When Lee Craigie received an email from Hostelling Scotland, asking if she and two pals would be interested in a commemorative ride of Mary’s bikepacking journey, Alice Lemkes and I fortuitously happened to be sitting next to her – there was no question in our minds that we were the two gals for the job (and didn’t even wait to be asked!). We would approximate Mary’s 1936 route staying in hostels along the way, collating our own diary entries, and take keen photographer and film-maker Maciek Tmoiczek along for the ride to help us tell our own story…
Crianlarich
Setting out on this trip made me reflect on my first cycling tour of the Highlands six years before. I’d headed up from London alone on the Caledonian sleeper, so nervous but also blissfully ignorant of what such a trip might entail. I had with me: a coffin like tent; minimal tools (and skills to match); and a pair of borrowed panniers on a 1970’s steel Peugeot with woefully insufficient gearing. I hadn’t even brought a stove, and after two nights of wild and windy camping realised I had bitten off more than I could chew.
I decided to focus on the riding, opting to stay in hostels and bunkhouses instead, and promptly posted the tent home. I had no smartphone then; armed only with paper maps and a Rough Guide to the ‘Highlands and Islands’. Looking back it must have been a liberating trip, I couldn’t even check the weather and let it influence my plans. Instead I’d wake each day and head into whatever the Scottish weather and terrain chose to throw at me, hoping only to make it to the next available hostel en route.
“Off to a somewhat soggier start than Mary. Didn’t make it half a mile before Philippa’s first puncture. But as soon as we got onto the West Highland Way, we left the sprawling city behind / Beautiful but hard going along the loch. The rain finally found us and we were all soaked through by the time we got to Inversnaid. Hotel was closed but thank Christ the ferry was running / We wondered what Mary would have done next, and we are almost certain she would have stopped at The Drovers Inn for a pint too. Rolled into Crianlarich Hostel after dark. So grateful for the drying room, hot showers and pizza.”
– Alice Lemkes, 2021
Glencoe
It is amazing what can and has changed in those six years. Back then I had few friends who thought a weeks cycling and camping in Scotland was a good use of precious holiday days, let alone want to join me! Now I find myself surrounded by a growing community of incredible like minded women (and men) with friends like Lee and Alice at its core. We seem to share similarly ridiculous ideals of what constitutes a good time on a bike, and absurd jaunts, filled with laughter and optimism are where comfort zones can expand when facilitated by the company and support of others. On our rides I am pushed, pulled and stretched – mentally and physically, each time springing back a more resilient version than before. Each time the world a little less daunting, and more enticing place to explore.
“We left just before sunrise in freshly dried clothes and rode into a crisp clear morning with frost on the ground, crossing steaming rivers into inverted clouds typical of this time of year. We stocked up on food in Tyndrum and headed into the hills—up and over Rannoch Moor where the autumnal colours were ablaze with the brightness of the sun / After a fast, flowy off-road descent, we briefly crossed the A82. It was brief yet long enough to know that pushing our bikes over the Devil’s Staircase was preferable to sharing the road any longer with the speeding traffic dominating the beauty of Glencoe / On reaching the col, we brewed some coffee and gaped at the ever-changing light of the glen. Descending back to the road as the clouds moved in we sped on to the hostel. A warm greeting from the manager, Thomas, and we were directed to the bike shed and shown into the comfortable timber-lined hostel. A quick wash and then to the Clachaig Inn for pints and dinner.”
– Philippa Battye, 2021
Glenshiel
As tends to be the theme with riding in the Highlands with Lee and Alice, we don’t often take the path of least resistance to get from A to B. It is a privilege to pass through wild and remote places afforded by the advances in bike technology since Marys journey in 1936. For Mary and her sisters the often poorly surfaced roads were too much to bare, sensibly opting to flag down a lorry instead. For us though, big tyres, plenty of gears, lightweight kit and experience means travelling far off the beaten track seems like the only sensible and often safer thing to do.
