to the condemned Culra bothy.
As we approached Loch Pattack, my seat pack was misbehaving, having morphed into a very unhelpful shape and was rubbing on the back wheel. I stopped to re-pack it, using my folding plastic bowl as additional stiffener – everything you carry should have two uses! – and probably saved my tyre and my trip in the process. Then we were descending the scenic River Pattack, a view familiar from autumn kayaking trips. The sun was lowering in the sky and Ruth decided she would stop earlier but Becky and I had in our minds the objective of Melgarve bothy, another 20 or so kilometres distant and so we slowly wound up Glen Shirra and dropped to the road that ascends toward the upper reaches of the Spey. (At this point, the serious challengers were past Fort Augustus, having eaten fish and chips ready to fuel them onward into the night).
We debated the issue of the Spot Tracker and wondered whether it was offputting to some women sleeping alone in the wilderness to signal their exact whereabouts on a public website when they were at their most vulnerable. As we were contemplating whether it was safer to turn the tracking off a little while before we stopped, we saw a group of men camped up on the path ahead between us and our bothy goal, looking a bit like bouncers. Suddenly apprehensive, we ploughed on only to find that they were dotwatchers who had camped out all day to watch the field go past and offer everyone a wee dram of whisky and cheer them on. Any concerns about the ‘dot’ subsided at this point!
130km down and there was no need to faff with our tents, as we found just enough space in a bothy that was already busy with two other parties of friendly bikepackers travelling the Badger Divide and An Turas Mor routes. That equalled my longest ever day on a bike and broke Becky’s PB. As we filled up with water from the stream, the sun dipped behind the hill and day one was over. I had a bit of a knot at the base of my neck but my legs were happy. Not a bad start!
On Fire
I’m an early bird so there was a little bit of compromise between the two of us over the optimal wakeup time but we both knew we needed to make the most of the daylight, so we set out alarms for 5am or 5.30am depending on how late we finished each night. We aimed to be off the bikes no later than 9pm, to give us enough good light to set up camp and because by that point we were crawling along so slowly it wasn’t really worth carrying on!
We were able to tackle the long climb up the Corrieyairack Pass in the cool of the morning, temporarily overtaking Cath who had arrived in the bothy late the previous evening and gathered herself super-efficiently in the morning while we were still faffing with chain oil and washing porridge bowls. We were reminiscing about our first Scottish bothy biking trip – the Coast to Coast – as we passed Blackburn bothy. This was where, back in 2013, we first learned of the Highland 500 when we met a guy – apparently on his honeymoon – undertaking the trail solo, with his toothpaste portioned out in cling film and contemplating his life choices.
We were in good spirits as we descended to Fort Augustus and found a café for second breakfast. As we ate, familiar figures appeared: friends Lucie and Julian from Inverness had spotted our dots and came to give us a hug and a cheer, which was an amazing mood boost and made it quite hard to get on the road again. By the time we had restocked it was getting hot and the weather dropped into the pattern it would adopt throughout the week: cloudy still mornings, breaking up to reveal scorching sun from about 11am, with the mercury rising throughout the week. Once we had gained the Great Glen Way, however, we made good progress along scenic Loch Ness. A red squirrel ran across the trail in front of me and I definitely saw the monster 😉: something was swimming steadily along on the surface, then dived and disappeared! We got another round of cheering in Invermoriston.
Then it got tough. We climbed steeply out of the Great Glen into Levishie Forest in sweltering heat and spent what felt like an age winding our way around bleak windfarms on a nondescript ridge until we met Loch ma Stac and the awkward route along its shore.
This was the point that the chafing set in for both of us. Aside from my bike falling apart, this had been my greatest fear: I figured my muscles could do it but I wasn’t so convinced my skin and my sit bones were up to the challenge of 550 miles. Saddle sores were forming…
We were pleased then to drop down through the beautiful RSPB reserve at Corrimony, its trees festooned with lichens and moss in that lush rainforest way typical of northwest Scotland.
Following a new section of the Affric-Kintail Way near Millness was when we first saw the smoke. Rounding a corner, we came face to face with several fire engines, offroad vehicles and chairs and water laid out for the firefighters. They waved us past and we got out of the way promptly.
