Why I love cycling in Scotland (video)

Ok, I didn't film this myself, but it's a lovely illustration of the amazing scenery, some of which I recognised:  beautiful Assynt, John O'Groats, CAPE WRATH!,  Skye?   I'm itching to plan my return: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=RnD8tQCEec8

Maps

Day 0: home to Euston

Day 1: Inverness to Golspie

Day 2: Ullapool to Gairloch

Day 3: Gairloch to Applecross

Day 4: Applecross to Portree

Day 5: Portree to Uig

Day 5 part 2: Lochmaddy to Daliburgh

Day 6: Daliburgh to Lochboisdale

Day 6 part 2: Castlebay to Ardmhor

Day 6 part 3: Eriskay to Baile nan Cailleach, Benbecula

Day 7: Benbecula to Berneray

Day 7 part 2: circuit of south Harris from Leverburgh

Day 8: Leverburgh to Stornoway

Day 9: Stornoway to Uig

Day 10: Uig to Carloway via Great Bernera

Day 11: Carloway to Stornoway via Butt of Lewis

Day 12: Stornoway to Kershader

Day 13: Kershader to Tarbert

Day 14: Uig (Skye) to Broadford

Day 15: Broadford to Kyle of Lochalsh

Daily mileages

Day	Miles	Ascent m	Av. speed mph
0: Home → Euston	14.4	178	11.1
1: Inverness → Golspie	97.4	1044	13.3
2: Ullapool → Gairloch	60.9	1238	10.7
3: Gairloch → Applecross	66.3	1292	10.9
4: Applecross → Portree	84.1	1845	9.9
5: Portree → Uig & Lochmaddy → Daliburgh	68.2	718	12.7
6: Daliburgh→ Lochboisdale & Castlebay → Benbecula	73.5	765	12.7
7: Benbecula → Leverburgh & South Harris circuit	88.9	1704	11.4
8: Leverburgh → Stornoway	62.5	1313	10.4
9: Stornoway → Uig & Great Bernera	68.9	1404	10.1
10: Uig → Carloway	64.1	1190	10.8
11: Carloway → Stornoway	68	1132	12.2
12: Stornoway → Kershader	57.8	1160	10.9
13: Kershader → Tarbert & Scalpay	45	1106	11.2
14: Uig (Skye) → Broadford	43.7	603	12.8
15: Broadford → Kyle of Lochalsh	9	127	13.8
16: Euston → Home	13	57	11.6
Totals	986	16876
Average (full days only)	67.8	1180	11.4

Homeward bound, part three

Broadford hostel is in a little  woodland clearing, a midge paradise.  Rain was forecast most of the morning but I only had ten miles to go to Kyle of Lochalsh station,  from where I was leaving for Inverness at 13.45, so I had  time to spare.  Lots of time.  So did the midges.  Clouds of them hung around the bike shelter, like naughty boys at school.  A bigger cloud was outside the  front door, so during a lull in the rain I made a dash for it.

Three hours of retail therapy followed: well, it was better than shivering on the platform, but not much.  It was still only ten degrees, which feels cold if you're not cycling.    I hadn't expected to come back to the east coast, but with the ferry uncertainty, in the end it was quicker and cheaper.

The Kyle to Inverness line is said to be 'the best in Britain, rivalling some of the Alpine routes'.  As the train wound around the bays of Loch Carron, I retraced my journey,  scarcely faster than on a bike at first.  It seemed a long time since I had crossed Bealach na Ba and then stuggled against the wind to camp at Portree.

In hindsight,  I took on too much in the first few days.  I was quite apprehensive about the challenge, and rushing to get somewhere,  rather than enjoying the journey.   That all changed with my three hour stopover at Barra airport,  when I started to adjust to the slower pace of life.

But loads of things went better than I expected.   I stayed in hostels every night but one.  All independent, except SYHA Inverness, and most booked on the day.  They were all pretty full, but had just enough space for me.  Food worked well, too. I now know you only need porridge oats and pasta to survive.  Most days you do better.  And most hostels have 'free' pasta left by other guests.

Internet was scarce, but somewhere every day I got a mobile signal or found somewhere with wi-fi.  And none of the awful bike breakdowns I dreamed of actually happened, not even a puncture.   A good trip.