On my first cycling tours I had no idea that turning off a road onto a bumpy track was a) something you could do, and b) would lead to such beautiful landscapes. The gradual realisation that between the roads dominated by fast travel lies vast expanses of timeless wilderness; in-between places where we are offered slow, calming respite from the rush and reminders of the modern world.
“This morning, a set of borrowed mole grips, some electrical tape, and a tyre lever returned Philippa’s wheel to something resembling round. After a lovely breakfast of coffee and croissants, we rolled northwards via the Corran and Camasngual ferries to Fort William. Far too long was spent in the sunshine here over a second breakfast, bike shop faffery, and snack resupply before we finally got going on the Caledonia Way / Only a few miles up the road, we got chatting to a couple of gents
driving 1925 Ford Model Ts, and, before we knew it, we had our bikes loaded and were being whisked along the road by Loch Lochy. This is how you get back on schedule. Eventually, we said goodbye to our new friends and got back under pedal power, but after 30 miles of riding in the rain, none of us could resist the pull of the Clunie Inn. It would have been unreasonable to expect us to ride by without stopping for a pint in those conditions, and so it was dusk by the time we dropped down
towards the sea, the South Glen Sheil Ridge and Five Sisters of Kintail looming high above us / Ratagan Hostel twinkled enticingly in the darkness by the shores of Loch Duich. We’ve never
been more grateful for the use of a drying room. We may say the same tomorrow.”
– Lee Craigie, 2021
Portree
Bicycles have always been associated with freedom, from the rush a child experiences when they realise they can propel themselves into ever-expanding worlds, to women in the suffrage movement centuries ago. Where the quote below from Susan B Anthony – a woman’s right activist – seems as relevant today as in 1896:
“I think [the bicycle] has done more to emancipate women than any one thing in the world. I rejoice every time I see a woman ride by on a bike. It gives her a feeling of self-reliance and independence the moment she takes her seat; and away she goes, the picture of untrammelled womanhood.”
Travelling by bike over the years has certainly changed my view of the world and how I can pick my way through it. I remember the sense of satisfaction I felt after fixing my first puncture, alone out on the road. This was the start of an ever growing faith that I could fix my own problems and maybe rely on myself – an empowering thing, often more so as a women. Trusting ones capabilities to get out of a mess, fix mechanicals, or bounce back from a mental low are all useful tools to have, and the gradual liberation from a long list of limiting fears, has allowed me to navigate life in a way I didn’t realise was possible…
“We woke in the dark while the rain continued to beat down as hard as it had the night before. We soon got our first sight of Loch Duich in the grey dawn with the Five Sisters of Kintail dominating the landscape beyond. The wind rolled clouds between the peaks and brought some brighter weather. We tore ourselves away from the comfort of Ratagan Hostel and immediately began the steep climb over Mam Ratagan to Glenelg, where we awaited the Skye Ferry—the last turntable ferry of its kind—and where the next road climb erupted straight from the sea on the other side. We resupplied in Broadford and headed west towards Elgol. We were swept along the coast with the Red Cuillins in front of us and the hillside burning russet, bronze, and mahogany with the autumn fern. We headed off-road towards Sligachan and dropped into Camasunary Bay where we brewed coffee by the calm water looking out to Rhùm / It had become late and we were at least two hours to Sligachan through the heart of the Cuillins. But what a treat! The low sun accentuated the reds of the scree-streaked peaks to our right whilst the black Cuillins loomed on our left as we edged our way around lochans. Stags bellowed on the hillsides. We looked, but the white wisps of clouds and deep, black fractures in the distant rock suggested they’d be far too small to spot. As dusk fell, the lights of the hotel at Sligachan marked the end of the singletrack and out of the Glen. We made it to the Portree Hostel well after dark, flung our muddy clothes into the wash-ing machine, and headed straight to the pub.”
