Gentleman Cyclist

Saturday 10th April

Today’s was one of the most marvellous day’s riding it is possible to have. The scenery was as spectacularly beautiful as you would be likely to see anywhere, and being bathed in unbroken glorious spring sunshine was a bonus indeed.

We climbed from Harris Cottage to about 300′ and watched the ferry leave, bound for Harris. We could see the Western Isles quite clearly even though they were 1 hour and 40 minutes sail away.

We visited the Museum of Island Life, where a collection of crofts housed artefacts from farming and the local wool industry. Flora McDonald’s monument was in a graveyard up the hill, so we couldn’t be bothered to look at that.

When we rounded the northernmost point of the Trotternish peninsula, we had a wonderful view of a whole series of snow-capped Munroes, the most obviously identifiable of which was Slioch. We had viewed this in 2006 from the northern slopes of Beinn Eighe.

From right to left (I think): Beinn Eighe, Slioch, Mullach Coire and An Teallach (has the most snow). We climbed the last of these on our 2006 holiday, and I also drank a lot of the beer produced by a brewery of the same name.

The ride south to Portree was hampered by a strong headwind, which meant that although we climbed to over 600′ in places, more often than not we had to pedal on the descents. We visited Kilt Rock,

where a coach driver / guide was explaining the origins of this rock.

Coach driver’s spiel (adapted)

It is well known that there was to have been a right old pagga between Finn McCool, who built the Giant’s Causeway, and Fingal, who was in the habit of humming Mendelssohn to himself whilst sitting in his cave. But Fingal was a small giant compared to Finn McCool and was going to be breakfast if ever the two fought. However, Mrs. Fingal was sitting at home one day darning Fingal’s socks when Finn arrived and kicked the door in, looking for her husband. It so happened that Fingal was out hunting at the time, and Mrs. F told the Irishman “He’s not here at the moment but if you come back later I’m sure he’ll be delighted to fight you.”

Finn McCool thundered off, vowing to return.

When Fingal returned, with a brace of red deer hanging out of his sporran, his good lady told him that Finn had been to visit.

“He’s much bigger than you are and the problem is that he wants to fight you. You wouldn’t stand a chance!”

“Oh my dear wife!” cried Fingal, who really wanted a quiet life listening to Radio 3, “What am I to do?”

“Go up to the bathroom and fetch my Ladyshave Razor,” replied his spouse.

“What on earth for?” asked Fingal, who was not into depilation.

“You’ll see!”

He did as he was told and Mrs. F stripped him naked and shaved every hair off his body.

“Now, when Finn McCool arrives, go upstairs to the nursery and squeeze yourself into the baby’s crib.”

No sooner had the words left her lips and the door was kicked in again.

“Fee fie foe fum!” thundered Finn “wait a tick… where are we?… oh bugger! Anyway, where’s that puny husband of yours?”

“Still hunting I’m afraid, Mr. McCool.”

At that point a lot of galumphing could be heard from upstairs.

“He’s not hunting, he’s hiding, that’s what he’s doing!” cried Finn and he stormed up the stairs to find his foe.

In a trice he was storming down them again and out the door.

“If that’s the size of his fucking baby, then I’m staying in Ireland!”

—–

Anyway, the point of all this nonsense is that Kilt Rock is where Fingal hung his kilt when his wife was shaving him.

We saw Lealt Waterfall, which hurtled down a deep ravine

and the Old Man of Storr

who looked as though there was still plenty of lead in his pencil.

Finally we arrived in Portree and found our B & B, from which we had an excellent view of the Cuillins.

After some faffage, some laundry and an excellent meal from The Lower Deck, we retired for the night.

Friday 9th April

Our would-be efficient Maître d’ spent a great deal of time faffing with a computer and a calculator before charging us almost £140 for the privilege of a night’s stay at a not-very-spectacular establishment. Eventually we got away and managed to catch the ferry.

