Day 11 - Ben Nevis

My legs are aching, my feet are blistered, my arms are covered with midge bites, my ears are peeling from sunburn and wherever we go it just wont stop raining. But despite all that I'm happy. Just last wednesday Catherine and I set off from Bangor on bikes in a foolhardy attempt to climb the highest peaks in England, Wales and Scotland. And eleven days later we succeeded.

10am said my watch when i finally decided to get up. But even after 10 hours sleep, i hardly felt rested. Ten days of pure exercise takes its toll, and my body knew I was about to give it one more day of punishment. After breakfast (more granola) we gathered our stuff together and set off to climb the mountain on the other side of the valley - Ben Nevis.

Crossing the Nevis river, we took the youth hostel path and, after a couple of kilometers, joined the tourist trail. Already people were descending past us. Many looked like they might be starting the 24 hour three peak challenge and soon be driving south towards Scafell Pike, reaching where we had been 4 days ago in only 5 hours. Others we passed were not so prepared - many were in jeans and trainers, some had no water, no waterproofs and no map. And all these people were complaining bitterly, as if they had not expected the highest mountain in the country to be so far uphill.

After 40 minutes of climbing we had become bored of whinging tourists and mediocre views. Thanks to Catherine's mountaineering knowledge, however, we soon turned off onto an empty path to circle the mountain and ascend along a steep arete from the North East. This turned out to be an amazing route filled with stunning views, steep climbs, strong winds and dangerous scrambles.

At first we swung round one shoulder of Ben Nevis and crossed the deep valley on its northern side. This revealed the Ben's amazing north face, a wide vertical lump of granite dropping at least 500m vertically down from the summit. We, however, were climbing a rather more gentle slope on the opposite side. 'More gentle' is hardly doing the route justice - we must have gained around 500m of altitude along 45-degree slopes covered with loose scree and damp, boot-consuming bogs. Although the sun had been trying its best to come out at this point, by the time we reached the top of the ridge the wind was blowing a gale and dense white cloud was periodically being blown over the whole valley.

After lunch in a sheltered hollow we climbed up towards the top of the ridge - a Munro (3000-foot tall scottish mointain) called Carn Mor Dearg, or CMD to those in the know. Up on top the wind had picked up to extraordinary levels, like sticking your head out of a car window on the motorway. We began to reconsider our route. Ben Nevis, which loomed a mile across the valley, was only reachable along a narrow arete, a dangerous feature to cross in such conditions. On each side of the exposed arete were nearly-vertical 400m drops.

But, after a local dog-walker reassured us the path would not be dangerous if we were careful, we decided to take the risk and scramble across the arete. Climbing down from CMD the wind dropped and we found the loose path along the precipice. At first the drops on each side lodged an anxious sense of vertigo in my mind - one wrong foothold and it could be my last. Occasionally the clouds would draw in below us, obscuring the valleys on either side. This gave the impression of an infinite drop into clouds- an even scarier ordeal. However, as the rocky scramble across the arete went on, the anxiety passed and soon I was able to revel in the sheer thrill of it all. It truly was an awesome sight, with Ben Nevis rearing its bulky granitic head to the South West and the occasional view down into deserted mountain valleys on either side. The strong winds and swirling clouds also gave a surreal atmosphere to the place.

Having regretfully finished the arete and had a brief play in the snow still present in Ben Nevis's shadow, we climbed the final 300m to the summit. It was a contrast from the lonely route we had just taken, with dozens of unprepared tourists and the unavoidable mess left behind from such swarms of people. At least the summit was not clouded over, as was the case for every other mountain in the area. Rather than seeing a vista of steep mountains, we saw a rolling layer of clouds, each following the terrain below.

Our 19km hike to the summit of Ben Nevis via the CMD arete

After taking a few pictures and munching a handful of chocolate digestives we found the tourist trail again and started the descent. After only a few hundred metres the clouds descended and the rain began, making the next hour of steady tramping a tedious, view-less affair.

It is four hours later and the rain has not stopped. We ate take-away Haggis & chips sheltered in our tiny 2-man tent and found the nearest pub, more for a proper sit down in a dry room than for anything else. Scotland certainly doesnt do things by halves; mountains and rain included.

