Preamble

The HT550 first came to my attention many years ago, when a colleague at work told me all about it, with particular emphasis on Fisherfield and the scary river crossing. I remember my reaction: “That’s too crazy for me” and dismissed it for the following 10 years or so.

Roll round to late 2025 and I had switched focus from ultra-running, had done the Westfjords Way Challenge in Iceland, and was looking for my big challenge in 2026. I had followed Kerry’s posts about HT550 in May and my interest was piqued. By the time the entry day came round, I was poised and ready to send my resumé to Alan Goldsmith, the organiser.

I was worried as I had never been bikepacking, nor had I done a biking event of this nature before. However, I hoped my experience in ultra running and adventure racing would be sufficient. A few days later I had my acceptance email … my first big holiday of 2026 was decided!

Preparation

“Much about the detail, but mostly about the bike”

As always, I prepared to the n^th degree for this race – researching kit, doing some recce rides (including one fully loaded), noting down all the possible food options with full opening hours cross referenced against various sources and making a note of emergency exit strategies. One thing I had hoped to do was clearly going to be an issue – staying in accommodation where possible. I could see most of it was already fully booked and the rules were “no booking before the race start”.

The biggest thing I altered was my bike. After briefly contemplating going ‘new’, I instead decided to stick with my trusty hardtail titanium Lynskey, now 15 years old! However, I decided to make a few changes, and I’ll never forget when I received a message casually mentioning that “the hole on the .. chainstay is cracked”. Excuse me, what hole?!

And so it was that I fully entrusted my bike to Andrew at Interlaced Cycles to convert it with Jones bars, 1×12 gearing (from 2×10 – which was cutting edge when I got it), new seat post (unjammed after more years than I can remember), upgraded forks, cranks, rims, spokes and tyres. At what felt like the last minute, the frame builder replaced the chainstays for ones without holes or damage from chain suck. To back all this up, I also got some lessons in how to deal with the most likely mechanical issues and came away with a set of videos on my phone to refer to as needed.

Day 1 Tyndrum to Fort Augustus: 151km, 13h25

“Went largely to plan, but inefficient overnight”

It was a simple journey to Tyndrum by bus from Edinburgh for the start the day before. I hadn’t really accounted for getting very travel sick though, nor the fellow passenger loading his heavy bag right on top of my rear mech. I did my best to check the gears and I got through the race with some increasingly dodgy shifting (confirmed slightly bent hanger and mech on my return).

Even though everyone was friendly, I felt quite out of place in the crowd of people gathering, because I didn’t really know anyone and I wasn’t sure what to expect. It was a relief to get riding. The day started off relatively easily on wide gravel tracks, dropping into Glen Lyon, past the tea room where Chloë and I had sat drenched trying to work out how to fix a dodgy gravel bike headset.

On the first big climb my back complained, which I was sure was a result of riding too much in an ‘aero’ position against the headwind along the glen, so I stopped that and resolved the issue for the rest of the ride.

I pressed on until we got to a boggy section round Loch Ericht, where I stopped for my two slices of leftover pizza. Then we were climbing round the mass of Ben Alder, before dropping down and passing at least one person whose rim was a casualty of the many drainage channels. I took it very cautiously and just as I was wondering where I’d rejoin a route we had done in October, I popped out onto a road by an inland beach that I recognised.

This was very cheering, as I knew then it was just the climb on one of General Wade’s military roads over the Corrieyairack pass between myself and dinner in Fort Augustus. Deadline: 22:00 before the Chinese would shut! After a quick sip of whisky from the Trail Angels, I pushed on up, admired the stunning sunset, and flew down the other side, remembering how it was further than you’d think, but pleased how much easier and faster it was on a mountain bike vs a gravel bike!

I arrived at the restaurant about 21:40 to find it busy with other riders and got a good meal, picking up some mini spring rolls to munch on the next day.

I made my way over to the hostel where I’d booked a bed earlier on. Although it was nice to be indoors in the warm, and I was able to make a high calorie porridge breakfast in the morning, I’m not sure I’d do it again as there was a lot of to and fro up and down the stairs, to the bike storage and the kitchen, plus I had to queue for the single shower. My sleep was also disrupted by the others in the shared dorm room.

Day 2 Fort Augustus to River Black Water Inn: 136km, 13h30

“A good day, lulled into a false sense of security”

I started the day a little queasy, but after making use of the toilets at Invermoriston, I started to feel better. This was the first event where I’ve been organised enough to have some music to listen to offline on headphones via my phone, and it provided a good boost on some long uphills when my mood needed lifting.

