Tag: bike trails

Scotland, Feb ’22: Mountain biking at Nevis Range, Fort William

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Friday 11 February

Following the previous day’s disappointment at ruling out climbing due to the avalanche forecast, and subsequent later night than planned, we didn’t rush to get up. Our plan was to leave the van in Ben Nevis’s North Face car park and ride through Leanachan forest to the Nevis Range centre to ride its renowned mountain bike trails. We hoicked the bikes off the back and set off east along a wide gravel trail through the forest.

Nevis Range ski and bike centre was more substantial than we imagined, with a large car park, café, several bike trails and a big Gondola lift up to Aonach Mor. We started in the little skills area with a few laps of the mini runs, then rode up the hill to the start of the trails. The way up started on a wide gravel track, then branched into a twisty dirt singletrack that took us on a sustained climb through the forest to reach the top of the blue (intermediate) Voodoo and Blue Adder trails and the red (difficult) Top Chief’s Wild Goat trails.

Morning – Voodoo, Blue Adder, Blue Uphill, Wild Goat

We did the Voodoo first, a really fun, flowy, open trail with sweeping berms and some quick sections. At the bottom we headed back up via the Blue Uphill Access trail, another slightly technical blue route just off the gravel track that made the way up a bit more fun. We passed the Voodoo and started down the Blue Adder, just a little way on. This was a fast, technical, twisty trail with boarded berms and tight little turns between tall pines. The bottom bit was flowy and particularly fun, and we shot out of the woods back at the Nevis Range centre.

We slogged up the hill once again (and, as Ryan insisted, for the last time) and headed down the red Wild Goat trail. This was really, really fun, with technical rocky and rooty sections, fast, sweeping berms and a BMX-type 4X jump track. Despite its relatively short length, this was my favourite trail of the day.

Wild Goat ended back at the café, so we nipped in for lunch. It was a modern, cosy, cabin-like, MTB/ski-themed place, with stunning mountain art, a wall full of mounted skis and an expensive-looking full sus bike hanging from the high ceiling. As we sat, thawed and snacked, we decided to book a cheap room for the night in Fort William so we could have a shower and a holiday treat – dinner out, albeit in Wetherspoons.

Afternoon – World Champs, Broomstick Blue

Warmed, fed and looking forward to an evening out, we left the café slightly reluctantly and headed up the hill the other way to the World Champs red trail, a long route that starts quite high up. We pedalled through the forest, only going the wrong way once, and emerged onto a track above the trees which afforded stunning views over the vast, rolling, snow-capped mountains around Ben Nevis. We reached the trail after a substantial climb, which was worth it for the views alone.

It was a long, fast, varied singletrack route created for the 2007 XC mountain bike world championships with avoidable drop offs, quick corners and technical rocky sections, which my poor old hardtail clunked and bucked over. I actually found the rocks and roots quite annoying as it would otherwise have been a nice flowy trail, but that’ll teach me (it won’t) for refusing to buy a full sus. The first half of the trail was above the forest and it felt more exciting than the second half through the trees, but it was all great fun and we popped out on the track that heads back to the North Face car park.

We branched off onto the Broomstick Blue trail, a singletrack blue that runs parallel to the gravel track back to the car park. It was fairly flat but flowy and quite fun, with a few long boardwalk sections, some little climbs and the occasional technical rocky/rooty bit. I was keen to keep riding and try some more trails but Ryan vetoed, citing the pull of Fort William and the pub, so back at the van we loaded the bikes and headed into town.

Fort William

We parked in the central car park and walked the short distance to Bank Street Lodge, the cheap and cheerful hotel we’d booked on a whim. It turned out I’d actually stayed there previously when I did the Three Peaks Challenge, but it’s since been converted from a hostel into a small, basic hotel. We showered, I washed my hair (a strenuous task) and we headed out along the surprisingly quiet for a Friday, cobbled high street for a cheap meal at the familiar Wetherspoons and a drink in the cosy Tavern bar. We disagreed about whether we should stay out (I was team “out out”, Ryan was not) but decided not to, so we went back to the hotel for a strange night’s sleep in an actual bed.

