Maps and mileages

As promised here are the maps and mileages for the trip.
As a quick PS:  when I got home I had to do some work on my rear wheel as the freewheel wasn't working properly.  When I took it apart, the freewheel fell apart in my hands - either it had sheared off under the stress of those high-speed cattle grid crossings, or the power of my pedalling was too much for the steel.   Probably the cattle grids, if I'm honest.

Mileages

	Miles	ascent metres	speed
Home – Euston; Fort William – Mallaig	59.8	861	12.0
Mallaig – Broadford	79.2	2286	9.6
Broadford – Raasay – Glenbrittle	65	1550	9
Glenbrittle – Uiginish	87.1	2056	9.2
Uiginish – Uig	42.2	880	10.8
Uig – Broadford	62.9	1335	10
Broadford – Kilmore	15.3	197	10.7
Kilmore – Mallaig – Glenborrodale	48.4	1010	10.6
Glenborrodale – Dervaig (Mull)	65.1	1506	9
Dervaig – Iona	66.2	1257	10.2
Iona – Craignure	75.5	1628	10.5
Craignure – Lochaline	72.9	1482	11.2
Lochaline – Fort William	66.7	801	12
Fort William – Oban	73	1624	12.1
Euston – home	14.1	23
Total	893.4	18496
Average (full days)	61.9	1339.6

Fort William - Mallaig

Armadale - Broadford

Broadford - Raasay - Glenbrittle

Glenbrittle - Uiginish

Uiginish - Uig

Uig - Broadford

Broadford - Kilmore

Kilmore - Mallaig - Glenborrodale

Glenborrodale - Dervaig (Mull)

Dervaig - Iona

Iona - Craignure

Craignure - Lochaline

Lochaline - Fort William

Fort William - Oban

In perspective

My entrance to Oban was a bit of an anti-climax. 13th century Dunstaffnage Castle, guarding the northern approach to this great port, was closed, and midge infested.  The final miles were through a run-down housing estate (closest road to the sea, but no view).  There was  no "Welcome to Oban" sign, just obscuring drizzle', tired legs, and a strong desire to get out of the rain.  It definitely wasn't Chris Froome's triumphant ride up the Champs Elysees.
I'm sorry about that.  Oban, Capital of the west coast, Gateway to the Isles, is an important, purposeful crossroads.  Attractive,  too.

As I've said previously, everyone's perspective is different:
In Fort William yesterday, I'd shared a room with a father and son duo who were cycling from their home in mid-Wales to John O'Groats. And back.  As Dad was planning his solo ride, the 17 year old son, who didn't have much cycling experience, said "Can I come?"  They were doing about 100 miles a day, and learning as rhey went: the fact that I washed underwear each night "inspired" the Dad to alter his previous,  rather smelly, approach.  A mile into their journey, they passed an elderly neighbour who asked where they were heading - the next village perhaps? "No, John O'Groats."
Last night, here in Oban, I was swapping notes with a couple of cyclists from Leeds. They explained they were starting in Tobermory,  and heading via Ardnamurchan to Mallaig, the reverse of my route.   Then Dingwall (strange, a long way on a busy road), Gairloch,Durness (extreme northwest of Scotland), across the top to Thurso, down the east, back to Skye in the west...  It soundrd like a very long trip, criss-crossing between many of the places I've visited in the past three years.  We swapped approaches to kit: sleeping arrangements (bivvy bag) and food (visit Co-op shops, open for longer).  Very slowly, it dawned on me that they were going to do this, 1200km, in ninety hours, including sleeping time.  Sleeping in bus shelters, or maybe two or thtee hours in a hostel if ther can arrive at 1am and lrave at 4. It's a cycling challenge route called an Audax, and about seventy riders will take part.  The previous year, the event was filmed for the Scottish 'Adventure Programme'.  Everyone's definition of fun, and crazy, is different.