And so, with the 1344m of Ben Nevis done and added to the 1048m of Snowdon and 978m of Scafell Pike, we have succeeded in climbing the national three peaks by unassisted human power. As far as I know (and trust me, I haven't checked) the 9 days and 23 hours from the summit of Snowdon to the summit of Ben Nevis is a New Record. Not bad for a two-week holiday.

Until tuesday we are in the highlands doing more hiking and possibly some mountain biking/canoeing. However this will probably be the final blog post from me - I have wasted enough phone battery so far this trip on the things. What will happen, though, is that I will go back through these blogs and edit them with route maps and more pictures and anecdotes, simply for my own pleasure. I may also add a post on the do's and dont's of cycle touring. So stay tuned for that and in the mean time- go break a record, even if you only just made it up.

Stats:
Distance walked: 19km

Day 10. North Loch Lomond - Ben Nevis

The final day's route with 5 categorised climbs!

It's Day 10 and sat a mile in front of me is one monumental shoulder of Ben Nevis, the highest mountain in the UK. So I guess we made it!

The day began at 8am as usual. The midges, which normally die down by morning, were still frantically clawing at my skin. Throughout the night I had woken and convinced myself it was drizzling before realising the pitter-patter on the fly-sheet was just a rain of randomly-moving insects.

Pannier Rack Damage #2

Once up I checked the rope holding my bust pannier rack together. Gladly it was still holding. Unbelievably I also noticed a second fracture even more impressive than the first! The metal strut on the opposite side of the pannier rack was also cleaved in two. I must have hit one hell of a pothole! With this development I became even more worried that my bike would not last the day. One more break like that, and no amount of rope would hold the panniers onto my bike. And if that happened in the middle of Rannock Moor, a vast boggy terrain we would spend almost an entire day crossing, I would be in serious trouble.

With gear loaded up we tentatively set off to the north under grey skies. The uphill began almost immediately, as the road rose up a steepening valley. After only 9km of climbing in 40 minutes we stopped for second breakfast and to buy lunch - we would not see another shop for 4 hours.

Numerous teams of road cyclists passed us on the way up to the pass. We looked at their slick, pannier-less bikes in envy. Finally we reached the last junction in 35 miles and ominously entered through (thankfully) open gates labelled 'Road closed due to snow'. After only a brief uphill we had left the valley behind us and entered another vast open mountainous valley with not a building in sight. With a fast downhill and gentle climb we crossed this and headed up along the Orchy valley.

The top of one of the first big climbs of the day.

After a slow set of steep switch-back turns we reached the start of Rannock Moor. At a viewpoint we stopped to take pictures and bumped into some fellow road cyclists also headed to Fort William. It turned out they were 2 days from John O'Groats, having started in Lands End only 8 days before. I cant deny that a twang of jealousy hit us both, but they were on the best bikes money could buy with two support vehicles following behind. All we had was our legs, our worn bikes and 20kg of stuff.


The moor itself was an odd place to cross. Despite the towering mountains on all sides, the sheer flat unbroken extent of it made it strangely underwhelming. The other side of the 350m col was another story though.

Whizzing downhill aided by a south easterly breeze we entered Glencoe - a stunning mountain valley surrounded on all sides by bulky green peaks, almost all of which were higher than any mountain England has to offer. As we stopped for lunch blue skies even appeared. Further and further we descended along smooth roads, as the steep valley closed in on us. The three sisters of Glencoe reared up on our left, each covered with sheer rock faces and forest-filled ravines. Finally the valley levelled out and we came to another finger of ocean stretching into the Highlands. The views and mountains were so appealing that we briefly decided we had to stay in Glencoe that day and explore the area more. But we realised we couldnt climb Ben Nevis from so far south so we pushed on around the fjord onto the home straight.

A panorama of the Three Sisters of Glencoe in all their splendour

And it was an absolutely horrible ride. The wind had swung round and for the final 20km was blowing directly at us. The road bounced up and down but the shear force of the wind meant that every section was punishing. Even with the nose of the bike pointing downwards, the sheer force of the wind meant stopping pedalling would still cause you to roll backwards. After seeing the sign for the entrance to Fort William I thought we were home and dry, but the road continued into the head wind for another 3km.

