It was a risky one to pull off this, a great concept but so easy for something to go wrong and whip the proverbial carpet from under his feet. So it was with great satisfaction and fortune that we all congregated on the Saturday morning in the resort car park with warm sun beating down on our backs and not a cloud in the sky. The weather had been kind in this all too often harsh environment and it was all going ahead – we knew this because we had all received the email the week before to confirm the day the race would commence and to inform us that the helicopter had been booked! Prior to the event no–one knew the actual race date, No Fuss had set a two week window to allow for the best weather to be utilised and the hundred riders had been selected from the 300 or so entries by pulling names out of a hat, which only added to the eagerness of those present on the day.

As the time for the uplift came closer there were plenty of excited faces waiting for the ride up with every man sharing just one common image of what a helicopter ride is all about from ‘that’ film. We loaded up group by group, but the pilot never did ask ‘shall we dance?’ And no Wagner was played on the approach to this battleground. Still it was one hell of a way to get to the start line and for some first time racers it must have felt like the apocalypse.

At the top of the mountain there was a stiff breeze, but you could not ask for a better day, the view was simply stunning looking right out across the wide and flat valley floor, into the heart of the highlands and miles and miles of wilderness.

With the bikes all lined up on a small remaining piece of snow the riders were ushered down the hill into a small holding area about 100 metres from the start line. They huddled together and waited for the helicopter to return back to the top of the mountain with the filmers on board. Then all of a sudden the chopper appeared over the mountain side and the klaxon was blown to start the first ever Macavalanche.

Around 100 riders had paid for the privilege to partake in this unique event and on the sounding of the air horn they ran, slipped and tripped their way up the grassy and rocky slope to the bikes where they scrambled through the funnel into the upper snow sections, the unseasonal conditions had seen most of the snow disappear in the highlands, this time a year ago they were still skiing on Glencoe, but on this day there only remained about five hundred metres of knee–deep soft snow. Pieces were rideable but most resorted to running through what resembled a giant slush puppie. Once out of the snow the Maca showed its real colours, an open treeless mountain covered with heather moorland and grassy tussocks and littered with rocks. Despite most riders making a quick dash down the course on foot in the morning, it still felt as close to a blind run as you could get down this open and wild Scottish hillside. Course marking was a little vague in places and some riders were a little creative with line choice, but that was all part of the spirit as no–one knowingly cut the course as had been reiterated in the mornings brief ‘If you cheat, you’ll only cheat yourself!’

Piling headlong into steep, wet, grassy slopes and all too often into wheel sucking areas of bog, you couldn’t be further away from the sanitised biking that takes place around the country every weekend, this was as raw as it gets, every man to themselves, your own line, your own speed, but all together in a sinuous chain of madness. Then just as you were getting your teeth into it, it was soon to be over. The course opened up into the final section, a long 30mph grassy chute with ruts and holes to hop, dodge and avoid and plenty more of that peaty bog to catch you out if you choose poorly, negotiate this and you were at the bottom recounting the mishaps and events from the run.

The fastest rider, with a flawless ride from the front riding away from the pack, was highland king Joe Barnes in a time of just under eleven minutes. The slowest rider came in some seventeen minutes later, but with one of the biggest grins. He had conquered the hill and remarkably everyone had survived with no major incidents, mountain rescue left after an easy day on the hill. The pits were however full of stories of people’s crashes, wrong turns and mechanicals.

Frazer and his team had a plan to do something a little out of the ordinary and with the full support of the Glencoe resort they had pulled it off in style. I guess it is no co–incidence that they operate under the name ‘No–Fuss Events’ as this rang true in everything about the day, from the sign–on and rider’s briefing, to the description of how to reach the top of the mountain with your bikes, the sketchy one seater ‘cliffhanger’ chairlift (where riders had to hold their bikes on their laps to the top), the loose set of rules and the start line dash through to the fun race that ensued, it truly was a ‘no fuss’ day, and all the better for it.

Straight after the event Frazer was coy about the prospect of another Maca, he had rolled the dice when planning this event and come out on top, but it had clearly been a worrying and stressful time. That said, from the feedback of the riders who took part on the day, I’d be amazed if the Scottish Macavalanche doesn’t become a permanent fixture in the event’s diary.