As it turns out, those behind us were not so lucky and had to divert. The fire was first reported on that Sunday lunchtime and was not extinguished until Wednesday, by which time 30 sq km had burned, making it the largest wildlife in Scottish history and doing untold damage to the Corrimony reserve. We were fortunate to pass safely when we did. Such fires are, with climate change and careless – and reckless – human activity, becoming sadly all the more common.
Strath Glass gave us a boost: a long quiet, flat road flanked with bluebells and whilst steep, the climb out of the valley was as beautiful as we remembered from our 2016 Coast to Coast to Coast adventure. But our backsides were not enjoying prolonged contact with our saddles and as the sun dropped low over Gleann Goibhre we decided to ditch at a suitable camp spot close to water whilst Cath, whom we had caught on the push up, motored on into the impending gloom.
Decision time
We woke to an unexpected frost but it still didn’t take long for a few hardy midges to find us as we packed up the next morning. The glorious sun on the heathery slopes in the cool of early light even had Becky conceding that she could be converted to a morning person. The Orrin Dam road to Contin gave us a flying start – and a sighting of an elusive weasel – and we headed north along the valley of the Blackwater. As we passed the railway bridge, we laughed about the trip where two of our party bailed out on the train at Garve and then I nearly killed the stubborn half of the group by persuading them to complete a 104km day to Inverness and dodge lorries on the A9 in a rainstorm. I didn’t let on how far it was going to be until we were safely at journey’s end…
By the time we were ascending Strath Rannoch toward Loch Vaich, our saddles were hurting us badly: we had to regularly bob up for a ‘bum break’ and focus firmly on the beautiful views as opposed to our own inner struggles! Near Deanach Lodge we stopped for lunch and chatted to the friendly postie from Dundonnel, out for a gravel ride. I kept him distracted while Becky stripped off and dunked herself for a wash in the cool river. It was clear we would need to be strict about hygiene and personal care if we were going to make it. I spotted the first four of the eleven ticks that were going to bite me during week and whipped them off smartish with the tick card.
The track then winds down through Glen Calvie and the Alladale Estate, a beautiful valley where trees are once again expanding to cloak the steep slopes of the glen with the help of a significant deer fencing and management effort. A left turn takes you through Croick with its quaint church: red deer were everywhere here, watching us placidly like livestock. The river was low, a far cry from when we had forded it to reach Glaschoill bothy in the rain back in 2019.
Dropping down to the Einig river, we had a decision to make. Hang a left, Schoolhouse bothy, Ullapool and the way back south. Hang a right and you are committed to the infamous Northern Loop. The route of the full HT550 resembles a figure of eight with a third, deceptively short-looking loop perched on top that takes you near to Scotland’s north coast. (You head north up the eastern side and then south down the west coast).
At this point, the sun was blazing. It was only late afternoon. We knew we could never hope for better weather. We had made decent progress and a road section lay ahead to buy us some easier miles. There was even the chance of a pub for dinner. If we didn’t at least try, we would be kicking ourselves. Vinyl Bear had made us T-shirts. We had to earn them.
So we turned right, passing the forbidding signs on the Oykel Bridge hotel and then blasting along the road to the Achness Hotel at Rosehall, where the welcome at the pub could not have been more warm.
When we could be bothered, we liked to reflect each day on our high point, low point and learning point. Day Three’s learning point was that a big plate of steak and chips – however tasty – isn’t the ideal choice if you intend to ride on into the evening.
This made the gentle spin up the vivid green Glen Cassley and its salmon river flanked with ancient alder and birch rather slower than it had a right to be. We made it off the road and ditched for the night in a gravelly pull in just off the track north as the midges came out in force. But we hadn’t quit: the bar staff told us tales of people scratching and riding east for the train. We were still in the game.
Turning the Corner
As grey light began to seep through the flimsy fabric of the tent I thought it must be drizzling outside. Or perhaps it was electric cables I could hear?
Ah, no. That, Kylie, is the telltale sound of many thousands of midges battering against the walls of your fortress. The wind had dropped and there were clouds of tiny biting insects out there ready to make the morning routine into a merry dance.
