WESTERN WEASEL

 There have been more than enough words expended on the challenges of last year,  athletes responses to the decimation of the race calendar, and the impact of travel restrictions on events and challenges, so I don’t intend to add to that tally. This was just a personal challenge, an itch that I wished to scratch as last year wound down to it’s inevitable conclusion.

An itch that required a long endurance effort to scratch.

Last year saw me run more consistently than ever before, and there were encouraging signs of progress in training, and the few long mountain runs I managed to fit into the period between rounds of travel restrictions. However, a combination of the general chaos of the year, and some minor but persistent injury issues stopped me getting my teeth into a genuine ultra distance challenge. This remained the case, so the bike would be the tool of choice for this adventure. 

I set myself a few other parameters. This should be a solo, self supported effort i.e. with no external assistance, and no resupply on route, and as such, I would avoid centres of population. Consistent with Coronavirus restrictions in place at the time, it should also be a continuous piece of exercise starting and finishing at the same point. In truth, I was hoping to interact with no-one for the duration, and once beyond the road section out of Glasgow and through Milngavie, I got close to achieving this, crossing paths (at a respectable distance) with perhaps 5 other cyclists and runners throughout the day. Suffice to say, I think the risk of coronavirus transmission, in either direction, was as close as practically possible to zero. 

Leaving Glasgow before the sun, I made my way out to Milngavie on tarmac, then picked up the West Highland Way. This was pleasant riding in the early morning, with a nice sunrise illuminating the Blanefield valley as I made my way toward Drymen. Here I branched onto the Rob Roy Way, which gives miles of smooth gravel riding towards Aberfoyle. This was a decision point, as I could either continue north and east, to include a loop over the Duke’s pass, or turn to the west and north on the Inversnaid statute road and Mary Queen of Scots Way. With a few hours riding behind me, I was now calibrated to my pace for the day, and concluded I wouldn’t need the additional miles and metres of elevation to be out for around 12 hours; which felt about the amount of effort I needed. 

The riding in the Starthard valley is superb, with mile after mile of fireroad and forest track, which in mid winter at least, is largely deserted once more than a few miles beyond the parking at Aberfoyle and Kinlochard.  The steady climb past the western face of Ben Lomond, dodging wintery showers spilling off the summit, gave a refreshing perspective on a familiar peak. Rolling along in single figure temperatures the physical effort began to feel sustained, but four or five hours in, my mind had still not left the day to day aside, and reflections on the year past accompanied me for a few miles. They seemed heavy enough to be unwelcome on the climbs. 

The ridgeline above the eastern shore of Loch Lomond, north of Ben Lomond, takes enough effort and time to reach as to be rarely visited. From here, the views over the loch to the Arrochar Alps, and the head of Loch Long, are superb, and made all the more so by the effort. Descending more than 300m over the next 2km got the brakes well warmed up, and delivered me swiftly to over an hour of largely unrideable terrain, and carrying my bike up and down ladders and over footbridges. If you know, you know. If you don’t, do your research before deciding to ride this stretch of the West Highland Way. 

Regaining rideable terrain I cleared the brambles from my chain, and my legs, and set off south through a deserted Rowardennan and along the road through Balmaha as the light began it’s inexorable fade to darkness. It was good to be moving fluidly again, rather than slipping around with the bike balanced on my shoulders. 

Recrossing my outbound track at Drymen, darkness engulfed me properly, my world contracted to a shallow pool of light, and utter silence descended. Almost nine hours of consistent effort, and solitude, and it was as if I’d walked into a soundproof booth. The reflections, the ambitions, the questions; all the chatter our brains absorb in the course of modern life, all replaced by clarity. 

I rode for two hours in absolute peace. 

Two hours of still, midwinter darkness. Two hours to acknowledge the passing of another year, and embrace the challenges of the year to come. 

Onward. 

“Western Weasel” 127km, 1668 m ascent. Sunday 20th December 2020.