close your eyes and face the sun
cycling across scotland and the badger divide
My plan was to write about six memories that struck a chord with me this autumn. After the first two, I realised it was going to be far too long, so here are a couple of stories from the first half of autumn that I won’t forget. Perhaps I’ll post the second half soon, the perpetual rain in Glasgow at the moment lends itself well to writing for hours on end.
Scotland Traverse
End of August
I remember the air turning one morning and realising summer was ending. It felt like last orders at the bar — if I wanted any final adventures before the imminent gloom, now was the time.
How about cycling the length of Scotland?
I took the Friday off work and got the earliest train down to Stranraer, from there it was about an hour’s ride to the southernmost point.
Standing on the edge of Scotland, I could see across the sea to England on my left and Ireland to my right. After taking a moment to breathe in the salty air and watch the long grass move as one with the wind, I turned the bike 180 degrees and headed due north. Next stop John o’ Groats. Distance: 750km.
I remember being instantly gripped by a weird mood for a lot of that day. It confused me at the time and I’m still confused by it now. I just couldn’t settle in and enjoy what I was doing, no idea why.
By the time I reached my home in Glasgow that evening I was ready to call the whole thing off, why was I even doing it anyway, seriously what was the point. A piece of advice I’d read on the Trans Alba Race website rang around my head as I went to bed:
Don’t scratch (give up) till you’ve had a night’s sleep.
Fine, I’ll set off the next day but with zero expectation of going far, at least I can tell myself I made the effort. The original plan was to sleep for just a few hours but I allowed myself nine. Thinking back now, maybe I was just shattered.
I’m so glad I continued on that day.
At first I thought I’d give up by Stirling, however by the time I reached the station my mood was unrecognisable from the day before. The soft early morning sun on my face felt right. I wanted to keep going.
As soon as I stop having fun, I’ll head home.
Each mile after this point only made me happier and more content. Every song I listened to was perfect; the scenery got more beautiful; the sun stayed out. I started to enjoy my own company rather than trying to avoid my thoughts. My mind and I became friends again.
Golden hour and sunset over the Drumochter Pass was borderline euphoric. The mountains in the distance, the trees and rocks around me, everything I could see was bathing in the warm gold air, delicate blue skies with wisps of pink above.
I stopped, got off the bike, paused my music, and just stood, eyes closed and face pressed toward the sun low in the sky. I could see nothing but gold through my eyelids, hear nothing but a busy stream not far off, feel nothing but the gentlest of warm breezes across me.
It gave me That Feeling. Not just happiness, or contentment, but something more.
Everything was worth it for this. Not just today, but everything ever. To know this exists is enough for me, I don’t even need to experience it again. To know it’s out there and possible to be felt by me or anyone is enough. Enough to know it’s all worth it.
The sky grew dark as I approached Aviemore but my spirit remained as bright as ever. On a particularly remote stretch of road after seeing nothing for a while except the stars above me, I approached a lone stationary car with the hazards blinking, two shadowy figures standing beside it. Looked like a breakdown. They eyed me curiously as I trundled towards them.
Fancy a lift? I said jokingly.
Their raucous laughter punctuated the otherwise silent night and they shouted a thanks, we really needed that! as I disappeared past them back into the dark. I think those were the first words I’d spoken all day and it was about 11pm.
My second and final human interaction that day came around midnight. I wanted to sleep for a bit, it was quite cold and Aviemore might be my last real refuge before Inverness. I wandered up the station platform looking for a waiting room or similar and found a mysterious door slightly ajar. It seemed like the back of a pub, a sort of cellar area. It wasn’t the most glamorous but the warmth and quiet soothed my muscles and mind after the last 450km riding, I’ll be good here till sunrise…
The next thing I know three or four lads walk into this weird basement area from the pub side. We clock each other immediately, both say alright to each other and not much else. I don’t think they were allowed to be there any more than I was. Looking at my survival blanket on the ground, one asks me why I’ve got so much tinfoil — My Lycra also confused them, I was an unknown entity and it made them a bit skittish, like a horse. We made some small-talk, me hoping they’ll leave so I can sleep but instead they decide I’m not a threat and proceed to do lines off one of their phones while simultaneously watching Sky Sports results inches from their face on the same phone.