As the train came down from the high moorland,  at Garve we met the main road from Ullapool. Then at Dingwall, the branch line from Golspie and the north: day 1, unwinding the trip.  Soon I'll be on the sleeper to Euston: only 600? miles to go.   Thank you for joining me on the trip.

I'll post some maps and mileages some time next week: not sooner, as I'm away this weekend.  (Cycling.)

Homeward bound, part two

Farewell, Eilean Siar.  What a special place!  So varied, so peaceful, so wild, so welcoming.  It's a hard place to live, and it's difficult to see how the outer Hebrides will thrive: fishing and crofting are in decline, and every fifth property seems to be for sale. There is still Harris Tweed, and tourism.  Tourism is small, homely, intimate. Everyone knows everyone else.  You even feel you know the other visitors,  after seeing them repeatedly in different places.   All the cafés and hostels are independent and quirky.

It probably has to change, but I loved it the way it is.  Many people commented on the unseasonably wintry weather, and I'm sorry if I went on about it, but it was part of the experience.   It didn't stop me enjoying it, rather opened the possibility that it could be even better another time.

As I caught the ferry to Uig on Skye this morning,  CalMac still couldn't say which sailings will be affected by industrial action tomorrow.  I got chatting to another cyclist, a Scot, who was heading home early because of the weather.   He is looking to buy somewhere out there: property prices are very low but they often come with crofting responsibilities.  You have to do something with the land.   And he was in two minds about buying it as a second home, contributing to the hollowing out of the community

Skye is busy. Portree, a small touristy town, has traffic and tourists everywhere.  At the bijou café I felt processed: the service was efficient, the millionaire slice excellent.   But none of the waitresses were interested in me (for several reasons I can fully understand) - they had a job to do, and no time to chat.  I'm sure I'll get used to it.

Skye has its own beauties though, and it was a much more relaxed ride back to Broadford hostel (which required a credit card to secure a booking: most hostels on the outer Hebrides were just let yourself in).  And just before the turning to the hostel, a pizzeria.  Perfect.   Tourism has its advantages.  Great pizza too - even better than my pasta dish.

Case update: Missing Underpants

* the second 'lost' post from a while baxk *

There have been new developments to report.
Actually, I didn't tell you the whole story before.  I didn't want to bore you, but Liz tells me that this has been the most interesting part of the blog - some sort of compliment I suppose?

You may remember when I accosted the miscreants on the ferry.   Well, one of them - lets call him Gordon - said he didn't have the pants, but he did have the socks.  Off the ferry we found some shelter from the rain to return the socks.  And rhe first thing to emerge feom his panniers were my underpants!  He couldn't find my socks, but gave me an equivalent pair of Aldi cycling socks.

Fast forward to the Heb hostel in Stornoway, and the two cycling miscreants turned up again.  This time my socks had been found, and an exchange closed the case.  They are cycling around various of the Western Isles raising money for the Special Care Baby Unit in Inverness, and have raised more than £3000.  Good on them.

Here is a picture of them in the hostel kitchen (note the Aga), with Exhibits A and B hanging up to dry, under my very watchful eye.

One pannier on my cycle

* This is one of the 'lost' posts from a few days ago, fixed duting a long rain delay in Scalpay tearoom *

I'm now embarking on a three day tour of the west and north, returning to Stornoway.  By a stroke of luck, a new hostel has opened in the last few weeks in the far west of Lewis, the one place I was certain I'd have to camp.  Having managed to book my next two nights' accommodation, there was no need for the camping pannier, and I left it in Stornoway.

I left a bit late, heading west into the wind, which had moderated to only strong, along a single track road through featureless high moorland, but feeling pleased about the one pannier situation.  To celebrate, I adapted the song One Wheel On My Wagon ... I imagine you can fill in the details if you know the song, replacing the Cherokees with the banshees (wind) and the hidden cave by a hidden cafe.  This was sufficient to keep me happy for ten miles and several rain squalls.

The single track eventually joined a bigger road, with the same scenery.  After the main road turned off north, things started to get interesting.  I was now in the far west area of Uig, and rocky hills sprang up.  The rock around here is called Lewisian Gneiss, and I have to sat it was a gneiss change.