The lure of the Oban road

Fort William is HUGE.  Compared to where I've been recently. It has a High Street. Just imagine.  Quite long too. At the far end - a Wetherspoons pub.  Amazing.  The first since Wick, in 2014. And I didn't even go in that one.  So that's breakfast sorted out.  I have run out of porridge, something which has been worrying me for a while.  JDW porridge, with honey and banana. Inspired.  
There is really only one road into Fort William, the busy A82.  I didn't like the look of it on arriving by bus two weeks ago.  In the event, it was quiet on a Sunday morning, if not particularly attractive. Early morning drizzle soon stopped but low cloud obscured the other side of the loch.  My leg seems fine today.
Twelve miles on, the main road departed inland, and it was just me and the (still main) road to Oban: quite picturesque, mainly for the near side of the loch.  A tarmac'd cycle path, an old railway line, wove along the same route, but the road was so quiet that it was hardly worth using.
Halfway.   The isle of Lismore dangles like a chrysalis off the coast, attached by a passenger ferry.  Why not?  A road runs the ten mile length of this agricultural idyll, but surprisingly there are no views of the loch except at either end.  There is an iron age broch, a fortified circular stone dwelling, overlooking the sea on one side - I've never seen one up close before.  And a museum, craft shop, and café.  It seemed to be quite a happening place, just not on a Sunday.  

The last 30 miles took forever.  I realised that I am back in the land of mass tourism: caravan parks and chip shops.  Finally made it to Oban, just as the drizzle returned. 

Thank you for your company, and your comments, on the trip. I'll post some maps, mileages, and maybe some closing thoughts, if I have any, in the next few days.

Full circle

The road up the left hand side of loch Linnhe is delightful, and pretty flat too.  Half way up there's a ferry at Corran, with a mini lighthouse.  At the top, another ferry fo Fort William opposite.  Here I met a couple of cyclists doing Land's End to John O'Groats, wrestling with a bent derailleur, and for me it was my first encounter with midges.
Loch Linnhe turns left here and becomes loch Eil, which itself is ten miles long, and not quite as scenic, although I did spot the Jacobite steam train on its way to Mallaig.  Along here, while jumping down a bank to answer a call of nature, something went ping, and then ouch, in my thigh. Then back on The Road From The Isles where I set out a fortnight ago, on three-quarter power, to Fort William.  An easy and enjoyable day's cycling.

The back of beyond, again

After a day's cycling, I am about 10 miles from where I started,  but the other side of the sound of Mull.  The length of Loch Sunart: from rural highland games at Kilchoan to a tourist visitor centre with gift shop, craft shop, mini garden centre and café at the head of the loch at Strontian.   I know which I prefer.  Then away from it all on the wild south side of the loch, down a beautiful and almost too long river valley, to Loch Aline, overlooking Mull and with a few houses, a hotel and a ferry back to where I was this morning.   Apart from that, not much reason to visit. 

The next morning, as I eased myself back up the long hill out of Loch Aline, the last significant hill of my whole trip, I started to miss the hills already.  I'll miss the wide-open landscape, the gurgle of hidden waterfalls by the road, views of distant mountains, the stillness. And the people I met.  Today over breakfast a fellow hotel guest told me he was a GP standing in for the local GP who was 'getting away' for a few days.  The district of Morvern, south of loch Sunart, only has about 300 inhabitants, but they have to have a GP, who provides 24 hour cover and is the local A&E  service, as some have a 40 mile drive to Loch Aline.

A long descent into Kingairloch revealed the calm expanse of Loch Linnhe, and views across to the mountains which were to be my enchanting companion for the rest of the day, in ever changing perspective and light.

Loch Linnhe is part of that diagonal rift that cuts right across Scotland from Fort William to IInverness, and I'm heading back north-east to Fort William, where I started 13 days ago.

How so you spell Ardnamurchan backwards?

Today I'm thinking about Frank Cubis, a much missed member of the Wayfarers cyclists.  Sorry I  can't be there to say goodbye,  Frank.

Several locals have asked, with some concern, how I'm finding cycling on the single track roads.  This is often followed by stories of how the traffic on Mull is crazy since the ferry prices were reduced by 2/3 this year.  Well, I didn't notice any traffic. It seemed extremely quiet to me, and the single track roads are normally wide enough for a bike and a car to pass safely.
Halfway to Tobermory is the only bike shop on Mull. It was closed, but I think the proprietor saw me and arrived within a couple of minutes to open up and quickly see to my bike.
Crowds of foot passengers on the ferry, going to the Kilchoan highland games for the day.  I stopped to have a look.  There was nothing happening, but everyone was out enjoying the day.  Chaps in kilts manning the barbecue.  The adjoining community centre was stacked high with goodies.  While I was sampling them, I was treated to a lecture on how 'some cyclists' behave round here, by a local school bus driver, shop owner, builder, sheep farmer, and road safety campaigner.  I'd missed the sheep judging already.
Up, up, and around the volcano, enjoying the views in all directions.  I passed the local ice cream van, hurrying to Kilchoan.  I wonder how far he'd come.  Saw a sea eagle, lazily circling on a nearby volcano-side.  Ka-ching!  Full house, nature-wise.
The miles back along the lovely lochside road passed easily, with me singing the Scottish boy scouts' anthem, Gin Gan Ghillie.  AND I saw the Loch Ness Monster. Really. Photographic proof below.