Jan was not feeling well and we had a number of stops on the way to Portree. Fortunately the climb was not difficult and it seemed that the downhill reward was out of all proportion to our earlier efforts. We dropped into a café in Portree’s main square for late 11ses and eventually trundled away, dropping into the Co-op for more supplies.

The weather was cloudy and mild and we were mostly wind-assisted. Lunch was a home-made affair eaten whilst sitting in a bus shelter, but my dear wife ate only an extra strong mint. Finally we arrived in Uig, which is approached from what would have been a 40+ mph descent had it not been for the need to avoid a trio of sheep which had decided to occupy a good deal of the road and forced me into using the brakes.

We found Harris Cottage and Jan slept whilst I read. A young family arrived, having driven from the Edinburgh area en route for Harris. Their ferry left Uig at 9.30 the following morning. We chatted for a while and soon after 7 I woke Jan and we walked down to the Ferry Inn for dinner. On the way back we phoned Dez from a call box, Uig having yet to realise the delights of a mobile phone signal.

Thursday 8th April

We headed north out of Broadford along the A87. The plan was to catch the 11.30 ferry, but that proved too ambitious. We took the old road (my 1″ map showed no other route) because it was much flatter than the “new” A87, which climbs to well over 400′.

The A87 is an innovation, renumbered since the Skye Bridge was opened and allowed lorries from the Western Isles simply to use Skye as a stepping stone to the mainland. The crossing from Stornoway to Ullapool is a 6-hour crossing and involves a much longer drive than the ferry to Uig and the drive across Skye. The old road now serves nothing more than a couple of salmon farms. There was a sign to Moll, 3 miles away, but we didn’t notice it as we stormed through. Indeed, I thought we were going to manage the entire 7-mile stretch of road without seeing another vehicle, but in the last mile or so were overtaken by a convoy of 8 vehicles, mostly Audis, BMWs and a Range Rover.

We missed the 11.30 ferry by a few minutes so we sat in the heated shelter provided for the use of ferry foot passengers and while we did so we ate some dried fruit and a bagel or two. Eventually the ferry arrived and we boarded, along with a couple of cars. As we approached Raasay a couple of very large birds appeared – I’m sure they were eagles – and they soared around for a while. They had disappeared by the time we were on dry land.

A rather annoying young man named Tim greeted us when we arrived at the Raasay Hotel. All smarm and training, he told us that he had only been there a week and that he had 1001 things to do. He doubled up as receptionist and bar staff and probably concierge as well, but we carried our own luggage up to the room.

Once we had settled in we explored the island, heading north to Arnish. We didn’t get that far, deciding to cut the ride short and have a relatively early dinner, after which we contemplated a stroll. We met a young couple on ancient bikes but soon after we decided to head back we met the girl again, with a deflated rear tyre. I tried, unsuccessfully, to mend the puncture. She found the hole quickly enough and we patched it but by the time we got the wheel back on the bike the tyre was going soft again. She had enough pressure to get her most of the way home, but it was irksome not to have sorted her problem out properly.

We ate in the dining room and while we were eating a couple we had met in Glenelg arrived. We started chatting and spent a pleasant evening in the company of Simon & Frances: he’s a surgeon in Edinburgh and she’s a manager, having previously been a nurse. When we had finished eating we all went for a walk around the Balfour Beattie building site, which will eventually become a large and impressive jetty.

Wednesday 7th April

We awoke to a very pleasant morning – little wind and a fair bit of blue sky. After a good breakfast we made our way back to the ferry, playing leapfrog with the dustcart as we went. once again, we arrived at the jetty to see the ferry on the far side. We spent a few minutes with a collie whose party piece was to round up stones. She brought them to us, we threw them away, and she brought them back unless we had thrown them into the water, in which case she just found another stone.

When we left the ferry, which we had shared with a family of cyclists, we made our way towards the “Otter Haven”. This is a stretch of beach above which someone has built a large and snug hide. No doubt that there are otters there from time to time, but our observations were limited to a pair of herons, two geese and a mallard as well as a pair of long-tailed tits. As we were leaving I caught a glimpse of what may have been an eagle, suddenly appearing over the mountain top but disappearing again before I could train the binoculars on it.

