Highland Trail 550 Race Overview.

In the last week of May 2014 I completed the Highland Trail 550. 550+ miles of bikepacking through the Highlands of Scotland.

The route devised by Alan Goldsmith, starts at Tyndrum and visits the Mamores, Corrieyairack, Oykel Bridge, Assynt, Foinaven, Glen Canisp, Torridon, Kintail and Glen Affric, before returning to Tyndrum.

The terrain is varied, but can overall be decribed as tough. There are extended sections where pushing or carrying the bike is the only option. The rewards though are some magnificent riding on deserted and varied trails.

Beautiful and remote places I'd not visited before, were my main motivation for doing the event. It's been some years since I've been on a proper adventure too. Though a "race" I had no aspirations for a place on the podium. I was realistic enough to know that getting round with myself and my bike in one piece would be challenge enough.

Though I did make it to the end, it was not without some trials, for both my body and my bike.

I met some great like minded folk, but also spent many days with just myself for company.

An adventure that pushed me past what I thought was possible, and that was good.

Day 1

Day 2

Day 3

Day 4

Day 5

Day 6

Day 7

The End.

Kit List.

Strava logs of each day below.

http://www.strava.com/activities/148417656
http://www.strava.com/activities/148417889
http://www.strava.com/activities/148418156
http://www.strava.com/activities/148418333
http://www.strava.com/activities/148418467
http://www.strava.com/activities/148418579
http://www.strava.com/activities/148418744
http://www.strava.com/activities/148418873

Highland Trail 550 Race Day 1.

After wishing Alan a Happy 50th Birthday accompanied by a piper and cake, we made for the start line.

Some nervous faces, some confident. 32 of us lined up. I lurked at the back, to make sure that I wasn't drawn into the inevitable sprint towards the first proper hill, the Devil's staircase.

Near Bridge of Orchy I stopped to put a bit of air in my rear tyre to avoid getting a pinch puncture. What should have taken 5 minutes took longer as my pump had disassembled itself, so that required putting back together first which was fiddly to do.

As we climbed up Black Mount, I caught Mike, Ricardo and Matt, and stopped to take a couple of pictures.

By the time we'd got to the Kingshouse, the sun was out.

The remains of the winter's snow on the Buchaille, and the first of many pictures of my bike. :)

As I neared the top of the Devil's staircase, a stiff little climb, I noticed my rear tyre was soft again. I'm not sure what I thought I'd acheive by putting some more air in, but that's what I did.

A couple of minutes later my near flat tyre require attention again. This time I did the right thing. Time to fix  puncture. I've ridden bikes for over 40 years, and have never fixed a puncture on the trail. I knew though I had a spare tube, repairing one in the sunshine even if accompanied by a few midges was the thing to do.

As I did my DIY Alan, Riccardo, Phil, and Mike rode by.

Puncture fixed I made my way cautiously down, intent on not causing any more punctures.

I'd planned on stopping at Kinlochleven for a Coke, but knowing that I'd already lost time I pushed on into the Mamore Forest.

 

At Luibeit came the first of river crossings. I'm not a fan of crossing rivers, so I just got on with it. Shin deep and not particularly fast flowing I was quickly across. Flood debris around showed that things could be very different here though.

Next was a delightful section of bog and tussocks that required some manhandling of bike.

A sandy beach at the head of Lochan Na H Earba.

 

I saw a rider in the distance here (Alan Parkinson) who I attempted to catch up. Nik Kinloch caught me first though, and I rode with him for a while. We did catch Alan a bit later, but only because he'd taken a wrong turn.

It was good to chat with Nik, he was the only person I spent more than a passing moment with all day. Reading the reports and speaking to others from last year the social aspect of the event was also a big draw for me. Riding with other folk is always interesting.

Near the bottom of the Corrieyairack Nik pushed on and I decided to call it a day having found a sofa with my name on it for the night. I'd hoped to get to Fort Augustus in time for pizza, but instead planned to get there for a hot breakfast instead. I'd not brought a stove.

