Day 3.. Bealach na Ba

 Bealach na Ba... only half the story really... but I'd better start at the beginning...

I woke up reasonably early... but faffed as you do, making sure I had enough kit for the weather... essentially my usual. baselayer and cycling jersey with my raincoat and cycle shorts with cargo shorts on top. Why cargo shorts you may ask... well they have lots of pockets and when Im in a foreign country I like to keep my keys, wallet and phone on me rather than in a bag. Scotland... though not really foreign is still a bloody long way from home... certainly not easily walkable and the habit continues.

I had read about Bealach na Ba (Pass of the Cattle) almost by accident, scouring the map for a good cycle route. The viewpoint on a twisty line on the map pointed to a serious climb and my love hate climbing relationship dictated that I do some more research.

Wikipedia informed me  that it was built in 1822 in the style of alpine passes with switchback and gradients approaching 20%.

It is also the steepest road in the UK rising  from sea level to 2054ft!

Of course.. me being me.. decided that this was the perfect day out and I mapped a route on RideWith GPS to upload to my garmin to follow. No thoughts entered my head of the difficulty I may face, only how cool it would be to stand at the top with my hands held high.

My bike was kitted out with a seatpack, with some food and my rainjacket and my tools and spare tubes. My rucksack had stuff to charge my mobile (just in case) and spare vatteries for my Garmin and my SPOT. I also carried bike lights and a head torch in case things went badly wrong. 

So I set off... a bit late perhaps in hindsight.. 10am and immediately once out of the village of Lochcarron, I hit my first climb... a little tester if you will. My legs were equal to the task and up we went, climbing slowly but gaining altitude quickly. Once at the top I had a lovely view of the mountains, as well as the dark clouds hanging over the top of them.

At some point along this stretch, I saw a cyclist stopped at the side of the road, bent down over one of his wheels. I stopped and asked if he was ok. Turns out a bungee had snapped on his bike and wound around his front disc brake... frankly he was lucky to be standing by the side of the road. He told me that he had started out on the North coast 500 ride with a friend but had injured his knee and had to turn back just 2 days into his ride. I offered my condolences, having tasted bitter disappointment before. I offered tools and assistance but he said he was ok, so I wished him a safe journey back and carried on up the hill. I felt bad for him having to abandon so soon into the ride but Im sure he will try again one day. 

The nice downhill into Ardarrock was ruined by a couple of cattle grids which splatter the roads, no doubt left by the cycling gods for a laff. I hit one a little too hard and my Ion camera popped off my handlebars, bounced and sat in the road. A car coming up behind narrowly missed it and with a sigh of relief, I retrieved it. Fortunately its pretty bomb proof. I was also surprised to see some deer quietly grazing ina field. 

The next bit was a flattish section of coastal road, winding round. The road surface wasn't bad here. Most of the roads are in fairly bad condition and single track with passing places. They amount to a bumpy ride with lots of jarring to my hands (more about that on day 4). So I enjoyed this stretch, getting my legs up to speed, giving them an inkling of what I have let them in for today.

The road wound inland until I arrived at the turnoff, marked by a sign to say that the road was impassable in wintery conditions...

I looked ahead at the mountain road stretching up... the bit I could see wound lazily up before disappearing from view... not too bad... and so I set off.

I had read somewhere that this was a road that many cyclists had to get off and push and certainly at the bottom I was determined to pedal the whole way. I was mostly unloaded, not many bags on my bike and it was the start of the day, so the legs felt good.

In the distance I heard laughter... but dismissed it.

So I went up and the first bit that I had viewed from the road did nothing to dampen my confidence. Legs turning the pedals easily, lungs coping with the effort. I stopped to let cars past... a feature of this pass out of necessity.

As it wound up, altitude was quickly gained and as the road wound round the hill, the gradient ramped up. Already down into my granny gears, the laughter I had heard before, started to echo round. The Cycling Gods were enjoying the spectacle. They obviously thought that the road was enough to test me as the dark cloud hovering above the pass kept hold of the rain and I staggered on up, ever so slowly and stopping often, but peddling up nonetheless.

The worst bit was when cars were right behind you and you felt like you had to go faster to the next passing layby.. but couldnt go any faster... it was quite comical.

Just as I thought it couldn't get any worse, of course it did... instead of winding nicely round, the road just went straight up and from there there was no let up. I don't know how long I had been grinding the gears for but I wasn't setting any strava records thats for sure. My legs were starting to feel like jelly and I could feel myself running out of energy. I stuffed down a breakfast bar and a pepperami then got back on for the final push.

The view was already staggering. You could see the road winding down and when I looked at the bits I had just come up, I thought, no wonder it hurt. It was only by looking back could you see how steep it was.

More time passed, more hops up each nasty section of gradient, it seemed like it was taking forever to see the top. And then I caught a glimpse of people standing at the top... it was about 4 or 5 bends to go....

The road had gone back to proper switchbacks and so it was the corbers that had the steepest gradient. I took a wide line to flatten out the curve and crawled up the last section.

Made it! And except for about 20 yards which I had to walk to get to a place where I could get my bile going uphill again, I had peddled it in its entirety.

The euphoria is difficult to describe... so much energy put in to what is really a small thing can overwhelm at the moment of topping out. It made me think about a message I had had from a friend about how we are  all in this together (virtual offas dyke walk going on at the moment - I am doing a multi activity version).