Snowdonia, Sep ’21: Mountain Biking the Marin Trail

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Sunday 19th September

Betws-y-Coed

Being a Sunday and having no urgent plans for the day, we lay in until about 9am, had breakfast in the van in Betws-y Coed, then cycled into the town for a potter around before heading out on the Marin Trail.

Betsy (sorry locals, that’s probably a gross abomination of the name – it’s really pronounced bettus-ee-coyd) is one of my favourite towns. It’s a small place with attractive, straight-sided buildings of slate-grey stone that sits nestled in the Conwy Valley, whose high banks covered in swathes of dark green forest on every side of the town give it a self-contained feel, as if the outside world doesn’t exist. The A5 runs along the main street, which is lined on one side by hotels, bar/restaurants, outdoor shops and a couple of little convenience stores, and on the other by a large, central recreation ground and the wide, clear Afon Llugwy River. Mature broadleaf trees flourish everywhere – it’s probably the greenest town I know. An old-fashioned train station runs along the bottom end of the recreation ground, with a picture-postcard platform on the far side and a variety of small shops and cafes on the other, facing the small town car park that backs onto the rec. Almost always bustling, it really is a lovely place.

We bought an OS map from the Cotswold shop in the middle of town as we wanted to use the mobile app to navigate the Marin Trail (our previous maps were too old to have a scratch code). The shop had the most extensive collection of outdoor literature I’ve ever seen, and it’s a wonder we managed to leave without bankrupting ourselves. Pleasantly surprised by the sunny weather, we had a late morning drink in the garden of the Y Stablau bar next door and pored over the map.

The Marin Trail

We left the bar around 1pm, crossed the beautiful stone Pont-y-Pair bridge over the rocky Afon Llugwy and cycled a good couple of miles along the narrow road that ran parallel to the river, away from the town and up – quite steeply in places, and a sustained climb throughout – through lush, green forest towards the trail.

The mountain biking route – now called Gwydir Mawr a Bach – is described as a “must-do” classic red trail for “any serious mountain biker”. It’s a varied 15-mile loop through Gwydir Forest Park which is very well marked by about 75 wooden posts – there was no need for us to buy the map or use the OS app. We joined at post 51 as we decided it would be easier to start from Betsy, rather than taking the van to the “official” start car park.

The first section was through forest along undulating singletrack and involved some fun, technical, twisty bits and some frustrating get-off-and-push steep rocky-rooty uphill bits. My gears weren’t behaving at first and my poor old brakes were soft to say the least, but my otherwise dependable 13-year old Specialized Rockhopper took every bump and jolt in its stride.

Gwydir was such a lovely place to ride. Hundreds of varieties of mature broadleaf and evergreen tree made the forest overwhelmingly green, and when we paused to take it all in the quietly chirping, buzzing white noise betrayed the unseen abundance of wildlife. Sometimes a wider forest track would emerge onto views over thickly wooded valleys under an un-forecast clear blue sky, and once we found ourselves at the tip of a long, narrow lake, Llyn Parc, whose glassy surface reflected yet more thriving vegetation. We pedalled on blissfully, feeling like the only people on a timeless Earth.

The real downhill riding started a few miles in at about post 70. We were cycling side-by-side along a mixed-use gravel track when the forest broke in front of us and the landscape opened out to reveal a long stretch of hazy blue mountains on the horizon, behind several layers of thick forest in shades of green that ranged from Granny Smith to near-black. It was lovely and so still, but the tranquillity was quite literally shaken off when we took a sharp right turn off the path down a steep, narrow singletrack. Suddenly quick downhill riding was made technically challenging by awkward rocks, routes, twists and berms, which threatened to throw us into trees and down sheer banks at any second. It was terribly fun.