Not long after Bryan, Mike, Alan (P) and Andy also stopped. Whilst others rode on past.

I'd done 84 miles, my legs felt good and surprisingly my knees (my bête noire) weren't feeling bad either.

I was behind the schedule I was hoping for, but I was not worried, there'd be time to make up some extra miles. Or so I thought.

Highland Trail 550 Race Day 3

You'd  think I would have had a great night's sleep, but the heating in the B+B was turrned up to 10, so I was either sweating or cold as the sweat cooled once I'd chucked the sheet off. Breakfast was good though.

Resupplied, I was away for 8:30.

Markus had said he was going to leave by 7:30, so I expected to see his tracks. The going for the first few miles would be relatively slow on his low geared single speed so I knew if he was ahead I'd catch him. I didn't.

The previous night would be the last I'd see of a HTR competitor for a long time.

The weather played nice and the views were expansive.

As I neared Oykel Bridge, I could see in the far far distance some hills I'd be riding close to in a day or so.

I was excited, I pushed on.

At Oykel Bridge, I sat on a bench and made a cheese sandwich out of a squashed bread roll, and half a block of cheese. As I sat there, Steve Heading appeared. He had already returned from those hills above. He said he was tired. He also warned me of a section of about 10 miles which had taken him 4 hours. I thought he must be delirious. The section he mentioned was relatively flat.

I rode on to Rose Hill, and bought myself a pie for supper.

From there I followed the River Cassley for a good few miles on a narrow tarmac road. Easy miles.

At the tarmac end there were some indifferent deer.

I continued on good tracks to Glen Golly where the shadows were beginning to lengthen.

From here the going became much harder. The tracks were first narrow, then vague, then both vague and very wet and boggy. Nearly at the northern most part of the loop, I was looking for somewhere to put my tent. All I could see was water, marshland and rock.

Shortly after 10pm I found a nice spot though.

Whilst putting on my evening wear I find behind my knee my first ever tick. How exciting. I have a problem though. I didn't bring a tick remover.

Plan B. Fire up the cigarette lighter and burn it, and my leg too of course. It comes out and leaves a welt. More fire to the back of my leg as an antidote. That smarted.

Macaroni cheese pie for supper.

95 miles done. A good day.

Highland Trail 550 Race Day 5

I first woke at 6. I was tired. I roll over and go back to sleep.

I wake again at 7, I am still tired. Very tired.

I decide there is no point continuing the race. A front wheel on a rigid fork cannot possibly survive another 300 miles of mountainous terrain. It'll break, probably breaking my face too when it does.

That's it I've made the decision. I'm going to scratch.

I lie in my sleeping bag a while longer. There's no rushing anymore.

My mind wanders. Hey it'll be good to get back to see my family.

Then I remember a ride with my lad aka Minipips in winter, when he was only seven years old.

He had joined me doing the Rapha Festive 500. On the first day he got cold and wet, though I've alluded to that before elsewhere, the fact is he got very cold. Things were on the verge of turning very nasty.

The following day though, in spite of his experiences the previous day, he came upstairs and woke me and said get up we are going riding.

What would Minipips do in this situation?

I packed my stuff, got on my bike and rode past the sign highlighting possibly not the most fun ever you'll have with a bike.

Then into the wind towards Oykel Bridge. I would nurture the bike, ride slowly and hopefully not break the wheel before the end.

There would be no giving up.

I like pictures that show the route heading off into the distance like this one.

After following over the brow to the bottom of the hill I check my GPS. See that red post by the first bend? That's the way the route goes. :)

I coax my bike to Ullapool for a fish sandwich. Here I see Nik. His blisters finally got the better of him. He was sadly on his way home. I think he'd done well to get there, to say he'd had them since Day 1.

From Ullapool the front wheel grumbles along the road. It'd soon be quiet though as the first obstacle to the Fisherfield traverse was just ahead.

The hill central pictured below might not look steep, but it was a step up, brakes on step up type ascent. My fell running legs didn't mind too much though.

No pictures of the descent over the other side, down to the A832 probably because the riding was so fine.

