“BACKPACK ON, READY, GO!”
My hammock swayed solemnly in the breeze as the first of the morning’s light awoke the colour that had been dormant in the sky
This is a phrase I coined at the age of two that’s lived with me ever since. The spontaneous booking of a one-way flight to Madeira proved to be the start of my craziest adventure yet. My decision was based primarily on the increasingly cold and wet riding conditions in Scotland, combined with life in a van/refrigerator hybrid. Madeira, being far off the coast of North Africa, is one of the European territories least affected by the pandemic, and most affected by the sun, making it seem like the perfect destination. Questions like how I’d study for my Christmas university exams, where I’d sleep and how long I was going to stay for entered my mind but never stayed there long enough to deter me. Excitedly, I set off – with no plan whatsoever. LAVA DUST
Upon arrival in Madeira, I carried my large cardboard box to a quiet area where I could open it. Inside was a Pipedream Moxie hardtail, a hammock, a sleeping bag and a few other essentials – I was set for the next two months!
That night, a gust of wind off the mountaintop rocked my hammock gently and sent a chill down my spine. I opened one eye, then the other. Half asleep, I unzipped my mosquito net and peeped out in awe at the thousands of stars scattered across the black canvas of the sky. The deeper I gazed, the more of them appeared, and slowly the night revealed its secrets. Below me, the lights of civilisation glistened like faint reflections of the stars above.
The next morning, I rode down to Porto da Cruz, the most south-easterly part of the island. I could feel the thin, biting wind transforming into a dense, warm blanket, which wrapped itself around the island’s coast. The rapid change in climate was reflected on the trails, with the black soil that shaped the corners at the top soon morphing into hard volcanic rock. Every hit to the bike’s rear end sent a shockwave through the steel frame and into my bones.
At the bottom, I found a bench looking out over the vast ocean. Enclosed by mountains and the breath of the waves, I pulled out my iPad, solar chargers and notebook. It was time to settle down to some almost-forgotten-about uni work.
In the following days, I rode across the island, discovering its vast network of trails and walking paths. Among the memories of drifty downhill tracks,
sketchy chutes and flowy singletrack that entangle my mind, there’s one that sticks out – a trail carved into a narrow ravine carpeted with fresh black powder. It felt incredible to ride. My tyres would sink into a cushion of dirt and then re-emerge spinning lightly in transition before pushing into the next corner. The soil’s dark colour seemed to balance its light texture to perfection. It was magnificent.
FAMILIAR FACES
After three weeks exploring enchanting landscapes, hiding from cyclones in coastal caves and using the Atlantic Ocean as my bathtub, I was joined by three friends who, with little persuasion, had decided to visit me on this beautiful island. We rented an Airbnb in Estreito da Calheta, not far from some of the island’s best trails. After days of solitude, the familiar faces were welcome, as was the luxury accommodation.
Many adventures were had as we explored the rich diversity that Madeira has to offer. Especially memorable was a morning spent above the clouds on Pico do Arieiro (1,818m) – the golden sun made the early start worth it a hundred times over! During our time in Estreito, we rode up roads that seemed to point skywards. After three hours of climbing, we’d drop down heather-lined mountainsides into eucalyptus forests filled with fresh and flowy corners. We went swimming in the warming sea, and in pools under freezing waterfalls, where we found ourselves submerged in a surprisingly peaceful commotion of unmatchable power.
Shared memories like these darted across my mind as our time together came to an end and I drove my friends back to the airport, in a van kindly lent to us by local guiding company Bikulture. As I hooted my goodbye, I turned my music up to an antisocial volume and let ideas of adventure flood my mind.
MISTY MOUNTAIN HOP
My hammock swayed solemnly in the breeze as the first of the morning’s light awoke the colour that been dormant in the sky. Below me, magenta slowly waltzed across the ocean to the steady beat of the swell rolling against the volcanic shoreline. Today I was to take my last exam of the semester. There were no chairs, but I had a majestic wall, overlooking a distracting view, on which to place my iPad. I set up a mobile hotspot, clicked ‘start’ and began answering the questions, my eyes straining in the sun as I reached for my calculator, and the rough working surface making my notes resemble a pile of spaghetti.
With my uni work finished, I no longer had to worry about having enough mobile data, listening to crackly lectures or keeping my notes dry. It was time to head as far into the mountains as I could. After riding 1,200m up to the top plateau, I descended hundreds of stairs into a valley still stuck in a time before human colonisation. I rode down impossibly technical paths, through tunnels of trees dripping with lichen, and along trails trapped between towers of rock and daunting drops. In one place I had to carry my Pipedream through a gushing waterfall, leaning towards the cliff as I balanced on a paper-thin ledge, while dangling my bike above a frightening drop, which stole any water that missed my head.
I was hoping I’d be able to climb out the other side of the valley to reach the north-west of the island, but as the path got narrower and sketchier, this began to look ever more doubtful, and I started to consider turning around. The thought of carrying my bike back up hundreds of metres of stairs interspersed with steep rock gardens wasn’t an appetising one, so I pushed on. Eventually, the trail stopped at an impassable river. Maybe I’d come too far and missed a turning, or maybe the path was no longer in use, I wasn’t sure. But it was almost dark, so I found a flat spot on the rocky ground and
dropped my bag. Too tired to set up the hammock, I pulled out my sleeping bag, still wet from the waterfall crossing, and curled up in a soggy heap.
CLIFFHANGER
Waking up cold and stiff after a restless night, I started back the way I’d come, scouring the verge for some semblance of a path. Finally, there it was! A thin trail pointing directly up the sheer mountainside. With my Pipedream on my back, I began to hike, knowing there was still a chance I’d have to turn around. I found myself balancing my bike on rock ledges and then hoisting it up from above, and climbing precarious ladders, using one hand to stabilise myself while keeping the other wrapped tightly around the frame.
Eventually, the mountain started to flatten out. I was approaching Fanal, a place where the natural seemed to transform itself into the supernatural. Laurel forest, 20 million years old, covered the hillside. Each tree, shaped by the prevailing wind, hosted dense ecosystems of ferns, lichens and liverworts. My final descent saw me swooping through this ancient forest, tyres cushioned by its sacred loam. The trail then dropped into an old riverbed, where rocks waited to catch me off-guard while the weight of my handlebar bag pulled me down into awkward-shaped hollows. More than 1,000 metres of descent left my hands tingling and my arms pumped. I was ready to fill my lungs with warm coastal air and relax on the beautiful black sand beach of Seixal.
In my seven weeks on Madeira, I explored wild and diverse landscapes, met some of the most friendly and helpful people, slept in all kinds of different places – from the tops of mountains to the streets of Funchal – and found a trail to adventure, in the midst of uncertainty and restriction. Hopefully my story may inspire you to do the same. If that’s the case, then why hang around? “Backpack on, ready, go!”
My final descent saw me swooping through this ancient forest, tyres cushioned by its sacred loam