Treehugger (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
huggeroftrees) wrote2010-09-24 10:00 pm
huggeroftrees) wrote2010-09-24 10:00 pm
Entry tags:
Friday's are gooooooood.
I managed to wear shoes all day today so you may have some more of the epic saga.
Oh! But first I have to add the bits in that I forgot about the first day.
1. The finish was at the TOP of a wee mound in Fort Augustus. THE TOP. We complained most bitterly about this as we staggered up the gravel path. But the lovely ladies with the bipper (time stopper thing) were very smiley and encouraging and gave us little packets of Haribo. Mmm Haribo.
2. We did draftin'! I was the front wind breaker and let her Ladyship hang onto my back wheel because I am kind. It was the evil moor bits above Loch Ness and the persistent headwind that plagued us. We found a pair travelling about the same speed as us and hung onto them for a good 10 mins. Cruel maybe for the one in front but we were tired! To that lady we say THANK YOU!!!
The Weather Hates Us
Woke up in the morning before the alarm (and that's a miracle cos it was set for 5:45!) to find it was raining. Pulled on some waterproofs and went for a wee, but when I came back it was still raining. A cup of tea helped the cogs start turning and it was time for the day to begin. Dressing was interesting. Tent allows sitting up but not anything further so to pull trousers up one has to adopt the grovelling position of head down/butt up. Not dignified.
Still raining
Ignoring the sky for the moment I scrabbled around in the tent to pack everything up. Rolling up sleeping bag (damp with evaporation and re-condensation of wet things) whilst in the afore-mentioned butt up position was somewhat straining. Wet things were picked up between finger tips and inserted into various parts of the backpack. Wet cycling shoes were assessed with the assessor quickly retreating into denial about the upcoming sensation of inserting feet into them.
Eventually everything was packed - wet and dry carefully separated - with a large pile of things that had to be compressed into the backpack for the day (we had to carry certain things by order of the management in order to avoid death on the mountain)
When I stuck my head out it was still raining.
Breakfasting Defiantly
There was porridge. I don't normally eat porridge (it's not a food) but in this case I had been persuaded by the need to stock up on mountain conquering energy. Besides it wasn't really porridge, it was brand-name syrupy goop with additional sultanas. Bless the organisers, they'd hoisted up a large roof thing and we could shelter out of the weather whilst boiling up the milky slop.
Breakfast in and providing a warm comforting presence deep inside it was back to the tent to cram the million and one things into the backpack. Tetris-like the energy bars, energy gels and other essential items were slipped in wherever there was space. Blessings be upon my sister's man, he offered to take down the tent when he did theirs (the lads were setting off after us as they were planning to be somewhat more speedy).
Re-introducing Wary Flesh To The Bike
I said I wasn't going to say anything about the Nappy rash didn't I? Well I lied. But only a little. Surfeit it to say that as we cycled out under the Start arch that morning there were a lot of people standing on the pedals. We'd travelled over 500 yds before it became obvious that neither of us was going to broach the saddle. The egging on began. She caved first but at her stifled yelp I had to test it for myself. It was not pleasant. Rain all night had once again made for a cold wet saddle and though parts were perfectly capable of sitting on normal chairs (thus leading one to forget the existence of crushed bits) there was no escaping the cruel curve of that saddle. Ow. And more.
Just to let you know - it was still raining.
We were venturing off onto the "off-road" bit, 14 old miles of goodness knew what. Now, I'm a road cyclist. I'll do some towpath/forest path but all this uppy downy, curvy muddy leaves me cold. Luckily we were travelling along the Caledonian canal and I was hopeful that should such a situation continue this "off-road" part would be perfectly bearable. Then there was a woman signalling that we should turn left. We turned, and off in the distance I saw yellow jackets climbing what looked like a vertical slope into a wood. So much for the tow-path... we were going off-road.