More up then down towards what had been in my mind the crux of the trip. Much has been written on various forums of the river crossing at the head of Strath na Sealga. The wide river crossing is near the entrance to the Loch na Sealga. The crossing can vary in height from ankle deep to totally impassable dependant on rainfall etc. The river itself is maybe 100 feet wide, but it's proximity to the loch makes it feel much bigger.

Looks scary eh?

This is how deep it was, and the current was slow. No biggie.

Once over the river I rode some North Shore. The route needs some EU funding for more of this. ;)

 

I swerved the emergency shelter nearby, and instead found this spot to spend the night.

 

A good day in spite of a maudlin start.

Highland Trail 550 Race Day 4.

What a stunning morning. I was in no rush to leave this place.

Soreen and water for breakfast.

About an hour after getting up, I was packed, and set off down the hill.

On the first up, I felt a hot spot on my heel. I stopped and put some compeed and tape on to prevent any further deterioration.

Going was slow down, and next, also up through Achfary forest.

The view from Bealach nam Fiamm.

My average speed so far was slow for the morning. so I smashed it down the hill.

Hungry I stopped for the most expensive burger and chips I've ever bought at Kylestrome.

And of course I had a beer.

 

As I rolled along the road I noticed a faint scratching/grinding noise. As I rode towards Lochinver it became more noticeable.

I stopped. I couldn't find play in the cranks, the pedals, the headset or the wheels doing the usual "wiggle" test.

I rode on. The noise was maddening. I stopped again. I took all the bags off, and did all the checks again.

Over 15 mph and the noise was crazy as if something was going to explode. At slow speeds it wasn't so noticeable. I started dragging the brakes as the noise wasn't too bad at slow speeds.

Nearly at Lochinver I heard metal on metal as I descended a short hill. My front pads had expired.

I stopped to replace them.

Whilst replacing the wheel I found the cause of the phantom noise. The right hand front wheel bearing had some play in it.

I was gutted, there were 300 miles still to do, and my front wheel was apparently on it's way out. I guessed one of the bearings had been crushed, leaving the others unevenly to take up the load.

I put the bike back together and rode on towards Lochinver.

Nearly at Lochinver I stopped to refill my water bottle. I stood by the stream, my legs wobbled, and I nearly fell in. All the worrying and ascertaining the cause of the metallic grinding noise had made me forget to eat anything for a couple of hours.

I arrived in Lochinver in a right mess. Two cans of coke, a pork pie and a whole ginger cake and I felt well enough to continue.

I was devastated. My fear had been my body packing in, not my bike letting me down. Incidentally, the wheel was near enough new.

The sun was out, I headed for Glen Canisp.

My mood was dark though.

The track starts off incongruously enough. Soon it turns into a much different proposition though.

The final straw in my day was having to change my GPS batteries in a cloud of midges. 10 minutes later, I'd jacked for the day, far short of my intended destination. A meagre 55 miles for the day.

I was mentally and physically shattered.

Highland Trail 550 Race Day 2.

Overnight another rider joined us in the early hours. Markus must have had a tough first day. Though in spite of comparatively little sleep to the rest of us, he was in good humour when we all got up at 6 am. I wouldn't have been.

I was ready to go first, but knew there was little point getting to Fort Augustus before 9 if I wanted some hot food. So I wasted some time watching the rain falling outside and chatting with the others.

I did set off first though. On the Corrieyairack there is currently a load of work going on putting up electricity pylons. Not far from the track I could see what looked like a heavyweight portaloo. I enquired further as the morning's toilet visit had yet to be done.

Excellent, the door was unlocked, there was toilet paper, and some handwash 1500 ft up a Highland Pass.

A poo with a view.

Once over the top of the pass I blasted down the other side. I was definitely somewhat chilled by the time I rolled up to the Cafe at 9:05. A couple of pints of tea, a breakfast, a bacon roll, and a couple of pieces of cake, and I was back up to temperature though. Alan (P), Bryan, and Mike joined me in the cafe. Alan had crashed coming down the pass, and the other two had escorted him down.