The road wiggled round several lochs, and I passed a group of four cyclists, observing with some schadenfreude, that thay all had two panniers.  26 miles out of Stornoway, I stopped at the first cafe, a lovely place in an old schoolroom, stringing my stay out as long as possible. I met a couple of motorcyclists who I'd got to know previously, and a very helpful lady from the café pointed all the places we should and shouldn't visit.

The bunkhouse was only a couple of miles further on, and I left my remaining pannier,  and composed a new verse for my song.  Simple pleasures.

The district of Uig is very scenic, partly because of the hills, but also the coastline, which has a mix of golden beaches and wild rocky shores and cliffs.  I followed all the recommended routes and found some very wild coastline, plus a couple of very exposed beach campsites, which wouldn't have been much fun.  It's very remote, although they do have a good community shop and a community centre incorporating a café.

After the struggle out west against hills and wind, the return trip was a delight,  as was the hostel, Otter Bunkhouse.  It's about five metres from the sea, and you can often see otters playing on the shore. Just not tonight.

Homeward bound

Today it is windy.  It is cloudy.  It is cold.   Again.  As I rejoined the main arterial road from Stornoway to Tarbert, it was buzzing with activity.   In the ten miles to the Harris border, thirty-something cars passwd me, and five cyclists going the other way.  I admit it's a bit nerdy, but if Simon &  Garfunkel can count cars on the New Jersey turnpike, why can't I?  And I have been away for a long time...

In Harris,  I forgot to count as I concentrated on the hills.  The road was an old friend now.  Coming down the last hill into Tarbert: the sun briefly came out, showing me what I've missed.  Ah well, another time perhaps.  Maybe Liz will come on a cycling trip up here with me.

Now, I was at Tarbert by lunchtime with time on my hands for the rest of the day. After dumping panniers at the hostel and a bite to eat, I decided to cycle to Scalpay.  Which is a nice cycle ride, if you like hills.  The road there traversed vast glacier valleys, instead of sticking to the coast.  

Scalpay is a small, spider-shaped island with spindly legs stretching out into the sea.  It has a real end-of-the-road feel.  Houses cling to folds in the rocky landscape.  Chickens and lobster pots in the gardens.  Fishing equipment, in all states of repair, is everywhere.  Tens of rocky inlets, most with a slipway or a boat or two afloat. I explored a few of the spider's legs but I could see rain on the way so I retreated to a little café,  sorry: bistro and tearoom.  Quite posh: tablecloths and chair covers made of certified Harris Tweed.  Jimmy Shand and his band playing gently in the background.  A nice view of (Scalpay) North Harbour, and I watched the rain come and go.  And come again.  Ah, well.

South East Lewis, Part two

Well, that was a nice ride.  From the hostel I sallied forth on a route like forked lightning, only slower,  visiting lots of dead-end places in the wilds of this lumpy landscape, all separated by biggish hills.

Cromor: beautiful.  Marvig: marvellous. Calbost: spectacular.  Gravir: grand.  Lemreway: rainy.  As I headed for Lemreway, the rain started, and the 'forecast' to rhe west was bad but beautiful - a series of hill silhouettes, each one further back in the mists.  At Lemreway I had a slap-up Father's Day lunch in a bus shelter: a chocolate bar. Some midges came to join the party so I made my excuses and left.  Back to the hostel by 3pm: a short day but quite hilly.  There is a TV here and some tennis was on: it looks like summer in London! 

Now I have to decide about an evening meal: will it be my trademark Pasta tout seul? There is a pub which is open and serves good food, but it's four miles away, and I would have to put my wet clothes back on again...

South East Lewis

Oops. I got ahead of myself.  Today is the longest day,  and Father's Day.   And Sunday. The northern three-quarters of the Hebrides is strongly Presbyterian and the Sabbath is widely observed as a day of rest.  All the shops are shut, although I'm told some cafés are open.

