This summer, I rode The Pictish Trail, a 750km bikepacking trail from Dunnet Head (the most northerly point of the UK) to Edinburgh.
The predominantly off-road route was devised by Scottish bikepacking stalwarts, Huw Oliver and Annie Le.
I was joined by my friend, Rob, who I’d ridden the West Kernow Way with. We’re both very similar in ability, so we knew we’d make a great team.
I’ve been stepping up my long-distance game this year, completing one century a month, as well as some audaxes.
The Pictish Trail was quite possibly my finest cycling experience to date. The route is incredibly varied and packed with stunning vistas.
I certainly learnt a lot about myself throughout the trip and how to tackle an extended bikepacking trip.
From never sharing a miniscule two-man tent to (both good and bad) kit choices, read on to find out what I learned and the mistakes I made along the way.
Never share a tiny tent
With little accommodation available for long stretches of our trip, we decided to camp for four of the eight nights. Even if there were any, the cost of eight nights in even the cheapest hostel would soon add up.
Scotland’s envious outdoor access laws mean it’s legal to camp wherever you please (within reason). It was freeing not having to make a last-minute dash to pre-booked accommodation at the end of the day (please can wild camping in England and Wales be legalised?).
I used a Vango Apex Compact 200 two-person tent for the trip. While it’d do the job for a solo dweller, the claim it can fit two humans would be accurate only if both are contortionists.
There is just about enough room for one person to sit upright in the middle of the tent. A second person then needs to lie around the side of the first like a coiled snake.
Our inflatable sleeping mats could only just fit next to one another. Both of our faces were kissing our respective sides of the tent, which meant I had to sleep on my side, and I am not a side sleeper – I strongly suspect this led to an ankle niggle I developed on day four.
It all reached a bit of a crescendo when the side wall of the tent caved in on the final night and Rob’s sleeping mat deflated. I could hear him restless through the night and he conveniently waited until the just-about social time of 6am on the dot to exclaim it was "time to get up!”.
It wasn’t all bad though. Three of the four camping spots were in spectacular locations and we certainly learnt to work as a team, be it pitching the tent or cooking.
What’s the take-away lesson from this? I would invest in a three-man tent (or two tents) for next time.
A first aid kit is worth its weight in gold
A first aid kit is something you pack on a bikepacking trip but never expect to use. Well, it saw use almost every day on this trip.
Because space was limited, there wasn’t any room for a set of flip-flops to wear during the trip’s downtime.
Instead, I wore a pair of Stomp Lox Slack shoes for the entirety of the trip and in the latter half of the second day, the widest part of my midfoot rubbed on the central seam of the shoes.
I stopped to put a plaster on my right foot, to prevent it from blistering and later on that day, the left foot also needed attention.
I would begin each subsequent day putting fresh plasters on and that did the job for the entire trip.
On day five, the route took us on the peacefully named Riverside Path, through the pine trees to Forres, a town on the fringe of the Cairngorms national park.
Well, a more suitable name would be the ‘Riverside Assault Course’ and Rob cut his arm on a thorn so needed to patch that up.
We also used the first aid kit on the penultimate day of the trip, 10 miles from the finish, when Rob collided with an e-biker riding the wrong way down a disused railway path, a phone in one hand and a beer bottle in the other.
Although you hope to avoid using a first aid kit in the first place, the incidents on this trip reminded me why it’s a critical item to pack.
Never pass up the opportunity for food
Food can be scarce in Scotland. Although we knew this going in, there were two occasions where we ran into trouble.
We’d planned well by stocking up at supermarkets (a meal deal became the staple lunch) and trying to get at least one hot meal a day. When we were camping in the middle of nowhere, we ensured we had porridge and coffee for the next morning.
Reader, don’t make the same mistake I did of buying ‘coffee in a bag’ – it was so vile I decided I’d make do without my morning tent-side coffee after my first sip.
Rob has a pretty voracious appetite and let’s say he makes it well known when he needs food. On the other hand, I’m happy to keep going on an empty stomach for a while.
I’d packed lots of energy bars and gels in my Apidura Expedition Cargo fork pack in case we ran into food trouble, and always stocked up on savoury snacks at supermarkets.
Before we started to venture into a remote leg through the Cairngorms, we decided to stop in the sizeable town of Forres.
All of the restaurants and takeaways we tried were closed. We eventually found a fish and chip shop, which albeit particularly greasy and stodgy, did the job.
I surprisingly also struggled for food on the final day, riding through Fife between Dundee and Edinburgh. You’d think this section would be rather built up but the route hit the most rural parts of the Kingdom.
At around 11am, I passed a Spar shop and decided that was too early for lunch so pressed on, only to find nothing until a Co-Op at around 4pm in the dreary delights of Dunfermline.
I was very grateful for my reserve snacks for lunch.
You can fall behind even when you’re ahead
Because we had accommodation booked in Inverness and Dundee, I wanted to arrive earlier in the day to maximise recovery time.
Our strategy was to try to eat into the next day’s mileage so we’d ride shorter distances on the nights we’d have a warm bed.
