Bealach Na Ba is the UK's biggest road climb. 2,053ft (626m) from sea level in 6 miles, Simon Warren's book ranks it 11/10, 'the holy grail!'. However, the real feat of epic endurance (not to mention logistical genius) was to get to and from the far West Highlands. The reward for your efforts is stunning vistas, a friendly welcome and wall to wall 'Yes' campaign posters.
Having collected our numbers (13 for me!) and dibbers, we congregated outside Kinlochewe (pop: 150) village hall for the safety briefing. A gentle drizzle had escalated to a torrential downpour in time for the traditional bagpiper. With around 500 riders, the tiny village was overrun with bicycles though only one featured mudguards (Bruce!).
Over dinner at the Poolewe Hotel the previous evening the three of us discussed tactics agreeing that the best approach would be to start steady, monster the climb and then keep something for the end.
All strategy evaporated having downed the Whistle Stop Café's finest double espresso; barely registering the drag out of the village we latched on with a swift peloton making good progress and continued to chain gang at about 25mph avg for the next hour!
The umpteenth cattle grid forced a stop from me as I lost my bottle top. A bit further down the road another stop to admire an eagle overhead, then the obligatory cheesy photo at the road sign and a bit of faffing about to dib the dibber in order to record the time for the climb.
The mountain was looking down on us menacingly, the top caked in murk and the grey ribbon of tarmac winding up into cloud, goading us on. The road is closed for the sportive, although I'm not sure anyone would have attempted to drive it in Saturday's conditions!
The lower slopes tilt skywards gently but the wind was adding to the work. My brother Rich launched himself into the haul enthusiastically, a gusto that was eventually sapped by the massive cross wind that became a head wind a couple of bends later. Bruce, on winter bike (though having sacrificed his large saddle bag in his one concession to sportive riding) settled for a more measured approach, capturing some pictures and drawing attention with his unique mudguards. I set off after Rich but attempting to find a sustainable rhythm, conscious of 12km of climb ahead, and, since the views for the first couple of miles were still a treat, attempting to distract myself and avoid 'looking the enemy in the face'.
I finally reeled in my brother and a few others from the morning peloton, at around mile 4. There was nothing to see now but the upward tarmac and fellow sufferers (but only as you got within touching distance!).
Up up up we went, the gradient getting increasingly punishing. I passed a couple of lads on a tandem looking pretty comfortable but by now I was in and out of the saddle constantly, sometimes feeling like I was hardly moving and the visibility reduced to about 10 feet.
A few words exchanged with others (between pants and groans) I learnt the gradient was about to get even steeper. After a few more bends with no visibility and murk all around me I really started to feel the buzz and fall in love with this mountain. I could see now increasing numbers of people off and walking. I stole a glance at the garmin: 5mph. Knowing it would be impossible to walk that fast I dug a bit deeper and wondered if I would make the rest of the 90 mile route.
Someone mentions encouragingly as I pass that once you reach the hairpins 'you have made it'.
More walkers. Try not to think about stopping. Just think of the endorphins! Finally I think I can see a hairpin about two feet in front of me! Then at last over the top. Now I'm flying past lots of chaps as the road flattens and then rolls; I almost miss the dibbers.
Topped up water and let some out, jacket on and started the descent. I started to follow a chap who looked confident bordering on reckless. I saw him fly into switchback with apparently no brakes. He made it partially round but then seemed to hit the shallow dip by the edge of the tarmac and then make a dive for the barrier. Several of us stopped to see if he was ok (and get our breath back - I think we all expected to see him go tumbling down the craggy mountainside to a gory end) but he was on his feet again and being grumpy before I could say 'how's the bike?' so I decided to plough on. The road surface was excellent and though visibility was very poor I was able to enjoy most of it. The murk cleared considerably after a little while and I rounded a bend to see the most spectacular view of the bay and a ray of sun piercing the cloud onto the mountains.
We stopped and regrouped at the feed station around the bay for homemade shortbread, and after this point the road was rolling continuously along the coast, with stunning views everywhere, forests, sheep, birds, views of Raasay and Skye behind it. There were only about two junctions in the next 40 miles and very little traffic. Whenever we did come across drivers, they always stopped for us and waved and clapped. The weather improved considerably and we were almost dry. Brother was desperate for the final feed stop and bolstered by nurofen, ditched us in solo breakaway.
Around mile 75 the drizzle started and rapidly turned biblical. The whole ride was completely strung out by now and we saw only a handful of other riders in the last couple of hours.
I'll never forget the amazing party atmosphere on our return to the village hall. Hot soup, a roll and cake of all descriptions. I was told the entire village had been baking (for the last year by the look of it!).
Highly recommended. I will be back!