Maybe that bench outside didn’t look too bad after all… I decided to Irish exit their party and retreat to peace and quiet. Sleep came over me quickly despite the cold.
I awoke around sunrise feeling fresher than I had any right to be; my mood still sky high for no apparent reason. I wasn’t complaining. The morning was fresh with clear blue skies, it was going to be a good day.
Due to my two nights of sleep, I was way behind schedule to make it to John o’ Groats before work the following day, but I honestly didn’t care.
I’ll spend half a day under the sun sauntering towards Inverness, and then I’ll get a train home for an early night.
What followed was all too perfect. Nothing particularly noteworthy happened so it doesn’t make for the most exciting of stories, but it was true contentment in every sense of the word, something so rare. Flying down country lanes and through fields with both hands off the bars, listening to my favourite music. When people romanticise long summer days from their childhood. When they felt totally free and unburdened. It was that. There were moments I burst out laughing at nothing in particular. A soup of gratitude, happiness and awe.
This trip had a profound impact with the feelings it evoked in me. Usually that sense of bliss is so fleeting, a matter of seconds, before it slips through your fingers, replaced by some more base feeling like feeling hungry or that you have work tomorrow. Do you ever find yourself in a beautiful moment and all you can think about is why you don’t feel more? This trip wasn’t that. I’ve never been as present to the beauty of my surroundings and how I’m feeling as I was then.
The Badger Divide
First weekend of September
I can’t remember exactly how it came about but at some point James of Magic CC told me that he and a few others were doing the Badger Divide in September as part of an event called Scotduro. It was a 320km off-road route from Inverness to Glasgow across remote mountain passes and moorland.
Apart from my hike-a-bike through the Cairngorms in February, I had zero off-road experience. Still, sounded fun. I was in.
Fin, who I hadn’t seen since we stealth camped in Aviemore Youth Hostel toilets was coming up from Wales to join. Jack, who I’d been cycling with recently was also keen. We had our squad.
If anyone is interested in the technical side of what I packed and how I prepared, do let me know. But to sum up, Jack and I bought a bivvy bag each to sleep in and I stuck on the chunkiest tyres I could fit on my road bike (40mm, with about 2mm clearance). To save weight I was going to risk not bringing a sleeping bag and just wear merino wools inside the bivvy on my air mattress. No idea if that was a crazy move or not…
We got the train up to Inverness on the Friday night and went straight to the pub. Something about carb loading.
We weren’t hungover the next morning but we definitely weren’t spring chickens either. The scheduled start of the event was 8am from Inverness Castle, I think we rocked up about 20 past, long after everyone else - including Fin who had slept in his car the night before - had set off. Jack and I had to play catch up. Time to make use of those liquid carbs so dutifully consumed the night before…
We found the others on the trail high above Loch Ness and it became immediately apparent on the steeper and rockier sections how much I had no idea what I was doing. Watching Jack, Zoe, Maggie and Alice effortlessly glide over the rocks compared to me hitting each one with full force and no grace made it clear beyond any doubt that I had a lot to learn. I loved it though, it was the perfect level of challenge without fearing for my life, or collarbone.
We caught up to the main group at Fort Augustus, this was the final proper food stop before we headed into true wilderness. Everyone was understandably eating and buying as much food as they could. I thought it imperative to also fill one of my bottles with Buckfast - for morale reasons should I need it. An elderly Danish couple fresh off a tour bus watched me with bemusement as I decanted it. They asked what it was, I explained it was a local delicacy and offered them a taste. They gave it one sniff and immediately refused.
Onwards then into the wild and the unknown.
