THE COFFIN ROAD
It’s day three and the sight of Loch Broom fills me with joy. I’ve cycled from east to west across Scotland, through headwinds and deep bogs, up mountain passes and down trackless descents, already pushing myself physically and mentally harder than I knew I could. But while I sit enjoying a pint, unbeknown to me a beast lies in wait at the end of the loch. A beast that’s known to anyone who’s raced the Highland Trail 550 [a 550-mile bikepacking race] as the Coffin Road. It could be the beer, or maybe the ice cream I just received with a friendly “Welcome to the Highlands!” but my spirits are high leaving Ullapool that evening. A few more kilometres and I’ll make camp for the night, I think. But moments later my mood plummets when I turn off the road and realise I’m faced with the steepest climb so far. In the words of Highland 550 record holder Lee Craigie: “I was off and pushing from the first gate. Push a wheel length, brakes on, step one, step two, push a wheel length… I inched straight up the near-vertical hillside at a torturously slow speed.”
I begin my ascent in similar style and, as I do, the clouds thicken, the wind howls and the stormy night sky suddenly makes me feel frightfully alone. The push, brake, push rhythm continues for what feels like hours, punctuated by me slumping to the ground with my bike, all energy gone and debating just curling up to sleep right there in the mud. Eventually I reach the high point, but searching for a suitable spot to camp on a plateau of rock and bog is a cruel task. I finally find sanctuary on a rock, and crash out for a wet and windy night under canvas.
The next day I saddle up wearily and go to check my route for the day, but there’s no GPS on my handlebar. I look around for a few minutes but it’s nowhere to be seen. Too exhausted to care, I don my waterproofs and push on regardless. Five days in, one GPS broken and another lost, we’re off to a good start, I’d say!