This went on for quite a while, and by the time it levelled out my brakes were close to non-existent and my hands, which had been gripping the bars for dear life, felt like I’d been riding a pneumatic drill. We were thrilled. The next bit was a long, gentle climb along another wide forest track surrounded by thick vegetation noisy with birdsong, which allowed us to recover, followed by some singletrack across a more open, heathy bit of forest with stunning, clear views of the blueish mountains ahead.

Another rooty, rocky bit of singletrack took us back down into thick forest, and from there the way back to where we’d started was a mix of sociable forest track, the odd technical section and some awkward, rocky uphill switchbacks, which necessitated the get-off-and-push approach a couple of times. The afternoon sun cast a dream-like, glowing light over the leafy tops of the trees in the valley below and all around us, and after a final unexpected flowy, bermy  section, we found ourselves back where we’d started at post 51, about 4pm.

The ride back to Betsy along the road we’d come up was lovely as it was long, smooth and downhill all the way. We slowed a couple of times for walkers but otherwise flew along, not bothering to pedal, appreciating the lovely valley on our right and feeling thoroughly immersed in the forest.

Evening

We crossed back over the bridge, locked our bikes up in the town and went into the Glan Aber hotel bar for a drink and a snack. We flopped into chairs in the back room by the pool table and guzzled down a cider, bag of crisps and a Snickers each, only just realising how hungry we were having eaten nothing all day except a poached egg on toast for breakfast. Enthralled by some weird racing programme on TV and pleasantly tired after a great afternoon absorbing the forest and concentrating hard on not ending up in A&E, we were reluctant to leave.

Refuelled, we went back to the van, left Betsy and drove a few miles north along the A470 to a petrol station near Llanrwst to pick up a steering lock I’d ordered (I’m like an over-protective parent). This drive gave us another lovely view of the forested valley from a different angle, and once again we seriously considered whether we really need our jobs down in southern England.

We planned to hike the Snowdon Horseshoe the next day as the weather looked good, so after picking up the steering lock and some snacks we drove back through Betsy and along the A5, which follows the Afon Llugwy through the picturesque, forested valley that eventually leads to Tryfan (see previous post about climbing that old chestnut). We turned left at Capel Curig onto the A4086, another attractive road that cuts between the high, wild peaks of Y Foel Goch and Moel Siabod, and stopped in a tucked-in layby set below the level of the road with stunning views towards Snowdon. Ryan cooked burgers while I did some van admin and watched as the sun set, bathing the heathy wilderness in golden light. Undulations cast long, dark shadows which accentuated the rugged ridges either side of the valley, and to the west the dramatic peaks of Y Lliwedd, Snowdon and Crib Goch were silhouettes softened by yellowish haze in front of the ebbing sun. It was one of the most beautiful evenings.

Mountain biking Glenlivet, Braemar village: Scotland Day 7, Sep ’20

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We spotted a poster in our overnight lay-by advertising a mountain bike trail on the nearby Glenlivet estate. The drive there was twisty but very picturesque, through seemingly endless rolling hills covered in green fields, brown heather and dark pine forest. We arrived quite early and had a bowl of soup and a bacon roll in the lovely log cabin café, which was surprisingly busy considering it was halfway up a hill in the middle of nowhere.

We set off on the trail and for a while, were a little underwhelmed. After a long, gradual climb up to “Gauger’s lookout” there was some nice, flowing singletrack along part of the blue trail through “Spooky wood”, then some flat pedalling along a gravel track to join the red trail. Then came a very long uphill section along the “Forest road”, which gave us a chance to admire the majestic pines, firs and spruces that towered above us, growing thickly on either side. It felt like we were newcomers to their ancient forest domain.

After what felt like a long time, we reached the top of the hill and the landscape opened out, spoiling us with views of rolling, sun-dappled moors, fields and rich green forests, with layers of hazy blue mountains in the distance. We stopped to run up to the viewpoint at the top of the hill, stare in awe at the vastness of everything around us, and get blown around by the wind.