Then the long climb began. We succeeded in staying on the bike until over the 700′ mark, but that was where the 20% gradient began so we stopped for a bagel and some dried fruit.

Once at the top we had a lovely 5-mile romp towards Broadford. We were due in Scorrybreac B & B, but not yet, so went to visit the hand spinner’s wool shop to get Mrs. Wow’s fix. After that we dropped in to Beinn na Caillich where we experimented with different types of cake. Thereafter, we ventured to Scorrybreac where we were admitted and we made ourselves at home.

Tuesday 6th April

Last night’s gales had abated by morning, which ushered in a strong breeze bearing plenty of near-horizontal rain. After a good breakfast we said goodbye to Dorothy MacLeod and headed for the Kylerhea ferry. The wind had dropped considerably by the time we reached the ferry road, and what was mostly a deserted road was punctuated by the occasional convoy of two or three cars, an indication that the ferry was running.

It was a long, grinding climb to the summit, over 900′ above sea level, but when we plummeted to the other side, we could see the ferry on the far bank. It took only a couple of minutes for it to cross the water and it was most impressive to see the turntable bearing thee cars and their passengers being swivelled by just two men pushing and pulling in the right places.

While we were waiting we practised a little tai chi.

When all the motorists had disembarked, we had the ferry to ourselves. £4 for a return trip seemed pretty cheap, so I gave them an extra quid: this is a community-run project and the ferry had spent the winter in Stornoway being refurbished.

We were ready for lunch when we reached the Glenelg Inn, as well as being soaked, so we disrobed as much as we dared, but it was most disappointing to see how reluctant the fire was to yield any heat. However,  the tomato soup was hot and we had some coffee to complete the warming process.

At about 2 p.m. we were ready to introduce ourselves to Mrs. Catriona Davidson and we found her house at the second attempt. She fed us tea and cake and soon the rain stopped so we prepared to cycle, unladen, to Corran.

It was a stunningly beautiful route and we kept our eyes open for otters, pine martens and eagles, all of which can be seen, but apart from the first house martin of the summer, there was not a great deal to report until we reached Arnisdale, where half a dozen red deer were grazing in someone’s garden. They were not terribly troubled by our presence.

After a lot more effort we reached Sheena’s tea hut, the most southerly extent of civilisation on that particular peninsula, and since Knoydart was the next one, pretty much until Mallaig miles to the south. We had tea and I enjoyed a delicacy known as a “clootie dumpling”.

Sheena was probably a little older than us and although pleasant and chatty, spoke of little but disease, dementia and death. She did tell us that when she was a young mother in the area they had neither electricity nor running water and she had to wash her babies’ nappies in the burn. We were, however, glad to get away because it seemed that anyone who spent too much time in her presence was doomed.

We seemed to make better time on the return trip and arrived at the pub about twenty minutes before the time at which I had booked the table. The food was pretty good, but when the bill arrived it was about £10 more than total on the mental tally I had kept. I spotted that two items had been seriously overpriced and they were put right, but it was not until we were back in our room that I realised that we had still overpaid by the price of an extra dessert, which we had not had. I couldn’t help thinking that those “mistakes” were deliberate.

Sunday 4th and Monday 5th April

We arrived at Euston in plenty of time and spied a couple of heavily-laden cyclists. They were returning to Aberdeen after visiting relatives. I kept on looking at the departures board to see which platform our train was on, and eventually, it was announced: 13. We made our way down the ramp and looked for coach N, berths 5 and 6. The Scotrail host was there with a list of names.

I showed him our ticket.

“We’ve re-arranged our booking because of the threatened strike. We were initially supposed to be travelling Tuesday but we’ve got a berth for tonight. Coach N, Berths 5 & 6.” I showed him the 8-digit booking reference.

“I’m sorry, sir, those berths are booked to a Mr & Mrs. Howlett. We don’t have any passengers named Walker on our list.”