With my midge hood on, it was initially bearable and I delayed any activity that involved baring flesh for as long as possible. But as you fight your bags back into their riding positions and try to clean your teeth, peak midge tolerance is soon exceeded and it was a relief to get moving and climb steeply over Maovally. Whenever we paused in the mist, clouds of midges soon caught us up.
Becky was clearly struggling and moving slowly that morning. However, once the source of some of the issues was identified – a pair of outer shorts with a very un-strategically placed seam – and ceremonially binned, with two sets of padded Lyrca shorts then deployed one on top of the other, hope returned. The road along Loch Merkland took us quickly to our next offroad climb as the sun punctured the cloud again.
The descent from Bealach nam Meirleach had us grinning from ear to ear, both with the unexpected joy of the riding and the stark beauty of the silver, rocky hills to either side, with long vistas to distant Munros including the aptly named Ben Hope. We were still enjoying this.
After Gobernuisgach Lodge, the route climbs up the side of Glen Golly, a steep-sided fissure filled with trees and waterfalls which was as pretty as we remembered. It ends in a set of steep loose switchbacks which make for a real sting in the tail but the view from the top of the bare screes of Foinaven and the other northern summits was stunning. Below us, the royal blue of Loch Dionard where we had dragged our bikes through a mile of peat hags on our Wild West Tour…
There was a bit of peat hag in store for us on the next section, as the well-made trail disappeared and became an intermittently rideable line through the peatlands on its way to An Dubh Loch. Progress slowed and we crawled our way to the most northerly point on our route, lifting the bikes down open wounds in the peat. Then the climb came: the col that kept on giving! We ascended visciously steep wiggles, pushing our bikes up steep grass and gravel in fierce, distinctly un-Scottish heat. There were several false summits before we finally attained Bealach Horn and we broke out the emergency fudge at the top.
We had our real reward, however, in the stark beauty of the view and the fast, furious fun of the hard-won descent, at times loose, often technical, sometimes switchbacking in Alpine style. We snaked through a small woodland and then were discharged onto the valley floor at Lone through gates formed by two enormous and Tolkeinesque boulders that guarded the entrance to Loch Stack.
We felt the satisfaction of ticking off milestones: past the most northerly point; reaching the end of the Outbound gpx track. Yet we knew that the way back was longer than the way out and as we crawled slowly west for our first view of the salt water it was clear that part two had plenty of struggle in store. I knew the up and over to Loch Glendhu was a big climb – we had done it before, after all – but the afternoon sun sapped our energies and we were relieved to stop for a cold drink at the pub in Kylesku. We couldn’t, I’m sure, have afforded to stay there anyway, but the receptionist made a feeble show of checking the reservation list before telling us there were no rooms (for grubby, smelly folks like us!).
Next came the rollercoaster road that is the B869. When we had last ridden this route, with its many steep ups and plunging descents, there had been no such thing as the North Coast 500. Now every layby was full of campervans and the new smooth surface helped a little with our speed. We found a breezy gnoll just off the road and ditched in the fragrant bog myrtle to make dinner, the slopes of dramatic Quinag to our rear and the sun setting over the sea in front of us.
Bellisima!
Of course, in true Jekyll and Hyde style, every idyllic campsite in the west of Scotland is also a tick and midge-infested nightmare the next moment. As we suspected it would be, the next morning was infernal in its stillness and we did as much as we could within the sanctuary of our tents before venturing out into the fray.
Fatigue was evident as we travelled the undulating road the last few miles to Drumbeg. At 8am, we rocked up outside the closed village stores but, knowing the couple who ran it were supporters of the HT550, Becky knocked on the open house door and they kindly unlocked the shop to allow Becky to buy batteries for her ailing tracker, made us coffee and we bought a few pieces of fruit for a vitamin hit. The Drumbeg Stores cat seemed to appreciate the attention.
