Tour of the Cairngorms

A Mountain Bike Adventure

May 2025

After about a month of baking sunshine our holiday naturally marked the breaking of the weather and the incoming rain that the garden was really needing. I watched the forecast grimly on the lead up, the first drops falling from the sky at exactly 6pm on Friday as I left work, then decided just to ignore it and go biking anyway.

There are a few Cairngorm loops out there, an “inner”, an “outer”, a “tour” and anything else you want to create. This is The Tour. A 200km somewhat spontaneous undertaking with a GPX file, a bag of food and a route that we guessed might take anything between 3 and 6 days to complete.

Day 1

(54km)

The advantage of a loop is you can start it anywhere, and the closest this one gets to home is a layby just out of Kingussie. We load up the bikes under grey skies and coast along to Tromie Bridge to join the loop just as the clouds open and rain pounds down from above. We put on lots of waterproofs and stand under a tree to question our life choices. But for once it turns out that the Weather Gods are listening and the rest of the day is actually mostly sort of dry-ish.

Getting going we’re straight onto forest tracks and then a lovely smooth section of single track along the river Feshie down to Feshiebridge. We meet a trio of mountainbikers out from Glenmore Lodge and take turns snapping each other’s photos on the narrow bridge as an increasing number of cars attempt to awkwardly squeeze down the middle. Carrying on we pick up a series of forest tracks and which are fast and flowing and it feels like we’re making great progress until at the bottom of a hill I do a quick map check and realise we’ve missed a turn off and it’s there’s a lot of up between us and where we should be. Oups. Adverse to turning round we carry on out the end of the forestry and up through farm tracks which inevitably leads us to a locked 6ft gate and a “diversion for livestock” sign pointing at pathless knee high grass. We endure this for a few hundred metres then, seeing no sign of livestock and an unlocked side gate quickly re-join the track and peddle as fast as possible for the far end. The final gate is again locked and 6ft high but we hoist the bikes up and over with only a minimum of teetering and dropping things.

Back on the main trail we follow a beautifully smooth path along the shore of Loch an Eilein and enjoy a late lunch looking out over the water. Then there’s more forest track along which we make actual great progress in the right direction, crossing the bridge over the Am Beanaidh and winding our way through and past Loch Morlich. A few km of gentle climb and we find ourselves at Ryvoan bothy, a breeze blowing through the bog cotton and the light starting to turn to gold as the evening approaches. The bothy is full and overflowing into tents but we pop our heads in to say hello and come away with a recommendation for an excellent camp spot that is a fair bit further than we were planning to go today. But with fine evening sunshine and the promise of lots of rain tomorrow it makes sense to push on.

Downwards, we make quick progress on hard baked track to the River Nethy where, with the recent weeks of drought and generally low river levels we’re able to cross a ford and cut a good 3-4km off the route. It’s a bit of a slog up the other side but with some beautiful views out through the trees and we continue to speed along until we reach singletrack again through Eag Mhor. It’s a beautiful section of narrow but smooth trail through young pines rising to the cleft between two hills. The rain clouds return, bringing a few shafts of golden sunlight and a bright rainbow before the skies start to darken for the evening. We pass a few spots that would pass as ok ish camps, but with our recommended spot now feeling within reach we decide to push on. An awkward stream crossing, wind, light rain, a brief burst of tarmac, aching shoulders, tired legs. At last we come to the top of a rise, a quick gravel descent and there it is: camping perfection? Certainly I’m tired enough that I’d be content with far less. We pitch the tent on flat grass under an old Scotts Pine and fall into bed.

Day 2

(62km)

I wake to actual sunshine on the tent and the soft burbling of water in the stream. A beautiful morning. As I stretch myself gradually towards action the clouds fill in and the horizon darkens with oncoming rain. Still beautiful I suppose, but in a different way. But there is enough time to get the tent down dry and set out under fragments of blue sky. We follow an overgrown vehicle track which hugs the stream and crosses it every few metres, possibly just for fun. Then escape uphill back onto dry ground and an easy roll through forestry to join the road at Bridge of Avon. It’s then a smooth slog into the wind to Tomintoul where we almost time a perfect rain escape, except that the one tiny café is full and we actually have to go and eat take away in the bus stop while the rain lashes horizontally past. Thankfully it doesn’t last long and we’re back to blue skies in moments thanks to the rather ferocious wind.

We get going again, making a top speed of slightly-slower-than-walking-pace on a flat tarmac road, but luckily we’re soon round a corner and sheltered somewhat by the sides of the hills. Our route follows the River Avon on a gently twisting single track road which eventually returns to gravel. The views are excellent, the skies blue and the progress reasonably rapid until we reach the Linn of Avon and turn off up Glen Builg. There’s a very picturesque but somewhat sloggy section of track which swoops its way up and down a great many lumps, then a boggy but fun bit of trail past Loch Builg where the rain finally catches up with us. It’s probably something I could cycle no problem on a still and dry-ish day, but this is not that. So, head down into the wind and rain I push the bike though the peaty ooze of the path, reminding myself that I am here by choice on holiday and therefore Am Having Fun.

