The Longest Night (Snow Roads) - 21 Dec 2019

"Tay FM Snow Report: Powrie Brae is at a crawl and roads in Dundee are treacherous, the Cairnwell and Cairn O' Mounth are closed due to snow, all schools in Perth and Dundee are shut meanwhile in Fife Madras and Bell Baxter are open to local pupils and those whose buses turn up".

Why did my school bus always turn up?
Why did the Dundee kids get off at the slightest hint of snow when they could walk the mile to School when we had a 14 mile bus journey to look forwards to?
And why was this always on the wireless at 0805 when my bus was nominally at 0800 and we relied on Keith in the shop to holler the good news to us often as the bus was coming round the corner?

Such Snow reports from the radio give the "Snow Roads" their name and has loaned it to this Audax of legends, comprising two of the historic "Mounth Roads" crossing the barrier between the Lowlands and the Highlands and 3 passes that link Highland glens it's not an easy ride and as the organiser pleads "please, not in winter".
 

Stock Photograph: Typical winter scene in Glen Callater

It was Black Friday for the pub trade, I wandered through Aberdeen to get some tea before meeting Robbie and it was clear that the town was hoaching with people celebrating finishing work for Christmas.  We had an early start aiming to get going with a target of a comfortable midnight finish, this we reckoned would want an 0530 start so with reckoning on 30mins for breakfast and another 30 to get to Banchory an 0430 alarm call was needed.

I don't sleep heavily or well at the best of times, even cattle lowing on the hillside above my village can keep me awake on those short hot summer nights when the wonders of double glazing can't be used to shut it out for fear of boiling in my slumber.  In town, on this long cold night, just off the main drag the drunks, the joyous and the obnoxious were out making enough noise through the night to disrupt my sleep.  I struggled into the land of the wakeful as people still out socialising hung around on street corners trying to stretch their night out a little longer.

We were already behind plan by the time we left Robbie's, and having not allowed for Aberdeen's speed limits catching up with urban sprawl, we were well behind plan by the time we propped the bikes against the co-ops and obtained our starting receipt.
Robbie had managed to forget his Wahoo and I hadn't loaded the route up so we were riding on memory, seconds into the ride I spotted that my rear dynamo light wasn't working, thankfully I carry a back up and it was put into action with minimal delay, an ominous start.

We had planned to ride the previous weekend, a mild but snowy period that looked ideal if only I hadn't been lying asleep in bed crippled by the dreaded lurgy for 27 hours of it.  Tough decisions had been made:
Spikes or no spikes?  The forecast was for 4 to 5C for the duration, no spikes.
3 layers or 4? 3 for me, 4 for Robbie.
Big bag or small bag? Small bag and frame bah for me, medium bag for Robbie
Jelly Babies or Wine Gums; Jelly Babies, silly question.

Unexpectedly clear sky

One look at the sky made it clear the forecast was wrong, it had said 100% cloud cover but there were the stars twinkling away in the moonless sky above us, our lights the only guide through the darkness.

We seemed to be going well to start, our average picking up slowly as we rode north from Banchory to Echt, a slowly expanding and lightening line of blue was expanding in the sky with a line of orange trying to make its way into the scene that was developing behind me.


Hoar Frost coated the road as we climbed through the night in places, where there's hoar, there's at least grip, but where there's not you often can't see the enemy until you're lying on it.

With 21kmh on the clock everything seemed to be going well, the brief day was beginning to make its appearance, and the roads seemed to be ok for the speed.  But then on a T-junction, facing north, down hill Robbie found ice.  A large patch sitting just behind the Stop line was unseen and as he adjusted his weight balance to turn the bike to the right the wheels went from under him.  He and the bike slid briefly but stopped before the end of the ice patch saving road rash but knocking his shifter and damaging his jersey.  More care was needed than we thought.
Now taking things a bit more carefully we skirted the edge of Kemnay and onto more rural roads.

Morning struggling to arise from its slumber

From there to Oyne, Bennachie stands proud of the farm land, lit by the crisp winter air the world felt colder, we took careful brake drags down what are normally short sharp fast descents.
As we left Oyne the clouds in the sky behind the Tap O' Noth suggested less chill over our first pass of the day, the Cabrach. Thankfully the temperature started to ride and with that the road was clearer but we didn't want to take too many chances.  It's becoming a tradition that we almost miss the clatt turn off, maybe one day we will accidentally ride to Insch?

