Maps and mileages

Here you go:

	miles	ascent m	av speed mph
Home -> Euston, Oban -> Ardfern	66.6	1236
Ardfern -> Tayvallich	52.7	769	9.6
Tayvallich -> Kennacraig; Port Askaig -> Port Charlotte (Islay)	76.1	1320	11.4
Port Charlotte -> Port Askaig, Feoline -> Craighouse (Jura)	73.5	1267	10.1
Jura Long Road, Port Askaig -> Port Ellen	93.4	1773	10.7
Kennacraig -> Campbeltown	63.3	797	10.7
Mull of Kintyre, Campbeltown -> Claonaig	60.3	1485	10.3
Arran circuit	57.7	974	11
Claonaig -> Inveraray	63	840	11.7
Inveraray -> Colintraive, Rhubodach -> Rothesay (Bute)	87.7	1423	11.1
Bute circuit, Colintraive -> Dunoon	66.6	984	11.1
Dunoon -> Renfrew	50.2	412	11.8
Renfrew -> Glasgow, Kings Cross -> home	22.4	83	10.6
Totals	834	13363
Averages (full days)	68	1107	10.8

Day 1: Oban -> Ardfern

Day 2: Ardfern -> Tayvallich 

Day 3: Tayvallich -> Kennacraig, Port Askaig -> Port Charlotte (Islay)

Day 4: Port Charlotte -> Port Askaig, Feolin -> Craighouse (Jura)

Day 5: Jura circuit, Port Askaig -> Port Ellen

Day 6: Kennacraig -> Campbeltown

Day 7: Mull of Kintyre circuit, Campbeltown -> Claonaig -> Lochranza (Arran)

Day 8: Arran circuit

Day 9: Claonaig -> Inveraray

Day 10: Inveraray -> Rothesay (Bute)

Day 11: Bute circuit; Colintraive -> Dunoon

Day 12: Dunoon -> Renfrew

Conclusion

I'm not quite ready to finish this year's trip, but I'm not ready to continue either. It took me ten days to cycle from London to Inverness, and then about 55 to cycle round the Highlands and Islands.  It's got under my skin: perhaps I've become a wee bit Scottish.  I'm not ready to move on yet.
When I wrote "The Final" post yesterday, I wasn't sure how to sum up this trip. After sleeping well, I woke early full of special memories.  The varying views round every corner, the downhills, the sunsets, the invisible cuckoo who followed me round, the lines of hawthorn trees across the landscape, glowing white blossom in the sun (when it shone), the centuries-old moss on the stone walls.  The amazing, fierce looking and sounding, but lovely people.
Last night Tim and I talked about the character of the four main islands.  I only have an inkling after such short visits, but they are all fascinatingly different.  You'd have to spend more time getting to know the people, the history, the politics and economy, and the land itself, to have an informed opinion. Especially on Jura, where The Long Road" only just touches the island as a whole, with its mountains, teeming rivers, and remote west and north.  Following the coast, there's plenty you don't get to see. But an uninformed opinion is fun too!
I haven't travelled far, as the cuckoo flies, from Oban. Going by bike lets you go far enough for variety, but slow enough to look around, and see the little things: the oystercatchers and the voles, the gannets diving for fish, the farmer making hay; the smells, good and bad. Time to stop when the opportunity arises, for a photo or a cafe, a chance to think about why things are as they are, and to appreciate the many things people do to make their place special.

Travelling alone has pluses and minuses.  It's great to go with friends, but, alone, you're more inclined to get into conversation with strangers, most of whom have interesting stories, if you can understand the accent.  You live more in their world.  Being alone, you can sing at the top of your voice, imitate a motor bike zooming round corners, or other inappropriate behaviour that might lead others to think you were a bit bonkers.  I don't do any of those things, of course.
Incidentally, you may have noticed that random words in these posts have been underlined: I have no idea why, or how to fix from my phone. Sorry about that.
I'll post some maps and mileages in the next day or two.

The Final

Around the corner from Gare Loch is Helensburgh, with more reminders of re-entry into urban life. Irritating pedestrian crossings, Waitrose, crematoria instead of coastal cemeteries.  But also cafés.  I now had a simple plan, to cycle up the Clyde to Glasgow, about 30 miles. 
Interrupted by a quest to book a train ticket home.  Slight problem: no trains from Glasgow to London tomorrow.  I was at a small station, only one chap at the ticket office, as he struggled against the system for about 45 minutes to book me via Edinburgh, with bike, £37.60, not bad. And excellent service - thank you Scotrail.
On to Dumbarton, another big town with a nice Wetherspoons, and a maritime museum, but I only had time for one of them.  Some serious rain after that. The rest of the way to Glasgow was on a cycle track: initially along a canal, then a disused railway line , then a bit of industrial wasteland - all easy cycling but rather shut off from the surroundings.  There was a rash of two-storey sheds at one point - no bigger than a garden shed but twice as high. I saw perhaps a dozen of them, but couldn't work what they were for. The last three miles saw regenerated Clydeside with a nice cycle track along the river.