That plan initially worked and when we arrived in Inverness on day four, we were 10 miles into the next day’s ride.
However, day five proved an exercise in frustration and we finished 10 miles behind. A combination of the following held us back:
- Rob needed to tighten one of his pannier rack bolts and the 3mm hex key on my Allen key was grossly oversized, so we had to find a bike shop in Inverness.
- That then turned into me replacing a derailleur hanger for another bikepacker who the workshop couldn’t accommodate.
- I had a cleat bolt fall out from my shoe, so had to find a bike shop for a spare. And then it happened again half an hour later…
- A “life-changing” toilet stop for Rob after the previous night’s Indian
- The aforementioned Riverside Assault Course and struggle for food in Forres
The lesson learned? Don’t take being ahead for granted, because the scales can very quickly tip the other way.
It’s remote but you’re never that far from civilisation
While the Highlands are remote, the reality is you’re never that far away from some form of civilisation.
The most remote sections are an uninterrupted 40km gravel section from Forsinard to Braemore and a rugged 50km off-road between Bonar Bridge and Evanton. I would go back and ride the route for these two sections alone.
The Cairngorms are also reasonably remote, although there are a few towns and villages dotted around, as well as some cafés and small tourist attractions offering food.
Thinking we’d need to be completely self-sufficient before the trip, I’d invested in a water purifier, which Parcelforce didn’t deliver until two hours before departing for the train. However, we managed to get around the route without using it.
“A bit boggy” = knee-deep bog water
After camping at the top of a mountain overlooking a beautiful lake on the second evening, we began our descent first thing.
Rob wanted to avoid using the water purifier at all costs and as we passed a house, he knocked on the door and the kind person was happy for us to use his tap, Scotland’s reputation for friendliness upheld. He warned us where we were going was going to be “a bit boggy”.
Until that point, the gravel we’d experienced had been quite fine and sandy, albeit with some puddles.
The narrow and muddy singletrack the route then took us on was like riding through soup – one of the only parts of the ride that overwhelmed the excellent Pirelli Cinturato Gravel RC tyres I was testing.
I can’t begin to imagine what this section would be like in the winter.
Pack good-quality waterproof clothing
Scotland isn’t famous for its tropical weather and despite riding the route in July, it rained every day.
When we arrived in Inverness on the outbound train journey, we realised we should probably pack some waterproof bottoms in case we got caught in a downpour. We both wandered into Blacks (a UK outdoor shop) and exited £18 lighter with a set of waterproof bottoms just in case.
I didn’t end up using the trousers in the end, but was very glad I had them in case my bib shorts ever got truly sodden.
I quickly became a pro at putting my Patagonia Dirt Roamer Storm waterproof jacket on, only to then remove it five minutes later and then put it back on again. It lived permanently in the webbing of my Apidura Backcountry seat pack throughout the trip.
Even on the last day, I managed to get caught in two very heavy downpours, despite a rain-free 25°C forecast.
There are some properly punchy climbs in the Cairngorms
It would be fair to say the Cairngorms aren't flat. Other than a 20km respite on a disused railway path after Ballater, the terrain was relentless throughout, with endless peaks and troughs.
Mix in some nadgery singletrack, wind, showers, countless gate and rocky river crossings (and a dodgy ankle for good measure) and you’re in for all kinds of fun.
If the circa 100km hillfest isn’t proof enough of Huw and Annie’s sadism, the ‘big daddy’ climb of the entire trip is saved until the final stretch through the national park.
We decided to tackle it first thing in the morning after camping overnight. It took us the best part of three hours to ride a paltry 18km.
The climb starts at 195m elevation and quickly rises to 430m up some steep singletrack, where mobs of midges decided to feast on my repellent-sprayed flesh.
There’s then a rocky but short-lived descent back down to 250m before you veer off the beaten track to cross a slippery river crossing littered with sharp rocks ready to pierce your tyres.
After slowly winching your way up for what seems like an eternity, you see the sharp hairpin-laden wall of what you have to scale in front of you. I felt like Frodo carrying the One Ring on his final ascent to Mount Doom.
Although the ascent tops out at just over 600m elevation, what makes this climb so difficult is it's effectively a hiking trail with innumerable ditch-like river crossings, where you have no choice but to get off and walk.
We’d definitely found the one per cent of a route that's claimed to be 99 per cent rideable.
Fortunately, the gates to hell were not found at the cloudy summit and the resulting descent felt like entering a new dawn of humanity.
Scotland is magical
I had a fantastic time riding the Pictish Trail. Huw and Annie have assembled a cracking route that takes in the less explored eastern side, with many Highlands-based bikepacking trips favouring the west.
The people I met along the way were friendly and eager to help or share advice, while the landscapes are jaw-dropping. Why bother heading to expensive Scandinavian countries when you have equally stunning scenery right on your doorstep?
This trip cemented a friendship and reminded me that you can have an adventure close to home. I can’t wait to explore more of Scotland. I just hope and pray to the weather gods there’s more sunshine next time.