Mud Mud, Glorious Mud
Off-roaders... they're weird aren't they? My sister's one. Nothing makes her happier than to be crawling up a muddy slope in her lowest gear, bumping over rocks n roots or racing down a slippery incline at 50-million miles an hour whilst cultivating a canvas of modern art in mud on her face. I admit it, there were a lot of bits where I had to get off and push. But then so did rather a lot of other people. Including well'ard blokes (this pleased the sister muchly as she cycled away from us in a merry fashion).
I had managed to work out how to get the bike into the lowest cog, you take your foot out and kick at the sprocket as you go along. Dangerously unsafe - but it works.
It was on one of these hills that I got my first falling off points. Only half points cos I wasn't on the bike at the time, but still points. I'd pulled the bike to one side to allow a cycling gent through, but he'd run out of steam before he got to me. He was however still striding on apace so as I encouraged him I took a wee shuffle back to allow him a little more room...and disappeared from sight.
Steep hill ya see. And the drop off was hidden by wet lucious fern type vegetation. Luckily I didn't slip too far and the worried face of the gent soon appeared over the top. Worried for me? I'll let you decide.
"I've got your bike." says he. "It's ok, doesn't even look scratched, and your chain is still on."
Why yes, thank you worried man. I am, however, halfway down the hill and with no way of scrambling back up to the path. A hand would be nice! Eventually I grabbed a handful of vegetation and by causing some terrible soil erosion and environmental damage managed to reunite with my bicycle. (Still raining by the way)
"Are you ok?" comes a cheery voice comes from the top of the hill. "cos I'm carrying on!"
"I'm fine!" I shout after and make all speed to follow on.
This was to be the procedure for much of the rest of the day. Momentum is not to be wasted people. It's a harsh lesson, but we learnt it well.
Real Falling Off Points
What can I say about the off-road part? It was muddy, it was hard, and I'm not good at it. But I persevered. There were occasional down hill stretches to make up for all the up-hill and once I got through my little moment of depression (no reason, I just hit a slump) I began to enjoy myself here and there.
The enjoying myself was fortunate cos this was when I fell off for real and if I'd been still in the slump it would have been a lot less fun. We'd shot out onto a road for a while to cross the river/canal/thing and I was just holding out hope that maybe we'd done the off-road part when once again there was the yellow sign of betrayal. Obedient to the last I turned left and found we'd been led into one of them tight turning back on itself steep corners. Naturally we were ALL in the wrong gear (witness to this were the number of bikes scattered left and right with broken chains).
Progress slowed to a crawl. Now, when a bike goes very slowly it loses it's balance (this is all physic's fault) and if you don't get your feet out of the clips you perform a delightful slow motion collapse to the side of most attraction.
Guess who forgot to unclip their feet? Yup. That would be me :D
So there I am, lying in the road (still raining) and herself is up ahead - feet twiddling away steadily in the lowest gear. "Are you ok?" she calls back. "I'm going on cos I've got a sandwich."
"Ok!" I shout. "I'll be along in a minute, there's no blood, it's all good!"
Half a minute later, as I'm clambering out from the bikes heavy embrace I hear, drifting down the breeze... "Is this really harsh of me? It's just I've got this sandwich and I'm starving."
My sister, ladies and gents. A real good Samaritan. But unfortunately afflicted by the inability to eat a sandwich, pedal a bike uphill and administer first aid all at the same time. :D
(before she takes a train down here specially to kill me: I was fine, she knew I was fine and if I hadn't have been fine she'd have been back down there like a shot. This is the girl who (when we were kids) beat up four lads for laughing at me after she chipped my tooth by landing on my head after I'd bitten the pavement when my bike failed to get up the curb because I was giving her a backie. She's awesome - but pragmatic).
So yeah. Falling off points in my pocket we continued on.
Brakes? Who needs em?
It was sometime around this point, towards the end of the off-road session that I noticed something interesting about the bike. Where previously one only needed to gently feather the breaks to produce a stopping action, I was now hauling the levers all the way back to the handlebars. Without much effect. When I took the chance to look down I discovered the rather obvious reason. Brake pads. They had been there when I'd started. Now there was only black dust smeared around the rim of the wheel. The cycling part finished at sea level in Fort William. We were a LONG way above sea-level at that point. This was going to be... challenging.