Arriving at Glasgow the official end point, I visited the facilities in the big Wetherspoons. You don't need to know that, but it was packed for the Cup Final. Ten minutes to go and Celtic 1, Aberdeen 1. Plenty of people wearing Celtic shirts.  Two minutes into extra time, Celtic score the winning goal and the place erupts. It was a memorable moment.

The unofficial end point was six miles further. Tim and Chris have kindly moved from Aberdeen, where I visited them five years ago, to Renfrew, near Glasgow.

I will try and sum up my thoughts on the whole trip in the next day or two, bit if you have read this far in the blog, thankyou for your company on my meanders!

Bonnie Clyde

Nice B&B, friendly Dutch host (hardly any of the B&Bs have been run by Scots for some reason).  Ferry to Gourock, across the Clyde, but I was looking back to Dunoon and the lovely ranks of hills in receding shades of blue-grey.  I was sorry to leave, after four​ years spent cycling around the Highlands from Inverness.
Dashing to catch the ferry, I didn't look at the sat nav and had caught the wrong ferry.  But it was OK, it went to a different part of Gourock and saved me a few miles cycling.
The passenger ferry back across to Kilcreggan was an altogether more informal affair: a medium sized motor launch.  Chatting with another bloke about bikes - the merits of steel versus carbon, he looks at his watch and says "Is that tge time? We'd best be going".  He was the captain. Only one other family on board with me.

First off, a trip round Gareloch, which means Short Loch: the home the British nuclear deterrent.  Obviously there are limits to what I can tell you about this highly secret location.   It was easy to spot the naval base across the loch, but disappointingly, only a couple of small surface ships were to be seen.  There was a massive crane, probably used for lifting you-know-whats into the thingumybobs.
At Garelochhead, my Garmin invited me detour away from the nice flat lochside. The planners had identified a viewpoint up the 15% hill, promising fine views down the loch.  I sweated up there, to find it was a dud. There was an information board but trees obscured the view.  I reckon it was a decoy, put there to confuse the enemy.
Back down, past the base: No Stopping; rows of razor wire; frequent police cars, but absolutely no view.  And just afterwards, a dozen brightly painted caravans in roadside woods - the Faslane Peace Camp.  Disappointing.  The only thing remotely secret I learned was the colour of the shore crew's housing, which I can tell you is ... Arrrrgh!!!

Where to next?

If you have been studying the map, you will have noticed that it gets tricky after Dunoon.  There are several more lochs off the north of the Clyde, and they don't have roads all the way around, meaning going back (over a hill) to previously travelled roads. If that sounds off-putting, bear in mind that one of the lochs is called Loch Long, and at the top of it is Arrochar, famous for the so-called Arrochar Alps.
So - when does the coast turn into the river estuary?  The only acceptable answer is "when I say it does". I'm going to make reasonable efforts.  So the plan is to avoid Loch Long (and Holy Loch) by taking two ferries, to the south bank of the Clyde and back to the north. Round Gare Loch and then into Glasgow, which is the official finish point this year.  Unless it pours with the threatened rain tomorrow, when the route might terminate early at a train station.

I actually had a plan to continue further: round the Ayrshire coast, but you have to go a long way before you get within reach of a station, and in any case, I have loved the Highlands so much - it seems only fitting to close this chapter properly.  Besides which, I've run out of toothpaste.

Over To Dunoon

The rest of the day's ride was a struggle: twenty miles over a couple of hills to Dunoon.  It wasn't a long distance, neither were the hills specially big, but it was very hot and sticky. 24° at 6pm today, possibly 28° earlier.  I didn't need those leg warmers after all. Not many views on what was mainly a forestry road, and no cafes to break up the journey to the east of the Cowal peninsula.  Emerging into the valley, Holy Loch was spread out before me like the Promised Land, only a few miles to go to Dunoon, overlooking the junction of the Clyde with Holy Loch.
There was the option to continue back round the base of the peninsula, a thirty mile round trip on a dead end road. Stuff that. I was hot, thirsty, tired and my legs had gone on strike. It was straight to the B&B.

Dunoon's a big, nice town. Multiple shopping streets - that big.  It has a (tourism) centre with piers, formal gardens, castle etc, and biggish houses strung out for a mile either side along the esplanade, mostly B&Bs and guest houses. Definitely back in civilisation.  Sun is in the wrong place for photos - maybe tomorrow.  

A very carefully calculated recovery meal to ensure I'm in tip-top condition tomorrow. Chicken (protein), plus rice AND spuds (carbs), and of course cauliflower (because you have to) in the form of a chicken muglai with aloo gobi. With appropriate hydration, of course.  I'm just not sure about the portion control aspects.  I know you need to eat a lot of calories for intensive cycling, especially where hills are involved, but I'm not sure stuffing yourself to a standstill is the best way.