Alan was out, and the mood was low. Mike and I set off again into the rain.

Mike and I grab a coke.

As the day went on I left Mike and caught Andy and Markus. I spent some time riding with both.

Markus rides the beach in the mist.

It was cold, and wet. There were massive puddles to chance riding through, or, as I opted for, to walk around.

I arrived at Stratconnon and even before I'd dragged my bike over the locked gate I realised I was spent. I met Andy by the gate, he'd crashed and broken a brake lever. He was heading home. I rode on.

The last shop I knew of, for over 100 miles that I needed to resupply at in Contin had shut by the time I got there.

I could probably have eeked out the food I had, but I wanted hot food. I left the route and rode to Strathpeffer.

All the restaurants appeared shut. If I wasn't going to get a hot meal, I was going to have a warm bed.

I found a B+B and booked in. They said a hotel nearby would do bar meals, so a double win, I headed out for hot food too.

After food and a few beers all was good once again. I knew I could get food from the shop first thing tomorrow here, and I'd head back North again.

Whilst phoning my wife oustide the hotel, I spied Markus. He'd had a tough day too. He joined me for supper, and found himself a bed in town also.

Only 73 miles today, but that would have to do.

I hope tomorrow the rain would have passed.

Peak ITT

I could have gone to watch the Tour of Flanders this weekend, but instead as preparation for the Highland Trail Race in May chose to ride the 130ish mile Peak individual time trial.

The route put together by Ian Fitz doesn't require a skinsuit and Tri bars, as it's mostly off road.

Ideally one would ride a mountain bike, but mine is currently in bits, so instead I rode my cross bike .

 Here is it packed ready for the off.

There were 5 of us who left Edale together just after 10 on Saturday morning. L -R, me, John, Mark, Mark, Ian.

Though some had brought bivvy stuff which would enable them an over night stop if needed, I'd just brought food, warm clothing and waterproofs. I thought that a time of around 18 hours should be possible, so I went fairly quickly from the off.

All was going reasonably well apart from the fact that the ground was soaked. Cut Gate which I usually only visit when it is dry was a push most of the way up due to no traction.

At Woodhead tunnel, I noted my bar bag which contained my food and tools, was rubbing on my wheel. I lifted the bag slightly to find that the supporting bracket had snapped. I'm sure given time I could have fashioned some sort of repair, but I hadn't got time for that.

 

A quick decision that this wasn't to be a ride stopper. I took everything out of the bag and stuffed its contents into my jersey pockets, and saddle drybag. I stashed the bag under a hedge to pick up next day. (I've since discovered I probably left my pump there too)

At Charlesworth I stopped for a can of Coke, and saw Mark, John, and Paul (who had left before us). Mark John and I rode together on and off most of the way over to Edale.

From Glossop road all the way over to Edale Cross, there was a lot of bike pushing. I'd hoped to be up on Rushup Edge for 4:30, but we hadn't made the top of Jacob's Ladder by then.

At Barber Booth, Mark and I stopped for some food. Realising that this was going to be a much longer day than planned, some of my urgency had gone.

I knew the Rushup bridleway would be a slog, and it didn't disappoint. Though from there onwards the going was supposed to be a lot faster.

 My knees had started niggling me, they'd missed having a mountain bike granny gear. So though I should have been quicker on the next road bits, I wasn't.

From Peak Forest over to Chelmorton involved a good deal of hike a bike and I guess it was around there as night fell and it started to rain, that I began to weigh up my options. My plan was to get a meal in Bakewell, but it was looking like I may not get there in opening hours. I had a bit of food, but not enough to see me through till the end of the ride. That, my nagging knees and a near complete lack of brakepads, were enough excuses for me, so at Parsley Hey I called it a day.

As it turned out none of us got all the way round that day

Just short of 70 miles an 8000 feet of climbing, a lot of which was done on foot.

http://www.strava.com/activities/127257344

Definitely a route to do when it is dry and not wet. I wouldn't choose to do it on a cross bike next time either.

Abrasive stuff that wet grit.