Hub Velo Adventures - North Coast500 — HUB VELO CYCLING CLUB

Jamie Birkett, a Hub Velo member recounts his adventure completing the North Coast 500 with a great friend. A truly scenic and beautiful adventure….

It all started with a Whatsapp message. Mid-way through April 2021, just as we were beginning to emerge from the grim winter lockdown, Harry, a university friend who’d relocated to Glasgow a couple of years earlier, got in touch to ask if I’d join him to ride the North Coast 500, a route that works its way clockwise around Scotland’s dramatic fringes, starting and finishing at Inverness Castle.

It sounded like the perfect antidote to our enforced isolation: 8 days of cycling in the far north of Scotland, away from work responsibilities, Covid anxiety and the crowded streets of London.

I didn’t hesitate to say yes. Barely a month and a half later I was standing in Euston station, brand-new Restrap bags attached to my Hub Velo-serviced Cannondale, awaiting the train to Glasgow from where the three of us (Harry, myself and a friend of his, Ben) would pack our bikes into a van and drive north to set out from Inverness.

Of course we weren’t the first to attempt the challenge. A quick search of the internet had turned up a GCN video (of course there was a GCN video) in which presenter Simon Richardson joined celebrated endurance cyclist and former NC500 record holder Mark Beaumont to ride the route in a leg-busting three days. The short film barely did the route justice, but it whetted our appetites, and gave us some sense of the amount of climbing involved: several days of short, sharp climbs up and down the West coast, along with the fearsome Bealach na Ba pass (average gradient 7.2%) on Day 2.

Following in Beaumont’s tracks, we chose his slightly amended version of the traditional NC500 route, which opts for quieter roads inland through the wild moors of Sutherland – several of them no more than barely tarmacked single track.

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Starting out from Inverness Castle, the first day took us inland along the shores of the Beauly Firth on easy rolling roads as we worked our way from Inverness to the beautiful West coast. We had planned for around 100km of cycling per day, so were able to keep the pace fairly leisurely as we got used to riding fully laden. Each of us had a front roll with a dry bag for our sleeping gear (mat, sleeping bag and bivvy bag), along with a frame pack for tools, food and toiletries, with the bulk of our clothing, waterproofs and footwear in our 8-litre seat packs. Amazingly, with the benefit of Restrap’s nifty holster system, these seat packs barely moved around at all, even when climbing.

We’d booked a B&B on the shores of Loch Carron for our first night’s stay, ahead of a big day’s climbing up the Bealach na Ba the next day. A very brief dip in the loch – all we could manage considering how cold it was – refreshed the legs better than any ice bath could have done. Dinner was a huge portion of fish and chips at the local pub.

The next day, after a large Scottish breakfast and porridge, we started out of Loch Carron, where the road ramps up steeply towards the Applecross Peninsula. Was this the pass already, we wondered? But no, that was still to come. Rounding the corner of the loch where a huge oil platform was parked in the bay, we saw what looked like an alpine road, complete with switchbacks, rising up above us.

We’d been warned that the Bealach na Ba was a single track with a steep drop on one side and only occasional passing places. Starting the steep climb upwards we quickly realised what this meant in practice: every time one of the many camper vans, motorcyclists or Porsches hired by tourists to trace the NC500 route came down the road towards us we had to swerve into one of the tiny laybys to let them pass, or hope that they would do the same. After a while we realised that this completely killed our momentum, so we pushed on regardless, in the hope that they would give us climbers the right of the way.

The Bealach na Ba is one of those climbs where you look down and wonder whether you have any more gears left to access, only to have your hopes immediately dashed. There was no respite here. Having tackled the toughest stretch, I had time to look down and snap a quick photo, shouting a few words of support to Harry who was working his way up a section behind me. I was struck by the awesome scale of the valley extending away below.

Reaching the top, I was greeted by the sight of two balding men in their 60s, grinning from ear to ear behind the wheel of their classic Jaguars. As they began to descend the pass I wondered whether their brakes were in good order.

