[Closed] Fort William to Inverie - Sunday 17th April 2011

Sorry for the [i]massive[/i] post, but I just needed to air this story from earlier in the year. No MTB mags would publish it at the time unfortunately, but I'm just hoping to make it searchable on Google should anyone attempt what we did. At the time when researching it was difficult to find anyone who'd done it online. I wouldn't advise it without some very serious training and excellent contingency plans should bad weather hit...This is me writing 4 months later.

This is (an abridged version of) what I wrote 5 days after the ride...(if you want any pictures, advice or the full version just reply to the thread or message me)

...with Fort William the only obvious base, being the closed land-linked railway station to Inverie, I had two options. The first was a mere 43 mile route spanning the length of Loch Arkaig, Glen Dessary, over a pass to Sourlies bothy on the shores of Loch Nevis, a climb over a high mountain pass (Mam Meadail), then a long descent into Inverie. The second was a 64 mile route, heading further north-east to begin with, spanning Loch Quoich then along the shore of Loch Hourn, up Mam Barrisdale and then descending to Inverie.

At this point I sought the advice of experienced mountain biking friend Antony, who immediately ruled out the 64 mile route.

So, route decided, we set about planning.

...

The morning of the ride came and we were advised by our excellent B&B host that the Great Glen Way would be the best route, and how right she was. The route snaked out of Fort William through Caol and hit the Caledonian Canal. This huge canal was very welcome and the lack of gradient helped us to power through the first seven miles or so. Turning off at Gairlochy, we climbed steeply and joined a narrow forest track, first pitching up into the trees then diving across the road back to the Great Glen. Passing through the Achnacarry estate and across a rickety old bridge returned us to the “hell” road, B8005 Loch Arkaig. 30Mph seeming insanely fast, even 20mph on a bike was comfortable, and the road was excellent for cycling. Leaving the road for a climbing forest track gave us some great views along the loch, before returning us back for the last section of road and a strange sound. The sound of Ferrari, McLaren and BMW roared across the loch. Formula 1 had not relocated to Loch Arkaig, but a Land Rover radio set to BBC Five Live had, rather taking the edge off the tranquility.

Reaching the car I decided to move it slightly, having left it precariously facing down a slope towards the loch, then cracked open the boot and unloaded an early lunch. The sun suddenly burst over our lunch stop and reminded us why we were there.

Off road up Glen Dessarry

Suitably refreshed we headed into the forest on decent doubletracks. The doubletracks continued down past A 'Chuil Bothy, too low from the track to visit, and given the continuing sunshine, we needed no shelter or rest.

A pallet bridge crossing a shallow but fearsome looking ravine marked the end of the doubletracks and the start of singletracks three quarters of the way through the forest. It was here that we first met a group of walkers dressed all in black with huge khaki rucksacks. Hoping we weren't about to become 'targets' in a training exercise we continued past the walkers on good tracks following a river. The tracks began to rise and become boggy, unseating us and allowing the Special Forces to overtake. Climbing out of the forest we were aided by logs sat over tough sections of bog. Soon we reached the edge of the forest and stared out over the bleak moorland that awaited us, unencumbered by bikes, the walkers were gaining a good lead, so we set off after them.

Pass 1 – 310 m

The climb up to the first pass of the ride was tough, continual bogs left our feet sodden and often threatened to swallow both bike and rider. It was possible to ride for a good few sections, but thoroughly tiring as I strained the SPDs for maximum torque to wheelie over and cleave the back wheel through bogs. On foot the bike actually proved a great tool for “pole-vaulting” over boggy streams. We were hopeful this was the end of the tough part of the ride and the other side of the pass would provide a simple good descent back to the sea at Sourlies. We were desperately wrong, as the weather closed in and the track didn't do us any favours, either being too boggy, too steep, too narrow or too boggy or a combination of the four. As an indication of our speed through this section, we were squarely beaten to Sourlies bothy by the walkers.

Sourlies

On arrival at Sourlies, we took refuge from the now miserable weather and chatted to the walkers, they turned out to be Dutch (we didn't enquire as to their purpose, military or otherwise) and had some experience walking over the pass we were about to face. Asking how long it would take to climb, the response filled me with hope. Having been out for 10 hours thus far, the words “forty-five minutes” entered my brain and vanquished the wildly over-estimated figure of three hours. Even with a generous doubling for carrying bikes and the distance faced so far, we could be up at the top by 6pm, 11.5 hours in. We might even make our 8pm dinner booking at the Old Forge.

Mam Meadail – 500m - the hell climb

We set off, riding across the beach, our bikes filling up with sand and salt. This didn't matter immediately, as we soon had to lift our bikes and carry them over a signposted dangerous bridge and begin the climb. Using my phone I had marked points on the map for each quarter of the ascent. We each began with bikes hoisted on shoulders at our own speed, me leading, Antony second and heavily strapped Omar – now feeling pain in both knees - third. The quarter points proved a boon in the planning, allowing us to make regular rest stops to relieve our shoulders and complete a regimented attack on the pass, getting us to the top within our expected 90 minute time.

At this point Antony was questioning the point of the ride, having encountered very little rideable descent. Omar was probably questioning the point of life, but remained quiet and carried on as usual. I was perversely happy, having previously thought that I would be delirious at this point in the ride, and having the kind of happiness that sometimes comes with sheer exertion. In the months before I had scrutinised the maps extensively, I knew this was the last climb, and we only had to get down to Inverie and our well-deserved pub meal and pints. I showed Antony the map and reassured him that the best might be about to come, although cautiously at first as the whole plan was looking increasingly daft.

Mam Meadail – the heavenly descent

As we began the descent the cloud began to clear and a phenomenal singletrack appeared, the corners of our mouths crept slowly up, first into grins, then into full-on smiles and laughter as we reaped reward for forty miles of toil. The track belted down into a glen, and was almost completely rideable. Sand and grit from our beach crossing had collected on my rims and brake pads accelerated wear to such a rate that I had to stop halfway to change. From this point we hammered it down to Inverie, not a soul for company as we emerged out of a forest onto an impossibly smooth road by a beautiful shoreline. We cranked it along the road and pulled up outside the pub at 19:55, five minutes early!