On your bike

I HAVE found a new place for my ashes to be scattered after I die. It's in heart of the Highlands, on the north-south watershed in the Cairngorms, at a glacial T-junction looking up towards the central massif.

Such places may abound in the Australian Outback or Alaska, but in the UK they rare. This one's a real gem, although it's not easy to get to, of course.

Antony, Dave, Spencer and I arrived there under a lowering sky after two hard days in the saddle. We were a third of the way into a 320-kilometre, off-road, mountain biking ride from the North Sea to the Atlantic, across the broad waist of Scotland It's an adventure billed by the influential American magazine Outside as one of its '10 trips of a lifetime'.

The Scottish coast-to-coast is an epic journey and deserves respect. We had assiduously planned our four-day ride from Aberdeen to Fort William following disused railway lines, Land Rover tracks, medieval drovers' routes, forest footpaths, 18th Century military roads and even canal towpaths.

We had carefully chosen the time of year (mid-May), plotted the route on a stack of maps, booked accommodation, serviced our bikes, bought the right kit and trained hard for the journey.

On the first morning, we sped out of Aberdeen along the old Deeside railway, lined with electric yellow broom. At Banchory, we crossed the tan-brown river Dee in glorious sunshine. Climbing beside the Water of Feugh, we caught the first glimpses of the dark, heather-clad hills, burnt-back with rectangular shapes like a Rothko painting. The world seemed right; our progress was good.

However, climbing into the Birse forest, there was a metallic crunch and Spencer's bike stopped dead. The damage - a mangled chain and a shorn mech hanger - was beyond our limited tool kit. Salvation, however, came in the form of Moira Gray, a shepherd's wife, who drove home to pick up the very tool we lacked. "Ah remember be-ann stuck ah Glenshee un a snowstorm wi'oot a chain tool," she said in her delightful brogue. "An ah heed ta help ya oot."

We were papering over cracks, and limping over the Hill of Duchery on the 'Fungle Road', an ancient drovers' thoroughfare connecting Deeside with Glen Esk in Aberdeenshire, then his bike seized again.

The next morning, the chef at the Loch Kinord Hotel drove Spencer into Ballater, with the crippled bike, to Cyclehighlands - a shop in the town square. A friendly guy named Richard did his best to fix the damage but to no avail. He was, however, so keen for us continue on our adventure, he agreed to rent us a bike and drive to Fort William to collect it.

By midday, we were heading up Glen Gairn into the mountains. The gentrified scenery of the Dee Valley gave way to rough farmland, stone walls and granite cottages with antlers above the porches. Beside the hump bridge at Gairnshiel, we turned north-west onto the moors, passing flocks of plovers, curlews and oyster-catchers on the flats beside a river.

After two days of almost unbroken sunshine, the sky darkened as we neared the snow-dappled mountains. "This is big country," Dave said tremulously, at the confluence of Glens Gairn and Builg (where I would like my ashes to be scattered).

On the footpath past Loch Builg - a section that tested our riding skills - the first pellets of rain began to fall.

Descending steep-sided Glen Builg, the intensity roared back and forth across the Builg burn; we were soon soaked. At Inchrory, a grand Highland stalking lodge above the river Avon, the track improved dramatically and, with the scent of a pub apparent, we tore through the last 13 kilometres to Tomintoul.

Grey skies and stiff bodies made for a slow start the next day. Snipe zigzagged out of the rushes as we struggled to reach the river in Glen Brown. The highlight was passing through a picturesque rock-cleavage in the delightful Braes of Abernethy. Dave and I were waiting in the heather when a golden eagle with a two-metre wingspan wafted silently overhead. It was an electrifying sight.

Our last day was always going to be a struggle - 112-plus kilometres, crossing the Monadhliath Mountains via the Corrieyairack Pass. The Hermitage Guesthouse set us up with a mighty breakfast and the first 32 kilometres, following the Spey through Newtownmore and Laggan, were a good warm-up.

The English General Wade built the road in 1731 and it's just as busy today with walkers and mountain bikers as it was with English soldiers all those years ago. We gave the bikes (and our back teeth) a rattling on the hour-long descent from the pass, down to Fort Augustus in the Great Glen.

As we reached Loch Oich, the sun was waning slowly, like us. We had three hours to cycle 48 kilometres to reach Fort William and catch the Caledonian Sleeper. As lambent light filled the glen, we raced beneath Ben Nevis, dreaming of being lulled to sleep by the 'ta-dum, ta-dum' of the lolloping train.