I was happily meandering around a windfarm at the top of the hill, loudly singing along (probably out of tune) to some Bon Jovi, when I had my first ‘mechanical’. I stopped abruptly as I felt my back wheel rub the frame…

After taking a deep breath, I followed the logical sequence I knew Andrew would have talked me through, and soon realised that my rear sliding dropout bolts had come loose, despite being done ‘mechanic tight’ before the race. Easily fixed, thank goodness.

The day rolled on until I came across an unexpected set of Trail Fairies somewhere near Corrimony. Jenny Tough (who is a well known adventurer and endurance athlete) was out with her partner John sharing all sorts of snacks and motivational chat. I had a coke and a few biscuits and pedalled onwards to Kiltarlity. On the way I noted a fine-looking chambered cairn and made a promise to myself to come back for a proper investigation one day. Too late for the shop or café, I was on track to hit a lone hotel later that evening, and called to make sure I was OK for checkin time. The weather forecast wasn’t great and indeed it turned out to be a very cold and frosty night, so I was glad I opted to pay for the privilege of a warm bed.

The next objective was Contin, via the renowned ‘path of a thousand puddles’. However, I never did quite work out which path this was meant to be!! Either it was much drier and less puddly than usual, or it looked just like all the other puddly paths. In any case, after some wild wind and rain, I made it in plenty of time for a big portion of tofish and chips (this place caters excellently for veggies/vegans), although not in time for the shop. Just a short ride later and I was indoors, washing, cleaning my shorts, and gratefully accepting a packed breakfast / lunch from the hotel owner. I was pretty content that I’d eaten and ridden well today, and went to sleep content (and with much less faff than at the hostel).

Day 3 River Black Water Inn to Kylesku: 153km, 15h04

“A day of two halves and a crash: the slow nauseous half and the strong confident half”

After getting up, eating some of my packed food and setting off in good time, I was feeling quite nauseous and unwell. Compared to the first two days it felt like I was much more alone as I only saw one other rider (the indomitable Hatty, grappling with an ever-puncturing inner tube due to rim damage) all morning.

I had to keep stopping as my tummy was rebelling against … what, I’m not sure. Maybe stress, early starts, the balance of sweet / savoury food I’d been eating and my hormones. Despite this, I had time to admire the rewilding efforts at the Alladale Wilderness Reserve. Not the grandest, most remote or highest part of the route by any means, but one of the sections that left the biggest impression on me. I could only imagine how different the whole landscape would have looked in the past.

I had another fortifying sip of whisky from the Trail Angels as I approached the Oykel Bridge hotel, which was very shut. Moving along to the Achness Hotel arriving about 11:30 and expecting nothing (I knew we could perhaps phone ahead for breakfast rolls, but I hadn’t done so), I was astonished to see a whole gaggle of bikes lined up outside. Once I found my way in, I discovered a crowd tucking into full breakfasts. I had a couple of egg rolls and a coke and felt much better for it.

Heading back out I was suddenly amongst other riders again and feeling good. I powered through the road sections, loved the riding up through Bealach nam Meirleach and Bealach na Fèithe, laughed at the fact it was definitely snowing at one point and, although the descent wasn’t as fun as the recce I’d done with Chloë (wetter, less rideable), I made good time. Some people stopped early at the barn before Achfary, but I moved on for some companiable riding with Ben, wrangling with a nasty new very bike-unfriendly gate then up and over the final hill to drop into Kylesku.

It was here I had a moment of distraction and took a hard fall on a rocky descent. I was pretty sore, but after a brief spell on the ground scanning my body and deciding nothing was broken, Ben declared “it could be worse, your bike looks fine!” quickly followed by my concern for my new waterproof (sadly all scuffed up on the elbow). At the end of the trip, the technicolour bruises were quite impressive and rather painful for some weeks, so I’m glad I barely noticed them for the rest of the ride.

We continued a little tentatively along the final stretch, arriving at the hotel half an hour too late for dinner, but in time for some drinks, sticky toffee pudding and boiling water for our camp meals.

I was going to investigate the toilet block as a sleeping option, but another rider had taken the ladies whilst I’d been eating in the hotel porchway, so I pitched my tent outside in the lee of it for wind protection. First time sleeping in the tiny, tiny tent went OK, despite the wild weather that seemed to whip up and rage overnight.

Day 4 Kylesku to Ullapool: 119km, 15h43

“Rough”

After getting ready in the rain and insisting on entry to the toilet for its intended usage, I set off along the coast road. Arriving in Drumbeg at about 07:15, I didn’t expect the shop to be open as we were told this would be at 08:00. However, I spotted a light on and was delighted to find the owners and one of their cats were up and about and happy to serve the little group of us soon congregating there! My first open shop of the entire event so far.

