Day 6 - Barra

Distance: 21.2 miles

A very relaxed start to the day today as we were headed for the Isle of Barra by ferry, which was only 10 miles away and departed at 1pm.

The sky was practically clear of cloud and the wind was very light, making the ride down to the ferry terminal at Eriskay on the southern tip of Uist a very pleasant experience. Pleasant that is until the road threw some unexpected and completely unnecessary climbs at us in the last couple of miles. Fortunately what goes up must come down and we enjoyed a nice steep descent to the terminal past some other cycle tourists who had obviously just disembarked and were pushing their bikes up the steep incline.

The term "terminal" is a bit of a grand description for where one catches the ferry from Eriskay. It's essentially a square of tarmac and a small waiting room that wouldn't be out of place on a small village railway station. The ferry itself sat just offshore, and as we'd arrived over half an hour early for our sailing we got to sit and watch the crew joyriding this strange glorified raft of a vessel, even smaller than yesterday's ferry, around the harbour presumably doing training exercises.

The crossing to Barra was quite different because it was across open water. The sea was very calm though and the small craft barely rocked as it made the crossing. Once again the views and the colours were amazing.

On landing we had our priorities in the right order by buying burgers for lunch at a stall next to the landing stage. As we ate we enjoyed the spot, and remarked upon a rather strange nearby statue of a pair of otters and a fish.

Barra, like the other Hebridean Islands had a unique character of its own. The trees that we passed, and even a small wood, really stood out. It's also a very small island and so we covered most of the remaining distance to Castlebay, our destination for the day, rather quickly. 

When the opportunity to pause at a beach came up we were all too happy to stop for a while and dip our toes in the Atlantic. I dipped my toes anyway, but when I turned to look for James I saw him plunging headlong into the sea. It seems he was determined to swim.

A couple of miles of road found us in Castlebay at the hostel where we'd be spending the night. An opportunity to do some laundry and get an early night before the ferry to Oban tomorrow.

Sandwich fillers

I do not wish to repeat what Parkey has written, merely attempt to elaborate further with my own views and thoughts. I have to admit an initial sense of disconnection with this 'holiday', as it were, as I could never imagine attempting to cycle any great distance, let alone through places I was only vaguely aware existing. Yet, here I am, miles from home with two good friends surviving with what I can carry and the goodwill of people letting us into their homes (for a price, of course). Deciding what I could afford to carry was crucial and I did my best to carry the lightest alternative where possible.

Months of planning on Parkey's behalf is what made this trip. Good BnBs book quickly and train ticket prices inflate rapidly the closer to the travel date you get. So I found myself one tuesday afternoon sat in the first class coach of a Cross Country service on my way to Inverness. An early (for me) start coupled with a comparatively short train journey to York station preceeded a brief lunch and hurried search for replacement equipment in the city centre preceeded this novel experience.

The journey itself was relatively uneventful and exceedingly long. The only real exitement occurred when one of the cabin stewards banged his head as the train lurched - otherwise the monotony of a truly riveting game of Scrabble was occasionally broken by food offerings or an object of interest vanishing into the scenery. And what scenery! The east coast line is spectacular, following the coast, rivers, valleys and moors in turn, with views only available to those willing to travel by rail.

We saw little of Inverness; the SYHA youth hostel, a few streets and a bicycle shop was the extent of our tour. The initial twenty miles or so of road wound steadily through the countryside before rising gently into the hills. Typical countryside merged into moor-like scenery which became ever bleaker with increasing height. Cloud cover steadily increased, blackening over the higher northern peaks. Ominous rumbling could be heard by mid-afternoon. The rain began as we stood looking in awe at the sheer power of millions of litres of crashing water, teasingly drizzling before relentlessly increasing until pouring from the sky in volume equalling that of the waterfall. As we began to cycle away from the top of the falls, James screaming 'Is that all you've got?!' to the heavens, beyond belief the downpour became a deluge. We were each soaked in Scottish rainwater before we could barely get going. A brief, painful flurry of hail sent us scurrying down the road to Ullapool with miles still to go. The infamous 3 mile drop down to sea level saw us reach speeds exceeding 45mph into wind and yet more hail. The final few miles were the most miserable, cold, wet, with puddles forming in our shoes.