Reaching track again, we find a sheltering peat hag in which to stop and refuel, then get back on the bikes for a brief downhill followed by an awful lot of up. It comes as a mystery sometimes why these tracks exist. OK some of them go to obvious things like forestry plantations, damns and wind farms. Others, like this, go half way up mountains seemingly for the fun of it. It’s all into the wind and it’s all not quite steep enough to justify getting off and walking. Needless to say we’re moderately exhausted by the top, and also the downhill is excellent and worth every bit of it. We manage about 7km with virtually no peddling and a big open view, then drop into the shelter of the trees at Invervauld House. Hitting tarmac there’s about 4km on the main road to Braemar, but also a little side path that takes us behind a fence and along the side of the hill and starts off entirely cycle-able until we’re far enough to be committed and then becomes distinctly less so. Robbie manages most of it, I walk. Into Braemar it’s hot food time and we fill up on fish and chips and ponder the map. It’s getting fairly late and progress has been pretty slow, but there are now roads and level easy-looking tracks ahead of us all the way to Red House bothy. I think we can do it.

Back on the bikes, we’re heading due West and the wind is less ferocious. A smooth road through the trees speeds us along to Linn of Dee, then we’re back into the open on a good track. A patch of forestry that looks a very long way away marks the bothy but, inch by inch, it creeps closer and eventually we make it. It’s well occupied so we pitch the tent behind the most sheltered wall and, already food filled, snuggle straight into our sleeping bags.

Day 3

(80km)

I’m tired. We move into the bothy for breakfast and swap stories with a few of its occupants. Setting off there’s a couple of fords to negotiate which are still low enough that they can just about be managed with careful rock hopping (and a bike to lean on). Robbie risks all with a cycle through the second. It’s fraught but successful, and wins the applause of an on-looking school group who are apparently up from London for their first time in the mountains. Carrying on the track quickly narrows to path, which is possibly rideable. I think. Certainly it would be if I didn’t have a tent strapped to the back of my saddle and could drop it. As it is, I’m stuck at full height and can only reach the ground when it’s flat at both sides. I give it a go anyway. We trundle along with a mix of cycling, scooting and walking into the top of Glen Tilt, where a fairly smooth but narrow path cuts into steep hillside. I keep on with the “just give it a go, you can do it” positivity while Robbie disappears into the distance. Then catch a wheel on a pathetically small rock and attempt to put my left foot down for balance. It finds only air. So me and the bike take a few cartwheels down the hillside and come to rest in a mostly grassy dip with only a few small boulders digging in at awkward angles. I pick us both up and walk the rest.

There’s a bridge over the Falls of Tarf, then a widening of the path, then track. It’s easy smooth going all the way down the rest of Glen Tilt, remembering the last time we were here nearly a decade ago when we walked through from Kingussie to Blair Atholl. The weather hasn’t changed! Down, down, down it’s much faster on a bike and we arrive in Blair Atholl just in time for the café to stop serving food. It’s mid afternoon and the weather is brightening up so we grab some snacks from the village shop and carry on, back on tarmac along a very straight B road which, given that it runs parallel to the A9, is virtually untouched by cars. Then, meandering quietly along, we abruptly find ourselves at House of Bruar. It feels odd to say that this comes as a complete surprise, but there you have it. It’s not really marked as a major attraction on an OS map. So one minute we’re cycling along on a self sufficient mountainous bikepacking trip through the heart of the Cairngorms, and the next we’re in a road service station surrounded by people stretching their legs in the middle of a long drive. It’s rather weird. They do excellent food, and the toilets are marvellous - though something about being surrounded by marble and fancy soap does make you very conscious of three days of sweat and that you recently rolled down a hill.

Back on the bikes there’s actually quite a lot more tarmac as we follow the disused old road along the side of the A9. It’s separate enough that the traffic is mostly hidden by trees, and large banks of brightly flowering broom. There’s a good view across the River Garry and the sun even makes an appearance. We make rapid progress to the turn off at Dalnacardoch lodge and then we’re back onto tracks. It’s a fairly gentle climb up the hillside above the Edendon Water and, for the first time on the trip, the wind it at our backs. Hallelujah. We climb gradually up, up, up, and reach the end of the track by Loch an Duin as the sun starts to sink towards the hills. Leaving the track behind it’s a foot slog through thick boggy heather with minimal path which is tough going and slow. We lose the sun behind the steep slopes of An Dun but do eventually gain a path through heather and boulders. We stop for a bit of bike re-packing in order to find a new home for the tent which means I can actually put my seat down and get my feet onto the ground more easily. It’s an excellent confidence boost and means I can cycle/scoot the majority of it. Then the path widens and becomes smooth track and, just as we’re thinking about stopping for the night we realise that, although it’s a long way, it’s actually downhill all the way to the car. Hmmm. The thought of waking up in the morning in our own home vs a rain-lashed tent is a powerful incentive, plus somewhere just behind the edge of a hill the sun is still shining.

Onwards then. We speed up. The gentle rhythm of turning pedals, high gears, the fuzz of small stones, gliding with the wind. Gaick Lodge passes, and the loch. Flying down unexpected tarmac, then wallowing in crunchy big-stoned gravel. Heather, trees, a passing shower, golden setting sun. Darkness falls as we reach the car. Stiff cramped muscles that really wish they were tucked up in a tent somehow find the strength to heave two bikes onto the roof. An hour’s drive into a wall of oncoming rain. In bed just as the clock says it’s tomorrow.