Rough Stuff on the Mounth Roads
by Ian Curphey
This article describes two rough stuff rides carried out in early September. The rides could be combined to give an alternative 2-day route from Braemar to Aberdeen, with a night spent in Glendoll or Glen Clova.
1. Braemar to Glen Doll via Glen Callater and the Tollmount (Jock's Road), c 15 miles - 5 hours
2. Glendoll to Ballater via the Capel Mount and Glen Muick, c 15 miles - 3 hours
Having been a member of the Rough Stuff Fellowship for a year or two now, and having read George Berwick's laconic accounts of his wanderings over Scotland in which he totally ignores the constraints on where to go, imposed by mere roads, I decided that my cycling experiences were incomplete. I had to have a bash at some "Rough Stuff' for myself.
Having cycled on quite a few "Gillies Road" and some of the well known access tracks into the Cairngorms, I decided that combining some of these with a sort of touring ride and including a bit of "George Berwick" country, would fit the bill, permitting journeys from start to finish by bicycle.
On my first jaunt (solo as usual - I must do something about this halitosis), I cycled over the Cairn o'Mount and wandered down Glen Clova for a comfortable night at Glendoll Youth Hostel. The day dawned dull but dry and I set off for the Capel Mount Road which links Glendoll to Loch Muick. I breezed along for the first mile until a deceptively friendly sign said "Ballater via the Capel Mount".
Pushing a bike up an up hill when you are pushing 60 seemed a trifle irrational but, with a tenacity born of hardship (or serious neuro depletion) I persevered and spent the time between gasps for breath, cursing the pedal, which was constantly trying to mount my right leg, and checking my temples for burst blood vessels.
The Buddha said "Everything is transient, nothing is permanent" and this fundamental truth was verified after about an hour when the uphill zig zags finished and the bicycle, and what was left of my lungs, debouched onto a flat plateau, resplendent with a rideable grassy track.
I stopped to rest and cogitated on the ascent. It occurred to me that I may be past it as, even if I had an appropriate machine, I didn't have the appropriate legs. I thought perhaps the real cyclists do this trip the other way but quickly realised that I had neither the skills nor the bottle to cycle down it. Hence my despondence -banjaxed by years, one has to accept that, wherever you go, you are always where you are!
The track across the tops, past the Capel Mount and on to Gallow Hillock, just got better and better and, in a short while, I could see Lochnagar, Miekle Pap and the cool deep waters of Loch Muick in the valley below.
My bike, though sound enough being an almost new (1967) Carlton purchased but a short year ago from a club colleague for the King's ransom price of £30, is not ideal for descending on loose gravel, despite its 28mm tyres and, consequently, I bumbled down to the Spittle with brakes taught, back wheel skittering and my bum hanging over the back wheel in the hope of preventing a "header". Timidity won the day and I arrived at the Glen Muick road smirking but not smashed. The sun came out, the wind was on my back and I hightailed it for Ballater, where I gorged myself on a full Scottish breakfast by way of reward. The trip across the Capel Mount had taken about 2 to 3 hours and the only person I saw was an old friend from Highland Cross and hill running days, Francy Duguid, who in his own inimitable manner was intending to run over the same ground I had just cycled oven As he's of a similar vintage to myself, he is arguably excused! I burped my way back to Aberdeen via the South Deeside Road.
The following week, I had a meeting in Perth on the Friday and, as a colleague from work was accompanying me, arrangements were put in place for me to get dropped off in Coupar Angus with a view to my batting over Glen Shee, spend the night at Braemar Youth Hostel and see if I could get over Jock's Road (the Tolmounth) from Braemar to Glendoll, the following day.
T'was a wild ride from Coupar Angus to Braemar with a wind to mind you of rougher times. Climbing up that dread bit of road from the Spittle of Glen Shee to the Ski field was even more soul destroying than normal. I'd sooner cycle of the Bealach na Ba with a boil on my bum than struggle up that endless drag of a hill. Anyway, the wind and my usual dawdling pace, meant nightfall was too soon upon me and I peddled down the Glen in the gloaming and the quiet solitude was tempered by almost continuous sightings of deer. I confess though, I was glad of my bed when I finally docked at Braemar Youth Hostel. A hard way to finish a day's work.
