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6 April
1997 Tyred
and Emotional Mountain
biking Scotland's new off-road coast-to-coast route is tough, but
exhilarating. SIMON WILLIS joins the action on the first, 250-mile commercial
tour. Cycling across
Scotland is always going to be tough: even more so when you ignore proper
roads in preference to centuries old tracks. But then, no great adventure
should be easy. And although few people have realised it yet, the new
off-road sea to sea route is destined to become a classic. Dip the front
wheel into the Atlantic, then spend five days tackling some of the best
riding in Britain, arriving at Montrose on the North Sea coast two hundred
and fifty miles later. After all, hikers come from all over the world to walk
the West Highland Way, so once the word gets around, the sea to sea will be
just as popular with two wheeled adventurers. Which is
why Northumberland based Nomad Adventure Mountain Biking wanted to run the
first fully supported tour along its length and, when offered the chance, I
wanted to join them. Initially intimidated by the scale of the challenge, I
was reassured by Nomad's Allister Marsh "We go at the pace of the
slowest person in the group so don't worry about being left behind. The van
carries all our stuff and you can jump in if you get tired. The back up team
fix lunch and dinner, so all you have to do is pedal and enjoy the
ride". It wasn't going to be a beach holiday, but how tough could it
really get? The wind
was scooping up handfuls of Atlantic Ocean and throwing it in my face while I
replayed Mr Marsh's words. I was cold, wet, tired, hungry and had been
pedalling for ..... just two hours! "Enjoy the ride", who was he
kidding! Moments after we'd left Ratagan youth hostel heading initially West
towards the sea, the rain began. I had planned to dip my wheels in the water,
but the water had decided to save me the trouble. Sheltering in a barn, our
small group of four began to contemplate what the rest of the ride would be
like if every day was as bad as this. But of course, we'd forgotten the first
rule of Scottish weather: if you don't like it, just wait a moment, it'll
change. It was as
dramatic as if someone had flicked off the switch marked 'deluge' and then
twisted a dial to shift the scenery from black and white into colour. The
legacy of the storm infused the fading sun with a final intensity, which it
generously shared, using its dying energy to warm the land and dry our
clothes. In its glow, we set our tents on the shore of the sea loch, while
the support team produced platefuls of pasta. As its last rays filtered over
the sea from the Isle of Skye we raised our glasses in a toast to our new
found friend, quietly hoping we'd see much more of him in the days to come. As familiarity
breeds contempt, I'm convinced that the "mountain bike" is a
undervalued device and a misleading name. Just as every other car sports four
wheel drive capability, every garage is also home to a chunky tired cycle
that wouldn't recognise a mountain if it fell off it. For heavens sake, my
next door neighbour, in her turquoise shell suit, pedals one of the things to
collect her Sunday papers. Mountain bikes are everywhere, except in the
mountains. And yet, most of these machines are mere pretenders, too flimsy or
too heavy to go much further than the corner shop, and not worthy to be
dignified with the name "mountain" bike. We'd been warned about
this before we set out. Try to haul a heavy old clunker up hill and you'll
wreck yourself in the process. Take a fragile cheap copy and you'll wreck it.
"They should issue carrier bags when they sell some of those bikes"
said Allister as we rode off the next day, "to take the thing home in
when it snaps". I doubt
whether the generations of stalkers who made and maintained the hill track
which curves out of Arnisdale ever intended knobbly tyres to roll over their
craftsmanship. A herd of slightly disbelieving deer looked up from their
breakfasts as we sped by. It was a fabulous start to the first full day on the
route, splashing through puddles left from yesterday, rising into the rough
bounds of Knoydart. Clearly,
this route has been designed with great care. This climb was the only section
of the entire crossing where I had to hoist the bike onto my shoulder to
scramble up a steep section, and that was only for a few hundred yards. One of the
great things about mountain biking is that the effort stops at the top. When
hiking, particularly with a large rucksack, going downhill can be just as
painful as going up. The knees take such a bashing, descending is often
slower than the climb. Taking two wheels into the great outdoors is a
revelation. You live for the downhill. All the blood sweat and gears which go
into hauling the machine to the top of some pass are instantly forgotten, as
you shoot down the other side, riding the crest of a wave of pure adrenaline.
This realisation hit me as we swept down the narrow but well made track into
Kinloch Hourn. Suspension forks help ease the bumps, but in reality, such
expensive attachments just add to the comfort, not the experience. No matter
what the effort to get up, the down was always worth it. Fizzing with
excitement, I broke the news of my discovery to Allister, who just smiled.
