Up the Bealach na Bà

Up the Bealach na Bà

By Nina Pearce

The auspiciously fair weather is welcome this morning at the Glen Mhor Estate. Two Gravel North flags are flapping in a gentle breeze. They frame a view of the steep, rounded top of the Bealach na Ba, situated only a couple of miles away.

Sunlight twinkles off the surface of the small loch on the south side of the glen as we begin to arrange nine tents on dewy grass. We’re aiming for a star shape, each point formed of three tents in a triangular cluster. After several rearrangements, we peg down each tent’s corners and guy ropes, confirming their final position. It would later be discovered by drone shot that we had somehow accidentally formed a near-perfect star, despite the view from the ground looking less uniform.

A fine mist begins to settle into heavier raindrops, so we retreat inside for a cup tea and some hot pasties fetched from the exceptionally well-stocked Spar in Lochcharron. A brief break in the clouds and tea drunk, there’s no hiding any longer. It’s time to ride up the Bealach.

Kit on, we prepare the bikes and get going. The ride along the road to the base of the climb is smooth and rolling. It feels great to be on a gravel bike again. I’ve ridden only my second-hand Raleigh commuter for months, a creaky purple mass of metal that feels Sisyphian to ride up any slight incline. The gravel bike is so light that I almost feel it bucking like a horse, eager for an outing.

This road is known to many as the Applecross Pass. Historically used to transport cattle to market, the pass has the steepest ascent of any road climb in the United Kingdom.

Many take to driving it for its views of Wester Ross and even the Isle of Skye on clearer days. Some call it Britain’s most dangerous road. To cyclists, it’s an iconic summit to conquer.

As is customary, we embark up the climb for about 10 minutes before pulling into a layby to peel several layers off each. There’s a big bright orb in the sky that has rarely been spotted in this part of the world, and it’s making us suffer.

I’m in my easiest gear almost immediately. The incline is one of those where you forget about speed and all your efforts are instead put towards staying on the bike. Round the first bend, the pass opens up and I see the road ahead ascending relentlessly into the distance, up the side of the mountain that forms one side of a plunging valley. A wiggling whitewater stream slices through its basin, and opens out into water much further away than from where we have come.

Traffic trickles past. Many drivers point a thumbs up or even lean out their windows to cheer us on. The climb drags on, and our small group begins to thin out: at these moments, it’s every man for himself. The hairpins tighten towards the summit. I keep my eyes on the road and avoid looking either down towards the treacherously steep valley, or up at the road remaining.

Eventually we reach the top. It takes me closer to an hour than I’d like to admit, but I’m thankful just to have made it. The rare sight of the sun bouncing down the jagged land is astonishing. We catch our breath and glug some water before leaving the smooth tarmac for some rough gravel. The real summit, I’m told, is at the telephone tower just up this track. My weakened legs struggle on the loose rock, but now we’re really off the beaten track, which is what we came to the Highlands for.

The treacherous hairpin descent on the way down is no joke. I’m no Pogacar, but despite being dropped almost immediately on the descent, I still reach 50kph down the bends. Wind roars in my ears and I cling to the handlebars. Soaring round the bend towards the bottom of the Bealach, I slow right down for the corner, and on the peatland beside the road is a small huddle of deer. Heads bob up quizzically as I glide past. I’m startled to see them grazing just a couple of metres away, but they aren’t frightened.

We stop for a photo and an OGT bar at the basin viewpoint before spinning back to Glen Mhor. My first proper bike ride in months, I’m weary, yet all too aware of what is to come over the next few days. Gravel in the Highlands is a challenge like no other. Taking the clear (ish) skies and deer sightings as good omens, I cosy up in my tent for a tomorrow of some serious gravel.