Having taken in the views of Skye from the top of the pass, and a pit-stop in the lovely village of Applecross, we spent the rest of the day tracking the coast along the peninsula, with dramatic coastline on one side and rugged peaks on the other. Heading inland through the midge-infested glen of Torridon, we found our first camping spot of the trip, on the banks of Loch Maree, near Kinlochewe. This gave us a chance to test our bivvy bags, fire up the stove for our camp meals and acquire a few ticks. I pulled one out of my ankle two days later.

After a decent sleep Day 3 started out easily enough, rolling along the shores of Loch Maree. But the previous day’s climb had taken its toll on the group. Ben had been suffering from a knee injury aggravated by the ascent of the pass, and he took the difficult but understandable decision to abandon the trip. From here on it would be just the two of us.

Later that morning, we passed through Gairloch, where we met a group of older cyclists grumbling about the lack of breakfast options. It turned out they had been stopping for good long lunches most days, but these became far trickier to acquire the further north you went. It was a case of stop and eat when you can. Gairloch offered nothing but a tiny village shop so we grabbed an instant coffee and some fruit (essential given our diet had mostly consisted of chips up until that point) and headed on our way.

After some fairly tough climbing we were rewarded with stunning views of Little Loch Broom and then Loch Broom itself, before dropping into Ullapool, a lovely fishing town and the gateway for kayakers, walkers and cyclists visiting the Highlands and for ferries to the Hebrides. Ullapool’s youth hostel has some of the best views going: our room looked straight out on to the loch, where fishing boats were bobbing in the bay. That night we feasted on langoustines and fish soup at the Seafood Shack – not to be missed!

Day 4, from Ullapool to Scourie, brought some of the most enjoyable cycling of the trip, despite the fact that it involved almost as much cumulative climbing as the ascent of the pass on Day 2. The GCN route takes you on an inland diversion, tracking the coast by mountain streams, through wooded valleys and beside coves that sparkled in the rare Scottish sunshine (we were hugely fortunate with the weather throughout the entire trip). This section, taking in Inverkraig and Lochinver (home to an excellent pie van) was stunningly beautiful. The positive mood was only boosted further when we bumped into two fellow cyclists: a couple who had recognised my Hub Velo bidons. Chatting to them as we rode through this wild part of Scotland, hundreds of miles from London, it turned out that they lived near Victoria Park in Hackney and had been meaning to join the club for some time (they later did). Continuing the social theme, we fell in with a group of cycling Bristol medics we’d been leapfrogging for a few days. We all swam in the frigid turquoise waters of Clashnessie Bay, before camping that evening at Scourie. After an incredible day on the bike, we watched the sun go down over the VW campers and tents as seabirds flew overhead.

Turning inland from Scourie the following morning (Day 5) meant rounding the corner to begin heading across the northern edge of Scotland in the direction of the East coast. This is where the terrain begins to change, from undulating coastal sections to the windswept moorland and steep cliffs of Sutherland. This was the most North-Westerly point of our trip, and we stopped for the famous hot chocolate at the touristy Durness, taking in the views of Cape Wrath (which the Ministry of Defence uses as a bombing range) from nearby Balnakeil Bay. The wind we’d been fighting all morning was being put to good use by kitesurfers.

Despite being by no means the toughest day on paper, there was something about the sapping winds and change from the attractive, almost Mediterranean coastline around Lochinver to the steep Cornish-style cliffs that made this leg more mentally and physically challenging. Or perhaps it was just that more than 300km of cumulative cycling were beginning to take their toll and mental fatigue was setting in. The two of us rode at our own pace that day and rolled in separately to Tongue that evening, where we ate our way through a carb combo of curry, chips and naan.

Day 6, from Strathtongue to Lairg, was where our GCN route deviated from the more traditional NC500, which tracks further east towards Thurso and John-o-Groats. Despite missing out on the photo opportunity at John-O-Groats, the 150km ride on Day 6 brought us the biggest challenge and the largest payoff of the trip.