The road grew slightly less like a rollercoaster and we were making marvellous progress but we had noticed on our route an innocuous-looking detour, a few kilometres of what we dubbed ‘Alanism’: singletrack for the sake of it. We diverted off the perfectly good road to Lochinver and its famous pie shop and spent an hour following a coastal trail which started well but soon deteriorated into a push through overhanging vegetation. At this stage, anything that placed an unexpected delay in the way of reaching a reward felt agonisingly tedious and the brief descent, marred by gates, was not adequate compensation. But we made it: looked at one way, the HT550 is ‘just a really long ride to the pie shop’. It marks, in terms of miles, roughly the halfway point and we had reached it in around 4 days 2 ½ hours.
Buoyed by this milestone, we happily tackled the stunning gap between Suilven and Canisp, on technical but enjoyable trails toward Suileag bothy. We caught up with a smiling Italian from Bormio known as Gian. We recognized him as one of our people by the cheery blue Crocs strapped to his saddlepack and the blinking of the SPOT tracker. It was lovely to share the stunning views and the experience with a fellow rider (most people having left us for dust by lunchtime on day 1 😉).
We were heading to Ledmore and we knew the Ledmore traverse had quite the reputation but we were having fun. There was a nice amount of challenge all the way to Loch na Gainimh. When was it all going to kick off?
Yes, well… The Ledmore Traverse isn’t particularly hard physically. We carried briefly as we ascended from Lochan Fada but for the most part what wasn’t rideable was a steady rolling push. There was interesting geology, with slabs made from a weird conglomerate rock. But the Ledmore Traverse eats time. It sucks the minutes into a vortex. It goes on interminably and it is hard to understand how it has taken so long to travel such a short distance.
Gian was pretty happy though. In the distance, I could hear his animated voice doing a piece to camera for social media. I don’t speak Italian, but I know what ‘bellisima’ means as it echoes off the Scottish hills!
We made our way along the sweltering shores of Cam Loch and we were both uncommonly glad to see the tarmac of an A Road appear in front of us! The contrast in our pace as we swooped down to Oykel Bridge was phenomenal. We stopped at the Einig to wash in its cool waters and celebrate the completion of the northern loop. Back on solid tracks, we made our way west again. As I approached Knockdamph bothy, my spirits were raised. The place was quiet. We had it to ourselves. I did a little happy dance. A private room with a space for our bikes. Packing and unpacking out the midges. This was like a hotel.
Highland Hospitality
We made a good early start thanks to the blessing of the bothy shelter. The track toward Ullapool was as good as I remembered it. Of course, we weren’t allowed just to spin downhill to sea level. Alan has in store for us another climb over the Ullapool hills but in this case the singletrack descent was worthwhile and we arrived spot on our schedule to find the supermarket just opening. Becky needed to stock up a little and we found a little shack selling hot breakfast rolls near the ferry port. People here understand when you talk to them about your outdoor challenges: the lady behind the counter was super-friendly and spurred us on.
We survived the busy road south and before long we were starting out up the push to the top of the Coffin Road. Why anyone thought it was sensible to carry coffins over this great lump of hill I’m not certain. The climb was a stiff push. We had low expectations: last year in Fisherfield we had met an American rider in need of whisky at 9.30am who described the whole thing as a bog where there was nowhere to camp. So we were pleasantly surprised to find a cracking traverse and descent on fantastic singletrack down to Dundonnell!
That set us in a good mood to tackle one of the most notorious sections of the route, familiar to us from our exploits in 2022. We wound our way up under the watchful eye of An Teallach and met a fellow rider: he had set off to ride the HT550 route on Sunday but had bailed at Contin in favour of family time and cherry picking the best bits. We watched him summit on his fat bike without a moment of pushing and laughed as we unashamedly walked up the steep stuff.
As we descended to Strath na Sealga and made our way toward Shenavall we realised how much drier the trails were this year than last. The singletrack that had been puddly and tedious was an enjoyable challenge. Last year, we spent an hour wandering the bog and finding discarded whisky. This year, using gpx tracks, we discovered the elusive path that sped us, relatively speaking, to the head of the river for the infamous river crossing. Ankle deep, it came as a bit of an anticlimax. Last year it was mid-thigh.