Apart from much clumsy dropping of food, I felt well stocked and after removing my first tick in the public toilets and fiddling with my gears that weren’t changing as they should, I set off moderately happy.

Sadly, the feeling did not last long as I was soon battling general weariness and an uneasy tummy that I just couldn’t settle. I stopped in Lochinver for some decent breakfast in a café after pushing (literally) through the off-road section with far too much effort than was warranted as I tried to find my own space amongst other riders.

I also lost my Dynaplug tool along there somewhere, which was a lesson learnt in where to store something you want quickly accessible, but not somewhere it can fall out when you manage to topple over when you’re not even riding.

The Ledmore traverse came next, passing to the north of Suilven. I’m slightly obsessed with how distinctive this mountain is and how much its profile changes depending on your viewpoint. I joined up with Hatty as we pushed over the top and took on the long walk out to a road. I rode some of this when I did a recce, but was at my limit then. Today it was well beyond me and just not worth the risk. I can confirm that pushing a bike to the north of the mountain is still significantly easier than dragging a sit on top kayak to the south of the mountain. I got a lovely little lift and very welcome hug bumping into a friend (Dave) and companion, who were out on a mini trip dot-watching and travelling the other way.

After stopping for a little picnic at the road (the best egg mayo roll of the trip, courtesy of Drumbeg stores), I cruised through to Oykel Bridge again, where I headed inside for some crisps and a coke and some really encouraging words from the bartender and another lady who sent me on my way blowing kisses!

What followed was some sort of purgatory, as I slogged against a headwind feeling really rough on the endless return back to the coast and Ullapool. I was aiming to get there before Tesco shut at 22:00 and, despite pondering an early finish at a bothy, stuck to this plan mainly because I had no decent breakfast food, and because early starts were not proving to be my friend.

I made it in with another rider, and after pitching our tents we went to stock up. I ate in the toilet / shower block as my tent was too small to comfortably eat in, and washed my shorts, giving them a quick spin in the dryer. I decided to sleep in for an extra couple of hours to see if I could reset for the next day. I was also increasingly stressed about the knocking noises coming from the front of my bike on the descents and was considering waiting to see the local mechanic in the morning.

Day 5: Ullapool to Gairloch: 77.1km, 14h41

“A long slow walk with a loaded bike and increasing aches and pains”

I was woken up earlier than I wanted by the other riders leaving and checking up on me. I did manage to get back to sleep, but still felt bad when I did get up. It was a slow start as I tried to force down a whole tub of yoghurt along with a croissant and some other bits and pieces. I decided to try tightening my headset, which seemed to resolve most of my issue, though by the time I was ready to go the bike shop was open and he confirmed that my rotor was also slightly bent, which would cause secondary noises. However, he was confident nothing would go horribly wrong, so I set off feeling reassured.

Another cheerful moment as I passed Elizabeth on the road out of Ullapool, who dispensed hugs and words of practical encouragement. I needed them, as the ascent of Coffin Road was worse than I remembered even though we’d ridden it previously in the dark, ice and intermittent rainstorm. I was barely getting my bike over the lumps and felt quite ill with a headache, sort throat and stiff neck.

For a while I worried about whether I was really too worried about everything, whilst trying to get myself out of what I suspected was a bad energy / hydration hole from day 4. Every time I saw or thought anything to do with water at all, I made myself take a sip, and kept munching on my Bombay mix like a horse, direct from the handlebar pouch.

Moving on into Fisherfield, I just about started to feel slightly better when something in my knee cramped, like a body malady relay baton handover. It was definitely Unhappy as I pushed along to the infamous river crossing, which was much lower and warmer than when I checked this part of the route out with Elizabeth a few weeks before.

I decided to stop out of the wind, wrap a bandage round my knee, take some paracetamol and eat my veggie sausage roll from Lochinver whilst I contemplated life. This actually seemed to help, and the next part of the ride, sorry, I mean trek, passed much better than previously, as I alternated carrying and pushing my bike up the hill and down the other side.

The views and landscape here are almost worth the 11 hours of mostly hike-a-biking. In a theme that continued for almost the entire week, the mixed weather created some stunning views. One moment it would be raining, then it would stop, there would be shafts of sunlight streaming through the low cloud and the mountainsides would look very shiny and dramatic.

I passed Alan, the organiser, setting up camp at the causeway, but was keen to press on and get off the hill. I rolled into Poolewe about 22:30 and hoped I might make use of the public toilets for shelter, but they were locked 😭. I thought about camping here, but in the end decided to move on to see if there were better options in Gairloch.

