Singletrack

Scottish trail fashion has peaked.
“Wil, you’re an idiot!”
A plan was hatched with Antipodean Wil, still new to this
parish and keen to tackle a proper Scottish mountain. It was
all going swimmingly right up to the point at which his skill
set proved to be more Ian McCaskill than Danny MacAskill
and he managed to dislocate his shoulder on the blue route
at Glentress. Doh! Fortunately, my good friend Dave the
Bastard (don’t ask me – all I know is that it comes from a case
of mistaken identity at university) gamefully stepped in with a
bonzer idea. “Why don’t we go up Ben Venue? It was the very
first mountain I ever rode in 1993 on my mountain bike.”
We were back in business.
Enter the dragon (aka the midge, Scotland’s
national bird).
For those who don’t know, Ben Venue is something of a
picture postcard, properly pointy mountain located within
easy reach of the second city of the Empire, Glasgow, with
breathtaking views in all directions (unless you manage to
pick the slightly dreich day we did). It’s not enormously high,
but what it lacks in scale it more than makes up for in terms
of grandeur and that all important element of being close
to a bloody good café or two. A recent walk up it with my
daughter revealed that the trail fairies had been hard at work
and the previous bog-fest ascent from Loch Achray had been
greatly improved. Without map in hand (I left it on the coffee
table at home like a prize plum), Dave and I set off from the
car park keen to see if distance and the passage of time had
lent enchantment.
As befits a Scottish mountain day, the midges came out
in force to cheer us on our way – the little shits! Even with a
midge net, the wee bastards were getting through and feasting
on the all-you-can-eat Yorkshire buffet that was Dave. Rather
smugly I had remembered to cover myself in industrial
quantities of Smidge pre-ride – not so Dave. Well done me.
With nary a breath of wind, we set off at haste up through the
well-built woodland trail that would take us to the base of the
mountain. A mix of coniferous and deciduous trees abounded,
each turn affording us a tantalising glimpse of our target
through the verdant canopy. Hardpack turned to boardwalk
turned to minor back road as we left the midges behind and
started to properly enjoy the ride. The lack of map proved not
to be an issue – the route being well signposted. A brief stop
at the obligatory bridge over waterfall and we were soon into
the climb proper.
With this being a step back to the future for Dave, we
(being me, Dictator Sanny) decided that he should ride my
long-term test bike, a Cannondale Fat CAAD 1 resplendent
with Lefty fork, 4.8 inch tyres and a dropper post. It was a
far cry from his then cutting edge Marin Pine Mountain, a
fully rigid vision in chromoly and purple. Given that he was
revisiting an old friend, it seemed appropriate to do it while
taking advantage of the latest technology just as he did in ’93.
“So what do you remember of your last trip here?” I
asked as we cleared the treeline on a path that rose inexorably
upwards into the heavy clouds above. “It was my first proper
ride on my new bike,” replied Dave.
135