NC500 by Bike: Beautiful, Brutal, and Completely Unpredictable
- Ruth Bergman
- 23 hours ago
- 10 min read
Youza, That's a Lot of Hills
We have done some pretty challenging bike rides.
The NC500 was the hardest cycling we have ever done.
On paper, it didn't look quite so intimidating. Our usual target of 80–100 kilometers a day seemed perfectly reasonable. We were riding gravel bikes, we were reasonably fit, and the route through the Scottish Highlands promised spectacular scenery.
Then we looked more closely at the elevation profiles.
Several days had more than 1,500 meters of climbing. One day had nearly 20 categorized climbs. And there were hills everywhere.
Add unpredictable Scottish weather, long stretches with no food or services, and roads that sometimes seemed to disappear into the wilderness, and suddenly 80–100 kilometers looked like a very different proposition.
Still, we were going.
Cycle NC500: One road, approximately a thousand hills Cycle NC500: A cairn with a view Cycle NC500: Hay, hills, and Highland skies Cycle NC500: Where the road meets the sea
Planning the Trip: A Bike Route Is Not an Itinerary
I started planning in April, well ahead of our trip. As always with a cycling vacation, there is the initial dilemma: bring your own bikes or rent?
Bringing bikes means dealing with bike boxes, flights, transfers, and getting two bicycles halfway across the world. Renting means finding bikes you trust and hoping they are actually the right bikes for the job.
For the NC500, I found Ticket To Ride in Inverness. They came highly recommended online, and their early email exchanges gave me confidence that they knew what they were doing.
They don't organize the trip or book accommodations. They rent bikes.
But they also provided something extremely useful: a fully detailed GPS route for cycling the NC500. That became the backbone of our planning.
The next challenge was figuring out where to sleep.
And this was much harder than it sounds.
For a cycling trip, an accommodation isn't useful simply because it is in the right town. It has to match the day's distance and elevation. And in northern Scotland, there aren't necessarily a lot of towns to choose from.
There were stretches of road where we could ride for miles and see nothing but green fields, lochs, sheep and the occasional car.
Our preferred riding rhythm is around 80–100 km a day, with two substantial food stops if possible: coffee and scones in the morning, and soda and crisps—not chips—in the afternoon.
That was the theory.
In practice, there were plenty of stretches where the only available option was the protein bars we and water we carried.
I planned with two screens open: Ride With GPS on one, Google Maps and Booking.com on the other. I built a table, starting and ending in Inverness, and filled it in one day at a time: distance, elevation, town, accommodation.
Then I did it again.
And again.
A perfectly reasonable cycling day could turn out to be impossible because the only available accommodation required a two-night minimum stay. Or there was nowhere to eat nearby. Or the next available bed was 40 kilometers too far away.
So we got creative.
We stayed in a youth hostel, a castle, pods, containers, apartments, hotels and B&Bs.
The one thing I would not compromise on was food within walking distance. After riding 100 kilometers, I was not getting back on the bike to find dinner.
This eliminated some otherwise very tempting accommodations, including the beautiful NC500 Pods. They looked wonderful, but they were simply too far from anywhere to eat.
Mostly, we managed.
We bought food at SPAR. We cooked in Lochinver and Durness. And we gratefully accepted dinners at our hotels in Torridon, Dundonnell and Melvich.
The lesson was simple: when planning a self-guided bike tour through rural Scotland, don't plan by distance alone. Plan by distance, elevation, food, and the availability of an actual bed at the end of the day.
Cycle NC500: A serene end to the day at Tulloch Castle
The Bikes
We rented Marin gravel bikes from Ticket To Ride. They replace their bikes every season, and ours were in excellent condition.
We arrived at 9 a.m. on the rental day, and the bikes were already prepared based on the measurements we'd sent in advance. The staff mounted our saddles and pedals, made a few final adjustments. We installed our front and rear loader and were ready to ride before 10.
That attention to detail mattered. We were going to spend six to eight hours a day on those bikes.