The climb through Fisherfield Forest, however, takes no prisoners. My feet by this stage were rubbed and covered in friction burns from the hikeabike and the granite gravel in my shoes. We tend to edit out the hard bits: in our heads it’s up and then down again. In reality, it’s hikeabike upwards, then along and along some more, up and down, and eventually you reach a true descent. But when you do, it’s a good one, down to the causeway than separates Dubh Loch and Fionn Loch. Had a lovely couple completing their last Munros not bagged the best camping spot, we might have been tempted to stop right there. But we were spurred on along the singletrack west toward the sea. The sun was definitely setting as we found the descent toward Poolewe. We were steeling ourselves for another late finish and a morning of midges once more.
But sometimes the universe gives you what you need. We arrived at Poolewe and thought we would see if the campsite had space (you can’t pre-book but you can pay for accommodation within the rules), but en route to the campsite, I spotted a B&B sign pointing us 250m off the main road and just had a hunch. It was 9pm but in an uncharacteristic fit of boldness, I said ‘Worth a knock?’.
We pulled up and saw Gian’s bike outside. Great minds… We knocked on the door and were greeted with ‘We have a double room.’ Not a problem at all. As it turned out, Team Croc had struck gold. Gian had already arranged breakfast at 6.30am. The Mackenzies were the most hospitable couple imaginable, wheeling our bikes into their safe store for the night. We hugged each other in pure joy at the thought of a shower and the chance to wash socks and undergarments. We were dazed with delight. We thought it might be a dream as we ticked the list of things we could have for breakfast that weren’t a sachet of porridge.
One of the things I love about these challenges is that they make you appreciate simple things like hot running water so much more. But I will be heading back to Creagan guesthouse even in the best of times: the breakfast and the level of loving care from the owners was incredible and we took away a homemade scone the next morning to fuel our day’s ride that was honestly the best scone I have ever eaten.
A new swear word
The B&B night could not have come at a better time. It saved my feet just as they were about to fall apart and just to have clean(er) socks the next day made a real difference to my ability to both walk and ride.
Without it, we might have struggled with what came next. One of the new bits of trail, an unknown despite all our years of Scottish journeying.
If anyone ever suggests you take your bike offroad between Tollie and Slattadale, THEY ARE NOT YOUR FRIEND.
There were moments of promise, don’t get me wrong. The occasional slab ride. A moment of flow. But it’s hard to push your bike up a hill only to push it down again when you know a perfectly good road exists a few miles to the west.
It went on and on. For 2.5hrs. Up and down. The valley resonated with some blue language as I cursed Alan’s name loudly to all the wildlife that would listen (sorry Alan!). So now, the word Slattadale has joined my lexicon of invective and usually gets the prefix f***ing.
At this point, the first of many Queen songs infiltrated my head: ‘I want to ride my bicycle, I want to ride my bike…’
We were very glad to meet the road to Kinlochewe. Of course at this point, my gears decided to start skipping in earnest and randomly, making the supposedly swift rideable sections more stressful than they needed to be. Our morale needed the boost of coffee and icecream at Kinlochewe, where we chatted to fellow cycle tourers at the café. I faffed with the derailleur and discovered it had resumed its favourite trick of throwing the chain off the top jockey wheel. It was wiggled into submission and we were ready to continue to the familiar ground of the Coulin Forest.
We knew Drochaid Coire Lair of old and it was good to revisit it, although we still need to enjoy Torridon without the luggage… The push up seemed less daunting as we anticipated the awesome view of the bald peaks and endless singletracks of the Torridon cols that awaited us. We had a mindful moment by the river at Teahouse bothy and then made our way upward to the bealach. Descending over sandstone slabs made me smile and we wiggled down loose babyheads and pitched corners to reach a sinuous trail through the woods.
The next challenge, after an interlude on the main road (I had forgotten about the flipping hill to Attadale), was the Alpine switchbacks up to Glen Ling in the later afternoon heat. That homemade scone helped! A pair of eagles floated across the trail at the summit. Glen Ling had changed: it is now a double track to start with, but the lower reaches were as rough and indistinct as I remembered in the approach to Nonach lodge.
