S
Simon Brooke
Guest
I don't usually write ride reports of Sunday club runs, but today's was a
particularly good one. It wasn't really intended to be - third Sunday of
the month is 'non-technical off-road', which is usually a family-
friendly ride, and today's plan was just to explore tracks into the
hills from Gatehouse, and see where they went.
As it happened, those who showed up turned out to be myself, Dougie 'The
Bus', and Alison. We're all cyclists, but we've all been struggling with
one health problem or another through the winter, so none of us super
fit. We set off out of Gatehouse and I immediately took the wrong road,
out to the grave yard; a dead end. Not deterred, this being an off-road
ride after all, we crossed a few fields to rejoin the road we should
have been on, winding up the east bank of the Fleet, past the farm where
I spent the first summer holidays I can actually remember, as a very
small boy. At Rusko bridge, we had two choices - straight on up the
valley through Carstramon wood, a beautiful bit of ancient oak forest,
or cross the river and ride the long climb up to Gatehouse Station. We'd
none of us ridden the Carstramon Wood track, and Alison wasn't too keen
on anything technical, so we crossed the river and started to climb.
It's a good hill, metalled road but very quiet, climbing up to the old
station cottage at the 150 metre contour; we saw one car.
At the station we lifted the bikes over the fence onto the old railway
line, and cycled east on the ballast under the crags of the Clints of
Drummore as far as the Big Water of Fleet viaduct. The old railway is
wonderful for cycling, high, with marvellous views, a good surface (at
least for mountain bike tyres), gentle gradients, and, of course, no
traffic.
The Big Water of Fleet viaduct is owned by Sustrans, the well known
Sustainable Transport charity. It is consequently about the only place
in upper Galloway across which one is not permitted to cycle. So we came
down off the railway and detoured around over two or three miles of
forestry road, encountering our first serious snow. Across the
forestry's low level bridge, and back up onto the old railway, here
surrounded with dense forestry plantations and thus with limited views,
climbing again to the site of the Little Water of Fleet viaduct. The
viaduct has been demolished, sadly. Again we came down off the old
railway, crossed the river on a forestry bridge, and followed the
forestry track which leads back up to the railway on the East side, and
across it. Following the railway east from there takes one through a
wonderfully wild section to Loch Skerrow Halt, famous from the
Thirty-Nine Steps; it's a grand ride, but not what I'd planned to do
today.
Instead I'd planned to explore the track south - which I assumed (and
said) led back down the valley to Gatehouse. It was Dougie who first
said 'it's all down hill from here'.
To be fair, I had got a good set of maps with me, and we knew where we
were. I'd deliberately not looked at the map - it takes the fun out of
exploring. But...
But it wasn't 'all down hill' - far from it. After a short dip we were
climbing again, gently, through mature plantation, on a track badly
rutted by big forestry vehicles. Here we passed two walkers - middle
aged men, with a dog. We exchanged greetings. And then we started
seriously to climb, over false summit after false summit (at each of
which someone said the famous words), round the slopes of the Rig of
Burnfoot and onto Shiel Rig. A grand view opened up to the North and
West, over to the snow covered mass of the Cairnsmore.
We'd left the railway at about the 120 metre contour; We finally topped
out at 220 metres on the slopes of the White Top of Culreoch. And then a
wonderful descent. It wasn't, strictly, easy; the track was badly
rutted, and had potholes filled with dirty water that you just had to
have faith concealed nothing tyre-eatingly or wheel-bendingly evil. But
it was a blast, and I blasted down. Twisting across a burn at the bottom
the track started to rise again, and at the top of the first rise I
could see another nasty ascent to come. I waited for the others. Dougie
came up to me, and carried on.
Alison didn't come, and after a few minutes I headed back. She'd fallen.
She'd broken her nice helmet, and had a few bruises, but she insisted
she was all right; and her bike hadn't taken any harm. I radioed ahead
to Dougie to ask him to wait for us. After a few minutes of getting
herself together Alison climbed back on and headed on after Dougie, and
I followed, crawling up the next ascent. Dougie and Alison had kindly
waited for me at the top, and I again checked with Alison that she was
OK to continue.
Then across another little valley and up onto the Gatehouse to Laurieston
road just above the 200 metre contour...
Which meant, of cause, that we had two hundred metres to lose, on tarmac,
in the six kilometres down to Gatehouse. Over a little rise and suddenly
we could see the coast and the islands spread out below us. At last it
was 'all down hill from here'. Wind up into highest gear, fingers
resting on the brakes, blast. Wonderful. Down across the open moorland,
twisting down the wooded valley side, blast through a short distance of
pastureland, back into the town. Two and a half hours, about thirty or
thirty-five kilometers, at least 300 metres of climb.
And, for the first time this year, although we rode through quite a lot
of snow, I wished I hadn't worn my tights. It was hot work!
We saw two cars on out way down into Gatehouse, to add to the one we'd
seen on the way out. There had been a man tending a grave in the
graveyard. There were, as I said, two walkers on the track south of the
Little Water of Fleet viaduct. Apart from that, we had the high country
to ourselves.