I made it. Obviously, or I wouldn't be writing this massive splurge of wordage for your entertainment. But there were moments when it was a little touch and go. Speeding down dirt tracks knowing that your only way of stopping is basically to fall off does wonders for adrenalin production!
This was the point at which they decided to take our pictures. I'm sorry Mr Picture taker man, but while I'm attempting to negotiate a very steep bumpy bendy descent without brakes is not the time I want to smile for a picture. And you're taking your life in your hands standing there if I can't stop. (I shouldn't laugh, but the girl in front of my sister started down each descent that contained a camera man with confidence and panache. And fell off both times. I at least didn't fall off! I walked, but I didn't fall off.)
Luckily the off-road was soon over and dangerously out-of control speeds didn't feel quite so bad on the roads. But when we eventually came to a proper dismounting halt (33 miles!) I did have to jump off while the bike was still travelling and walk it to a standstill.
I miss brakes.
And it was still raining.
Mountain Goes Here
Once again we met the boys in transition. Boy did THAT feel good. They were just leaving and we had to do the whole changing into slightly drier clothes (sister) slightly drier shoes (me) scoff food (both) and take a small bathroom break with associated face washing (both - mud is so not our style, baby). While there was undressing and redressing and the redistribution of back-pack contents we had a short discussion about the potential of our legs and timings and somewhat optimistically we decided to walk at a steady brisk 3 miles an hour until we reached the uphill at the end. 3 miles an hour for 12 miles (the last two were 1 UP and 1 DOWN and as yet I was in denial about both) would take us four hours, leaving us 3 hours for the mountain. It was a good plan.
Surprisingly we managed it. We strode out steadily and leg pain wasn't really a problem (in fact it was a relief to get off the bike!). Admittedly the bit up the Ben Nevis path and down the other linking path was a total BASTARD. Especially the down which was just like descending steps and everything hurt legs, knees, blisters, the lot. But after that we were snaking up the other side of the valley, a good wide forest road. We didn't overtake many people, but then very few overtook us. The elite runners were starting to come through (those that had done the whole thing in one day) and we cheered them as they passed but apart from that it was just like a steady hike such as you might go on at a weekend. We've got similar leg length so we just wandered on without too much
effort.
There's a huge chunk of time in the middle that I've just lost. I know we were walking and talking, I remember there were woods at one point, we were jogging the downhills cos it was easier on knees (hers) and blisters (mine) but there's a good hour that's really telescoped together.
Eventually we came out on the tops, moors all around and at this point the rain really started to get personal, bringing its friend the freezing horizontal wind along for the ride. Sometime around here we started to get a little tired, stumbling over silly things due to not picking up feet. I had been inhaling energy bars steadily for a while but we were still in the game. It was then that our personal angel arrived in the form of a cheerful little chap pulling his lady behind him on a piece of string (don't ask, we didn't. We did, however, ask if we could tag on the back). He had a GPS on his wrist and, bless him, he told us we were coming up on 9 miles.
As we'd been walking for 3h that cheered us up immensely, offering proof that we had somehow managed to keep to our impossible 3 mph pace despite the uneven terrain.
Best Moment Ever, despite the rain.
Not-Really-A-Mountain-But-Pretty-Darn-Up Goes Here (swearing)
A pasty for her and a energy bar for me and we were soon striding out again. Call us dopey but we never saw the thin line of coloured blobs crawling up the other side of the valley until we were almost upon them. Probably a good thing as the steepness was a little daunting. First however we had to cross the river that had been sprung upon us.
We'd been walking in a group with some cheery lads for a while and as it happened we all came upon the river at the same time. A ragged line of bodies, hovering nervously on the brink as the water raced past at our feet. Then a runner came through, leapt into the flow, forded it assertively and scrambled on up the hill on the other side. We couldn't let that go unchallenged.