Jock's Road is a misnomer, if ever there was one, and once away from the pedestrian comfort of the good Glen Callater path. I really felt that, at last, I was in George Berwick country. It's a steep pull for a man or woman on foot out of Glen Callater via the Alt an Loch. Persuading a bicycle to come with you is arguably ludicrous. An erstwhile cyclist has several choices once the ground steepens. You can carry your bike, push it, kick it or curse it. I opted for a combination of all four. At times, in a quest for an easy line out of the Glen, I lost the track, which is a bit indiscriminate in places, but, in the end, there is no easy way, no escape, you have to go up. As mentioned previously, all ups end and ultimately become downs, so it's best to try and remain cheerful.
The wind was howling on the tops with scuds of cloud travelling at missile speed and, when the "black bits" appeared, I was fearful of Armageddon. But the wind was abaft the beam and with sails set, I tacked across the high ground, setting course along faint tracks at first but assisted by the occasional marker stake and welcome cairn, I beat my way across the ocean of moor land. A wild day in a wild place. The noise of the wind and the staccato rattle of numerous flocks of grouse, put up by my intrusion, combined with the fact that I could now push my bike with ease, to create a sense of real privilege. Some effort to get here but well worth it. A snipe launched itself like a bullet from beneath my wheel and shot away, low to the ground clearly determined to say beneath the radar screen. Approaching Crow Craigies, the high point of the route, a brace of ptarmigan scuttled away, feathers turning white, a sure harbinger of coming autumn.
The path goes over Crow Craigies which, at 920 metres, is high enough on a bike on a windy September morning. Once down from this high point, it proved possible to ride a bit, but it didn't last. I suspect a real mountain biker would do better than I, but there's little point in dreaming that I can wind back the years, don a pair of baggy trousers and a T-shirt with something very rude on the front and tear down precipices with the gay abandon of youth and the feelings of invulnerability which go with it.
No, it was a pedestrian affair, both metaphorically and literally and the rocks and the ruts and the soft boggy bits presented enough of a challenge without the added excitement of pretending I was Evil Knievel. The wind on my back was a blessing though, and I was soon amongst the steeper rocks below Cairn Lunkard. I stopped in the small howf at the head of Glendoll and devoured half a Dundee cake, washed down with a water bottle full of cold tea. (This magnificent hill fare is highly recommended, especially the cold tea, which has sustained miners for centuries). As the boggy bits seemed to have terminated, I stopped to de-gunge my wheels, which at times had been up to their fetlocks in the mire, successfully clogging up brakes, mudguards and gears. The whining sounds, from seriously compromised mechanics, drowned out the wind noise.
The track below the howf is not really cycle friendly and, having sustained numerous "punctures" to my right calf from my brightly sharp left pedal, I am contemplating making a "pedal cosy" - something akin to a tea cosy - which I can put over the offending pedal to prevent future assaults.
The track sidles along the hillside for a further mile after the descent from the howf before entering the trees. It's at this point one can cease being a cycle carrier and become a cyclist again. A short run along a good track and a forestry road brings journey's end at the Glen Doll Youth Hostel. The trip from Braemar Youth Hostel to Glen Doll took about 5 hours all told. I suspect that without the bike it would take the same, or perhaps a bit less. The advantage for me, of course, is that I have to the wherewithal to cycle back to Aberdeen, rather than having to ponder on how to extricate myself from this quiet Glen, had I arrived on foot, alone.
So, that's my introduction to "Rough Stuff' over and, although I found it physically quite demanding and definitely requiring a modicum of hill sense, the rewards were great. My intention was to explore the possibility of undertaking tours which, by including short sections of mountain track or hill paths, permit natural links between glens, thereby allowing one to travel "one way" through known beauty spots like Glen Clova, Glen Muick, etc, rather than having to come out the same way you went in.
This necessitates some compromise in that a full-blown mountain bike would be irksome to ride for 50 miles on the road, despite being admirable for 10 miles of mountain path. I have set up a touring bike, with "Cow catcher" handlebars, bar end shifters and strong wheels, which is just manageable on rideable tracks and yet still gives a half decent ride on the road.
Roll on next summer!