"You, my friend", he announced with a grin, "are hooked".
Shattered
was the word I'd have used. While the experienced cyclists regarded the next
twenty miles of road as a chance to rest their legs, I considered it tarmac
torture, and accepted the offer of a ride in the van. I did jump back on the
bike for the final stretch, an easy ten miles up the Great Glen Cycleway to
the campsite at Fort Augustus where the support team had the tents, tea and
dinner waiting. Forgive me
if "support team" suggests a regiment of helpers or a formula one
pit crew. The support team are Albert and Lawrence, though they do the work
of many, taking care of food and drink, driving the van, sorting the
equipment and repairing broken bikes, sometimes using the most remarkable
techniques. One evening I heard Albert asking if anyone had a can of
hairspray, which given his folliclly challenged situation, was rather like
Long John Silver requesting a pair of running shoes. Intrigued, I wandered
over and watched a truly inventive mind at work. One of our
group had bashed his bike in such a way that the crank, the arm to which the
pedal is attached, had come off. Fortunately, this had happened just five
miles from the campsite. By pedalling with one leg, and with Allister riding
alongside, leaning over, and pushing his saddle, he'd reached the overnight
stop. Now Albert was attempting a repair. He needed something sticky and the
rubber solution from the puncture repair kits didn't do the trick. In the
absence of anyone producing a can of hairspray, and not being mechanically
minded myself, I confess I don't really know what he did. All I recall is
Lawrence holding a large rock on one side of the bike for support, while
Albert hammered the offending crank back into place. That, and the fact it
worked. On the
Scotland coast to coast off road ride, a support team can make the difference
between success and failure. Having them around certainly makes the
undertaking a lot more enjoyable, not to mention far, far safer. Consider the
question of luggage. Tools, clothes, sleeping bags and stuff all add up to a
pretty hefty weight. Put it in a rucksack, and your back will hurt like hell.
Put it in panniers and your bike performs like a devil. The thing becomes as
agile as a cart horse, and just about as easy to lift onto your shoulder. Fly
down a rocky descent, and the panniers will fly off the bike. However, the
Nomad van left me free to travel light and to really enjoy the ride, which
after all, was what I'd come to do. Don't get
me wrong, bicycle touring is good fun. A few years ago I rode alone, off-
road, across Spain, and there's a definite appeal in being entirely
self-reliant. But this highland crossing is a different undertaking
altogether. What's more, there's a world of difference between riding your
mountain bike around tracks close to home, and trying to take it across the
roughest landscape in Britain. Mountaineering and navigation skills must be
first class. You need to know how to repair the bike, yourself or your
companions, should any of you break. And if you're still not convinced, think
about food. As
lunchtime arrived we riders held a competition - who'd be first to "spot
the van". We'd greet Albert and Lawrence with delight, then push them
aside to dive into the pile of cheese and pickle sandwiches. One second they
were there, the next moment they'd gone. Paul Daniels would have been
impressed - "The incredible disappearing butties". It seems that
pedalling four bits of metal over a series of mountains requires enough
energy to light a small town, only we craved carbohydrates, lots of
carbohydrates. Wholemeal bread and piles of pasta the size of the Colosseum.
Carrying it all would have been exhausting. Preparing it when exhausted would
have been the final straw. Having someone else take care of it all was sheer
bliss. "Travel
light and discover what you and your bike can really do" is the concept
upon which Nomad has based its business, and I think it works. But it's not
for everyone. Nearing the end of the crossing, we left Tomintoul early and
started the long climb up Glen Avon. Passing the Queen Victoria Viewpoint,
(We didn't see her) the grey tarmac gave way to rough track, which slowly
deteriorated as we rose into the world where only Land Rovers and walkers
used to go. Allister's advice was to keep pedalling as long as possible, but
when I could walk and push faster than I could ride, it seemed daft not to
dismount. The colours changed from a lush, valley green to the rusts and
coppers of an altogether wilder place. A dip in the skyline signalled the top
of the pass, where eventually we sat, looking contentedly over the expanse of
Royal Deeside, feeling rather pleased with ourselves. We all admitted later,
what happened next punctured our air of self satisfaction. A figure
slowly rose over the crest of the hill. As the stranger drew near we could
see he was on a bike. And a what a bike. Not a roughty-toughty, space age,
high-tech, high-price, pride and joy mountain bike, but a bog standard, off
the peg, everything-forward-and-trust-in-the-Lord, sit up and beg variety.