The route took us up and over the Corrieyairack Pass along an 18th century military road. The wind and grey skies lent a bleak atmosphere to the place, but I liked that. An abandoned weather station at the top of the pass served as brief respite to don my gloves and swig some Buckfast. I could see the trail winding down the far side of the pass, heading nowhere really, into endless moorland. That’s where we were going. I remember noticing a soft orange hue to the heather all around, autumn had arrived.
Most of the group split up as we ventured ever deeper into hills. It was just me, Fin and Jack. As the light began to fade we passed through a nameless valley with nothing man-made in sight save for the trail we were on. The loch that ran the length of the valley flanked by hills with exposed rock on either side was a thing of beauty. The water was calm, gently lapping across the sand that surrounded it. A single old tree on the bank keeping watch over the nothingness. I’d love to return there sometime, wherever it was.
It was around midnight when we reached Corrour (the station from Trainspotting). My food was dangerously low and unless I was going to subsist on Buckfast across the Rannoch Moor, I needed to scavenge at least something from the small hotel on the platform, an oasis on the moor. Chapping on the front door I could see them cashing up and closing down inside.
Hey, do you have any food I could buy quickly? Literally anything would be amazing.
I hoped my worn appearance would do most of the talking and they’d take pity on me. Although I feared this sort of thing happens all the time in these parts and they were probably sick to death of it.
They said I could buy some mustard crisps and Mars Bars. I spotted some lovely looking brownie loaf type thing under a glass lid on the counter. My stomach ached for something more substantial than snacks.
Could I have some of that?
She said nothing for about three seconds and I knew that meant no. I told her to actually not worry about it.
Sorry… I just don’t want to have to clean a new knife.
I’d been in her position countless times through many years of hospitality and fully related - I was now the annoying customer chancing his luck past close. I was prepared to forgive and forget.
But wow those mustard crisps were terrible.
There were a few of us at Corrour, it gave us all a chance to share our stories about how the ride had gone so far. Fin left with another couple of people while I ate my meal fit for kings, Jack and I set off about 20 minutes later. We’d heard through the grapevine that there was an honesty box and the promise of some real food at Rannoch Station, maybe an hour or two away.
Within seconds of leaving the station we were launched immediately back into utter darkness. The moon gave the moor a faint, silky glow.
I’m not sure if I’ve ever been anywhere that felt so remote. The darkness all around was imposing, it wasn’t just that I couldn’t see anything, it’s that there was nothing. I could sense the vastness of space in every direction, all I had was the mud and rocks below me.
Suddenly our lights illuminated two figures on the floor at the side of the trail, it was James and Zoe. Plagued by knee issues, they’d decided to bivvy for the night.
It was surreal to bump into people like this. Just the four of us in the void, chatting away as if we were at the pub. Lightheartedness and laughter spilled out across the desolate moorland, pushing back against the cold, dark and wind.
Jack and I reached Rannoch Station around 2am. It must’ve been the only building for miles around; it was at least the only lights we’d seen, standing out against the nothing. We hunkered down under a sort of rain shelter and were asleep fairly fast. I stirred one or two times from a fresh breeze blowing over me but I didn’t mind, it felt nice.
Four hours later, after eating our honest share from the honesty box, we left the Rannoch Moor at last as the sun slowly came up. I will never tire of cycling into a sunrise. It feels like you still have everything before you, like the first days of summer when you were young. I’ve wondered if it’ll still give me that feeling when I’m old.
I was beginning to get the hang of navigating off road, finding the right line and not tensing so much as to feel every boulder through my joints. This style of riding was far more mentally taxing, you couldn’t switch off for a moment. On the road it’s easier to let your mind wander, but here, you had to focus with every pedal stroke. I would lapse into a meditative flow state every now and again, more so as I got increasingly comfortable.
We reached Killin around midday, the first town since Fort Augustus about 24 hours previously. Jack and I raided a cafe for as much food as humanly possible and drank vast amounts of tea while we took stock of our situation, we were going to need it.