"Bugger it!" was the collective response and we leapt into the water as one, the uneven line struggling across with grit and determination. I admit that it was only with a loud expletive on each step that I made it, and to anyone who had to hear my profanity I am most awfully sorry. But the cold! Oh Boy, it was cold. So cold that 10 steps up the hill on the other side my sister had to stop. With brainfreeze.
It cooled my blisters though, so that was good.
Funny thing though, we'd been picking our way through the streams/surface flow that ran across the previous path (raining remember?). There were a million and one more on this side of the valley, but after the river we splashed straight through them, no worries. Mud, water, we were the kings of everything! (not so good for the blisters after the fact tho!).
Aaaaaaaanyway. This was it. The mountain. This pleased us despite the hilliness of the terrain as we had plenty of time in hand and we were really gonna finish now. Oh yus. Besides, the slope wasn't actually that bad. There was up. Lots of up. But we were basically automatons now, one foot after another and we ate it up steadily.
Crazy Man and a Cairn
It was the lack of horizon that alerted us to the fact that we were reaching the top. Then there were cairns, a welcome sign to any hiker, closely followed by a man in half a security shelter with a camera. I think that's my favourite picture of us. Two drenched hobbits with ecstatic wide smiles cos they've realised they've pretty much done it. :D
Just the downhill and the kayak to do. Awesome.
Best way to go downhill? Tumbling of course!
We could see the loch below but it was quite a long way down. As before knees (her) and blisters/legs (me) meant we ran all the way down. Well, she ran. I ran, slipped rolled, tumbled, got up, ran, tumbled etc etc. Grinning all the way down. We're insane, man! Oh yeah.
The woman at the bottom of the hill said it was only about half a mile to the kayak but once there wasn't a hill to help me I ran out of running. So we walked briskly for the last bit.
Exhaustion
Yeah. Ever tried to work out how to accessorise a buoyancy aid and a baclpack when totally exhausted? It's harder than you think. We just stood and squinted at them for a good five minutes until a helpful chappie said "you can wear your backpacks over them." Then we just had to work out how to get out of our backpacks...
The kayak was long. The water goes past the side of the boat so fast! But the boat? Not travelling so fast at all. I had to sing in the end. Two choruses of "what shall be do with a drunken sailor" one of "hoist the colours" and a last resort to Abba got us most of the way across. We finished on the Chariots Of Fire theme, sung as loudly as possible.
Don't ask an exhausted Yorkshire woman questions with a live microphone
A scramble up the bank and then a 100m run hand in hand under the finish line. Thank you all the people who turned out in the rain to cheer us in. Oh yes, it was still raining. Of course.
A chappie stuck a microphone under my nose:
Chappie: "How was it?"
TH: "Awesome!" (*Massive Grin*)
Chap: "Are you coming back?"
TH: "No." (short and succinct see?)
Chappie: "Why?"
TH: "Cos your weather's shit!" (*indicates rain clouds over mountain*)
*Shocked silence*
Chappie *whisper*: "We're a family show!"
TH: "Cos your weather's... not good?"
Chappie (louder): "Cos our weather's not good, excellent! Give em a big hand folks!"
Then a nice woman put our time in the machine and another nice woman slipped the medal (HUGE MEDAL) over our heads and a lovely large woman wrapped me in a survival blanket (was like a hugggggg) and we were done.
It doesn't stop there
There were other things, like meeting the lads, getting our free soup, stumbling around attempting to find our bags (thank you helpful person who wasn't brain-cotton-wooled like we were, I'm sorry I could only stand there going "green... green... green" when you asked me what my bags were like). The walk to the campsite can be glossed over, we managed it by mere robotic movement.
One thing I will say however. If you're ever in Glencoe, go to "The Glencoe Hotel", look like you're going to order some food or drink and then go up to the barstaff and tell them you would be buying something but due to their FASICST POLICY about not serving food to starving people if they order 5 mins after the 8pm cut-off, you won't be bothering.