Finally though we made it into Fort William. This would be our final stop, our most northerly point and our base from which to climb Ben Nevis. But it didnt feel any different. Despite a long final days' cycle that, at any point could have been thrown into disarray, there was no relief. Just a feeling of 'So that's it?'. After a chat with some cyclists who had overtaken us (more LE-JO'Gs), a bite of afternoon tea and a quick supermarket shop we headed out of Fort William. As we turned the corner into Glen Nevis, the eponymous mountain revealed itself. We found our campsite and set up the tent on the opposite slope - thankfully there were no midges in sight. The strong wind and intermittant sunshine made for good drying conditions but forced our gas stove off numerous times, but we eventually got dinner cooked (more pasta). Even now, at 11pm, there is light in the sky. I imagine north scotland never sees true darkness at this time of year.

Arriving at our final campsite in Glen Nevis!

It is a strange feeling that we will not be moving on anywhere after tonight. The tent will remain pitched, our bikes untouched, our panniers unpacked. I guess this trip has turned us into drifters, where any form of settling down seems not just unusual but unnatural.

Tomorrow we will try to climb Ben Nevis, although 50mph gusts and low hill fog are forecast. The beauty is that we now have 3 days until our train home, so even bad weather tomorrow will not stop us eventually ascending britains highest mountain.


Stats:
Distance: 96km
Total Distance: 816km
Average Speed: 18.6kph

Day 9: Ayr to North Loch Lomond

A sunny start

This morning was a weird one - it was sunny. Maybe we wanted to make the most of the good weather, maybe dry equipment is easier to pack, but somehow the sunshine translated into the quickest packing/breakfast/tent-take-down sessions we have yet had, and we were on the road by 9:15 - a new record

We first headed into Ayr, the nearby seaside town, and found the main road north. It took us through many similar resorts, with pretty B&Bs, closed-up shops and more hand car washes than I could count. Passing Prestwick airport, still in sunshine, we stopped for second breakfast. Cyclists are very much like hobbits; unkempt beards, smelly feet and a multitude of meals (breakfast, second breakfast, elevenses, luncheon, afternoon tea, dinner and supper) being just some of the comparisons. We then found ourselves on a quiet ring road around Irvine, a large Scottish town apparently with nobody in it. Heading on north avoiding the main road we eventually emerged on the only road around the Strathclyde coast. In the hazy sunshine we could even see the mountainous Isle of Arran across the beginnings of the Firth of Clyde, a large finger of water that reaches 40 miles inland to Glasgow.

The Firth of Clyde narrows on our left

As we headed up what was a beautiful coast road, the Firth narrowed and steeped on either side. After a morning of pushing hard into a stiff northern breeze, we hit 80km.on the cycle computer and came to Gourock. Lying on the northern tip of Ayrshire, Gourock is a steep-sided town on the banks of the Clyde and the gateway to the highlands. It also holds some Osborn family importance, with my great-grandmother living in a little house high up on the hill. My dad, from whom both Catherine and I caught the bug of hiking and mountaineering, spent many a summer up in that house. Maybe, in some round-about way, that little town is the origin of this entire trip.

From Gourock we caught a tiny passenger ferry across the Firth of Clyde. Although the boat had been soaked by a sharp shower on the previous crossing, by the time we reached Kilgreggan it was sunny once more. On the boat, a worried local came up to us and enquired our route. "Yous should'ney go that way" he said. "The road to Arrochar is dangerous". Instead he pointed us to a ridiculously mountainous road, atleast 20km out of our way before leaving. We considered his warning and decided the reward of a direct route would be worth the risk.

Before reaching this 'Death Road', we had a beautiful ride along one of the many sea-lochs stretching from the Firth of Clyde. Across the bay was a shadowy docklands at the foot of a wooded hill that was apparently an MOD submarine base. After a huge 15% hill we finally met 'Death Road'. And what a road it was. Sure it was narrow, had sharp turns and a roller-coaster of blind summits, but the views were stunning. To our left through dense deciduos forest was a sharp drop to a sea loch, a fjord cut by rivers of ice 20 thousand years ago and flooded by the sea. Rather than being a deep blue, it was a dark green, reflecting the steep wooded slope only 800m away on the other side. Parked at the entry of the fjord, almost covering the entire inlet, was a huge megatanker transferring oil from some distant oil field to MOD depots. A lone kayaker, who was also making his way up the loch, was dwarfed billions-to-one by this titanic ship.