Yet again, the route deposited us at sea level but this time we had a welcoming committee: Alison and Rachael had been following a more mellow bikepacking route and having finished, came to meet us for a hug and a cheer. We had such great support along the way! It was shame we didn’t have much time to hang around but it was great to hear about their trip and be taken out of our bubble for a moment. We knew at this point that we weren’t going to make sub-eight days. But the piper was serenading us as we passed Eilean Donan and it couldn’t get more Scottish, so maybe it didn’t matter.
We didn’t make it much further before, climbing up to Carr Brae, we spotted a breezy viewpoint with a Swiss campervan for a neighbour and decided to call it a day with the sun setting over Loch Duich.
The race for fish and chips – only a week late!
By this stage our midge protocol for the dawn was well and truly organised and we made the best of a still morning safe behind our protective gauze until we ran out of excuses and had to step out into the biting cloud.
Now Alison and Rachael’s route, on our advice, had descended Glen Lichd. And that is the correct way to approach it. However, our path took us upward. No matter how striking the cataracts of the Allt Granda below the summit of Sgurr a Bhealach Dherg were, the view didn’t make the ascent any less gruelling. It felt hard in part because we knew what a great descent it was. It took some hours to push up it and finally see the small silhouette of Camban bothy ahead. We met a walker who had shared Camban with our friends and knew us by reputation. As I waited for Becky at Alltbeithe hostel I met a couple of riders who also knew our names as they had been watching our dots.
A cool drink and a chat with the warden later, we were heading east and wishing all the riding could be as beautiful as the Glen Affric section, dominated by granny pines. My gears by this point were all over the place. By fiddling with the adjuster and turning the clutch off, I managed to at least make it predictably infuriating. I then had to hold the bike in bottom gear with my left thumb on the gear lever or put up with climbing out the saddle: which, given the state of my backside, was often more comfortable! 😉
There are ‘a few’ valleys between Glen Affric and the Great Glen. Up and down to Tomich. Up again into the Australian outback, otherwise known as Guisachan Forest. Water was increasingly hard to come by. Down to the Moriston and up again via the Old Military Road to Fort Augustus. Each one was increasingly painful but then the last descent to Fort Augustus reminded us why we like riding bikes. And this Saturday we won the race to the fish and chip shop. Just a week later than everyone else!
Fuelled by Irn Bru, fish, chips and mushy peas, we made the most of the Caledonia Canal. It should have been easy but by this point in proceedings, only my left butt cheek could make contact with my saddle. Every mile of the Great Glen Way, however swoopy, hurt. We made it past Invergarry but not much further before we stopped in a passing place on the GGW. We had dived into the tent and Becky had already drifted off when I heard footsteps. Then barking. Deep, sonorous barking from what I can only assume was a Doberman (Winnie), fortunately being called back by its owner. Becky came to with alarm, unsure of what the noise was about. Just a dog. Not a bear. At least we didn’t have to deal with bears.
Day 8.5: Don’t Stop Me Now
Another morning of midge promoted efficiency and we were soon flying south along the Great Glen Way. We were committed to finishing now: we’d put on our last pairs of dry socks! It was a relief to be making speedy progress and we didn’t pause for long, just to chat to a couple walking from Chepstow to John O’Groats (now that’s a proper adventure). Ben Nevis, still miraculously holding on to snow patches on its northern ridges, dominated the view and we were soon spinning along the shores of Loch Lochy, passing Neptune’s staircase and winding our way through the outskirts of Fort William.
In order to fuel Becky’s shrew-like metabolism, we stopped for a tactical second breakfast at the bottom of Glen Nevis. It was 10am and we had reached the West Highland Way and sections we had ridden before. The last leg. We were daring to hope but there was still a long way and a couple of tough sections to go. I was practically riding side saddle to avoid pains like electric shocks in my backside.
I had forgotten, of course, quite how long and undulating the section between Fort Bill and Kinlochleven was. It was already searingly hot and suddenly there were other humans everywhere, the WHW busy with walkers on a sunny Sunday. Still, I was enjoying the riding, still attacking the technical challenges and still drinking in the scenery as we passed under Stob Ban. The descent to Kinlochleven takes you back down to sea level and the technicality does not relent, with some of the drainage ditches and pitched corners being a bit much for me on a loaded bike.
