The Highland Trail 550
I pass the remnants of a big party as I briefly join the road, its lined with camper vans and tents, now all tucked up for night. The last small climb is lined with little mottled toads. I move carefully as I push up the rubbly switch backs, avoiding squashing them with my feet or tyres. Soon im crossing the road at bridge of Orchy, the hotel silent and dark in the late hour. One final push under the railway bridge and its drifting downhill to a dark empty car park next to a small closed convenience store. I'm here well before sunrise. I love this bit of bikepacking races. There is no glory, no prizes, no one really cares. The joy and pride are in the miles, in the route, in the preparation and in the personal challenge.
This was my third time finishing the route, but it felt no less momentous. I rode my fastest time, setting a new single speed record, but more importantly, enjoyed almost every mile.
Sixty of us started out at 8.30 am nearly 5 days previously. It was all very unceremonious, a few words from Alan, the organiser, and we were off. Although im normally nervous before the start, as we were mingling together, I looked around at all the wonderful people around me and felt nothing but delight at the thought of riding a really long way with them. Even though I spent most of my time alone, there is something about knowing they are also out on the same route, in the same conditions that brings me a sense of companionship.
The Highland trail really is a route of two halves. The first half is fast, lots of double track, tarmac and very non-technical. You could almost call it a gravel route. The second half is where the fun begins, with the much more rugged west coast bringing more singletrack and plenty of hike a bike. Id chosen my gear for the second half, running 30:20. It meant that for a lot of the first half I spun along slowly, my gear too small to push on. This turned out great for me, as it forced me to relax and eat, something I often struggle with. Although I lost time to other riders, I was surprised at how little it was compared to what I had expected.
I crest the summit as the last of the dusky pink light glows on the summit of Buachaille Etive Mor, Glencoe's iconic Munro. The moon, around three quarters full, hovers just above the summit. I stop and take in the moment. From here I have around 30 miles of great riding to the finish in Tyndrum, right now, I'm not sure I'm ready for it to end so soon. I pull on my tights and fleece and get my lights out, I'll be riding through the few dark hours, aiming to beat sunrise to the end.
The descent down this side of the Devils Staircase is loose and wild and I keep reminding myself to be sensible, it's not over till it's over and a ride ending crash here would be sad. The late hour means there are no walkers to avoid and I can play on the rocks and pick my lines. Even with 520 miles in my legs, I'm still allowed to have fun. As dusk falls in the glen, the air becomes thick with midgies. They seem to think it's their playtime too. They hit into my face and I need to breathe with my mouth closed to avoid unwanted snacking.
There is a tendency to start to fast forward in one's head towards the end of a bikepacking race. It's easy to start thinking about food and a bed when still many hours away. It’s a trap I've fallen into before, and ended up hating the last miles. Tonight, I aim to enjoy them all as much as the previous 500. I focus on the present, the now cooler air on my cheeks, the moon lighting my way on the old military road, the silhouettes of the steep mountains. I was worried that at this point, on my singlespeed gear, id need to push up the cobbled climb onto Rannoch moor. Instead, I am strong, standing over the bike and gliding up the hill. It is sublime.
I’d planned to ride with as little stop time in the day as possible, but to get around 4 hours sleep each night. This went out the window as my period arrived on the Friday afternoon before the start. Any moon cup users will know the value of a toilet and sink, so instead of riding past hotels and cafes, I found myself willing to stop and buy food and drinks I didn’t really want, in order to access the loos so I could feel clean and comfortable. Probably the biggest local advantage I have is knowing where the public loos on route are. But, in ultra racing, everyone will have things that slow them down, so rather than get frustrated with my body, I just accepted it and looked at the positives of getting more rest and food. As I found a (wrapped) tampon on a very remote part of the route, I can safely assume I wasn’t the only one dealing with my biology.
I think there's often an assumption, that if you join a race, you have to ride it a certain way. It needs to involve no or very little sleep, it will all be a suffer fest and you have to train really hard and have no fun in the months leading up to it. Of course, none of that is true, and there are as many ways to complete a race as there are bike standards. Sleep 8 hours a night if you like, stop for a pub lunch every day if you fancy, ride for 36 hrs straight if you really want to. Once you start, those hours are yours to do with what you like. And I love that, every rider will have a different experience and story. And everybody's preparation will look different. Mine involved lots of headstands and no training plan.
If you are interested in riding bigger miles, check out groups like the Steezy Collective or Big Ride Gang. The ultra community is welcoming and helpful.
Photos & Words: Annie Le