Sunbeams over Loch Long having ridden "Death Road" to its conclusion

And for mile after mile this road went, skipping up and down small hills like a cycling rollercoaster. And the views continued. By this point, breaks in the cloud were few and far between, but as we entered the village at the terminus of the fjord a beam of sunlight could be seen moving steadily across the centre of the loch. It truly was an amazing sight.

Next we crossed from this sea loch at the mercy of tides and mariners into a true loch - Loch Lomond. Once again the road wound around the West bank as we headed north. This route was busier, however, and the road surface was littered with potholes. Despite all this, the views made it an experience to savour.

However, after the longest and most beautiful day of our trip so far, something was always going to shatter our illusions of success. The thing to do the shattering on this particular day was the pannier rack that holds the stuff above my rear wheel. After one pothole too many and a load cracking noise, i looked back and saw the rack cleaved in two and sticking out at unnatural angles like a badly broken limb. After crawling away from the blind corner on which i was inadvertantly parked we found a lay-by to inspect the damage. Usually two spokes link the base of the rack to my bike frame, each welded to a central support. Almost an inch of welding had given way, and the rear spoke was scratching at my frame nearly 6 inches from where it should be. Although i had no welding torch to hand, i did have a good long piece of rope. This, for now, is all that supports a quarter of the 20kg carried by my panniers. But, by avoiding the biggest pot holes, my bodge job somehow made it the 10km down the road to our campsite.

The campsite, thanks to its location by Loch Lomond and half way along the West Highland Way, has everything someone miles from civilisation would want - a shop, restaurant, bar, showers, etc. Another thing it has in abundance is midges. The little things seem to have saturated the air around me and, even with lavishly applied bug spray, continue to be a nuisance. It is refreshing that today, rather than constantly worrying about how to get dry and keep our gear from getting wet, our only real worries have been sunburn and midges ('First world problems', i guess). At last though, after 5 days of rain and questioning the motives behind this trip, today has reminded me why we are here: To cycle through some of the fairest parts of these isles using only our own two legs.

Helped by flat coastal roads we did our longest ever day: 146km

Tomorrow, with my rope-strapped bike, we will cross Rannoch moor, ths largest uninhabited area in the uk. It is 100km to Fort William, our base for climbing Ben Nevis and our end point. I can only hope that my bodge-job holds...

Stats:
Distance: 125km
Total Distance: 720km
Average Speed: 19.3kph

Rainy-ness: 2/10
Midges: 9/10
Scottishness: 8/10

Day 8 - Lochmaben to Ayr

It's not ideal, but on this trip we have three types of gear: cycling stuff for each days ride, camping gear for the evenings to cook, sleep and shelter, and hiking gear to take us up each of the three peaks. Every morning, without fail, we have to pack each bit of kit back into three tiny bags and fit these back onto the bike. And usually this occurs in the rain with no tent for protection (it needs packing too). Its a long and tedious process and this morning was no exception. For two and a half hours we packed up, piled everything onto the bikes and left our loch-side campsite, all under grey scottish drizzle.

Today's route with a long steady climb lasting nearly 60km!

The hills began almost immediately as we cut across on back roads from Lochmabin to the main Dumfries to Kilmarnock route which cut through the southern lowlands. Although this route started busily enough in boring agricultural surroundings, it soon turned into a beautiful (and quiet) alpine pass. To our left was a steep ravine cut by a deep, fast flowing river. On our right were steep forested slopes bounded at the top by a train line. The gentle gradient was also almost enough for us to forget that we were climbing into the mountains.



After lunch by the ravine the road levelled off into a more open valley. Wild sheep pastures slowly transformed into narrow fields and we seemed to re-enter civilisation. The shallow gradient was gone, however, replaced by steep rolling hills. The solitude of the mountains had also been replaced by a multitude of impatient car, lorry and tractor drivers. Reluctantly we followed this route for the rest of the day. 

Smooth private roads

In a car, the state of the road surface probably has absolutely no effect on the smoothness of the ride. On two-inch-wide, suspension-less road bike wheels however, a bad road surface is as noticable as the light of day and Scotland seems to have more than its fair share of dodgy road surfaces. Most look like a patchwork quilt of quick-fixes, with each layer of pothole-covering asphalt simply creating a more uneven surface. After an afternoon of continuous ups and downs, as well as a thin drizzle that stopped and started at will, we found a touristy cafe in the grounds of a castle. Remarkably the private road from the castle gate house to the cafe was one of the best road surfaces we'd seen all week. There we researched campsites and found a welcoming caravan park 10km away on the outskirts of Ayr.