We stopped for a cold drink in town and consoled ourself with the fact that the next section really was the last time we’d have to push our bikes uphill from actual sea level. The western, inbound, section of the trail is tough because most climbs and descents start and end near sea level and height is gained just to be lost soon afterward.
If you have a choice i.e. if you aren’t on the HT550, I’d recommend you never approach the section between Kinlochleven and the A82 in a southward direction. It essentially involves pushing your bike slowly and painstakingly up 550m from sea level, only to push it most of the way down the other side down the Devils Staircase. Whilst some of the descent is rideable, we found it loose and dusty and not much fun on heavy bikes with high saddles. A group of cycle tourers we met along the way had clearly not heard this advice in time and were having a proper puncture fest on their assortment of steeds. I hope you made your 8.15 dinner appointment in Bridge of Orchy guys!
I could tell I was tired as I was starting to get annoyed with the trail, so it was a blessed relief to hit a rideable trail to the Kings House and climb gently over to Victoria Bridge in the evening sunlight, flanked by green, grassy Munros.
Just one b***ard hill lay between us and the home straight now. The WHW requires you to push up Mam Carraigh, when below you a perfectly flat road can be seen taking you round to Bridge of Orchy. But it’s worth it: the descent is fast and fun and yet another Queen song came into play. I sang ‘Don’t Stop Me Now’ at the top of my lungs all the way down to the Orchy.
A strange sense almost like relaxation started to come over us as we ticked off little milestones: crossings of the railway. Rejoining the outward track, recalling where we had turned right and headed to Loch Lyon what seemed like a lifetime ago; the awkward gate, which ended up giving me a bloody knee just on the final section. Did we actually want this to end?
We rolled down the final downhill side by side and were greeted at the end of the line by four friends and Becky’s dog Jess, cheering, woofing and videoing. It was nearly 9pm but Alison and Rachael had delayed their journey home just to see us to the end; Ruth, who we hadn’t seen since day 1 and who had cut out the northern loop, was there to cheer us on; and Heulwen was looking after a very confused collie!
We were safely home. We looked on Trackleaders – my dot was jumping up and down! So it was official. We did finishers photos outside the Real Food Café then headed to our pre-booked accommodation in something of a daze.
Eight days, twelve hours and about twenty-five minutes. Good enough for me! Just to finish this challenge is an achievement: a third of the field in 2023 scratched before the end for various reasons, including many veterans of the route and some really experienced competitive cyclists. It is a demanding route, physically, mentally and mechanically! The support and messages from friends helped spur us on no end.
And how anybody does it in 3 days 7 hours is entirely beyond me! 😉
Stats
- 556.2 miles (895.3km)
- 18,658m ascent (accordingly to the gpx tracks in OS Maps!)
- 8 days 12 hours 25 minutes.
- Tick bites: 11 (all me)
- Lost things: 2 (Becky’s back light and my big toenail)
- Broken things: 4? A poo spade, my gears/ cranks, my saddlepack and a hole in my expensive lightweight tent from pitching on suboptimal ground.
Tips for touring the HT550
If you want to be competitive and race the HT550, my hints won’t be much use to you: the winners don’t really need to worry about sleeping systems, because they don’t stop to rest and many of the women we spoke to didn’t bother with stoves for hot food and drink. Many competitors rely on speed to ensure they make the supply stops.
But if you, like me, are a slow and steady kind of rider and want to actually enjoy the route, here are my top tips!
- Ride with a friend. I’m so glad that Becky and I rode the whole journey together, because memories and experiences are so much richer shared.
- Whatever else you throw out, pack your Sudocrem. Chafing is your enemy and having something that copes with nappy rash in your arsenal could save the day. I applied it liberally to various parts of my anatomy throughout the trip!
- Get your midge protocols dialed: when you retreat into your tent for the night, make sure you are set up to complete as much of your morning routine as possible without venturing out of your gauze fortress!