Seriously. A sandwich would have been fine. We were NOT in any kind of position to be fussy. We would have looked on leftovers as heaven sent. But apparently the kitchen couldn't help us. THANKS FOR NOTHING GLENCOE HOTEL.
Oh! But first I have to add the bits in that I forgot about the first day.
1. The finish was at the TOP of a wee mound in Fort Augustus. THE TOP. We complained most bitterly about this as we staggered up the gravel path. But the lovely ladies with the bipper (time stopper thing) were very smiley and encouraging and gave us little packets of Haribo. Mmm Haribo.
2. We did draftin'! I was the front wind breaker and let her Ladyship hang onto my back wheel because I am kind. It was the evil moor bits above Loch Ness and the persistent headwind that plagued us. We found a pair travelling about the same speed as us and hung onto them for a good 10 mins. Cruel maybe for the one in front but we were tired! To that lady we say THANK YOU!!!
The Weather Hates Us
Woke up in the morning before the alarm (and that's a miracle cos it was set for 5:45!) to find it was raining. Pulled on some waterproofs and went for a wee, but when I came back it was still raining. A cup of tea helped the cogs start turning and it was time for the day to begin. Dressing was interesting. Tent allows sitting up but not anything further so to pull trousers up one has to adopt the grovelling position of head down/butt up. Not dignified.
Still raining
Ignoring the sky for the moment I scrabbled around in the tent to pack everything up. Rolling up sleeping bag (damp with evaporation and re-condensation of wet things) whilst in the afore-mentioned butt up position was somewhat straining. Wet things were picked up between finger tips and inserted into various parts of the backpack. Wet cycling shoes were assessed with the assessor quickly retreating into denial about the upcoming sensation of inserting feet into them.
Eventually everything was packed - wet and dry carefully separated - with a large pile of things that had to be compressed into the backpack for the day (we had to carry certain things by order of the management in order to avoid death on the mountain)
When I stuck my head out it was still raining.
Breakfasting Defiantly
There was porridge. I don't normally eat porridge (it's not a food) but in this case I had been persuaded by the need to stock up on mountain conquering energy. Besides it wasn't really porridge, it was brand-name syrupy goop with additional sultanas. Bless the organisers, they'd hoisted up a large roof thing and we could shelter out of the weather whilst boiling up the milky slop.
Breakfast in and providing a warm comforting presence deep inside it was back to the tent to cram the million and one things into the backpack. Tetris-like the energy bars, energy gels and other essential items were slipped in wherever there was space. Blessings be upon my sister's man, he offered to take down the tent when he did theirs (the lads were setting off after us as they were planning to be somewhat more speedy).
Re-introducing Wary Flesh To The Bike
I said I wasn't going to say anything about the Nappy rash didn't I? Well I lied. But only a little. Surfeit it to say that as we cycled out under the Start arch that morning there were a lot of people standing on the pedals. We'd travelled over 500 yds before it became obvious that neither of us was going to broach the saddle. The egging on began. She caved first but at her stifled yelp I had to test it for myself. It was not pleasant. Rain all night had once again made for a cold wet saddle and though parts were perfectly capable of sitting on normal chairs (thus leading one to forget the existence of crushed bits) there was no escaping the cruel curve of that saddle. Ow. And more.
Just to let you know - it was still raining.
We were venturing off onto the "off-road" bit, 14 old miles of goodness knew what. Now, I'm a road cyclist. I'll do some towpath/forest path but all this uppy downy, curvy muddy leaves me cold. Luckily we were travelling along the Caledonian canal and I was hopeful that should such a situation continue this "off-road" part would be perfectly bearable. Then there was a woman signalling that we should turn left. We turned, and off in the distance I saw yellow jackets climbing what looked like a vertical slope into a wood. So much for the tow-path... we were going off-road.
Mud Mud, Glorious Mud
Off-roaders... they're weird aren't they? My sister's one. Nothing makes her happier than to be crawling up a muddy slope in her lowest gear, bumping over rocks n roots or racing down a slippery incline at 50-million miles an hour whilst cultivating a canvas of modern art in mud on her face. I admit it, there were a lot of bits where I had to get off and push. But then so did rather a lot of other people. Including well'ard blokes (this pleased the sister muchly as she cycled away from us in a merry fashion).