I ate rather too well last night - excellent Indian food at the Crown Hotel, and was also entertained by a marching pipe band, reminiscent of Thurso last year.  Left Stornoway in a brief shower and began the gentle climb out of Stornoway.  The main road was deserted,  even by Hebridean standards.  One of the St Kilda party in Leverburgh, a poet and traveller, had told me "If you want to know the weather in the Hebrides,  look west".  It is true. I could see a succession of showers heading my way, but they turned out to be light and soon cleared up.

I am on my way home now, but it will take me another three and a half days' cycling and two ferries to reach the mainland,  and then two long half days on the train to get to London.  I've got hostels booked for the next three nights, which will get me back to Skye.  But I heard this morning that there is a CalMac ferry strike planned for Wednesday, when I was planning to get the ferry to Mallaig ... ah well, it's good to have a little flexibility. .. isn't it?

But as I cycled slowly south, with a full complement of panniers (and underwear), there was something more pressing on my mind.  Toilets.  I had a giant mug of tea with breakfast, probably a mistake.  The open countryside, almost treeless, with no hedges, doesn't afford much privacy, especially if you're wearing hi-vis clothing.  To be fair,  it was so quiet I could probably have stood in the middle of the road, but it didn't seem a good idea, especially on the Sabbath.   Luckily after fifteen miles cycling with legs crossed, there was probably the only public convenience between Stornoway and Tarbert, at Laxey.

I wasn't going straight to Tarbert: there was a 40 mile detour to the south east of Lewis I wanted to explore, with a convenient hostel and café at Kershader, where I could dump my panniers for the last 30 miles.  It would have been a good lunch stop too, but the café is shut on Sunday.  I will just have to work off last night's curry instead.

Local news

Highlights from Island News, June 2015:

Front page story: A figurehead has gone missing from the replica ship Galley Aileach. A note in Gaelic was left,  saying "I should be on the high seas, not locked up in a field".

HM Coastguard is recruiting volunteers.

Call for munro baggers to raise money for Scottish Mountain Rescue

The definition of Young Farmer for grant eligibility has been changed to under 41 in a bid to attract more people into agriculture.

Liniclate school pipe band came 12th in the Scottish schools pipe band championships in Inverness

Daliburgh primary school has achieved Gaelic status.  Scotland's minister for learning, science and Scotland's languages toured the school and said "What Gaelic status means is up to this community"

A six month, £400,000 project to protect Benbecula's runway from coastal erosion will be completed this month

A Leverburgh lad was thrilled to find a message in a bottle, from a Faroese lad of similar age

The second ever ploughing match was held, 76 years after the first, on the Uist machair.  Prizes were awarded for Best Ploughman, Best Finish, Best Ins and Outs, Straightest, Oldest Ploughman and best looking ploughman, (chosen by the judge's wife).  Veterans of the first match said "there have been lots of changes: no horses - there were thousands of horses on Uist back then"

An RSPB project aims to eradicate rats and help ground nesting seabirds on the Shiant Isles

The Butt of Lewis

Today is the longest day, and for the first time since Gairloch I didn't have to wear a waterproof.  Just three layers to keep warm.   Yesterday I passed an aging hippie pushing a heavily-laden bike up a small hill: he was going to the Callanish stones today.  Sunrise at 04:20 would have been obscured, but perhaps it will clear for sunset, at 22:37.  I heard later from another cyclist, who camped at Callanish last night, that the hippies were up all night banging drums and singing.

The journey north was straightforward, with a few detours to get off the main road and stay nearer the sea. One unexpectedly had me cycling across the machair on the beach, but it was an enjoyable surprise.  You get a much better feel for the place on the tiny roads: the chickens, the tang of peat smoke; everyone says hello.

I had been advised against going to the Butt by the helpful lady in the Loch Croistean café, but I liked it.  It was suitably wild, with a lighthouse, a steep rocky headland, and quite a few seabirds,  which I've not seen much of so far.  A round trip via Port Ness bought me back to the Ness Historical Society's café, which was packed - a Sunday School outing.  It also had quite a good museum and an extensive tractor exhibition.

Gaelic is the main language round here, and through perseverance I've achieved a modest proficiency.  For example,  there's a village on a hill above Port Ness called Cnoc Ard, which I'm pretty sure means Doorbell Broken. Many people have passed through the school there.

25 miles back to Stornoway:  a grind against the wind, but I'm back and reunited with my other pannier.