Hike-a-bike through the Cairngorms

Paying for the stunning views with a decent dose of Type 2 Fun

Watch in 4k for a proper icy experience.

What followed, and where I stopped filming was the point where we decided to take a shorter route back to Aviemore.

We were fairly exposed at over 800m elevation, if the weather turned or one of us got injured we would’ve been in a precarious position. So we decided to descend back below the snow line and play it safe.

My footwear was completely unsuitable for the route we took back, far too steep and technical to be in flats with no traction. Now add to that having to carry a mountain bike, it was slow and exhausting. At least I can say I’m now highly practiced in the art of self-arresting with bike handlebars. Some steep sections had me throw the bike ahead to use as an anchor. With one hand on the frame I could reach for the next clump of rocks and haul the bike back towards me.

Darkness quickly fell and the path was still completely frozen over even at lower elevations. ‘I propose we bog stomp it’ Fin said. We could cut some distance if we made a beeline straight for the main trail on the far side of the bog.

At first it seemed like a good shout. Pace was much faster over the firmer, half-frozen ground. But it quickly grew far worse than the terrain we’d just escaped from.

Shin high heather became chest high. Small puddles became knee deep rivers. The gradient steepened again, up and down. It started to rain in a way that was almost too obvious, if it had been a movie it would’ve been cheesy with the way it reflected our sorry state.

‘How’re you doing?’ Fin asked. ‘Tip top’ I said.

So not tip top.

After what felt like an age, we were only a kilometre away from the cycleable main trail. Sounds like nothing but we must’ve been hitting under 1k an hour. It really was slow going lugging a bike and your own legs up and over the heather while avoiding half meter drops into small streams obscured by the long grass. It’s funny how when all other options are removed, you can just keep going. It’s not like we could have stopped and had a seat for a bit, we were soaked and would’ve became instantly hypothermic. No choice but to push on.

Upon finally rejoining the trail, we shared a hi-five. ‘That was…something’ was all I could say. It felt good to be back on terra firma.

The rest of the way back to Aviemore was all cycleable from this point. Getting back on the bike felt luxurious. A comfy seat! What had been a burden for the past 7 hours was now our ticket out of here.

The downhill gravel path out of the national park was great fun, it felt so good to be doing more than 1kmph. The stretch from Glenmore Lodge back to Aviemore was fast but the biting winds instantly froze our extremities. We just wanted food and sleep now.

First port of call was the Indian restaurant. Wet, muddy and covered in heather we got a table for two. I could feel my fingers again. Peshwari naan doing God’s work.

Our plan was to crash with a friend of Fin’s who lived nearby. Feeling totally spent we trundled from the curry house to his address at around 11pm, we’d both mentally clocked off at this point knowing that sleep was minutes away.

It was here that our misfortune gave us one last parting gift before the day was out. Fin was told there would be a key in a lockbox for us since no one would be in. There was no key. We used our bike lights to search around the front garden, maybe it was hidden somewhere. It wasn’t, we were stuck. ‘Okay, what are our options?’ Fin asked, the tiredness obvious in his voice. Neither of us said anything in response. The cold was all too evident now that we’d stopped moving.

I called a few hotels, expensive and fully booked.

What followed wasn’t my proudest attempt at sleep, we snuck back into the hostel we’d stayed the night before. Split between one of the toilets and a far corner of the common room we managed to stay out of sight for what was a pathetic attempt at sleep until the first Megabus back to Glasgow at 6:55am. I think I managed a grand total of 3 x 20 minute naps. At least we weren’t outside in -2°C.

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I promise I also have nice days out. But the good stories tend to be the ones that go wrong or otherwise push you to your limits. Adventures like this seem to transcend fun, they leave a mark on you that’s hard to explain. I tend to remember them fondly.

True Type 2 Fun.