Loitering in the south of Mull

Before leaving the post office, I visited the (outside) toilet, only to be confronted by a heron outside the door.  He stayed until I was a few yards away before flying off.
There was a big mountain pass to go over on the way to Craignure, but it was a delight.  A huge wide green valley with a reasonable slope up, and a very long descent towards the Sound of Mull on the east of the island.
Who would want to visit a 15 mile dead-end road to a loch? I would.  Two lochs in fact, the shore overgrown with rhododendrons.   At the end I was hoping for a café but it was getting late and there weren't any people around - would it be open? I was surprised to find the Old Post Office - an honesty shop.  Not much else but a nice beach.  On the way back, there was a red deer in the road, as big as me, about ten yards away.  Perhaps it was the rattling bike, or the squeaky brakes, but he leapt away before I got there.
Grass Point was another view point.  You could see all the mountains across on the mainland,  and Oban opposite,  ferries shuttling to and from Craignure, my destination tonight.   And a seal, immobile on the rocks a few yards from Grass Point Cottage.   Completely immobile.  Suspicious.   I didn't go and poke him, just in case.
The Craignure bunkhouse is new: the third new one I've stayed in this year.  It must be good business: these places are very well equipped and not cheap to set up.  Very welcoming, and a pub just next door too.  I was half an hour after they stopped serving food, but they managed to get me some fish and chips anyway.

Egamirglip

Sitting on a rock, listening to the sea lapping at the white sand as I waited for the ferry, full of day trippers.  It wou be easy to spend half a day in that spot, or a week on Iona.  Not much happens here, save the daily tide of tourists, rushing to spend a few hours here.  Day trips from Oban are common: ferry to Craignure on Mull, high-speed bus across Mull, and ferry to Iona for a few hours. In a way I'm rushing too: to the next night's stop.  There are always places you'd like to linger.

There's a weird thing going on around here with dressed-up stuffed figures afound here. I've seen half a dozen today, including a lifeboatman and his dog, who was made entirely of yellow wellington boots.  There were some on the Shetlands too.

I whiled away the return journey along the same road, trying to work out how to spell pilgramage backwards, and with a few detours to the south coast.  One, to Carsaig beach, was only four miles each way but they were steeply up or down all the way.  A real sweat to get to the top, then down initially through a rocky gorge and then a lovely shardy cool wood. At the bottom, the most beautiful bay, better than all those 'best in Europe' beaches in Greece,  and with weather to match.  There were just two other people there.

It was here I discovered what was wrong with my bike.  It hadn't felt right since early in Skye, and I kept looking at various parts but couldn't find anything.   I realised that the back wheel bearings are very loose, and the wheel is wobbling side to side as I ride.  Not dangerous to me, but not good for the wheel, so I'll try and find a bike shop and borrow the right tools.

I returned to the lovely post office café at Pennyghael.  " My usual, please."

Iona

At the very western tip of Mull lies the isle of Iona, a famous pilgrimage destination since St. Columba landed here in the 600s AD.  Getting there still feels like a pilgrimage today, 20 miles along a fairly straight single track road by the sea, except that was obscured by mist after my post office lunch stop.
A short ferry crossing, on a car ferry with no cars (there's little need for them on Iona), and a longer walk takes you to the Abbey, still in use by a thriving Iona Community today.  Iona was the centre of much religious innovation and the highly decorated stone celtic crosses are thought to have originated on Iona.  There are several excellent ones here, as well as loads of decorated stone grave covers. 
The island itself is a few miles long, covered with rocky outcrops, andvhas a few beaches of white sand.  There is plenty of provision for tourists, plus a primary school, a post office in a tin hut on the beach, and even a fire station.  A hundred or so residents, I would guess, but it seems to be thriving.
I'm staying in a B&B tonight as the hostel apparently gets booked up a year in advance, so I plan to make full use of luxuries like towels, TV, no snoring room-mates.