- Make sure you have a tick removal tool. Or, in Becky’s case, travel with a tick magnet like me who will attract all the biting creatures like a beacon…
- Eat well and sleep properly: most adults do best on something between 5 and 8 hours sleep each night. The dawn chorus is an excellent alarm clock. If you forget to set your alarm, a cuckoo will do.
- Keep it clean: a strategically timed clean pair of undershorts or socks or a quick wash in a stream can really make a huge difference to how you feel and prevent infection and soreness!
- Carry electrolytes. Late May is often surprisingly warm and you can expect to sweat a LOT on this route!
- Take each day at a time and don’t be hard on yourself if you don’t clock up the same mileage each day. It’s tough. You will have highs and lows.
- Give yourself a window to decompress and process your experience afterwards. It’s big. I’ve been lucky and my body has recovered pretty quickly but my head is still buzzing!
Food & Equipment
I know some of you out there are kit nerds, so here you go:
- Navigation – laminated paper maps 1:50k scale and cut up to minimise pages! Plus Backcountry Navigator on a SIM-free phone on the bars. Gpx tracks recorded with Strava on same phone, with my ‘real’ phone as a safety backup and camera (also with maps downloaded onto the phone just in case). Spot Gen3 tracker sending data to Trackleaders and with SOS button for emergencies.
- Nutrition – 6 x Expedition Foods freeze dried meals; 6 x breakfasts of either Big Bowl instant porridge or army ration maple buns, with a bag of fruit and nuts; 6 x lunches of oat cakes & Primula cheese or tuna; snacks comprising kabanossi/ Pepperami/ jerky/ dried mango and cereal bars. Fudge for emergency pick-me-up moments! Supplemented by buying fruit, second breakfasts and a couple of dinners out along the way. I used chlorine tablets to purify my water and we bought water on a couple of occasions when we figured clean sources might be limited. I finished with a bit of jerky, a bar of fudge and a few bars in hand: I would have eaten them if we’d had a mechanical delay in the last 40km! This was split mostly between my saddle pack and the snack pouch on my top tube. As I ate through it, more items, i.e. more weight was transferred from my backpack to the saddlepack to save my poor bum… I had my Camelback in my pack for ease of sipping!
- Sleeping system: 14l Alpkit bar bag containing a Nordisk one-man tent (very lightweight but holed by day 2!); Sea to Summit Spark II sleeping bag and mat; silk liner and ancient Gelert bivvy bag (used on the frosty night and to protect my mat) and basic first aid kit including vetwrap and an Israeli dressing. I also carried some antiseptic, Dioralyte, ibuprofen and antihistamine.
- Clothes – we threw out the usual fleece and spare riding top. I wore a riding T shirt, sometimes adding a light long sleeved base layer underneath. I took a superlight shower/ windproof riding coat which was used a few times. I had two sets of padded inners and one outer short. One set of Sealskinz socks, one pair of normal socks, one set of Rovince tick repellent socks, some pants, plus a set of dry leggings, thermal top, Montane jacket and buff for the evening. The weather was amazing but we had everything from desert heat through rain showers to frost!
- Other essentials: midge hood! Spork. Small titanium mug and pan. Gas (I probably could have downsized). Alpkit pocket rocket stove. Folding bowl (doubling as bag reinforcer!). Toothbrush and toothpaste. Wipes and tissue. Hand sanitizer. Chain oil. Lighter and flint & steel. Suncream/ SPF 30+ lipsalve. Bank card, tick remover, driving licence and £50 cash. Small Iniu powerpack and cable. My trusty blue Crocs. Can be ridden in in case of 5.10 failure!
- The stuff you don’t want to have to use, mostly kept in my frame pack along with other small, heavy items – tyre levers, Leatherman, multitool (it came out to tighten creaky cranks!), spare hanger, spare value core, spare brake pads, toothpaste tube gaiter, spare tubes, spare gear cable, chain links, tubeless repair kit, tyre patches, headlamp and back light. I had a headtorch which was useful in Melgarve bothy but in the event not deployed for the rest of the trip.
What’s next?
An actual holiday…
Team Vinyl bear 
a brilliant read and well done too
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