Normally we'd stop at Rhynie and raid the shop, but with the extra care being taken we didn't have a promising amount of time.  This village marks the start of the Cabrach, a corruption of the Gaelic A' Chabrach, meaning "Antler Place" and the 3rd least well known of the hill crossings of the Snow Roads, it makes a 4 pointed mark in the elevation profile of the day and as I found out, it's easy to forget which point you're on, each pitch distinct, each with its own challenges all of them a good steady dig.

The final peak finally leads you to a plunge into Dufftown where victuals and solace can be found, our speed was low though so we chose to bounce the co-op rather than attack the all day breakfast in the café having learnt the lesson of the Tomintoul road earlier in the year. I chose a chicken sandwich and a can of coke, normally rocket fuel for me I added a block of tablet for my pocket and a creme egg for a bit of extra boost and then we cracked on.

Cabrach Kirk

The road out of Dufftown is deceptive, it starts with a sharp climb through the village before seeming to ease out to flat or downhill, but as you ride up Glen Rinnes the road climbs the hillside at 2.5% while the river takes a more gentle route down the glen, this is in part due to the road crossing the hills and dropping you briefly into Glen Livet, a short sharp descent that gives limited gain; not long are you in Glen Livet but you are in Tomnavoulin. Robbie was pondering why the distillery is Tamnavoulin, I suggested it's probably a divergence in Scots and English transliteration, Tom in English is Tam in Scots.

Whatever the cause the distilleries website says it means "Mill on the Hill", I've been trying to learn a bit of Gaelic using Duolingo and Runrig so here goes...
Mill - Muileann but because of the Na becomes Mhuileann;
A Tom is a hillock.
Tom na Mhuileann - Hillock of the mill?

The descent to the bride over the Avon is also short and sharp with a nasty corner onto the bridge, at the junction we had gained a whopping 0.2Kmh; things were only going to get slower from here.
The lead into the Lecht is another of those climbs that looks like nothing, but you gain 150m before being faced with the sight of the ski centre perched on top of a wall.  As I rode up the gentle part of the climb I could hear a helicopter hovering somewhere, not long after an Ambulance passed while Robbie disappeared into the distance.

The road to Tomintoul

I'd fitted the new 34t cassette for this, the 20% section is only a few meters long but it's surrounded by >10% gradients, enough to give you a decent walk if you stall; and I always stall.  My thought had been that with the lower gears I could get up, but I was severely lacking energy and was starting to think I might turn back at Strathdon.  I struggled on as I could but there's little difference between 5kmh and 4kmh, and at my usual spot I ground to a halt and dismounted.  

At the top Robbie was waiting by the ski centre watching the helicopter and Ambulance preparing to make a patient transfer; With 45 miles to the nearest full facility hospital the SAS like their military namesakes don't mess, this is routine.

The plunge to the Don bridge is a mix of high speed delight and tough switchback terror, starting with a delightfully long ramp with amazing views before the wide open switchbacks and then the heavily cambered turn in the trees before the last sharp plunge to Cockbridge.  If while death gripping the bars you look ahead of you, a road winds its way up the hillside to the south, you see it again as you roll on through the gentler descent of Strathdon, but by the bridge what's about to come is hidden from you.

The Lecht

The road to Crathes starts with a tough dig in the trees before easing off slightly, tough enough that I redeployed feet, and slightly enough that I was able to get back on for long enough to make good enough progress.  This hill is called by cyclists BH1; crossing the bleak muir land on the hill sides of "The Craig" (the rock) and "Tom Dubh" (Black Hillock) then skirting the top of Glen Fenzie before plunging you down to the hamlet at the Bridge of Gairn at the head of Glen Gairn; of all the hill crossings of the Snow Roads this one gets you, largely because you forget its there.

The last photo of the day, on BH2

I was still feeling very short of energy and doubting my ability to finish, I had scoffed the tablet by the time we crossed the bridge without feeling an improvement. BH2; I can't imagine what the B stands for but I guess the H is for hill. Nowhere near as bad but another to catch out the forgetful.

The descent is a classic woodland ride, from the top on the muir the descent builds in a straight line, a bridge and a cattle grid denote a sharp ramp that catches out the unwary coming the other way, while the twisting nature of the road through the trees is ready to catch out the unwary on the descent.
The sun had set without fanfare and the gloaming was short, Robbie had gone ahead by now and I was dumped on the A93 alone in the dark.

