Singletrack

Not the bars he had in mind.
Hike-a-fat-bike looks like minimal fun.
“I’d just bought a Saracen with those fancy new suspension
forks, but it only lasted a week before I found myself in a
hospital bed without my bike and none the wiser! My boss
took pity on me and chipped in with my colleagues to buy
me a new bike, the Pine Mountain.” I began to think that I
should rechristen him Lucky Dave.
Encountering a particularly steep and loose section, I
watched him power up and through, his fat tyres instilling
comedic levels of traction and control. He was clearly relishing
his new-found climbing prowess as he rode up to me, his face
a picture of Cheshire Cat grinniness [That’s not a word – Ed].
What had once been a boggy trudge through dank forest had
transformed into an easy to ride path, albeit in a slightly postapocalyptic
clear-felled landscape. It wasn’t traditionally pretty,
but it afforded us views of the corrie rearing up ahead of us.
Upward, ever upward.
Contrary to my usual mountain ‘ride’ of ‘ride a little bit,
carry most of it and maybe ride the last few yards’, we found
ourselves still riding. As the incline steepened, the smooth trail
became crossed with stone water bars.
However, whoever had installed these had done a great job
of making them bike friendly – not so steep and sharp as to
make riding up and over them an awkward affair, but enough
to be a fun challenge.
Eventually our luck would run out. A steep section of
blank rock beside the quintessential waterfall necessitated
a bit of hikeabike portage. While a little awkward, it wasn’t
going to stop us on our mission. Cresting the top, the path
levelled off again and we were back and riding. “What a great
path!” I shouted to Dave when, with impeccable timing, it
disappeared to be replaced by the slough of despond. I have to
admit that I watched with jealous envy as Dave floated across
the boggy morass while my wagon wheels sank ever deeper.
Fortunately, normal service quickly resumed as the upgraded
path re-established itself and we crested the bealach (that’s
‘saddle’ for our more genteel and refined southern readers).
To our right, a properly intimidating rocky carry up on a
loose, scree-laden track looked really unpleasant. To our left,
a narrow ribbon of mildly precipitous singletrack – at times a
bit lumpy, but one which leads to a terrific descent down to
Loch Ard and a cracker of a tearoom far below.
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