The Cairngorms is a different kind of wilderness to the West Highlands, where we’d come from. Mountains roll lazily over and around each other in the distance, huge green fields hug hills where farmers have managed to tame patches of soil and brown, heather-covered moorlands stretch out to the edges of old forests where trees huddle secretively in huge, ancient communities. The rivers are wide and calm and the whole panorama gives the upland plateau a strange sense of three-dimensional enormousness, stretching both vertically and horizontally as if it was its own complete, self-contained world.

Once I had satisfied my poetic inclinations with these observations, we remounted the bikes and set off on the downhill section of the red route. Our dubiousness of the Glenlivet MTB evaporated in an instant. The next few miles were an incredible mix of very (and sometimes very, very) quick, smooth singletrack which started down the side of the open, heathery hill, then zigzagged through an immense forest, punctuated all the way by black graded features – drop-offs, jumps and steps. It was probably the longest continuous downhill section both of us has ever ridden, and we flew down it feeling high as kites.

We swapped bikes for a little bit at one point and I was reluctantly sold on the smoothness and handling ability of Ryan’s new full suspension Giant, in contrast with my 2008 hardtail, but to its credit the old Rockhopper handled everything the trail threw at it (apart from the biggest jumps and drops, which I was too chicken and probably too inexperienced to try). Having said this, the brakes were very weak following the harrowing Torridon loop that we’d completed a couple of days previously.

After what felt like a blissful age of zipping through the trees, the gradient finally levelled out and we rejoined the gravel forest road back towards the car park. I was buzzing so much from the descent that I don’t remember much of the ride back, apart from that the trees were lovely and the moorland was lovely and that if it weren’t for the gargantuan climb and the fact that we wanted to explore some other places, we’d do that downhill section again in a heartbeat.

The last noteworthy bit of the trail was back in the forest near the car park, where there’s a 1km orange section consisting of wide, smooth, flowing, huge jumps and berms, which I rolled along (admittedly quite quickly) wishing that I’d learnt how to jump before I got there. Then we were back at the cabin café, where we did a celebratory couple of laps of the little pump track before loading the bikes onto the van and leaving, a little reluctantly, for Braemar.

Braemar is a village in the middle of the Cairngorms National Park, about an hour south from the Glenlivet MTB centre. The drive was very picturesque, through the heart of the landscapes I described above (am I getting lazy?), and some of the hills were so long and steep that we had to stop a couple of times to let the van’s engine cool down, poor old thing. We drove past the Balmoral Estate where I was delighted to see my first red squirrel of the trip, then instantaneously distraught as it ran across the road and got hit by a car. It was very sad, but so quick that it wouldn’t have felt a thing. I, on the other hand, was mildly traumatised.

I’d been to Braemar a couple of times before and I wanted Ryan to see it. It’s a timeless, picture-postcard old village with some kind of royal history, nestled in the heart of the Cairngorm hills and just big enough to have a bustling atmosphere. It has a handful of independent shops, a couple of pubs and hotels, a castle, a castle ruin and a Highland games centre.

We parked in the central car park and went for a wander. We found a really interesting shop called McLean of Braemar full of traditional Scottish gifts and homeware-type bits, like antler-handled knives, drinking horns, celtic jewellery and all sorts of tartan and tweed. After a good poke around we decided that being mid-afternoon, it was time for the pub. We tried The Flying Stag but it was full, so we ended up in Farquharsons Bar and Kitchen, a lovely pub on the river right by the car park.

Covid restrictions meant that we had to sit down at a table and couldn’t end up chatting to locals at the bar, like we usually would. Nevertheless, the staff were very friendly, the cider was cold and the food was lovely. It was nice to be in a pub after a few days eating and drinking in the van, especially as lockdown had meant that we hadn’t had many pub-going opportunities all year.

We left the pub (reluctantly) and went off in search of a suitable overnight spot. We found an excellent, discrete place near a duck pond, just a few minutes out from the centre. It overlooked the village, which was tucked neatly in a bowl surrounded by high, heather-covered hills. We spent the evening relaxing with a few ciders, munching on van snacks and drunkenly expressing our appreciation of how lovely Scotland is. That night the sky was jet black and crystal clear, and the stars were breathtaking.