Just a few km later, I got stabbing pains in my knee that forced me to stop pedalling. They kept coming and going, and I walked a bit on the road. This was so very demoralising, but I made it to the campsite at Gairloch, which gets the gold star for campsites on the route – there was welcome info for late arrivals, a lovely hot shower block and a shelter room with a kettle, plug sockets and tables. I was so relieved.

My knee hurt even moving around the site and putting the tent up, and my sleeping mat slowly deflated overnight, matching my mood.

Day 6 Gairloch to Dornie: 88.5km, 12h40

“Gratefully turning a corner”

I had the slowest start of the entire race and definitely exited ‘race mode’ about here. I was afraid to actually get on my bike and see how things were, even whilst telling myself that I could just wait it out for a day if needs be.

I’d spent the small hours of the night before bed googling adjustments for sore knees, and before I set off changed my cleat position and raised the saddle. I spent a while chatting to Christine, a fellow racer who had just arrived having had a bit of an epic exit from Fisherfield overnight. I then made my way to the chemist, getting there an hour after opening instead of at opening as planned, got a proper compression bandage and some ibuprofen gel (less dangerous to use than tablets when racing).

I then moved on to my first Co-op of the trip, where I actually enjoyed eating breakfast for the first time (keffir drink and two pastries), realised that Innocent Blue Bolt juice was perfect for my bottle & stomach, got a lunch of egg sandwiches, crisps and coke loaded up in my backpack, and added some lime & salt nut mix on the side.

This was also where I remembered how good the biscuits on day 2 had been and grabbed a packet of double crème Oreos. “snack mindfully” said the packet – which turned out to mean “make sure you get through a whole packet in a day”.

I then set off rather tentatively, attempting to switch to the ‘wrong leg’ for getting on the bike and starting (much harder than it should be) and generally anticipating the worst.

However, when I reached Kinlochewe, there was a café at the fuel stop that I hadn’t realised existed, and after a moment’s hesitation, I stopped and got myself a cheese toastie, crisps, tea and milkshake whilst sitting at a table chatting to Alan. It was definitely a good idea, and from this point on riding into Torridon, my world seemed a happier place. I was clearly sorting out what food was going to work for me and I was treated to yet more rainbows (another benefit of the unpredictable weather) as I worked my way up and over the saddle point, where you cannot help but wonder at the geology all around.

Walking down from the pass, my Achilles tendon (which had started grumbling a bit on day 1) was getting increasingly sore, but was bearable. I knew there was a nasty bit through Glen Ling, which I eventually realised was familiar due to passing through in the dark and rain in an Itera adventure race, then I would get to Dornie.

I tried my luck for any no-shows at the hotel, but sadly everyone had checked in, so I decided to follow the campsite routine, especially as I was getting quite adept at putting the tent up. No hot showers here as they needed coins I didn’t have, but I could at least sit in one of the shower rooms, eat some halloumi and bread, knock back some recovery drink and pick out a few more ticks before getting some sleep. The sinking feeling overnight was getting worse … I had to reinflate the sleeping mat in the middle of the night this time (later found to be a manufacturing fault – very speedily dealt with by the shop I bought it from).

Day 7 Dornie to Fort Augustus: 87.8km, 12h30

“Getting into the swing of things”

I think by this point the stress and anxiety I’d had in earlier days had dissipated, my tummy was feeling better and my knee was holding up. I knew the only shop or food place that I’d pass before Fort Augustus was going to be the fuel station at Inverinate (I was too early for food at the Invershiel / Kintail turn off). I was realising that a 15 minute lunch stop for egg sarnies, crisps and coke was working well for me, and I managed to get these items there, as well as some unusual but palatable drinks!

The next section takes the route through Kintail and on into Glen Affric – a part I hadn’t done but knew was difficult. Arriving at the turn off from the road I realised that I was at an Itera transition point, and that I had, in fact, trekked up here before. The pushing and carrying was hard, but not as bad as earlier in the race. I was walking beneath the five sisters of Kintail and felt a sense of solidarity, combined with some great views of the waterfalls. I met a couple of cheerful walkers, and one who assured me it got rideable at the bothy and wished me on my way with a cheerful rallying call to “suffer pleasurably!”.

It did indeed get much easier to ride, though by now I was totally alone and had been since leaving Alan just after Kinlochewe. I went into a sort of trance on the wide and easy forest tracks, listening to my music, pedalling and letting the scenery scroll endlessly by.