I had managed to work out how to get the bike into the lowest cog, you take your foot out and kick at the sprocket as you go along. Dangerously unsafe - but it works.
It was on one of these hills that I got my first falling off points. Only half points cos I wasn't on the bike at the time, but still points. I'd pulled the bike to one side to allow a cycling gent through, but he'd run out of steam before he got to me. He was however still striding on apace so as I encouraged him I took a wee shuffle back to allow him a little more room...and disappeared from sight.
Steep hill ya see. And the drop off was hidden by wet lucious fern type vegetation. Luckily I didn't slip too far and the worried face of the gent soon appeared over the top. Worried for me? I'll let you decide.
"I've got your bike." says he. "It's ok, doesn't even look scratched, and your chain is still on."
Why yes, thank you worried man. I am, however, halfway down the hill and with no way of scrambling back up to the path. A hand would be nice! Eventually I grabbed a handful of vegetation and by causing some terrible soil erosion and environmental damage managed to reunite with my bicycle. (Still raining by the way)
"Are you ok?" comes a cheery voice comes from the top of the hill. "cos I'm carrying on!"
"I'm fine!" I shout after and make all speed to follow on.
This was to be the procedure for much of the rest of the day. Momentum is not to be wasted people. It's a harsh lesson, but we learnt it well.
Real Falling Off Points
What can I say about the off-road part? It was muddy, it was hard, and I'm not good at it. But I persevered. There were occasional down hill stretches to make up for all the up-hill and once I got through my little moment of depression (no reason, I just hit a slump) I began to enjoy myself here and there.
The enjoying myself was fortunate cos this was when I fell off for real and if I'd been still in the slump it would have been a lot less fun. We'd shot out onto a road for a while to cross the river/canal/thing and I was just holding out hope that maybe we'd done the off-road part when once again there was the yellow sign of betrayal. Obedient to the last I turned left and found we'd been led into one of them tight turning back on itself steep corners. Naturally we were ALL in the wrong gear (witness to this were the number of bikes scattered left and right with broken chains).
Progress slowed to a crawl. Now, when a bike goes very slowly it loses it's balance (this is all physic's fault) and if you don't get your feet out of the clips you perform a delightful slow motion collapse to the side of most attraction.
Guess who forgot to unclip their feet? Yup. That would be me :D
So there I am, lying in the road (still raining) and herself is up ahead - feet twiddling away steadily in the lowest gear. "Are you ok?" she calls back. "I'm going on cos I've got a sandwich."
"Ok!" I shout. "I'll be along in a minute, there's no blood, it's all good!"
Half a minute later, as I'm clambering out from the bikes heavy embrace I hear, drifting down the breeze... "Is this really harsh of me? It's just I've got this sandwich and I'm starving."
My sister, ladies and gents. A real good Samaritan. But unfortunately afflicted by the inability to eat a sandwich, pedal a bike uphill and administer first aid all at the same time. :D
(before she takes a train down here specially to kill me: I was fine, she knew I was fine and if I hadn't have been fine she'd have been back down there like a shot. This is the girl who (when we were kids) beat up four lads for laughing at me after she chipped my tooth by landing on my head after I'd bitten the pavement when my bike failed to get up the curb because I was giving her a backie. She's awesome - but pragmatic).
So yeah. Falling off points in my pocket we continued on.
Brakes? Who needs em?
It was sometime around this point, towards the end of the off-road session that I noticed something interesting about the bike. Where previously one only needed to gently feather the breaks to produce a stopping action, I was now hauling the levers all the way back to the handlebars. Without much effect. When I took the chance to look down I discovered the rather obvious reason. Brake pads. They had been there when I'd started. Now there was only black dust smeared around the rim of the wheel. The cycling part finished at sea level in Fort William. We were a LONG way above sea-level at that point. This was going to be... challenging.