--
[email protected] (Simon Brooke) http://www.jasmine.org.uk/~simon/
For office use only. Please do not write or type below this line.
particularly good one. It wasn't really intended to be - third Sunday of
the month is 'non-technical off-road', which is usually a family-
friendly ride, and today's plan was just to explore tracks into the
hills from Gatehouse, and see where they went.
As it happened, those who showed up turned out to be myself, Dougie 'The
Bus', and Alison. We're all cyclists, but we've all been struggling with
one health problem or another through the winter, so none of us super
fit. We set off out of Gatehouse and I immediately took the wrong road,
out to the grave yard; a dead end. Not deterred, this being an off-road
ride after all, we crossed a few fields to rejoin the road we should
have been on, winding up the east bank of the Fleet, past the farm where
I spent the first summer holidays I can actually remember, as a very
small boy. At Rusko bridge, we had two choices - straight on up the
valley through Carstramon wood, a beautiful bit of ancient oak forest,
or cross the river and ride the long climb up to Gatehouse Station. We'd
none of us ridden the Carstramon Wood track, and Alison wasn't too keen
on anything technical, so we crossed the river and started to climb.
It's a good hill, metalled road but very quiet, climbing up to the old
station cottage at the 150 metre contour; we saw one car.
At the station we lifted the bikes over the fence onto the old railway
line, and cycled east on the ballast under the crags of the Clints of
Drummore as far as the Big Water of Fleet viaduct. The old railway is
wonderful for cycling, high, with marvellous views, a good surface (at
least for mountain bike tyres), gentle gradients, and, of course, no
traffic.
The Big Water of Fleet viaduct is owned by Sustrans, the well known
Sustainable Transport charity. It is consequently about the only place
in upper Galloway across which one is not permitted to cycle. So we came
down off the railway and detoured around over two or three miles of
forestry road, encountering our first serious snow. Across the
forestry's low level bridge, and back up onto the old railway, here
surrounded with dense forestry plantations and thus with limited views,
climbing again to the site of the Little Water of Fleet viaduct. The
viaduct has been demolished, sadly. Again we came down off the old
railway, crossed the river on a forestry bridge, and followed the
forestry track which leads back up to the railway on the East side, and
across it. Following the railway east from there takes one through a
wonderfully wild section to Loch Skerrow Halt, famous from the
Thirty-Nine Steps; it's a grand ride, but not what I'd planned to do
today.
Instead I'd planned to explore the track south - which I assumed (and
said) led back down the valley to Gatehouse. It was Dougie who first
said 'it's all down hill from here'.
To be fair, I had got a good set of maps with me, and we knew where we
were. I'd deliberately not looked at the map - it takes the fun out of
exploring. But...
But it wasn't 'all down hill' - far from it. After a short dip we were
climbing again, gently, through mature plantation, on a track badly
rutted by big forestry vehicles. Here we passed two walkers - middle
aged men, with a dog. We exchanged greetings. And then we started
seriously to climb, over false summit after false summit (at each of
which someone said the famous words), round the slopes of the Rig of
Burnfoot and onto Shiel Rig. A grand view opened up to the North and
West, over to the snow covered mass of the Cairnsmore.
We'd left the railway at about the 120 metre contour; We finally topped
out at 220 metres on the slopes of the White Top of Culreoch. And then a
wonderful descent. It wasn't, strictly, easy; the track was badly
rutted, and had potholes filled with dirty water that you just had to
have faith concealed nothing tyre-eatingly or wheel-bendingly evil. But
it was a blast, and I blasted down. Twisting across a burn at the bottom
the track started to rise again, and at the top of the first rise I
could see another nasty ascent to come. I waited for the others. Dougie
came up to me, and carried on.
Alison didn't come, and after a few minutes I headed back. She'd fallen.
She'd broken her nice helmet, and had a few bruises, but she insisted
she was all right; and her bike hadn't taken any harm. I radioed ahead
to Dougie to ask him to wait for us. After a few minutes of getting
herself together Alison climbed back on and headed on after Dougie, and
I followed, crawling up the next ascent. Dougie and Alison had kindly
waited for me at the top, and I again checked with Alison that she was
OK to continue.
Then across another little valley and up onto the Gatehouse to Laurieston
road just above the 200 metre contour...
Which meant, of cause, that we had two hundred metres to lose, on tarmac,
in the six kilometres down to Gatehouse. Over a little rise and suddenly
we could see the coast and the islands spread out below us. At last it
was 'all down hill from here'. Wind up into highest gear, fingers
resting on the brakes, blast. Wonderful. Down across the open moorland,
twisting down the wooded valley side, blast through a short distance of
pastureland, back into the town. Two and a half hours, about thirty or
thirty-five kilometers, at least 300 metres of climb.
And, for the first time this year, although we rode through quite a lot
of snow, I wished I hadn't worn my tights. It was hot work!
We saw two cars on out way down into Gatehouse, to add to the one we'd
seen on the way out. There had been a man tending a grave in the
graveyard. There were, as I said, two walkers on the track south of the
Little Water of Fleet viaduct. Apart from that, we had the high country
to ourselves.
--
[email protected] (Simon Brooke) http://www.jasmine.org.uk/~simon/
For office use only. Please do not write or type below this line.