I still wasn't sure about my ability to go on, but I turned for Braemar, partly because I needed to catch Robbie, but also because I could lock the bike up and get back to the car by bus if need be.  I didn't feel too bad on the gentle grades of Glen Dee, it was a cold, dark, quiet night, most of the traffic was heading down towards Aberdeen. A set of road works halted my progress and I decided it was time to crack open the Waffle and Jelly Babies even though the sugar rush of the tablet had failed to arrive this was a last throw of the dice before Braemar.  The lights weren't for changing on me and I took the advantage of this to finish the waffle and get a good handful of jelly babies, the result was near instant.

Robbie had been talking about going to the chip shop in Braemar but as I toiled into town it was clearly shut, a bike was leaning against a bench next to the mews it's owner sitting stabbing at food with a fork, but it wasn't Robbie.  Either he had carried out his other threat and gone into the Fife Arms or he had gone to the co-op.  I decided to try the co-op first.

Stock Photograph: Braemar

As expected Robbie was there with an armful of food; having now realised that I needed to eat cake I attached the small selection of remaining pastries and looked for the shortcake slices.  My energy was picking up again, I also grabbed some sweets for the bag just in case.
We had already decided to take the main road up to the pass rather than Golf Road, often mistaken as the "Old Road" both appear in the 1880s OS maps though the route of the modern road isn't shown on the maps of Gen. Roy or A. Arrowsmith but they are both pre-clearances and pre-model village (Braemar)..

I was feeling good now after the feed, though I was much slower up the hill and Robbie took a good lead on me, normally you see the lights of the ski centre looming above but all was dark.  My light hardly picked up a feature at the roadside, enveloped in darkness I only knew of the few cars passing and the fewer descending.  At one point I thought I had taken the corner with the trees and I wondered why I hadn't seen Frasers bridge, but it was more likely Auchalter.  Towards me in the distance I saw what I thought were two cars approaching, the closer they got the more the lights looked like Led bike lights and I greeted them four with some surprise.  Who else would be out on a cold dark night like this, other Audaxers? and then I looked at my clock and realised it was hardly half 7 at night.

Stock: Statues on the Cairnwell Psss

I'd settled into an invisible pace in the darkness on Glen Callater, when I reached the top I looked in horror at my average speed, 15.2kmh we were right on the limit.  Robbie had hidden in the ski centres toilet to use the hand dryers to get some heat and to dry out his damp kit.  We had no time but to carry on, the descent allowed some time to be regained but the road becomes lumpy once you're off the Cairnwell pass and into Gleann Beag proper.  It remains lumpy as you turn into Glen Shee at the Spittal and head for the Glen Isla turn off. And Isla isn't too smooth either.

Not long after the turn off I needed a stop, I hopped off the bike and held it with my back, sore from the effort of shoving the bike along in the cold a brief spasm shoved the bike over and it came crashing down on the drive side.  I knew it wasn't going to be good from the sound of impact; once I got back on the bike the peace was breached for a few seconds as I tried to identify what was working in the dark. The chain was skipping on the top 3 gears and the bottom were rather more noisy than normal; I knew the hanger was bent and that with a 34t cassette that left me with the 25t as my smallest gear.

I spent a winter shoving a 25t on a light carbon bike, back when I was also light(er) and fast(er), climbing the local hills and the Ben Lawers road; that gave me the strength to get up the Cockbridge ramp in a 30t, hanging over the front wheel to keep it down and fighting for every pedal turn; but today 25t on the Isla's lumps was too much and I was going to spend the rest of the night taking to my feet whenever I missed a gear shift on rises and extended climbs.

Robbie had waited for me, I don't know if he'd heard the swearing or was just worried about the fact I was far enough behind to need to stop, we discussed options which all started with "Tomorrow", I was stuck with it.  We were able to use the mostly downhill nature of Glen Isla to get some more speed back, on a long straight in the trees a deer walked into the road ahead of us, it took enough time for me to count it's points as I slowed fearing a stand off. I distracted myself from my sick bike with memories of a bonfire from the summer calendar event of 2017 how I'd have loved the heat of that fire in this cold damp night, the Glen Isla hotel once again glowing in the night and of the St Andrews BB cottage, the scene of early hikes for me which involved a lot of bog trotting while learning how to use a compass.  It was around here I also realised that the dynamo rear light had started working after the drop.