I made it. Obviously, or I wouldn't be writing this massive splurge of wordage for your entertainment. But there were moments when it was a little touch and go. Speeding down dirt tracks knowing that your only way of stopping is basically to fall off does wonders for adrenalin production!
This was the point at which they decided to take our pictures. I'm sorry Mr Picture taker man, but while I'm attempting to negotiate a very steep bumpy bendy descent without brakes is not the time I want to smile for a picture. And you're taking your life in your hands standing there if I can't stop. (I shouldn't laugh, but the girl in front of my sister started down each descent that contained a camera man with confidence and panache. And fell off both times. I at least didn't fall off! I walked, but I didn't fall off.)
Luckily the off-road was soon over and dangerously out-of control speeds didn't feel quite so bad on the roads. But when we eventually came to a proper dismounting halt (33 miles!) I did have to jump off while the bike was still travelling and walk it to a standstill.
I miss brakes.
And it was still raining.
Mountain Goes Here
Once again we met the boys in transition. Boy did THAT feel good. They were just leaving and we had to do the whole changing into slightly drier clothes (sister) slightly drier shoes (me) scoff food (both) and take a small bathroom break with associated face washing (both - mud is so not our style, baby). While there was undressing and redressing and the redistribution of back-pack contents we had a short discussion about the potential of our legs and timings and somewhat optimistically we decided to walk at a steady brisk 3 miles an hour until we reached the uphill at the end. 3 miles an hour for 12 miles (the last two were 1 UP and 1 DOWN and as yet I was in denial about both) would take us four hours, leaving us 3 hours for the mountain. It was a good plan.
Surprisingly we managed it. We strode out steadily and leg pain wasn't really a problem (in fact it was a relief to get off the bike!). Admittedly the bit up the Ben Nevis path and down the other linking path was a total BASTARD. Especially the down which was just like descending steps and everything hurt legs, knees, blisters, the lot. But after that we were snaking up the other side of the valley, a good wide forest road. We didn't overtake many people, but then very few overtook us. The elite runners were starting to come through (those that had done the whole thing in one day) and we cheered them as they passed but apart from that it was just like a steady hike such as you might go on at a weekend. We've got similar leg length so we just wandered on without too much
effort.
There's a huge chunk of time in the middle that I've just lost. I know we were walking and talking, I remember there were woods at one point, we were jogging the downhills cos it was easier on knees (hers) and blisters (mine) but there's a good hour that's really telescoped together.
Eventually we came out on the tops, moors all around and at this point the rain really started to get personal, bringing its friend the freezing horizontal wind along for the ride. Sometime around here we started to get a little tired, stumbling over silly things due to not picking up feet. I had been inhaling energy bars steadily for a while but we were still in the game. It was then that our personal angel arrived in the form of a cheerful little chap pulling his lady behind him on a piece of string (don't ask, we didn't. We did, however, ask if we could tag on the back). He had a GPS on his wrist and, bless him, he told us we were coming up on 9 miles.
As we'd been walking for 3h that cheered us up immensely, offering proof that we had somehow managed to keep to our impossible 3 mph pace despite the uneven terrain.
Best Moment Ever, despite the rain.
Not-Really-A-Mountain-But-Pretty-Darn-Up Goes Here (swearing)
A pasty for her and a energy bar for me and we were soon striding out again. Call us dopey but we never saw the thin line of coloured blobs crawling up the other side of the valley until we were almost upon them. Probably a good thing as the steepness was a little daunting. First however we had to cross the river that had been sprung upon us.
We'd been walking in a group with some cheery lads for a while and as it happened we all came upon the river at the same time. A ragged line of bodies, hovering nervously on the brink as the water raced past at our feet. Then a runner came through, leapt into the flow, forded it assertively and scrambled on up the hill on the other side. We couldn't let that go unchallenged.
"Bugger it!" was the collective response and we leapt into the water as one, the uneven line struggling across with grit and determination. I admit that it was only with a loud expletive on each step that I made it, and to anyone who had to hear my profanity I am most awfully sorry. But the cold! Oh Boy, it was cold. So cold that 10 steps up the hill on the other side my sister had to stop. With brainfreeze.