The bikes had good-quality components, bulletproof Continental tires, front and rear lights, two water bottle cages, and even a water bottle as a nice bonus.
And then they performed beautifully.
Zero mechanical problems.
Zero flat tires.
That would have been the last thing we needed to add to our challenge.
Ticket To Ride is, without question, a pro bike rental operation.
Cycle NC500: Ready to ride from Ticket To Ride Cycle NC500: Even the clouds look good in Scotland
Bealach na Bà: The Main Event
The elevation profile for our trip tells the story rather well.
There is one giant climb on Day 2. A couple of smaller ones. And then, at the bottom of the chart, a long, ugly sawtooth pattern that represents what was still to come.
The giant climb was Bealach na Bà.
We had prepared for it as best we could. We knew it was going to be a long climb, and the forecast called for rain.
We left our B&B in Lochcarron and almost immediately encountered a smaller climb. The weather was fine. We were happy.
The road followed the loch, and across the water we could see the pass rising ahead of us.
Several green hills lined the horizon. The road seemed to be steadily climbing toward them.
Cars coming down the road would slow or stop for us and stare. It took us a little while to realize that, from their perspective, we were part of the attraction. Apparently, watching two cyclists voluntarily pedal up Bealach na Bà was entertainment.
Then we turned a corner.
And there, stretched across the entire horizon, was the most complete and clearest rainbow I have ever seen.
It was spectacular.
It was also an omen.
Because we knew what rainbows mean.
Rain.
The climb itself is about nine kilometers long.
And the road is narrow. Very narrow. It's a single-track road with traffic traveling in both directions, but fortunately the Scottish solution is the passing place: occasional wider sections where one vehicle can pull over to let another pass.
We came to appreciate those passing places for another reason.
They were excellent places to stop and breathe.
My heart rate would climb to around 150. I'd pull into a passing place, wait until it dropped to something more manageable—say 110—and then continue.
Slowly.
Higher and higher we went.
And the higher we climbed, the more thumbs-up we got from passing drivers.
Near the top, the road began making Alpine-style hairpin turns. We took them slowly and eventually made it to what should have been the triumphant summit.
Except there was no view.
The weather had arrived.
Dense fog surrounded the top, and then the rain started.
We put on our raincoats, partly for the rain and partly because we knew the descent was going to be cold.
It didn't help much.
The descent was rainy, windy and completely exposed. No amount of clothing was going to keep me warm.
The scenery was beautiful.
I just wanted the descent to end.
I have never been so miserable on a bike.
When we finally reached Applecross, I went straight into a café and asked if they had a fireplace.
They looked at me rather oddly. “We don't keep it on in August.”
Maybe you should.
Cycle NC500: The rainbow said rain was coming Cycle NC500: The road to Bealach na Bà Cycle NC500: A passing place, and a chance to catch our breath Cycle NC500: Almost at the top, and still smiling Cycle NC500: Bealach na Bà summit—where did the view go? Cycle NC500: From fog to a beautiful descent
Hills, Hills, and More Hills
We spent well over an hour in that café.
I put on another layer.
At this point I was wearing five tops.
And we still had less than half the day's mileage behind us.
Somehow, I had convinced myself that we had done the hard half.
We had not.
After a few miles along the coast, the route turned inland, crossing from loch to loch.
And then it began.
One hill after another.
After another.
After another.
None of the individual hills was particularly terrible. That wasn't really the problem.
The problem was the number of them.
After five hills, I'd look at the next one and think, I can do this.
After ten, I'd look at the next one and think, I can do this.
After twenty, I'd look at the next one and think, I can't do this.
But somehow, slowly, slowly, zigzagging across the narrow road, I did.
There was only one hill where I actually gave up and walked the bike up the steepest section.
Naturally, Oren took a photo.
The elevation profiles for the next several days looked like a saw blade. And for five or six stages, the hills just kept coming.
It wasn't one giant climb that made the NC500 so difficult. It was the relentless accumulation of climbing.
The next hill was the problem.