A sunny evening for once!

The site was nice enough except for the rabble of kids who, despite apparent free roam of the site, emitted their high pitch shreiks only in the area around our tent (Oh no, ive turned into one of those people). Amazingly the dense white cloud that had hung over our heads all day seemed to melt away and a dim evening sun appeared. With weather warnings in force for tomorrow, however, it is when rather than if the next drenching will occur.

Tomorrow we follow the Ayrshire coast to Gourock and cross the Firth of Clyde by ferry. That means that this time tomorrow we will be in the Highlands! I can smell the whiskey already. Or is that just the rain?

Stats:
Distance: 101km
Total Distance: 595km
Average Speed: 20.0kph

Day 7 - Keswick to Lochmaben

Waking up after a 'rest day' is horrible. Our legs seemed to have realised what we're putting them through and refuse to move. Eventually we forced ourselves up and ate the usual granola breakfast. After putting on freshly-washed clothes i once again had the amazing pleasure of placing warm, clean-smelling socks and feet into horribly damp shoes for the third day running. At least the sky was refusing to comply with expectations and was remaining dry for the time being.

We're not out of the lakes yet - a hilly start to our 120km day

There is always a conflict while deciding which route to cycle. While the back roads are usually quiet and make for a more enjoyable ride they can be almost continually up and down, especially in the mountains. A-roads on the other hand tend to be on average much flatter and more direct. Constantly being overtaken by inconsiderate drivers isnt exactly fun though.


Today we experienced both as we left the Lake District from Keswick towards Carlisle. Initially we had found that rare balance- a smooth and direct road without much traffic. Then we hit traffic hell for 20km - the busy A595. Despite the road being no wider than previous routes, drivers felt it neccessary to overtake on blind corners, at uncomfortable distances, and even roll down their windows and hurl abuse at one point. We managed to escape onto a back road and rolled into Carlisle for lunch.

And what a lunch it was. We found that students paradise, a Wetherspoons, and gorged ourselves on Steak (it being a,Tuesday) for almost an hour. Bloated with all the meat, we found a minor road alongside the M6 and headed towards the Scottish border where, remarkably, the sun was beginning to break through the thick white clouds that had loomed over us all morning.

We entered Scotland in the town of Gretna, famous as the marriage destination for eloping couples since 1830. We felt no distinct change in atmosphere across the border, but it certainly felt like a milestone for us as we enter the final section of the trip. There are still 4 days cycling to reach Fort William though, so were not becoming nostalgic just yet.

Into Scotland!

After a long stretch westwards from Gretna along a boring agricultural stretch we turned inland. Our route steadily became more undulating and we occasionally passed forests and estates. This was beginning, superficially at least, to look like the scotland i know from books, tv and film.

The campsite we found also conforms strictly to stereotypes, with a view over a Loch and a golf course. I can only hope the highlands reach my lofty expectations of stunning vistas and deep blue lochs.

Stats:
Distance: 105km
Average Speed: 20.1kph
Total distance: 494km
Midge count: 5/10

Rainy-ness: 2/10
Roadkill seen: 3 Hedgehogs, 2 Rabbits, 1 Badger :(

Day 6 - Great Langdale to Keswick

There really is no such thing as a rest day in the Lake District. We badly needed a break for our aching legs and blistered feet but still forced ourselves to cycle for two hours in the pouring rain to try to escape the mountain weather. Unsuccessfully, I might add.

Seathwaite, in the next valley over from our campsite, is apparently the rainiest village in the UK, with over 3 metres of rainfall every year. Thats about 10mm a day, or 5 times more than i'm used to in london and norwich. The mountains create their own micro weather system of wind and rain, and we were stuck in the middle of it. If we didnt get out, we would continue to be soaked each and every day.