– Alice, 2021
Torridon
“We left in the dark, having decided the night before we’d try to catch the bus to avoid the busy 30 miles of tarmac to get off Skye. From the Skye Bridge, we followed the scenic railway line along Loch Carron before turning off the road into the big hills to take the ‘direct’ route over to Torridon. We mostly pushed our bikes up rocky singletrack as it wound up past the river that flowed against us. Coulags Bothy appeared just as the rain set in, so we cracked out the stoves and our emergency
couscous rations. Deciding the rain wasn’t going to stop for us, we continued on. But, surprised by the unseasonal warmth, we couldn’t resist the pull of an icy cold swim in the moody Loch Cian. As we approached the col, we were stopped in our tracks by a stag, seemingly guarding the pass, unfazed by our presence as we breathlessly stared back. After a while, he grew bored of us, and we got moving again, already soaked and getting colder by the minute. The descent was full-on and some may say we were under-biked / The elements were out in force as sheet rain drifted past while gusts buffeted us sideways. We took brief respite in the emergency shelter to add layers before continuing down to the lights of Torridon as dusk fell. As always, we arrived at the hostel in the dark with soaking wet feet. We were greeted by the wonderful Emily who welcomed us in and looked after our every need, filling us with much-needed curry and local beer.”
– Philippa, 2021
Home
“With the weather now having completely crapped out, we woke this morning feeling very smug in our warm, dry hostel. Towards the end of yesterday, I’d taken a belter of a fall and badly biffed my shoulder. The latent pain of the fall, combined with lashing rain and foreboding low cloud lacing itself through Torridon’s summits, suggested a rest day. Like the stag on the hillside last night, sometimes you need external forces to present themselves to force you to stop pushing onwards. And so, with feet now off the gas, we took our time over breakfast then pottered about the glen swimming and exploring the beach before returning to the speculator panoramic lounge of the hostel / The satisfaction we all felt at having self-propelled our little team over hill and Glen from Glasgow could now be enjoyed. Tired muscles relaxed into comfortable chairs and we passed the time playing guitar, drawing maps, and writing stories, occasionally looking up to check the weather hadn’t changed its mind. It hadn’t. It struck us how our experience of travelling by bike through
Torridon’s timeless landscape would have been very similar to Mary’s journey. We also reflected on how this illusion might be about to be shattered as we head south again – back to busier roads
and built-up areas, more people, and less headspace.”
– Lee, 2021
Since the trip we’ve often been asked to describe ‘the challenge’ we took on, however in our eyes it wasn’t a challenge at all. Not to say it was a picnic – elements of most bike rides pose constant demands on ones sense of humour – the wet, cold, hunger, sore knees, another hill to push over… However these are all small things to manage in the moment, rather than a finite ‘challenge’ to conquer or complete. We set out with a loose plan, an ambitious route, and mutual objectives to enjoy ourselves and allow time to take it all in. Often the biggest challenge is letting go of rigid or purist ideals and prioritising what is kinder and beneficial for us, as friends and bike riders. Slowing down and covering 20km in 4 hours in order to experience a jaw dropper of a remote glen, makes perfect sense if you don’t then beat yourself up for hopping on a bus to avoid a stretch of busy road…
…because, like Mary and her sisters demonstrated, there is no right or wrong way to ride bikes or go on adventures.
FIN.
BIKEPACKERS
Philippa Battye
Alice Lemkes
Lee Craigie
PHOTOS
Maciek Tomiczek
WORDS
Philippa Battye
PARTNERS
Adventure Syndicate / a collective of endurance riders who happen to be women
Hostelling Scotland / sixty affordable, welcoming accommodations in some of the best locations across Scotland
RAINSPOTTING
Six of us alight the sleeper train at Corrour - the highest, remotest station on the West Highland Line - and 'go for a w̶a̶l̶k̶ ride' through the wintry, gloomy Grampian Mountains of Scotland. We track the old-established north-south drove roads and, in true drover style, explore the alluring moorland voids in between...
by STEFAN AMATO & DAVID SEAR
RAINSPOTTING
Six of us alight the sleeper train at Corrour - the highest, remotest station on the West Highland Line - and 'go for a w̶a̶l̶k̶ ride' through the wintry, gloomy Grampian Mountains of Scotland. We track the old-established north-south drove roads and, in true drover style, explore the alluring moorland voids in between...