The Old Surgery in Ullapool was the most welcome sight of the day, as warmth and a hot shower awaited. The proprietress appeared shocked by the state of us, but quickly welcomed us inside out of the (now far lighter, but still persistant) rain and immediately offered to dry our wet clothes as soon as we were sorted. By evening the rain had ceased and after a good meal involving the demise of numerous denizens of the deep, we retired for the night.

Thursday found us on the ferry crossing over to Stornoway and the isles of the Outer Hebrides. The northerly swell did nothing to alleviate my apprehension - it had been a long while since I had last been on a ferry and I was uneasy about the impending conditions. Whilst the water initially looked calm, the remains of a northerly swell soon put all thoughts of cycling out of my head as I fought to retain my breakfast. Stornoway ferry terminal was the best sight of the day. As cyclists, we had the honor of always being first on and last off any ferry and this time was no different. We spent the afternoon wandering around the town, observing a Scottish piper in full regalia posing in the castle grounds. We went to bed early in preparation for the following day, unaware of how much of an ordeal it was to be.

Day 5 - Uist

Distance: 51.1 miles

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A deliberately slow morning today, to at least in part make up for the madness of yesterday. A cooked breakfast and the knowledge that there were no mountains to tackle today also helped.

Outside we were greeted by gloriously sunny weather with only a light breeze blowing from the west.

We met the 11:35 ferry to Uist just down the road from our B&B. It was a squat rectangular vessel with a ramp on each end rather akin to a landing craft.

The crossing took about an hour as the ferry wove its way in and out of countless tiny islands and rocks between Harris and North Uist. The sun shone, the sky was clear and the sea was a deep blue and as flat as a mill pond. Truly beautiful!

The isle of Uist had its own character just as Lewis and Harris had been different. The land was low lying and flat, though South Uist had a couple of mountains that we could see in the distance, and which barely seemed to get any closer as we rode toward them. Much of the distance we were riding was on single track roads with passing places, which could be a little frustrating at times but got better as the amount of traffic dropped the further south we went.

We paused for lunch on a causeway between north and south islands. It seems the Hebrideans... Hebridites... It seems that the locals have a novel solution to crossing bodies of water, which is to pile rocks into it and then build a road over the top. Building bridges is clearly only for mainland pansies.

The miles continued to clock up. As we passed the mountains we commented that we could again easily be parts of the Lake District or Yorkshire, above the tree line, except that if you happened to glance the other way you'd realise you were at sea level and looking straight out across the Atlantic ocean.

The last couple of miles to the B&B in Lochboisdale with a following wind were, in contrast to the previous day, exceedingly easy going. Nevertheless, dinner in the local hotel was most welcome.

Day 4 - Sorry for the inconvenience

Distance: 56.9 miles.

Today was hard work.

We woke up to a delicious breakfast and the sun shining down on us. This was good. The bad news was a 20mph wind blowing up from the south. Not what you want to have when your destination is 50+ miles to the south.

We packed, which really didn't take very long; James made the comment that the great thing about travelling light is that if you do accidentally leave something behind it's at least probably at home.

We visited the post office, bought sandwiches from the co-op and set off. The lush tree-lined streets of Stornoway soon gave way to a much more barren landscape that in fact reminded us of high parts of Yorkshire although it was all practically at sea level. Here was our second problem, which was that whilst the landscape was low it had a tendency to roll up and down that, coupled with the wind, was exhausting to cycle across.

In the distance we could see mountains creeping nearer and we knew we'd have to cross them. We paused by a small lake to eat our sandwiches, enjoying being out of the wind and preparing ourselves for the climb.