So after a lie in (until 10am!) and a lazy morning, we assembled our things in the handy campsite Dry Room and got back in the saddle. It definitely felt like we were heading down river as we left the Langdale valley, still shrouded in cloud behind us. But after late lunch in Ambleside it was more up-hills over Cols and across hills. Wearing waterproofs, although great for keeping out water, is not ideal when cycling. The combination of sweat and rain means you quickly become soaked inside and out. Even the fast downhills offer no relief, as your sheer speed hurls raindrops at you like the strongest of showers. Not only is this wettening, it can also be dangerously blinding. We headed on in this fashion past Wordsworth's Grasmere and up to the distinctly Scottish-looking Therlmere (pictured in the rain, right)

The rain increased in heaviness and, dejected once again, we found the nearest campsite and set up our still-wet 2-man tent. We had the luxurious choice of two campsites. The first had a quaint hikers shop, quiet avenues of pitches and spotless facilities. The second was 3 pounds cheaper. Obvious, right? The water was a questionable colour, a 3-minute shower cost 50p and a pair of strange old woman appeared to be living under tarpaulines in the middle of the campsite. That 3 pounds goes a long way...

I am probably being harsh though. Unlike some campsites we have visited this site has warm showers, other people, relatively few midges, lovely views, washing & drying facilities which we gladly used, and a pub nearby, in which I sneakily charged my phone.

If the weather remains as forecast we may be able to escape the hellish Lake District tomorrow and enter Scotland. I honestly do not know how people can live in such rain-sodden mountains permanently and not become clinically depressed. I guess having large waterproof houses, and shiny metal cars with dry interiors must help. Lucky bastards.

Eerie red skies before the next long rain shower

Stats:
Distance: 36km
Total Distance: 389km

Hilliness: 6/10 (It was tough work for a short stage)
Raininess: 6/10 (Almost all day)
Optimism: 4/10

Day 5 - Scafell Pike

Memories are strange things. They can become distorted with time. For example, I remember trips to the lake district as great adventures under cloud-free blue skies and amazing views. Im sure there were horrible rainy days on that trip, but I cannot recall them. Today, however, is one horrible rainy day in the Lake District I will always remember.

The rain eases and we head towards Great Langdale

We checked the weather forecast the night before and found that a cloudy but dry day would await us in the morning. This optimism didnt last long though as we woke up at 7 to persistent drizzle. No matter, we thought, we only have a couple of hours of cycling to the next campsite and it's beginning to stop. It didnt. The next hour was spent climbing hill after hill in heavy rain. We were soaked again, but this time there seemed to be no end to the shower in sight.


Pulling in to a pub for a hot drink and some sneaky breakfast we checked the new forecast: Today: rain. Tomorrow: rain. Tuesday: rain. Sitting there, dejected, we seriously considered throwing in the towel. We could not cycle another mile in that downpour let alone another 450km. Had we really expected anything different from the UK?

But, as we planned for the worst the weather improved. Maybe, just maybe we would make it to our campsite and climb Englands highest mountain today as planned. Despite more drizzle the route to our campsite was a beautiful one and our spirits began to lift. And by the time we had arrived, put the tent up and had some lunch we had decided to go for it.

Setting off for Scafell Pike

The highest peaks of the Lake District were shrouded in cloud as we set off and we knew not to expect good weather on top. The 9km hike to the summit was split into two. The first section steeply climbed out of the Langdale valley up to a more gentle plateau. In the latter section we rose up inside the cloud over a labyrinth of razor-sharp rocks and false-summits. Up there all we saw beyond 10m away was a white wall of cloud. Other hikers occasionally emerged from the mist, but it really felt.like.we we were alone. Even with a detailed OS map and compass we were lucky to find the summit.

Unlike on Snowdon, there was no nice view from the top and the strong winds and frequent rain meant taking pictures was dangerous. It was also already 5pm by the time we reached the summit, and we needed to be down by 7.45 to watch the football.

The whited-out view from the top

Fuelled by chocoloate digestives and Sainsbury's midget gems we headed back down the scree slopes. After 6 hours of hiking we reached our bikes and, with shaking legs and tired heads, found the Dungeon Ghyll pub. After such a long day we definitely felt we deserved a hot meal, cold pint and proper sit down!

The forecast for tomorrow and our aching legs mean we will probably be taking an unscheduled rest day tomorrow and will attempt to reach the Scottish border by Tuesday evening. Weather permitting we will make Fort William (and Ben Nevis) by Saturday.

Stats:
Distance: 35km cycled, 21km walked.
Total distance: 353km
Average Speed: 16kph