Rain. A lot of it. Scheduled to start at any second, the wind decided we’d also had it too easy — it was going to be a headwind the entire way back. As the first drizzle started, I wondered if I could maybe just drink endless tea in this cafe forever. Why couldn’t this just be my life? I’d be okay with that, maybe old people have it all figured out.
We checked the group chat; James, Zoe, and their knees had bailed earlier in the day. Fin was not far behind us, he’d also slept at Rannoch Station but we’d somehow completely missed him in the darkness. A few others were just leaving Corrour after deciding to sleep there for the night. Everyone else was radio silence.
I felt bad for those behind us. It was going to be wet.
Leaving Killin, we had an immediate hike-a-bike section up through thorn bushes and patches of forest. The drizzle, which had turned to rain then grew fiercer as we slumped back onto our bikes to roll down into the next valley. I’m not exaggerating when I say I was immediately soaked through, the trail had completely transformed into a river in the blink of an eye.
We crossed paths with another rider taking part in the event, the conditions didn’t lend themselves well to remembering names or exchanging small talk. He said he was quitting at Callander. We’d stick together till then.
My main memory here is the rain washing the sweat off my skin straight into my eyes, we were already squinting and grimacing against the headwind but now I could barely see. Honestly, we needed swimming goggles.
We didn’t chat much but we were in fine enough spirits, it was hard to talk anyway in these conditions. We just had to push through and fast to stay warm.
Suddenly all three of our phones cried out with the national emergency tone.
Great, nuclear armageddon is the last thing I need right now.
Never mind, just a test.
We said farewell to our nameless rain companion outside Callander and decided to squelch into another cafe for some morale before the final push home. Both of us ordered a pot of tea and a half pint, puddles forming around our table as water sloshed off our clothes and shoes with every movement. I held my wet gloves under the toilet hand drier for as long as I could, they stayed sodden, but warm now at least.
Another check of the group chat: The gang who left Corrour earlier had quit as well as one or two others at various points. Nothing from Fin. Were we the only two stupid enough to carry on? We weren’t too far from home now, we could do this.
Back out in the heavy rain was not nice. It just wasn’t letting up at all. Thank God I had half a pint in me.
We followed the length of Loch Venachar and then up and over the hills above Aberfoyle. At least the grinding ascents kept us warm. My hands were completely pruned and shrivelled.
Outside Aberfoyle Co-op we were greeted by a familiar face, Fin rolled in just behind us accompanied by Max who we’d spoken to briefly at the pub on the Friday. It seemed like only us four had made it this far, only we knew what we’d all gone through, it felt good to share it. We were all absolutely filthy but happy to be in the home stretch now.
The rain from Aberfoyle to Glasgow was unlike anything I’ve ever cycled in.
I didn’t think it was possible to get heavier but it did, and then even more so. Water was cascading down my helmet all over my face, the trails and roads were all submerged to varying degrees. We were being attacked from all angles, nothing was left dry.
The light faded but the rain kept up its onslaught. We were having to shout to communicate over the lashing rain.
The glow of Glasgow grew ever nearer and it wasn’t long before we were rolling towards The Belle on Great Western Road for a victory Guinness. Everyone was warm, cosy and dry inside, in stark contrast to us stomping through the door covered in mud and traipsing in all the rain water we’d collected from here to Killin.
I spotted someone I knew at the bar.
Chris! How’re you doing, what have you been up to?
I’ve just cycled here from Inverness. …I need a pint.
Sometimes you can find yourself going through life without feeling much. Modern living shelters you so well from the good and the bad; it keeps your range of emotions and experiences within safe parameters. Adventures like these let you feel everything more deeply: friendship, your hands round a hot cup of tea, blistering winds, a soft breeze across your face, sleep washing slowly over you, the cold and wet, the warm glow from a pint, laughter, feeling your heart in your chest, taking in the mountains and the sky, watching the sun rise then set, the moon keeping you company at night.
It’s all real.