Scotland. Or more
accurately Roy Bridge March 2013. I
have just returned from the four most fabulous Scottish days away. Every year since time began (or more
accurately again, since the internet forums took off) there has been a UK
climbing forums winter climbing meet up in Scotland. It’s my third year of
attending, but never with any true intention of actually climbing on terrifying
frozen waterfalls and general icy horrors.
The first year was a tentative walking and biking year, the second year
I was overcome with illness and pain (discovery that I have a condition called temporomandibular
jaw disorder which if unmanaged brings on trigeminal neuralgia), so this year
looked really promising as I began my preparations with a temporary filling ...
Over the years, groups within groups have formed themselves
at the “climbing” meet. There are an
ever increasing number of us middle aged
mountain bikers, and we don’t restrict ourselves to a once a year meet up any
more but encounter each other with regularity through the seasons. There’s a shared love of the more wild
trails, the long ones, those with climbs best described as “interesting” or
indeed “unrideable”. Of the leaders we
don’t have, the leading light of the group is known as Horse in honour of his
initials of GG (you figure it out ...).
He will do anything to get a reasonable technical descent in but not of
the downhiller extreme variety, just interesting, gnarly, protracted and above
all fun. He has dreams and suggestions
and charisma and he carries us along with him.
It’s GG who has coined the phrase Team Stoopid for these days out. Because we probably do try things which are
not entirely conventional even within the mountain biking fraternity, and for
sure not amongst the middle aged.
I’ve never felt I’ve properly earned my place in #TeamStoopid
until this weekend. I’ve always hovered
on the outskirts, doing some of the dafter rides. It’s a funny thing to aspire to. If he’d
termed it Mad or Crazy I would have avoided it like the plague because I hate
the pretension of people who describe themselves in those terms. I’m
conventional, and safe and thoughtful and happy with that.
Friday saw #TeamStoopid or indeed a carefully selected trio
of participants get in my van with three bikes and drive to Fersit. Van abandoned, we were on our way. Off we went to Corrour Station, somewhere in
the middle of absolutely nowhere. We had
several plans. One of them was the
option of catching the 3:15 train back to Roy Bridge. The trip to the station took us through
woodland, through marsh, bog, fire road, rocky descents, a long single track
moorland climb, every variety of mountain biking you could imagine. Opening out onto the fire road where we
anticipated a swift and easy ride, the wind took us somewhat by surprise. The kind of surprise which can blow you
sideways 12 feet and when encountered head on stop you dead in your
tracks. Funny what you can adjust to,
though, and with the right gear, perseverance and an embracing of resistance
training, we spread out and traversed to the station. 2:30 and we’d only covered 13 miles.
The station cafe saw a serious conference taking place over
soup and nachos. The sensible options
were discussed (the train), but Horse’s lower lip wobbled (well, as much as a
51 year old bloke’s face displays emotion) as he explained he’d always wanted
to do the next section. Faced with disappointing
our glorious leader, how could we reach any other decision. We were going to complete the ride. Maps were consulted; soaking wet shoes were
put back on, bikes mounted and at 3:15 #TeamStoopid set off, with a symbolic
watching of the escape route train departing Corrour for Roy Bridge. We had 25 miles to ride.
Once again into the hoolie TeamStoopid rode. And the route continued to climb, taking us
up bridleway, up into the moorland, wading through peak bogs. Our glorious leader encouraged high team
morale by finding us targets every few kilometres. It was 3K to the bothy or 3K to the summit or
3K to the next bothy. The first bothy
stop saw acceptance. We accepted at 5pm that
this was going to be a ride through the late evening. Lights were brought out of bags in a
pre-emptive strike against the coming of the night. In true team spirit we shared. Karl, the 25 mile time trialler on his 14 year
old mountain bike taking one of my two night lights. And we set off on a bit of a hike-a-bike up
hill. Finally the summit was achieved,
with some excitement from GG who had been looking forward to the descent. We were up in the highlands, miles from
anywhere, in the snow, in the dark and we were on mountain bikes. At this point, Karl announced that he was
packing Jaffa Cakes and that these would be made available at the next
bothy. We set off.
The single track descent turned out a disappointment to
Horse, and there was much cursing of the numerous snow patches which
interrupted the flow. But I grinned the
entire way. The bothy was reached and
the promised jaffa cake goodness embraced.
But there was still much riding to be done. The lovely thing about the next section was
that I remembered having walked it two
years ago, there was a familiarity both of route and of terrain, and
down we zoom zoom zoomed. Pausing at a
deer fence to update those back at the accommodation on our progress, or lack
thereof. Because there at 8:15pm we did
team work on inner tube replacement for Horse’s puncture. Finally we wore some of the spare clothing we’d
all been carrying – the ride for all of us had included an upgrade from a
15litre or thereabouts riding rucksack to the full on walking daysacks.
A return along the road took us back to the dinner which had
been saved for us. Ten hours later, 9:15
at night, 60K journey complete. Oh. Now, where’s that campervan ... oh yes,
Fersit. Where am I? Oh yes, Roy Bridge ...
My quotes of the day were from Karl – “don’t you ever stop
smiling”. Answer “why would I, I’m alive
and having fun”. “can’t you just get a
little bit angry. Or even swear?”. Oh. Sorry.
I was having fun. And from Horse "oh hello, looks like Alison's got the suit zipped up today." (Man suit).