Our man walked off with all our paperwork, which worried me, but a few minutes later he returned. “I’m sorry, sir, these tickets are for Tuesday and we have no record of you having booked berths on this train. I’m afraid you won’t be allowed to board.”

“Well in that case I’d like to speak to the train manager.”

“He’s down the far end of the train.”

Within minutes two stowaways had decoupled their tandem, hung it in the guard’s van and taken their luggage to the car with reclining seats, waiting for the train to set off. I felt that when I had my confrontation with the train manager, I would hold all the trump cards if we were snugly settled in a seat and travelling along at 60 mph rather than standing on a platform with a laden bike.

When we were under way I decided to buy some coffee. This was a tactical error as the man who had told me we were not allowed to board the train was serving at the hatch. Unsurprisingly, he recognised me and soon enough I was introduced to the train manager. Firstly he was going to put us off at Watford. Then he was going to charge us a full fare to Inverness and I would have to try to claim it back from Scotrail later. When it became clear that I was having none of that and that as a fare-paying passenger I didn’t expect to have my holiday wrecked firstly by a company that wasn’t big enough to admit to its mistakes when it screwed up, and secondly by a silly blinkered man who didn’t seem to realise that having two extra passengers on his almost empty train was not going to be the end of the world, he eventually conceded that he didn’t disbelieve me, but he still wasn’t going to open one of the many empty berths so that we could actually lie in a bed for 8 hours or so.

I slept fitfully. I remember waking up in Preston and again in Edinburgh, in this case when the train split into three parts, heading for Fort William, Inverness and Aberdeen. We went through Stirling in the pouring rain. I looked out for the castle but didn’t see it. We crossed the Tay at Dunkeld and after this we could see snow-covered mountains through the rain-drops on the window. Gradually the snow encroached closer to the track and as dawn broke, somewhere the other side of many thousands of feet of nimbus cloud, no-one noticed. Shortly before we arrived in Inverness, the rain stopped.

The first port of call was the ticket office where someone equipped with a computer would be able to key in our booking code and tell me what had happened. It took a few seconds for us to find out that whoever had changed our booking had reallocated us to the wrong Sunday and we were down to travel on 11th April. Just as we were doing this, the train manager and his sidekick appeared and I beckoned them to see for themselves that we were bona fide passengers who had been let down and that if he had had his wits about him and a laptop, then he could have done that in London and saved us all a lot of grief. He was peevish and unapologetic and has been the subject of a strongly-worded letter of  complaint to Scotrail.

While we were at the ticket office we made doubly sure that our booking on the 11.01 to the Kyle of Lochalsh was properly arranged. We were assured that it was, but for good measure the lady we spoke to date-stamped our tickets and gave us prints of our reservations. After that we found some breakfast and then explored a small section of NCN 1, a bit we hadn’t ridden before.

We left Inverness at the appointed time, arrived at the Kyle an hour and a half later, realised that it wasn’t raining and then rode towards the bridge. It wasn’t long before we had to get off and push: the bridge is fairly steep, but the side-wind made it impossible to ride. Once over the other side, we headed towards Broadford but looked for the left turn to the Glenelg ferry.

This was where we found our second snag: the ferry wasn’t running because of the high wind so we would not be able to get to the B & B that we had booked. We rode to Breakish and found Ruisgarry, which had vacancies. We unloaded our stuff, stored the tandem in the large hangar which our landlady’s husband used for his boat repair business and had a couple of hours’ kip while the wind tried to tear the fence apart and uproot the palm tree. At about 6.30 we phoned for a taxi to take us for some food in Broadford. By this time it was pouring with rain and we didn’t fancy either walking or cycling.

There’s nothing like a good meal to lift the spirits, and the Claymore provided both food and drink. The beer was Red Cuillin and it went down well. After we had eaten we found a Co-op (that’s why I love the Co-op: it supports outposts in the far-flung places where the other supermarkets wouldn’t bother) and made sure we had some calories in our panniers  for the following day. The Co-op phoned Norma the taxi driver and we returned to our B & B for about 10 hours’ sleep.