I often say how much the support I get for these CraZy things I do, helps keep the pedals turning. And it does, it really does. But at the same time, the effort expended, the hurt, the pain, the elation and euphoria belong to me alone, whether its just this climb, or a journey across a continent. And that is something to hold onto.

I stood at the top, legs screaming in pain, all energy expended and I turned to the downwards side. The dark clouds had come and it started to rain. I couldn't see far below me as the cloud had come in. The road was already slick. Decision time... Continue on... or turn back and go back down the way I came up!

Not much of a decision really... I descended into the clouds.. brakes squealing... wishing I had my mtb disc brakes at that moment as they perform better than rim brakes when its wet... hey ho. My hands were quickly. numb from the freezing cold rain and whilst I wanted to take a picture of this descent of epic proportions, I was too cold to reliably hold my phone and my hands were so cold, I knew I had to get down quick... out of the clouds amd to slightly warmer air. I shouted encouragement to the cyclists ascending from that side... 'not much further.. keep going, well done, almost there.' I hope it helped.

I plummeted through the clouds, hands firmly on the brakes, if I let go and went at full speed, I didn't think I'd be able to stop at the corners. I just hoped my brake pads would last. As I went down through hell, peals of laughter followed me... this was what the cycling gods do... allow me the elation of topping out but then reward me for that joy by heaping misery in swift retribution.

I came down out of the cloud, upright on my bike and soaked through.. pass done.. next up the rest of the 44 mile loop.

It wound round the coast in what I blithly assumed would be reasonably flat or at the most, undulating. The small village of Applecross at the bottom of the pass had a cafe and I had been dreaming of hot chocolate for about 10 minutes... cafe.. shut! Of course. Still onwards I went.

The coastal road was pretty and I had a good view of the Isle of Skye and some of the houses there were just perfect. The road itself started off well and then the climbs came, thick and fast. And the gradient seemed almost as bad as the pass. Ahead in the distance I could see a cyclist pushing up one of the steeper sections and assumed Id catch him soon. But he must have belted it on the downhill and the flatter bits because it took me ages to catch him. We stopped for a chat... I was pushing my bike as well now as that hill hurt and my legs had gone pop.

His name was Ben and he explained that he was carrying enough kit for 2 people as his mate had had to stop and turn back. I asked if he had hurt his knee! He had. Turns out the cyclist I had met earlier was Ben's mate. Small world! We carried on cycling together for a bit... and chatted about the route and the hills. Those came on thick and fast, it reminded me of Missouri, which I hated because of the undulating nature of the roads. Ben was clearly in a bit of a hard place and adjusting to the fact that he was now doing the NC500 alone. Not to mention the amount of kit he was carrying. I tried to suggest that he keep going, that this was probably the worst bit and had a laugh about some of the things I say to myself to keep going. 

By this point, my legs were dying and Ben seemed to have a second wind... I said if he needed to keep going on the  to do so... I know how hard it is to cycle at someone elses pace. Ben replied that he was faster than sitting at the side of the road pissed off with himself... so we kept winding the same road for a bit longer. 

I hadn't eaten or drunk enough today... just focused on getting up and over the pass. My hands were still a bit numb, partly from the cold and partly from the road bashing. I hit the wall... bonked big time. The climb we were on was reasonably steep and my legs sat down at the side of the road and threw a temper tantrum. I got off and pushed up. I urged Ben to keep going whilst I ate some. more and gave my legs a stern talking to. So he set off downhill and I took 5 mins to stitch my legs back onto my body and under the control of my brain. 

When I set off again, I felt better. It actually was only a few miles to the point where we would have parted ways anyway but I had felt lile I was holding him up so it was better this way and my legs started behaving again. 

I reached the bottom and the turnoff just in time to see Ben's panniers go up the road on the left and I turned to the right. Another mountain pass lay ahead of me. The weather was a bit better now and I set off in good spirits. 

The gradient was bearable and I had just read the sign which said 13 miles to lochcarron. 13... which would make the total about 56 miles... 12 miles more than I thought the loop was! 

Anyway, no choice, up and over it was. 

I plodded on up, cutting my way through the mountain peaks, enjoying the first rays of sunshine on my face, intermittent but there. 

I felt good... the legs seemed to be in line and ploughing on. Sometimes when there is no choice, the broken body will keep going because it has to. 

I reached the top and oh what a downhill... dry... good road, sweeping, just perfect. I heard no laughter  from the cycling gods, they had had there fun today and were now letting me enjoy the last bit. 

One more big climb to go

I stopped at a loch before the climb and sat there, opposite the road up the Bealach pass. I watched the cars meander up and thought how much better it was to do under your own steam. 

I was just getting back on my bike when a cyclist came into view, on a mountain bike, going the speed of a train. As he whizzed past, I smugly noted the battery of an electric bike... cheating... definately cheating! 

The last climb was easy compared to any before of today but given what was already in my legs, I surprised myself by tapping up it in good time. The top... the last climb of the day. In that moment I had the feeling that nothing is impossible... you just have to believe. 

The song on my ipod matched my mood perfectly and as the lyrics rattled round my brain, I pumped my fist, probably in the direction of the cycling gods who had retreated for the day.... 

It felt good, I felt alive! 

'Arms wide open

I stand alone

I'm no hero 

And Im not made of stone

Right or Wrong

I can hardly tell

I'm on the wrong side of heaven

And the righteous side of hell'