And the one after that.
And the one after that.
So yes, 80–100 kilometers sounds perfectly reasonable.
Add 1,500 meters of climbing, twenty hills, unpredictable weather, and a few stretches where there isn't a café—or anything else—for miles, and suddenly it feels like a very different proposition.
This was, without question, the hardest biking we have ever done.
Cycle NC500: The elevation profile tells the story Cycle NC500: The route around the Scottish Highlands Cycle NC500: One passing place, two bikes, and another hill Cycle NC500: A tiny stone hut in a very big landscape Cycle NC500: Green hills, wildflowers, and a little Scottish rain
The Fifth Dimension: Scottish Weather
There are three dimensions of space, one dimension of time, and then there's Scotland, where weather is the fifth dimension.
The forecast before we left showed rain almost every day.
On the morning we left Inverness, the forecast said there would be no rain.
So naturally, it started drizzling almost as soon as we set off.
In reality, though, we were quite lucky.
We had short periods of drizzle on several days, but nothing like the constant rain we had feared. We even had two or three days of sunshine and blue skies.
And the effect of the weather on the ride was remarkable.
When the sun came out, we became cheerful tourists.
We smiled. We laughed. We stopped to take pictures. We admired the scenery.
When clouds gathered, we became more serious.
And when the drizzle started, our entire attitude changed.
We had a goal. We were going to get there.
No stopping. No entertainment. Just ride.
The worst weather came on the stretch from Durness to Melvich. There was fairly strong wind, long exposed stretches and, naturally, hills.
But Scottish weather has a strange way of transforming the landscape. The same green hills and lochs can look completely different under sunshine, clouds or fog.
You learn not to trust the forecast.
You learn to carry layers.
And you learn that when the sun comes out, you should stop and enjoy it.
Cycle NC500: Scottish rain, right on cue Cycle NC500: When the clouds come down to meet the hills Cycle NC500: When the sun comes out, everything changes Cycle NC500: A Highland sunrise at Durness
The Roads Less Traveled
One of the best things about cycling the NC500 is that the route doesn't always stay on the famous NC500 road.
Frequently, our GPS route took us onto smaller side roads.
One of my favorites came on Day 4, after Ullapool, on the road toward Stac Pollaidh.
The weather was fine. Cloudy, but not foggy, and gradually clearing.
The road followed a small river and, most importantly, it was mercifully flat.
There was hardly any traffic.
For a while, it didn't feel like we were riding on a road at all. It felt like a bike trail following a river through a green heaven.
After all those hills, that stretch of flat road felt like a gift.
It was also a reminder that some of the most memorable parts of the NC500 aren't necessarily the famous viewpoints or major attractions.
Sometimes they're the little roads you almost didn't take.
Cycle NC500: The road less traveled, and blissfully flat Cycle NC500: A bike trail disguised as a road Cycle NC500: The sun came out. I celebrated. Cycle NC500: Still getting used to the wrong side of the road
The Scottish Wildlife I Came For
I had two animal encounters on my wish list.
First: coos.
Not just any cows. I wanted the photogenic, long-haired Scottish Highland cows that look as though they have been specifically hired to appear in photographs.
Eventually, we got our chance in Scourie, right in the middle of a particularly grueling day of hills.
There they were, close enough to the road for some proper iPhone photography.
We stopped. We watched them.
And for a little while, we forgot about the hills.
They were beautiful.
The second animal on my list was the majestic red deer.
But the deer stayed away.
Or so I thought.
On the way south from Melvich, we were riding another beautiful stretch of Highland side road. There were sheep everywhere and quite a few cows.
Further down in the fields, I saw a large herd of animals.
I assumed they were cows.
Oren was certain they were cows.
But I stopped anyway.
I pulled out my iPhone, zoomed in as far as it would go and took a picture.
The resulting photograph is barely resolvable.
But those animals are clearly deer.
So there is wildlife in Scotland.
It just seems to be shy.
