Long Distance Pain
Part One
Waves crashing into the jagged cliff is abundantly clear despite the sleep deprivation and pitch black-ness. Four of my senses are in overdrive with the fifth struggling to see much past the single 100 lumen light on my handlebars. I know that a slight misjudgement or sudden gust of wind I am either in a ditch or the Irish Sea.
We have been pedalling for just over 22 hours and the single track we are on skirting the edges of west coast Scotland has failed to give an inch of rest bite. That’s for George and me on the bikes, as well as Hamish and Harry in the camper van not far behind who we can hear revving up the sharp persistent inclines. We are all doing our best to keep rubber on tarmac and eyelids open.
The ridiculous incline we just chugged up had us panting like thirsty hounds in mid summer heat, yet it is 2am in the Scottish Highlands. The midges of a few hours ago have vanished to be replaced by the salty droplets weighing down my eyelids.
We were riding along the infamous North Coast 500 route around the top of Scotland, and we were attempting it in one long ride.
This is the first of two parts reflecting on the NC500 ride in July 2018.
George readying himself for Beach Na Ba…
Setting off at 4:30am we cruised out of Inverness heading North West to pick up the NC500 route as it snakes through the western highlands. Chalking off the first 100 miles in good time with a short breakfast (a third, to appease Pippin) stop we knew the next challenge was the biggest climb on the whole ride; Bealach Na Ba, or “Pass of the Cattle”.
Strava ride elevation profile: no prizes for spotting Beadlach Na Ba!
Despite the headwind swooping around the switchbacks and smell of grinding gearboxes from the passing vehicles, we made it up and over with a smooth descent into Applecross. Here we had brunch - to the scorn of Aragorn - in the shape of a Scottish fry up!
Pulling in for third breakfast
Beyond Applecross the roads became long and rolling with grey skies above and almost completely void of any other traffic. Those that did pass I think appreciated the kit with a toot of their horn - ah, Scotland!
Miles were chewed up and where headwinds smacked us on the chin we shared the load on the front. Grinding out the inclines and making the most of anything flat (or better) was the order of the day. Stops were scheduled (more on that in Part Two) to help meeting up with the support vehicles but in somewhere so vast - the Scottish Highlands is one of the most sparsely populated areas in Europe - there were plenty of long drawn out moments of peddling.
The road to Ullapool is 320km (200 miles) from Inverness. At times during this section you are riding south/ south east, not north, only to chuck a left and be backing heading north. Ullapool was a natural dinner spot for us with its amenities (Fish & Chip shops in the main) and a good chance to change over the support crew ahead of the night shift.
Re-fuelled and having used a baby wipe to substitute a shower we were back on the road with the roar of Hamish’s converted Mercedes camper close behind. The road north of Ullapool is long and with the sun setting the midges started to pester and eeriness set in, occasionally disrupted by exploding toads under our wheels - oops.
Well fed and semi-delusional? Dinner in Ullapool.
It was close to Inchadamph at the eastern end of Loch Assynt we had a quick pit stop letting in a midge or two into the van with H & H - oops #2! It was from here we were heading back out towards the Irish Sea peddling away with the occasional pop of a toad, or the rustle of a stag lifting its head in response to being disturbed.
Much of the roads were rolling but as we hugged the coastline the gradients increased turning the ride into a a sadistic middle of the night HIIT session. Up, down, up down…with none of the views to go with! It was the descent into Unapool that I am pretty sure I fell asleep on the bars, catching myself several times just before the road converged with another. Not recommended.
Think H & H had fun in the van chasing us with headlights
It was here we decided to take a pit-stop and shelter from the rain and midge mix which was growing wearisome. The only memory I have from this episode is closing my eyes for half a second before Hamish told us to get back in the saddle; we had apparently slept for 45 minutes. Teeth bushed, helmet back on and onwards.
It was 4:15am (or thereabouts) and the sun was rising somewhere above a gloomy greyness otherwise known as a Scottish summer. Despite feeling pretty grim the landscape was no visible and we were actually heading north, sort of….
Weather report: wet.
Looping round the corner of the peninsula at Scourie and past Loch a’ Bhadaidh Daraich (what a name) we were on course for Laxford Bridge, Loch and Bay. By this point we were well over half way at 440km and tackled the night shift. The top of Scotland and Durness was the next real milestone at 470km.
The roads here became broader and straighter giving the impression we were making good progress riding through the quaint Durness and then Smoo. Unfortunately there is no bridge at the mouth of Loch Eriboll, so back south and round it was like forgetting to save your undergrad dissertation. Painful.
The mild irony of the next place to ride through being called ‘Hope’ at the foot of what turned out to be a pretty punchy hill climb (A’ Mhoine). Timely because it was here we breached the 500km mark, which coincided with me seriously questioning my life choices.
But what goes up, must come down. Down we did, albeit it felt short-lived. We did get to gently peddle across the Kyle of Tongue towards our next pit-stop. The only gripe was the sudden impact of a passing black cloud dampening moods. I think the photo below summarises the mood in’t camp.
If we weren’t delusional before, we are here!
Now I did say we went down, which we did. That also means we need to go up…again. Riding out of Tongue tasted like a bitter pill plucked from a sewer. We were however now heading along the top of Scotland - literally everything else from here surely had to be downhill? Right?
Almost.
In hindsight, it is not a surprise that both of us started to feel broken. We were breaking in different ways; for me my knee started giving grief and poor George was spending more time in a roadside bush than in his saddle. Now I’m no expert, but having functioning knees and being able to digest nutrients are assumed essentials for long distance stuff. To add to the misery the sight of a nuclear power station started to block the views as we stuttered closer to Thurso.
It was in Thurso, in a dockside cow shed of all places, the decision was made to stop. We had ridden for 25 hours and covered 590km with over 8,000m of elevation gain.
Headwinds were common
Aside from those close friends and family, I’ve not spoken much about the NC500 ride attempt and never written much down about it. That’s in part because time - and ‘kneehab’ - moved quite swiftly on afterwards. It was a long but short weekend filled with all manner of surprises and challenges.
I cannot thank George, Hamish, Harry, Mum, Dad and Lucy for their support prior to, during and after the ride. You simply cannot take on such endeavours without the understanding and support of friends and family - thank you!
Definitely the quickest I have ever fallen asleep.
Looking back at it now, it’s fairly obvious I was probably underprepared. It was a shoe-string expedition of sorts and whilst not totally outside the realm of possibility (I’m not that stupid), the increased complexity, risk and logistical challenge of extreme endurance is not something you alone can prepare for.
Perhaps my biggest frustration was not that it led to injury; the physical effects of both George and I were very real and tangible. It was that my mental state was incredibly positive. If my body had allowed, I believe I had the mental resilience to finish the ride. This will stay with me as a frustration.
You learn from failure though, and boy did we learn a heap of stuff in the lead up, during and since that shortened ride in 2018. I’ve been capturing my learnings from the experience and during part two of this blog I’ll share some practical tips for long distance cycling, some of the prep, data and other bits and bobs!
Inverness Castle, where it all started…and was supposed to finish