It cooled my blisters though, so that was good.
Funny thing though, we'd been picking our way through the streams/surface flow that ran across the previous path (raining remember?). There were a million and one more on this side of the valley, but after the river we splashed straight through them, no worries. Mud, water, we were the kings of everything! (not so good for the blisters after the fact tho!).
Aaaaaaaanyway. This was it. The mountain. This pleased us despite the hilliness of the terrain as we had plenty of time in hand and we were really gonna finish now. Oh yus. Besides, the slope wasn't actually that bad. There was up. Lots of up. But we were basically automatons now, one foot after another and we ate it up steadily.
Crazy Man and a Cairn
It was the lack of horizon that alerted us to the fact that we were reaching the top. Then there were cairns, a welcome sign to any hiker, closely followed by a man in half a security shelter with a camera. I think that's my favourite picture of us. Two drenched hobbits with ecstatic wide smiles cos they've realised they've pretty much done it. :D
Just the downhill and the kayak to do. Awesome.
Best way to go downhill? Tumbling of course!
We could see the loch below but it was quite a long way down. As before knees (her) and blisters/legs (me) meant we ran all the way down. Well, she ran. I ran, slipped rolled, tumbled, got up, ran, tumbled etc etc. Grinning all the way down. We're insane, man! Oh yeah.
The woman at the bottom of the hill said it was only about half a mile to the kayak but once there wasn't a hill to help me I ran out of running. So we walked briskly for the last bit.
Exhaustion
Yeah. Ever tried to work out how to accessorise a buoyancy aid and a baclpack when totally exhausted? It's harder than you think. We just stood and squinted at them for a good five minutes until a helpful chappie said "you can wear your backpacks over them." Then we just had to work out how to get out of our backpacks...
The kayak was long. The water goes past the side of the boat so fast! But the boat? Not travelling so fast at all. I had to sing in the end. Two choruses of "what shall be do with a drunken sailor" one of "hoist the colours" and a last resort to Abba got us most of the way across. We finished on the Chariots Of Fire theme, sung as loudly as possible.
Don't ask an exhausted Yorkshire woman questions with a live microphone
A scramble up the bank and then a 100m run hand in hand under the finish line. Thank you all the people who turned out in the rain to cheer us in. Oh yes, it was still raining. Of course.
A chappie stuck a microphone under my nose:
Chappie: "How was it?"
TH: "Awesome!" (*Massive Grin*)
Chap: "Are you coming back?"
TH: "No." (short and succinct see?)
Chappie: "Why?"
TH: "Cos your weather's shit!" (*indicates rain clouds over mountain*)
*Shocked silence*
Chappie *whisper*: "We're a family show!"
TH: "Cos your weather's... not good?"
Chappie (louder): "Cos our weather's not good, excellent! Give em a big hand folks!"
Then a nice woman put our time in the machine and another nice woman slipped the medal (HUGE MEDAL) over our heads and a lovely large woman wrapped me in a survival blanket (was like a hugggggg) and we were done.
It doesn't stop there
There were other things, like meeting the lads, getting our free soup, stumbling around attempting to find our bags (thank you helpful person who wasn't brain-cotton-wooled like we were, I'm sorry I could only stand there going "green... green... green" when you asked me what my bags were like). The walk to the campsite can be glossed over, we managed it by mere robotic movement.
One thing I will say however. If you're ever in Glencoe, go to "The Glencoe Hotel", look like you're going to order some food or drink and then go up to the barstaff and tell them you would be buying something but due to their FASICST POLICY about not serving food to starving people if they order 5 mins after the 8pm cut-off, you won't be bothering.
Seriously. A sandwich would have been fine. We were NOT in any kind of position to be fussy. We would have looked on leftovers as heaven sent. But apparently the kitchen couldn't help us. THANKS FOR NOTHING GLENCOE HOTEL.