Cycle NC500: The sheep own the road Cycle NC500: Finally, a long haired scottish coos Cycle NC500: Even the coos know when it's too windy Cycle NC500: The elusive Highland deer
And Yes, They Still Wear Kilts
Then there was the pub in Applecross.
When we stopped at the café after our Bealach na Bà ordeal, we noticed a group of men in kilts hanging out at the bar.
They were a wedding party, waiting for the ladies to finish getting dressed.
The men were doing what seemed like the perfectly appropriate thing to do while waiting: drinking beer and Scotch.
And the kilts were magnificent.
Beautiful, colorful varieties of argyle, each one looking more impressive than the last.
So if you've ever wondered whether Scots still wear kilts:
Evidently, they do.
And they look pretty good in them.
Cycle NC500: A very Scottish pre-wedding gathering
Would We Do It Again?
The funny thing about a trip like this is that the memories don't organize themselves according to how hard something was.
I don't remember the twenty hills as twenty separate moments of suffering.
I remember the rainbow.
The hairpins disappearing into the fog.
The passing places.
The drivers giving us thumbs up.
The road beside the river near Stac Pollaidh.
The Highland cows standing patiently beside the road.
The completely unresolvable iPhone photograph that turned out to contain deer.
The men in kilts drinking Scotch before a wedding.
And, yes, I remember the fireplace in Applecross that was not turned on in August.
We came to Scotland expecting a beautiful cycling trip.
We got that.
We also got something considerably harder.
The NC500 by bike demands more than simply being able to ride 100 kilometers. It demands patience, flexibility, careful planning, a tolerance for weather, and a willingness to keep climbing when you are quite certain there cannot possibly be another hill.
Because, there always is.
But that's also what makes the ride so rewarding.
The landscape is spectacular. The roads are often wonderfully quiet. The Highlands seem to go on forever, with lochs, green hills, and sheep around every corner.
And when the sun comes out after a day of clouds, you understand why you came.
Would I recommend cycling the NC500?
Absolutely.
Would I tell you it's easy?
Absolutely not.
But if you are looking for a cycling adventure that feels like an adventure—not just a bike ride through beautiful scenery—the NC500 delivers.
Just bring layers.
And don't count on the fireplace.
Cycle NC500: Before — we had no idea what was coming Cycle NC500: After — Youza, that was a lot of hills.
Day by Day Itinerary
Date | Stage | Start | End | Distance | Elevation Gain | Total Time | Hotel |
Aug 18-19 | NA | Inverness | Inverness | NA | NA | NA | |
Aug 20 | 1 | Inverness | Lochcarron | 107 km | 743 m | 6 hrs 7 min | |
Aug 21 | 2 | Lochcarron | Torridon | 81 km | 1340 m | 7 hrs 15 min | |
Aug 22 | 3 | Torridon | Dundonnell | 96.8 km | 1250 m | 5 hrs 54 min | |
Aug 23 | 4 | Dundonnell | LochInver | 91.7 km | 1500 m | 6 hrs 30 min | |
Aug 24 | 5 | LochInver | Durness | 96 km | 1882 m | 7 hrs 40 min | |
Aug 25 | Rest | Durness | Durness | NA | NA | NA | |
Aug 26 | 6 | Durness | Melvich | 90.6 km | 1500 m | 7 hrs 6 min | |
Aug 27 | 7 | Melvich | Brora | 70.5 km | 760 m | 5 hrs 10 min | |
Aug 28 | 8 | Brora | Dingwall | 105 km | 1134 m | 7 hrs | |
Aug 29 | 9 | Dingwall | Inverness | 74 km | 715 m | 4 hrs 48 min |
Packing List
Our packing list was almost exactly the same as the one in my Pacific Coast Bike Route post, with two important additions:
Gore-Tex rain pants. We didn't end up needing them, but it was comforting to have them nevertheless. Given the Scottish weather forecast, I was very happy to have them in my panniers.
Mosquito face net. We definitely used this one. Those midges are not just a nuisance—they bite.
Resources
Ticket to Ride - Bike rental
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