And that's not all. Whereas we
had stripped weight down to the minimum, this chap had adopted the kitchen
sink philosophy. Not only were there panniers on the rear, he also had a pair
on the front wheel. And a bag fastened to his handlebars, a ruck sack on his
back, heavy leather walking boots on his feet, a tent and a sleeping mat on
top of his rack and, just to round it all off, a folding chair. It swung too
and fro in the gentle breeze which laughed its way through the hills. When we
had retrieved and relocated our jaws, he broke the big news. He was sixty
eight. Chastened, we said our goodbyes, and made a subdued start to our
descent towards the East coast. Fully
supported mountain bike touring is clearly not for everyone; it depends
entirely upon the nature of the challenge you're seeking. If you wish to
escape cars and crowds and pit your strength and skill against the highlands,
then reach for the panniers and the weight training machine. But if your aim
is to experience mountain biking at its pure, uninhibited best, then a
support team is the solution. But do it soon. The guidebooks to the route are
selling well. Once bikers from the rest of Europe and America hear about it,
hundreds of knobbly tyre tracks will leave their mark along its length. Because
Scotland's off-road coast to coast is undoubtably special. It's a true
journey, something to look back on with pride. It has a clear objective,
which makes it far more exciting than a series of day rides. The character of
the route changes each day, as does the landscape. And every pedal takes you
closer to the prize. TRAVEL
BRIEF Nomad
Adventure Mountain Biking (Tel/fax: 01434 609023 4 Burn Lane, Hexham, Northumberland
NE46 3HN) will run their next off-road Scotland coast to coast tour in May
1997 and then throughout the spring and summer. The crossing takes either
five or six days and the basic cost is £279 which includes a guide, all food,
luggage transport, and a mobile workshop. See below for accommodation
details. It's a
small venture so, when things are busy, enquiries don't always receive very
prompt replies. However, their friendly, slightly anarchic, attitude makes
the riding good fun and their flexibility allows itineraries to be adjusted
to suit individuals. The company runs other fully supported off-road tours in
Europe including the Tour Of Mont Blanc and from Geneva to Chamonix. It plans
to offer "introduction to off-road riding" weekends in Northumberland
and the North Pennines. I found no
other companies offering fully supported tours on the Scotland off-road coast
to coast route, probably because it is so new. Others offering mountain bike
holidays in Scotland include Rough Tracks (0700 056749); The Tomich Hotel,
Glen Affric (01456 415399); Escape (01896 830717) Equipment
Most riders take their own bikes although they can
be hired. A full service before leaving home is a good idea because the
highlands have a habit of demolishing poorly maintained machines. If you're
considering fitting suspension forks, do it. I wish I had. Nomad will advise
on clothing, but lightweight hill walking kit is suitable. A helmet is
essential. Heavy waterproofs are not always necessary because you can leave lots
of spare clothes in the van. An excellent way to keep feet warm and dry are
Gore-tex socks manufactured by Berghaus. Polythene bags are an emergency (and
cheaper) alternative. Accommodation
Our group chose to camp every night, which added to
the adventure. The basic price allows for riders providing their own tents
and sleeping bags, but these items can be hired from Nomad. Alternatively,
they can arrange bed and breakfast and hostel accommodation at additional
cost. Getting
There Using public transport to get yourself with your own
bike and equipment to the start and from the finish requires advance
planning, but if you can spare the time, it is a highly recommended scenic
adventure in itself. British
Airways and main line trains serve Inverness, from where a long, winding
train journey takes you through the highlands to Kyle of Lochalsh. Bikes must
be booked in advance. Nomad will collect you from the station, or you can
ride an extra twenty miles to Ratagan youth hostel. The crossing finishes in Montrose
from where trains run to Edinburgh though once again, bikes must be booked in
advance. Another way is to park a car at the finish and take the bikes on the
six hour train journey to Kyle of Lochalsh. Scotrail's booking line is 0345
212282. Alternatively, leave your car at the start and, for a small
additional charge, Nomad will drive you back to collect it. Guide
Books The route is described in 'Scotland Trail' by John
Fulton & Tim Woodcock published by MTB Pro, price £9.99 and available
from bike and book shops. ISBN 185981 008X. |
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