In absolute terms the climb wasn't particularly high or steep, but after 25 miles of pushing into the wind and knowing we had another 30 to go it was quite punishing to say the least.

On the plus side the scenery was going from pleasant to beautiful. The view looking back from the climb over a small loch of the deepest blue imaginable surrounded was enjoyable, but as we moved deeper into the mountains around each corner the terrain became spectacular. Michelle described it as a "Masculine Lake District".

The road had other surprises in store. After we battled our way over the highest point and began to descend back to the sea the road became progressively steeper allowing us to pick up a good speed. On the final part of the descent I hit an all-time personal record 51.9mph... before the levelling out of the road and the headwind brought me back to sluggish reality with a feeling of deceleration not unlike riding straight into a lake.

At 4:30 we paused for a drink at a pub in a small town, or rather a large village, called Tarbert to rest and regroup. We still had 20 miles to go.

Leaving Tarbert meant climbing again, pushing against the wind along a single track road as we headed south.

Relief came as the road turned west and, sheltered from the wind in the bottom of a valley, descended to sea level. We also found ourselves on pristine new tarmac, a new section of road that had obviously only just been laid down. It all made for an amazingly smooth and easy ride back down to the sea at the Sound of Taransay, amusingly capped off at the end by a sign left by the road building company: "Sorry for the inconvenience"

The Sound of Taransay was beautiful; the sea was the deepest blue I have ever seen and a beach of yellow-white sand spanned the bay. From here it was just a case of following the coast, which we did at the most comfortable pace we could, frequently stopping to rest and take in the view.

We finally rolled up to our B&B at 7:30pm, but fortunately I had been able to call ahead and they had been kind enough to book us a table at a (the) local restaurant. Dinner never tasted better!

Day 3 - Goodbye Mainland

We awoke today to a grey sky with occasional drizzle.

The full Scottish breakfast was more than welcome after yesterday's exertions, and settled for pushing our bikes the five minutes walk to the ferry terminal. We bought our tickets and as cyclists we got to wheel our bikes into the car deck of the ferry on foot.

The ferry pulled out of Ullapool through the wind and occasional drizzle, the scenery was beautiful nonetheless, especially where the sun shone through the clouds. with the mainland receding and the ship beginning to pitch in the swell of the open sea we went indoors.

The occupants of the lounge in which we sat served as a reminder of who goes on holiday to Scotland. It's an anti-Ibiza, a destination for old timers in camper-vans, all woolly jumpers, raincoats, binoculars and telephoto lenses.

In the distance ahead there were visible mountains rooted in land beyond the horizon. Even at this distance the Hebrides were hard to miss.

Not content with just a nodding into the growing waves the ship threw in a rolling motion too, prompting a groan from poor Michelle as she sats on the floor eyes fixed on the horizon through the windows.

Gannets and dolphins greeted the ship as we approached Stornoway harbour. The sun came out too, which was very welcome after yesterday evening.

Our B&B was a mere half mile from the ferry terminal so we spent the afternoon exploring the town. James sampled the local barber and we got some laundry done ready for three days of cycling down the island.

I was surprised by the number of young people in Stornoway and how positively trendy, by highland standards at least, some of the shops and cafés were. Churches and religious bookshops were very noticeably everywhere.

All in all a very relaxed day. Tomorrow we get back to cycling.

Day 2 - Trial by Ice

Distance: 62.3 miles

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The day dawned to a cloudy sky, dry with the sun tentatively poking through but the sky clearly leaving its options open for a spot of rain later if the mood took it.

We arose to a continental breakfast at the youth hostel remarking on how just about every aspect of the place seemed to be on the verge of disintegrating. Still, our bikes had at least slept well in the bike store and we were soon on our way, pausing only briefly at a bike shop so that James could buy a pair of water bottles.