Eventually Kirrie appeared as a glow in the night sky but it takes its time to make an appearance, I had worked out a plan to avoid the climb out of town; either the petrol station or the Spar at Knowhead would be open at this hour.  Improvising the route round town to collect a receipt, more food and thankfully not an accidental detour to the Clova hotel. 
Without our GPS'es this was going to be the hardest bit of navigation, a wrong turn to the South or East takes you to Brechin or the A90, neither particularly desirable, a wrong turn to the North will take you back to Kirrie via a loop, not quiet as undesirable but with us now so close to the edge the Gamey would be up the Poley as they say in the schemes.

Robbie remembered to look out for the narrow bridge before Edzell, this time the lights of the Panny were on but no stop was required for a snooze.
The mist was hanging low over the Mearns countryside dampening the darkness further, Fettercairn loomed as a bright patch of cloud, the top of the arch barely visible, the final insult was near.

Climbing out of town I noted how much new builds there have been recently in a town that feels like it's on the edge of nowhere, distant to the South Brechin and Forfar, to the East Stonehaven and Montrose are hardly near by, and to the North the Mounth.
A result of the Highland Boundary fault they split Scotland into Highland and Lowland, with many historic passes crossing, some still in use as metalled roads others byways for walkers and Rough Stuff riders, and more lost to the footsteps of Old Father Time.
This range of mountains stretches across Scotland from the East Coast to the West, now splattered with "Grampian Mountains" from Tacitus' "Mons Graupius" they are more correctly grouped by colour though only the Black and .Grey (Monadhliath) retain their colours in modern common use thanks in part to the OS and to Ski Centres messing with every ones geography.

Am Monadh, the Mounth rises where the fault emerges from the sea between Stonehaven and Newtonhill stretching across to the west coast on the Firth of Clyde where it slices the Isle of Arran in half.  The first of the historic roads the Causey Mounth a boggy causewayed path since bypassed by the A92, the rest are all mountain passes. 

The mountains themselves were never thought of as a single range, but a set of ranges named descriptively and often by colour:

The White Mounth, Lochnagar and neighbours.

The Red Mounth, Am Monadh Ruadh, corruption of the highest peak's name has resulted in Cairn Gorm being the modern popular name.

The Grey Mounth, Am Monadh Liath, considered the most boring of the Munros to walk but at least keeping their name.

The Black Mounth, Am Monadh Dubh, to most the switch backs on the road north of Bridge of Orchy and like Rannoch Muir usually called Glen Coe by those that can't figure out what a Glen is.

At the back of midnight, the hillsides of the Cairn O' Mounth pass were invisible, the lights of the tea room of Clatterin Brig was all to be seen of the start of the climb.  The hill starts tough and eases off, fine with a good set of gears for your strength and fresh legs, not so good on 280km with weak legs and lacking in the gear department.  I was off the bike early, the time gained on the descent through Isla and the Mearns was ticking away, usually I can remount the bike and get going around the Ruin, I couldn't see the ruin until Robbie managed to catch it with his light beam, but tonight there was no hope, the only sights of the extend of walk I was facing were to be seen from the odd descending car.  

I used the Wahoo map to see where I was, hoping every time I operated the back light that I would be near the hairpin, every time it was disappointingly far away until at last it came just before 1am.
Robbie was oblivious to the impending time limit an wanted to rest, but we had to get on down the hill.  I had been working out the distance from the signage, unsure of the accuracy I had determined we were looking at possibly 304km based on the sign in Fettery, 20km from the summit, an hour and a half to do it in there being no allowance for the over distance.

In such darkness I could only see what of the road my light would pick up, sections where I normally hold back because I can see the plunge faster than normal, sections where distant visibility is handy slower than normal, confusing combinations of snow poles as the route winds across the muirland plateau similarly unhelpful.  At the bridge over the Spittal the sharp climb beat me, speed lost due to the sharp turn that catches out truck drivers and the like and I was walking again but at least it's short, from here I could push on.  Crossing the Bridge of Dye with enough speed to carry into the steep ramp out to keep going.  Past the AA box, the lights of Strachan were visible, and we finally entered Feughside.

The road to Banchory has some gentle rises to sap the speed from your tired legs, the town has a ramp to the high street, my knees grumbled at the cadence as I mashed up the last hill to the traffic lights and joined Robbie at the ATM, where he realised just how close to time we were. 30 minutes to spare.

The smell of take-away chips was tainting the air, and Robbie was hungry. I had spotted a crowd in the car park and took a stab at it being there that the chip shop was still open; he reappeared with a large pile of Doner and Chips proclaiming that he had been served by men speaking in thick London accents; this being Deeside I can only presume he was hallucinating as the Doric is just as impenetrable.