Best of Backyard John Fidler, Applecross

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The third instalment in Best of Backyard heads north and west, very north and very west, to the Applecross peninsular and one of the remotest parts of the UK to go for a pedal with HB Ambassador, John Fidler and Hope’s own Claire Bennett.
As lockdown hit, John found himself in a very different set of circumstances to most. Spending more time at home with his young family and crucially, getting to explore Applecross devoid of tourists and NC500 visitors. Quiet might not even come close.
With lockdown lifted and the staycationers making the most of the good weather, we opt to cut the road portion out of John’s lockdown loop that takes in the Kenmore Path, an old coffin road that was up until the late 20th Century, the only way humans from the north of the peninsular could get to the village people call Applecross. Scots Gaelic calls it a' Chomraich, The Sanctuary, party for the wild seas to the north of the peninsular and that there weremonastery lands here marked by crosses.

Coffin roads were used to transport the dead to ’mother’ churches that had licenses to bury back in times long gone, and the caskets would need to be carried the full 12 miles across this barren part of Scotland to the church that overlooks the sea, Raasay and Skye beyond. Water would need to be crossed multiple times to ensure the spirit did not return to haunt the living.
Thankfully, we’d only be taking bikes to the viewpoint over Loch Torridon and the infamous mountains beyond and we’d be very much hoping for a lack of corpses. In typical Highland fashion, our 0930 start time is delayed three hours while the rain bounces off the tarmac, the sun finally burning off the low cloud but not the clouds of midgies. Rarely have any of us seen them this bad, so we elect to not dither and crack on.

John’s pup North is very happy to be joining in, a Staffy/Springer/Lab cross that is the former in stature and the middle of the three in looks. An excellent trail dog nonetheless with plenty of energy to burn, which is just as well, as John has some legs on him too. Rarely do I feel like I’m always going to get shown a clean pair of heels on a ride, but if you’re tyring to keep pace a Lieutenant Colonel in the Royal Marines, I guess that’s fair enough.
We soon leave Hartfield House, our digs for the trip, and the tarmac behind, pass a large herd of very chilled Highland cattle and slowly the path narrows until we’re hugging the steep flanks. The clouds still lingers on the tops and the midgies are in full effect whenever we and the wind stops. With that, with crack on, North making sure we’re all together before scurrying off into the undergrowth to hunt some critters out.

The old coffin road now turns steep as we flank a series of waterfalls and this is where most of our height is gained today. Looking back, the Cuillinn Ridge across the water stands proud beneath the clouds. Soon we top out onto the vast glacial plateau, reminiscent of the higher parts of Fisherfield, a vast rolling expanse of not very much, but the moraine here, left by ice long since past, makes for very good trails. It is pretty obvious why John made this a regular part of lockdown life. We’re loathe to miss the descent into Kenmore, but we’ve a dinner reservation to make...

After many short, sharp downs followed by ups of similar calibre, we’re left with the panoramic view across western Loch Torridon to the mountains to the east and the Outer Hebrides in the other direction. Sunset here would be a ludicrous affair. Alas, we’ve a dinner reservation at the infamous Applecross Inn that we simply cannot miss according to John.

With that urging us on, and North having long since become bored of us stopping, we retrace our steps, the descents now climbs, the climbs now the opposite. The sun may be still making our skin leak and our forearms might be black with midgies but there’s an urgency to the inward lap that there wasn’t on outward.The climbs now sting the legs that little bit more, and with the cloud now definitely burnt off, there’s no protection from a high August sun. I’ve given up trying to keep up with the triumvirate ahead, John, Claire and North all have more in the tank at this stage than I do.

We’re really just riding back to the bridge crossing, where the climb was at its steepest and most technical on the way out, and promises to be the best of this clipped classic. We’ll surely be back to do it in its entirety with more time on our hands.

Off the bridge and the ground gradually begins to tip in favour of gravity and there’s no longer any notions of trying to keep up, more just enjoying this sublime piece of singletrack, with one eye wary of the sizeable plummet to our left. The rain and the remote nature of the trail mean there’s plenty to keep us on our toes as we start to reach terminal velocity, the Cuillinn hoving into view again as we navigate the final few turns before popping back out onto the fire road, stomachs already thinking ahead to the delights to follow.

Off to dinner and Claire may have underestimated the prawns in this part of the World...

A ride with John in Applecross really hammers home how good home turf can be. Mostly working out of Portsmouth, then on deployment, it doesn’t matter where John lives, as long as the mountains meet the sea. Specialising in boats and being keen on bikes makes Applecross the perfect setup. On top of that, he’s plans afoot to revitalise one of the branches of the coffin road, to offer a loop across the peninsular that involves slightly less road. What’s not to like?



Words & Pictures: Pete Scullion