“Adrenaline and purity of purpose are addictive bedfellows when escaping our everyday responsibilities, but I found equal satisfaction in a weekend of volunteering and social riding”, so writes Ed Wolstenholme in his piece about literally putting something back into the gravel riding world. Ed travelled north with the Bike, Bees and Trees Rally earlier this year and sent in this thought-provoking story.
Pummelled by media in our everyday lives, it’s difficult to focus on the important stuff. Sure, celebrity ‘a’ did some stuff years ago and it turns out that celebrity ‘b’ is going out with celebrity ‘c’. Meanwhile politicians save the bad news for big news days and in the resulting melee we forget. We are riding a rocket whose trajectory is a planet unfit for our offspring.
Of course, societal and economic imperatives drive an ever-wider wedge between us and our environment, breaking the connection that drove our ancestors to see themselves as guardians rather than conquerors of their environment. Loss of habitat and the cascading impacts from this threaten our future, but these are areas where we can make a difference. There is no step too small. Every positive action from a wildflower window box to a sustainable shift in government policy moves us in the right direction. Closer to home we can get involved - volunteering builds social capital and rejuvenates environmental capital. It shifts our mindset and our values, realigning them to a more ancient understanding of what’s important.
These were the thoughts that had me travelling north to Scotland from Yorkshire for the inaugural #BBTRally23 (Bikes, Bees and Trees Rally). The Racing Collective is keen to build a connection between ultradistance riders and the landscapes in which they immerse themselves. The BBTRally is their first event that combines rewilding action with riding.
The rally kicked off on Friday morning with a group of riders gathering at Blairlogie village hall east of Stirling. Following an overview of the Dumyat estate given by ultradistance rider and forest manager Jamie, we took a spin up the hill to see the recently planted native broadleaf and Scots Pine overlooking the Firth of Forth. Rows of saplings stretched to the summits surrounding us. The planting process was by necessity industrial, but the resulting mixed broadleaf woodland would be anything but. It was exciting to imagine the transformation that these hills would undergo over a generation.
Following the tour, it was time to get our hands dirty - we picked hand tools which were strapped to bike frames and racks to ride the short distance to where we’d improve the habitat for Northern Brown Argus butterflies. The steep south-facing hillside they love to populate had become crowded with broom and gorse which choked out the Common Rock Rose where the butterflies lay their eggs. We hacked, chopped and sawed gorse and broom, dislocating spiky limbs from thick stems before dragging them down the steep hill in oversized bundles for disposal. Once cleared, the hillside would be seeded with Common Rock Rose, adding to the plug plants that had already taken hold in craggy pockets. We toiled in the Scottish spring sun for a couple of hours until the job was done, our reward was a substantial stew back at the village hall.
At 4pm we needed to get to our next task - tree planting on the Glenaros Estate on the Isle of Mull. The Racing Collective suggested a route through the central Highlands, but it was up to each rider to decide their route and itinerary. This weekend was not about racing. I rode north on disused railway lines with photographer Tom until the sun sank behind the hills, taking with it the spring warmth we’d enjoyed all day. Soon after dusk we were greeted by the very welcome sight of the Falls of Dochart Inn at Killin. This ancient hostelry nestled beside the river at the Falls of Dochart.
An orange glow beckoned through the tiny, deep-set windows that dotted the front of the building. Once inside we thawed the deep chill of the night by hogging the open fire until our clothing could take the heat no more. We discussed whether eating a locally sourced venison burger was actually supporting the rewilding of the mountains of the Highlands. Since humans killed off the wolves and bears which were their natural predators, native deer populations have boomed. Deer are now largely free to roam in search of saplings and young vegetation. Keeping deer populations at a sustainable level requires some culling by estate managers and venison is a useful by-product.
The temperature outside the Dochart Inn at 11pm was close to freezing and the idea of setting off into the darkness in search of a bivvy site was not attractive, but we needed to keep moving, climbing a long glen until we found a suitable camping spot beside a river frothing with dark, peaty runoff.
I rose at dawn, cracking ice off the tent porch to emerge in down jacket, gloves and trousers with a cloud of respiration to a bracing Highland morning. Glen Lyon was our reward for a chilly night and early start - a mirror-like Loch Lyon reflected snowy peaks and blue skies. Double track wound along the eastern side of the loch until we picked up the link through to Glen Orchy. I timed my descent perfectly - catching the Glasgow train rattling over a viaduct high above me near Tyndrum. Dropping through a low station underpass we rejoined civilisation at the A82. Tourist coaches, motor homes and speeding cars eager to reach their Highland destinations.
Outside the hotel in Glen Orchy, I heard four different languages spoken in the couple of minutes whilst I refilled my water. There was a frisson of excitement in the Highland air - hikers strode purposefully toward the hills whilst campers emerged from vans and tents to admire their new surroundings. From Glen Orchy I rode southwest through an old-skool forestry plantation towards Oban. It was interesting to see the regeneration taking place where woodland had been cleared - gorse, birch, broom and foxgloves wasted no time in recolonising what was once a bland industrial monoculture of Sitka Spruce.
On Mull I traced the coast west until I reached the Glenaros estate. A collection of houses and farm buildings nestled on a north-facing hillside with views stretching to the raised beaches of Ardnamurchan. Our task on Mull was to plant as many native trees as we could during our brief stay. So, the next morning, following a Highland breakfast our group grabbed tools and root stock trees from a dusty store and marched up the hill. These fields were formerly grazed by sheep and cattle but would be reclaimed in the decades to come by native woodland.
We poked holes in the earth and heeled in Sessile oak, Downy birch and Hawthorn. Normally we’d hope for rain but, on Mull, rain is something of a certainty. All the better for our saplings.
Riding back to the Oban ferry the next morning I reflected on a few days spent conserving a small part of what we all take for granted. Changes to our biosphere are often subtle and long term. Some people dismiss climate change as ‘a hot summer’ and the loss of native flora and fauna is silent. We don’t notice the disappearing bee and insect insulation populations following decades of insecticide use. It is only as ecosystems collapse that we wake to our neglect.
We can make the change. Positive collective and individual action gives us hope for the future. We rode bikes and enjoyed spending time in spectacular Highland surroundings whilst still making a difference. Many of us love the thrill of a FKT attempt or an epic point-to-point adventure. Adrenaline and purity of purpose are addictive bedfellows when escaping our everyday responsibilities, but I found equal satisfaction in a weekend of volunteering and social riding. We need more events like the Bikes, Bees and Trees Rally.
The Racing Collective will re-run the BBT Rally next year. If you would like to receive details of the event once it's ready for launch, then please sign up to their mailing list.
Images courtesy of Tom Gibbs