Testing, if you need to test something this is the place

Day Three
It was another good night’s sleep. I was kipping in the attic of the bothy which had been partly laid out like a proper bed, what luxury to even have my own room! However, the roof was a fairly minimal affair and I was aware as the morning dawned that the wind had got up a wee bit. We coffee’d, breakfasted and packed up. Venturing outside it was clear the weather had come in a little over night but what rain there was was being funnelled straight back down the glen where we needed to go. We set off in great spirits, hardly having to pedal as we flew down the track we’d cranked up the previous evening. The best kind of wake up.

45 minutes later we reached the main track where we’d turned off the previous day. If we thought the wind was lively from down this valley, it was absolutely stonking down the one we joined at the bottom. As I zipped onto the bridge over the river it hit me, pushing me hard to the left. It felt like I was windsurfing at this point (another favourite hobby) as I leant into the wall of air trying to eek some ground upwind. As I got to the other side of the bridge I was pleased to bear away and move from broad reach to a dead run. The short climb over a little lump of valley took absolutely no pedal effort at all. Big smiles.

The sun even decided to come out at this point. So it was that we could zip down the lower parts of Glen Avon hardly breaking sweat. We had a date with more coffee and a bacon and egg sandwich in Tomintoul, marketed as the highest village in Scotland. It was quite something to descend for about an hour and half to the highest village but it gives you an idea of the scale of things, particularly just how high we’d been last night!

Anyway, sat in greasy café in the village it was clear the wind was only getting stronger. A look online suggested 45-50mph gusts with it swinging round to be more from the west. This was also the time we had to turn west. Gone was the helpful hand on the back of a tailwind we’d enjoyed for the best part of two and half days. Instead it was the seized brake pad, pedal downhill effect of a massive headwind to look forward to. Fortunately we were in no rush. We had to be in Aviemore by 9pm to get our train so time was on our side. Before I move on though, it’s worth pointing out now that the coffee in Tomintoul is not to be recommended. Both the café and classier bistro had seemingly not discovered fresh milk with frothed UHT in both…Braemar 1-0 Tomintoul.

Eventually, having eaten lunch as well, we had to brave it, heading out across the open moorland and straight into the headwind. The first section had the odd bit of plantation forest to shelter from, which was welcome, but when you got into the wind proper, it was slow going. There was also a section where the track became indistinguishable from a meandering burn and we must have forded it 10 times in 1km. On the bright side, it was sunny and hot. Quite how Scotland managed to dish up gale force winds in October that were warm enough for a t-shirt I still don’t understand.

The breaking point was a crazy climb over a relatively minor hill. The wind was so strong in your face it was hard to stay straight. Veer too much to one side and it would catch you and try to dump you in the heather. Even with our double brunch+lunch break we were flagging a bit. Sheltering by a small cliff we decided to skip the next bit of the plan. We were supposed to be heading up through a tight valley called Eag Mhor towards the Abernethy Forest. The wind was going to be funnelling straight through it and we weren’t really sure if it was even going to be possible to push our kit through. Discretion is the better part of valour. It may look nice in the pictures but it was howling.

There was an easy diversion Just past Dorback lodge which would whisk us down a paved road to Nethie Bridge with the added bonus of an afternoon pint, something this trip had been hugely deficient in till now. Chatting to the locals in the pub I found it amazing they had no idea where any of the places we spoke about were. I’m not sure if it’s my soft southern accent, or if they literally never leave the village.

A good thing about Nethy Bridge is it is linked to Aviemore by an off-road family cycle trail type thing called the Speyside Way. With all the hard going of the last few days it was really nice to be on relatively flat, quiet cycle track weaving our way through the forest and eventually down towards Aviemore. The pint and sit down had made our legs pretty heavy and it was lovely to know we just had to turn the pedals over and could sit back and take in the last of great views as the sun set.

We eventually rolled into Aviemore around 5:30, knackered but absolutely blown away by how good a trip we’d had. We cruised down to The Bridge pub and were instantly greeted by the walkers we’d met on the first evening up at Bob Scotts’s. Pints were quickly in hand and it was lovely to have some folks to share our story with straight away, comparing our weekends in the hills.

Soon it was time for some real food. I’d been dreaming of a massive burger since about lunchtime on Friday and the Cairngorm Hotel did not disappoint, deliciously disgusting. Before we knew it, it was time to get on the train. For the journey home we had booked the luxury of a cabin. The twin bunk beds and crisp sheets were a welcome sight. Also, with a cabin you get access to the bar and lounge so we could continue our debrief over more beers, before retiring for the best night’s sleep I’ve had in ages.

It was surreal to arrive back in London on Monday morning. We parted ways both slightly spaced out by the whole adventure. I hopped on my bike to join the 7:30am commuters from Euston to Westminster and my office. A much needed shower and shave later and I was at my desk ready for a day’s work. Got to admit I didn’t have the most productive day, my mind was elsewhere….