“Gravel isn't 1990s MTB, so don't send me up an MTB track.” In Dalila Lecky’s latest story, she doesn’t pull her punches. Or at least that’s her initial view. But then she discovers the Ten Peaks Trail route and some of her long-held views on underbiking start to soften. Will the Shimano Gravel Alliance rider have to reevaluate her view, or will her experience confirm that she was right all along? Read on to find out…..

A few years ago, several riders from the Shimano Gravel Alliance made a classic mistake; they signed up for the Gran Guanche Trail Audax with gravel bikes. It didn't take long for them to realise it was very much a mountain bike event. I didn't sign up for that event. I looked at the description and decided I'd wait for the Gran Guanche Gravel Audax to come around again and then do that instead.

The gravel version did involve some significant elements of hiking the bike, but mainly this was because there's a limit to how steep an incline I can pedal my bike up before it becomes more energy-efficient to walk. There were no parts, however, that I had to walk because they weren't suitable for riding on a gravel bike. I really appreciate that kind of thing when I'm taking part in an ultra. In my world, gravel isn't 1990s MTB, so don't send me up an MTB track.

So, why am I telling you all this? Well, it's a general rule I've stuck to for many years: you don't show up to a mountain biking “thing” on a gravel bike. You probably won't have a good time. Except that over the years, the lines have blurred. Gravel bikes have become more capable. Suspension has been added here and there, wider tyres accommodated, and my own skills as a rider find me flying along the occasional red mountain biking trail on my trusty Canyon Grizl. So, I ditched my own rule. And, in search of an uncommon adventure, I came across a route called the Ten Peaks Trail.

I'm not going to describe the route in detail here because it's already been done by the route creator, and you can look that up elsewhere if you want. But the brief overview I'm going to give you is that when done right, it involves traversing ten peaks at more than 900m above sea level, including several Munros, as you make your way from Glasgow to Lossiemouth on Scotland's Moray Coast.

Now, let's talk about where this all went wrong.

Firstly, this isn't the first time I've set out to ride a long-distance mountain biking route on purpose. I previously did that when I rode the Via Algarviana. Except for that trip, I spent a reasonable amount of time editing the route beforehand to keep me on trails that looked suitable for my bike setup. This time, I did no such thing, intending to follow the path and deal with whatever came, even if that meant more hiking the bike than usual.

Second, I completely disregarded the route creator's recommendation of how many days to take to complete the route, intending to do it in only 4 days rather than the advised 7 days. I knew the days would be long, but I also know that I'm capable of covering that distance even if I have to walk some parts.

And lastly, Scotland had just been hit by Storm Floris mere days before I was due to set off. I was grateful that the storm had passed, but I completely underestimated the aftermath of the record-breaking winds that had hit the country.

So, what ended up happening was that I completed just over a quarter of the route on the first day, in a mixture of sunshine, heavy rain and high winds. I was on target, but by the time I got in my tent that evening, I realised I wasn't having a good time. And I had little faith that my mood would improve over the next three days if I kept to the original plan.

There had been so much peatland. The spongy terrain was generally rideable, but it was an absolute grind, whether uphill or downhill. And when it wasn't rideable, I was using patches of heather to hop my way across the wettest ground. I was immeasurably grateful that I had made the last-minute decision to wear my waterproof Shimano MW7 shoes despite it being summer.

To add to the ordeal, there were also the fences and locked gates. The Freedom to Roam that I had previously taken for granted as an inalienable right seemed to be much more under threat than the last time I was up in Scotland. After the umpteenth time of hoisting my fully loaded bike up and over an impasse, I decided that I didn't want to do this anymore.

Then there were the many fallen pine trees, brought down across the trails in the furious winds of Storm Floris. In one memorable occurrence, the trail was blocked entirely, and I had to quickly figure out a significant detour.

However, the straw that really broke the camel's back was the point where the trail disappeared altogether, and I was forced to bushwhack my way through a never-ending field of ferns and then scale a barely there goat track on the steepest little hill I've ever lugged my bike up, so that I could link two bits of trail. And this would probably have been even less enjoyable if I were having to drag a mountain bike along with me.

I spent the evening in my tent, scouring the maps I'd saved offline and devising a plan for the next three days. Unfortunately, without a phone signal, I couldn't replot a route and send it to my bike computer. The next morning, I had to ride back towards the previous town I had passed through until my phone picked up a signal. I then spent half an hour replotting my course to something that looked much more enjoyable. And at first, I still ended up on the trails that were part of the original route; there was no avoiding these. But as I bypassed the final part of the climb to ascend Ben Chonzie, I knew I had made the right decision. Everyone else I saw on that mountain was hiking. And lugging all my gear up those last few kilometres to the top just wasn't how I wanted to spend my entire morning.

My re-planned route took me through Pitlochry to Kingussie, where I spent the night. Then onwards through the Cairngorms to Grantown-on-Spey. Riding through the Cairngorms was a delight, and although I was regularly in fear of finding my path blocked by fallen trees, the region turned out to be an expanse of well-maintained trails and paths, criss-crossing the Highlands.

On the final day, I rode from Grantown-on-Spey to the end point of the original route, Lossiemouth, a delightful little seaside town. I found a quiet little gastro-pub where I could sit out in the sunshine and enjoy a burger and chips whilst looking out over the bay. But sure enough, a particularly persistent seagull and the greying skies sent me on my way back down to Elgin via a final gravel track, where I could catch a train to connect with another train, bringing me back home to London.

Another trip, some new lessons learned, but ultimately a salvaged adventure. The main takeaway this time is that mountain biking is for mountain bikes. Yes, underbiking can be fun. But pick the wrong route, and it isn't an adventure, it's just misery.