At the end of one long descent I realised my front brakes were making a bad noise, and halfway up the next climb decided I had better check the pads. They were worn totally to the backing plate (not a good thing), and the piston had come right out from where it should be. For the second time I consulted “Andrew-in-my-pocket” (I watched the hints and tips on changing brake pads video). Thank goodness I had had this bit of training, as I needed to open the bleed screw slightly in order to get the piston back in. He informed me later that if I hadn’t, I could have cracked the calipers and lost all my brake fluid, which would have been a disaster. After some almost-panic, I got the piston back in with more force than expected, put in new pads, checked the back (fine) and was on my way.

There was some nice riding into Fort Augustus and I enjoyed making my way along another military road, even though my Achilles was definitely complaining loudly on the final descent. I got back to the Chinese restaurant in loads of time (it was only just after 20:00), expecting to eat and then move on to camp somewhere down the Caledonian canal towards Fort William.

The race plan had been to sleep more earlier in the race, then push through towards the end. However, as I easily put away a very large meal, pondered how cold it was going to be overnight, noted the distinct lack of public toilets or taps in the next section, and mulled over the fact that the hotel sign said ‘vacancies’ – I had a change of heart, got the last room at the inn and headed upstairs to shower, wash shorts one final time and get a lovely few hours’ sleep in a bed up in the eaves.

Day 8 Fort Augustus to Tyndrum:  123km, 14h51

“More of a slog than I realised it would be”

The ride started well enough, nice and easy along the canal, with early morning mists and a ground frost in evidence. The previous night my fingers had started tingling, and it hadn’t gone away by morning, and now pushing open gates or doing anything really was making my whole hand buzz.

I wasn’t stopping now though, and after a great refill at the Co-Op in Cael, I tried the toilets (SHUT even though they were advertised as open grrr) and then headed through Fort William and onto the West Highland Way.

This was a shock to the system as there was now a constant stream of walkers going the other way, and far more limited safe-looking water stock up points (even with a filter). After a brief walk down into Kinlochleven (a-ha, another memorable Itera transition, but this one from a totally different event!) I was well into my Co-Op routine, picking up more very quaffable Innocent juice and some blueberries.

Only 44km to go, I thought! But what a slog they proved to be. I was getting good at shouldering my bike for the climb up Devil’s Staircase but didn’t realise I would be walking all the way down as well. A handy water stop at the Kingshouse Hotel, then a steady climb up a good track, but now my Achilles was really screaming after every walk or long descent. I was trying to adjust the position of my foot / heel, but mostly had to just grit my teeth.

The final climb was not rideable, for me at any rate. I was now fed up with the relentless problem solving and aches and pains, and was swearing at the gates, the hills and the route (but never my bike), just to see if it would make me feel better. It was no glorious, adrenaline filled, strong ride to the finish. More of a grind, a sudden downhill and there I was, wondering where exactly I was meant to stop.

Andy and Uisge (the dog) had come to meet me as planned, but driven up by Andrew which was the best surprise. I suddenly forgot all my grumbles, there were big hugs all round and I was just in time for more tofish and cheesy chips at the Real Food café before they shut and we headed home with me on a high talking non-stop now that I had company after 3 days in my own head.

Of the 65 starters (including an ITT (individual time trial) start) only 33 people finished, so even though I was almost right at the back and a whole 24h later than initially planned, I was happy to have made it to the end.

Reflections

In a nutshell: it was way more enjoyable than most (maybe all) of my multi-day ultra running events, and I definitely finished wanting to do it again, but better! There are many ways I think I could improve, I’d have more confidence a second time, plus familiarity with the route and what it takes to do it is always an immediate benefit. Compared to some events I found the very strict rules on being unsupported (and therefore no help allowed to other riders, not even offering a bite of food) a bit alien. I do love team racing with the right people and can’t wait to do Itera Lite with Dave again this year. But I’m definitely up for giving this another go if I can get in 😊

Thanks to Alan for organising it and his commitment to successfully getting 50% women on the start line. Also the support from everyone in the ‘lasses’ whatsapp group, to those cheering and sending me messages along the way (whether direct or via Strava). Graham the physio, as always, this time for some education and somewhat uncomfortable conversations relating to neuroplastic pain pre-race and a rather easier diagnosis of irritated tendon sheath post-race! Andy for cooking dinner to greet me after long days out. My very patient coach Doug. And one of the biggest thanks to Andrew for giving me lessons and advice, coming on training rides without complaint about the mud and getting my bike to the standard he would if he was riding it himself (and for driving us home!).

Food Gallery

Who can’t resist a few pictures of the food? Which got increasingly easier on my stomach as the race went along!