After the tiny town of Melvich, Beaumont’s route turns a corner to head south away from the coast and into the vast nature reserve at Forsinard, situated on a bleak, windswept moor. This is one of those places so remote that the hairs stand up on the back of your neck. What would happen if we had a serious mechanical up here? Would one of the local gamekeepers give us a hand? We were slightly reassured by the sight of a train station at Fonsinard with a line all the way back to Inverness – we hoped we wouldn’t need it.

Dropping down from Fonsinard on the timber road with only the occasional logging lorry for company, we left the motorbikes, camper vans and cars of the main NC500 route fully behind. Our reward – and Beaumont’s coup – was the solitary beauty of it all. Descending from the nature reserve we tracked the banks of the Helmsdale River, renowned for its highly exclusive salmon fishing.

Pushing on towards the East Coast we encountered some of the roughest roads of the whole trip: loose tarmac and gravel which I thought might shred my road tyres. Thankfully they held out and before we dropped into Brora we watched two golden eagles soaring through the valley we’d just climbed out of. A tough day, but more than fully rewarded by the sense of being fully immersed in the Scottish landscape. With the skies this far north still light until well beyond 10pm, we pushed on through the golden evening sunshine to wild camp at Lairg, on the banks of Loch Shin.

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The previous day’s highs were met with a comparative low the next morning. Having failed to restore most of the calories expended the day before, we were in dire need of food and had to stop in at possibly the worst hotel in Scotland for a greasy breakfast in a boiling hot dining room. We felt sorry for the staff marooned in this establishment, but we were glad of whatever we could get to eat.

Day 7 brought a cruisy day from Lairg to Evanton where we had a smart Airbnb – complete with rain shower – booked for the evening. We slept like babies and bought the Co-op’s entire supply of Soreen.

By this point we were within spitting distance of Inverness, but having deviated to the GCN route and skipped out the top corner of Scotland we had a few more miles to go to complete the full 500. Luckily, Beaumont had devised a cunning circuit of the Black Isle – a peninsula just north of Inverness – to round us off. Harry is a brewer by trade back in Glasgow, so he’d earmarked a couple of stops for refreshment on our final day. With a tailwind at our backs and a good night’s rest in us we sped along the shores of the Moray Firth towards the little village of Cromarty at its furthest tip. The Firth was crowded with oil platforms at its far end waiting to be towed out to the North Sea oil fields.

Enjoying the tailwind on the Black Isle, approaching Cromarty

Cromarty would be a lovely place to spend a few days – perched on the firth with little cobbled streets, ice cream shops and pretty fisherman’s houses. The nearby Cromarty Brewing Company does a mean IPA, even if you can’t drink them on site (we opted for a nearby field). We pushed on to Inverness to round off our trip.

Crossing the huge suspension bridge over the Inverness Firth, protected by a lane separating us from the two columns of speeding traffic, we felt a long way from the wild beauty of Fonsinard, the undulating scenery of Applecross, or the coves of Lochinver. But having negotiated downtown Inverness’s complicated web of car dealerships, discount stores and car parks, we arrived in the city centre and Inverness Castle, perched on its mound above the river and signalling the end of our journey.

We spotted a TV journalist and camera – word of our achievement must have spread? But no, it turned out that a veteran Scottish cyclist, Robbie Mitchell, had completed the route the night before in a mere 29 hours, five minutes and 42 seconds, beating the previous record and putting our leisurely 8 days in the shade. We chatted to another rider taking photos with his parents and headed into town for well-earned pizzas and beers at the Black Isle Brewery.

500 miles, 8 days of bikepacking and 4 nights of camping. As a fellow NC500 rider said, the challenge had been a ‘mental and physical purge’ after the long hard slog of lockdown. The gods had certainly been on our side: riding the route at the end of May we didn’t encounter a single drop of rain until we were safely stowed in the van driving home to Glasgow, eating as much chocolate as we could stuff in our faces. The notorious midges had been surprisingly absent too this early in the year. Reflecting on the journey at the end of our adventure, I realised we’d taken so much from the NC500: a chance to refresh an old friendship, an understanding of our own endurance, and a new love for this beautiful part of Scotland where the summer sun barely sets.

The end of our trip at Inverness Castle. Sadly the TV cameras weren’t there for us.

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