The road was very flat to begin with as we skirted the south bank of Beauly Firth, then as we turned North the road began to rise. The occasional light rain shower toyed with us, but on the whole the conditions were good and the going was easy.

We soon joined the A835, also known as "The Road". This, I remarked, is the best thing about cycle touring in Northern Scotland, the complete lack of the need for a map. The village you are aiming for, 50 odd miles distant, will be signposted from the beginning as you follow the one same road all the way. As The Road wound steadily upward through an increasingly more wild landscape the sun began to shine.

After a brief stop at a spot called Black Water Bridge we paused for lunch at a little hotel in the middle of nowhere called Inchbae Lodge, a lonely building just off the road. Flowers grew up one wall, which hummed to the tune of more than a dozen bumble bees. We sat basking in the sun at a picnic bench enjoying soup and ginger beer. 

I even put sunscreen on my arms at this point; big mistake.

Barely a couple of miles further up the road we were suddenly above the tree line, and soon after passing the imposing structure of Loch Glascarnoch dam we topped out at 279 metres above sea level. I remarked that the road was all downhill from here.

"Is that thundercloud getting nearer?" Michelle asked.

"Don't think so" I lied.

The road began to slope away from us most agreeably and we rolled onward happily for several miles before stopping to do the tourist thing and paused to take a look at some waterfalls. A footpath led down to a suspension bridge viewing platform above a chasm at least 100ft deep. We were marvelling at this when a light drizzle began to fall.

As we climbed our way back up the path the weather seemed yet more determined to play the part of a cruel and unpredictable mistress opened the heavens on us. To James' cry of "let's get the hell out of here!" and the crack of thunder and lightning we sped off.

The road fell away down a steep incline taking us with it. The rain followed and as we tore down the valley in a vain attempt to get out from under the thundercloud the hail began. Meeting hailstones at 45mph was a new and rather shocking experience for me, as was hearing James' accompanying manic laughter.

The rain followed us all the way to Ullapool, soaking us completely. Fortunately the dry warmth of the B&B was waiting for us. A hot shower and a delicious meal in a nearby pub were more than welcome.

Day 1 - Inverness

The first day of our expedition dawned, the temperature warm but the sky cloudy with a cool breeze blowing. I said my goodbyes to my Grandad with whom I had been staying and easily rode the half mile down the road to Darton station to meet the first train of the day. 

Catching a 10:38 train from a small South Yorkshire village I was unsurprised to find the platform all but empty. The train rolled into view dead on time, a nodding donkey, one of those old diesel railbuses. The guard helped me get my bike aboard and I settled in for the ride to Leeds.

A surprisingly easy 4-minute connection in Leeds and a Transpennine Express ride later found me at York station enjoying a hot chocolate, wondering what is about the ambience of large railway stations that I enjoy so much.

James and Michelle soon joined me and after a brief but unsuccessful search of York for a water bottle for James' bike (he'd forgotten his camelbak) we returned to the station to eat Cornish pasties for lunch and to meet our train to Inverness. We loaded our bikes into the guard's van and then as the train drew out of the station, to the indignation of our fellow passengers, walked the length of about five carriages to our seats in first class. 

Six hours is a long train journey. It was more than enough time for me to rediscover my dislike of travel scrabble. Travelling first class was a real boon; booked two months in advance, our seats were rather reasonably priced. The train crew came by every half hour or so plying us with complimentary tea, juice, sandwiches, scones and cake, to which it was difficult to say no. 

As the train snaked its way through the Grampian mountains the weather closed in, rain rattling against the windows, leaving us hoping for better weather in the coming days of cycling. None of this detracted from our enjoyment of the spectacular views from the train windows and the sheer variety of scenery.

It was still raining as we disembarked at Inverness at about 8pm and quickly rode the half mile to the youth hostel. Spartan accommodation, highlighted especially by James' choice of a top bunk with several screws missing. Still, the holiday really begins tomorrow with the ride to Ullapool.