Our sense of peaceful solitude is broken by what begins as a faint rumbling, but quickly becomes a violent shaking of the ground that reverberates up through our bodies. Until now our ride through the heart of the Galloway Forest Park has been one of misty beauty, the only sounds to be heard coming from the babbling rivers, the chattering of birds and the crunch of gravel under our tyres.

This is about as remote a corner of Britain as you could hope to visit. Galloway is a region in the far southwest corner of Scotland, squashed between the border with England to the east and the Irish Sea to the west. The villages are small, the roads quiet and the people outnumbered by the sheep. What Galloway does have is lots of empty green space and miles and miles of gravel tracks, making it the perfect place to get away from the noise and bustle of life.

Which is why the cacophony approaching us comes as such a surprise. We scramble to the side of the track as around the corner comes a gargantuan metal beast juddering along the trail, crushing and smoothing everything in its path with a deafening roar and hiss.

At no point had elephantine machinery been a part of the deal for today’s ride, and yet if it were not for the logging industry that necessitates such equipment and noise, there wouldn’t be a vast warren of trails in the first place.

Happy returns

I’ve come back to Scotland to make good on a promise I made to myself 18 months earlier when I first visited this region as part of my John o’Groats to Land’s End project. Back then I was on a road bike, riding through incessant rain on a 227km stage that took me from Ayrshire to Cumbria. And while that day was one of the most grim I’ve ever had on a bike, I remember thinking how beautiful the area was, and how enticing the trails looked.

Such is my excitement at finally being back in Galloway, equipped with the right bike for all terrain this time, that I give little regard to the gloomy skies that hang over us as we set off from our campsite. I feel as if I have only ever ridden in Scotland in such conditions, so accept them as part of the deal. I’m just happy to have 100km of unknown trails and tracks ahead of me, even if my ride partner, Nick, is slightly concerned about the apparent lack of a coffee and cake stop.

The main road north out of Gatehouse of Fleet rises gradually, flanked by scruffy, overgrown hedges tinged with patches of burnt orange and rusty brown. After 10km of steady climbing we reach a T-junction where a right turn takes us onto a narrow road that is either very rough tarmac or very smooth gravel. With no traffic in sight we ride side-by-side, occasionally dodging the potholes that get bigger and more frequent.

We follow the course of a river that runs along the edge of a thick forest of pines, until we crest the brow of a hill and come face to face with the imperious Big Water of Fleet viaduct. Built in the mid-1800s as part of the old Portpatrick Railway line, it has long since been abandoned, but it is still an imposing sight in this remote landscape.

We pass under one of its hulking arches and immediately the path becomes rougher and narrower. A little further along we find a sign that marks the start of a long, remote route to Glentrool. It warns that ‘the track is rough and steep in places’ and that ‘food, drink, map, clothing for bad weather and a bicycle repair kit are essential’. Looks like we’re in the right place.

Suffering for our art

True to the sign, the quality of the track quickly deteriorates as it enters the woods. A thick blanket of mist closes in around us as the gradient forces us out of our saddles and rivulets of water run back down the climb. Over the top the conditions improve, albeit marginally, and we descend quickly down past Loch Grannoch and back onto a small section of road that I recognise, having slogged up it in a howling headwind during my JOGLE ride. Typically, today the wind is blowing the other way, meaning another headwind and slow progress until we finally swing off onto the next gravel section.

We immediately start to regain the height we have just lost descending on the road, the gradient ramping up to double figures where it stays for the next 4km. We climb in silence, both of us focussed on maintaining a steady effort while navigating through the chunks of rock that litter the track. It’s like someone has taken the worst sections of Paris-Roubaix and stuck them on a 10% hillside.

There’s a period of respite as the trail flattens out to pass along and around the banks of Black Loch, and we take the opportunity to stop and rest next to a distinctive conical brick structure, a sculpture titled ‘The Eye’ on the water’s edge.

No sooner have our legs recovered from the climb up to Black Loch than they are slowly being squeezed again. I stand to counter the steepness of the incline, only for my back wheel to spin on the loose gravel, forcing me back into the saddle. The track continues to climb and dip until one particularly steep section brings us to the high point of the route, revealing a landscape of gnarled tree stumps and great upturned roots where once there was a forest.

We descend gingerly to avoid debris from the fallen trees, great stacks of trunks piled up on either side of us. A fork in the track sees us turn right and begin a long arc around the far reaches of Clatteringshaws Loch, its steely waters rippling under the brisk breeze. Another short road section takes us past a sign for the loch’s visitor centre, which we ignore. It’s only later that we learn, much to Nick’s chagrin, that the visitor centre serves coffee and a selection of homemade cakes. Sorry Nick.

We follow the Raiders Road alongside the postcard perfect Black Water of Dee, little wisps of mist dancing across its gurgling waters. For the first time today the sun breaks through the cloud, sending shafts of light between the trees to illuminate patches of green moss. At one point we pass two old, derelict buildings, their roofs having collapsed in on themselves, moss growing up the sides as if the forest is slowly swallowing them. I reckon that in another few years you would hardly know they were there.

The last leg

Having survived our encounter with the hulking forestry juggernaut, we rejoin the path further along at a point where it is yet to be flattened and gravelled, which means the mud sucks away at our speed and energy. By now we are both feeling the strain of a ride that has offered little in the way of easy kilometres, resulting in a rather slow pace as we grind up the penultimate climb of the day, taking in the views back across a patchwork of rolling hills that lead down to the waters of Wigtown Bay.

The final climb leads us to the end of the gravel and a fast-flowing descent all the way back to Gatehouse of Fleet, the two of us spurred on by the thought of a well-earned coffee and a large slab of something sugary. It has been a tough ride, but beautiful and exhilarating, and we enter the town with the sense of a day well spent, ready to receive the reward for our efforts.

As it turns out, the solitary coffee shop has just closed for the day. Ah well, we came here for adventure, and we’ve certainly had a sizeable helping of that.

Want some company in Galloway? Try the Raiders Gravel sportive

Cyclist’s route around the Galloway Forest Park follows many of the same gravel trails as the annual Raiders Gravel sportive, which had its inaugural event in 2022.

Taking place over three stages, the Raiders Gravel course can be ridden solo or in teams of two, and the event village with post-ride entertainment is a big part of the whole experience. The next one takes place from 31st August to 3rd September 2023. For more details, head to raidersgravel.com.

Tags: Best Bike RidesGravel