The Isle of Bute

My Bute route round the coast is "d" shaped: from the ferry in the north to the backpackers hostel in the capital Rothesay, a surprisingly long way after a long day, round the island and then back up the long road to the ferry again.   A scenic ride into Rothesay, passing through Port Bannatyne a vishing village, round the corner from and virtually conjoined with Rothesay.

Rothesay glowed in the evening sun.  It is reminiscent of Bournemouth with a small formal garden the centrepiece of the seafront, and a few regency style hotels. It's big: a proper town with the usual high street shops, a ferry connecting to Port Wemyss on the  Ayrshire coast, and a castle with a proper moat.  I guess it was a popular destination for Glasgow holidaymakers in Victorian days.

There are two types of backpackers hostel: some are very modern, clean and efficiently run.  This was the other kind: an older building, very homely, with extremely relaxed administration.  In the end I allocated myself a bed (in a room overlooking the sea) and got on with it.  

Bravely, I left my washing outside to dry overnight.  Predictably, it didn't.  The best way to dry it is to wear it (I do have other clothes with me by the way), so I set off shivering, but not for long. It's another muggy, warm day.  

Bute has its own cycle network, with blue route signs and bike locking places all over.  It's not big or particularly high, but it is surprisingly hilly.  You could spend several days here doing not-too-adventurous cycling combined with a bit of walking and lazing on the empty beaches, never more than ten miles from Rothesay.

The south eastern coast, overlooking the Firth of Clyde, is lined with gentrified residences, but the rest seems mainly agricultural, and it's easy to escape civilisation.  Views of sandy bays backed by the silhouette of Arran's mountains.  

One omission in the council's tourism drive is the lack of cafes. It was 30 hot miles before I found one, at Ettrick Bay: a big touristy tea room with 20+ tables.  Bute marks a transition for me, from the functional simplicity of the Highlands to the busier, more organised tourist playground of the south.

Argyll's Secret Coast

It's been a great day. Everything: a variety of interesting views, hilly, flat: lots of different terrain, bike and legs going well, great weather, and a few unexpected finds.
By lunchtime I was at Portavadie, but without lunch. A local told me about a café in a marquee just down the road. Run by two catering professionals as a hobby, it had everything you could want, including the best ever carrot cake.  Two other cyclists told me about an amazing beach a mile down a track nearby, and it lived up to the promise: miles of golden sand, views across to Arran, almost deserted.  Could have spent a day there, but that would be a different holiday.

I was heading round the Cowal Peninsula, "Argyll's secret coast".  Round the bottom with views across to Arran, and another 11/10 beautiful road heading north alongside the Kyle of Bute, massive pine clad hills to my left and views across to Bute on my right.  This led to Kames and Tighnabruich, two upmarket places on the top left corner of the Kyle.  Easy riding so far, but Tighnabruich means House on the Bank: grand houses built on the steep slope overlooking the Kyle to the south. The road climbs steeply up the hill, with a few great views of Bute from the top.  Another lovely coast-side road leads to Colintraive, a four-house ferry terminal village.  The crossing to Bute is so short that you could line up three ferries end to end and make a bridge.  £2 return: not bad.

Around Loch Fyne

As I got ready to go, a couple of German cyclists were getting their luggage ready to go. A mountain of panniers, tent bags and other stuff.  They were looking, well staring, enviously at my single pannier.  We swapped info about mileages, length of trip, etc - they are here for six weeks so they had to bring everything.
The loch was a mirror, with sunlight pouring through a small hole in the cloud at the head of the loch - where I was headed.  The thought of the Germans' panniers propelled me round the head of the loch.  Still very little traffic, considering this is the main road from Glasgow to Oban (which incidentally I was quite close to after the long  ride north along the loch).   Tiny Loch Gilp  on the other side passed in a pathetic instant. 
The weather forecast is for sunshine and 18°, but I think God was having a lie-in, and He only switched the sun on around ten o'clock.

After elevenses at Strachur, the sun came out properly and there was an enchanting 15 mile ride along the single-track B8000.  Weare Street on steroids.  Sea on one side, moss-encrusted woods on the other.  I passed a good sized village hall, the Strathlachan Community Centre.  Parking for maybe 30 cars. But no houses anywhere in sight. After half a mile there were four four neat cottages, white painted with pastel detailing, the only clientele for the community centre.  On the loch, mist was rolling in again, but it was mostly confined to the opposite bank.

After 15 glorious miles, I came to the appropriately named Pub By The Sea at Otterferry, and the loveliness knob was turned down from 11 to about 9.  It got seriously hilly.  A row of wind-felled pines mooned at me, baring their flat bottoms to the road.

I visited Portavadie (the other side of the Tarbert ferry), although it was out of my way.  The morning ferries had been cancelled due to fog, and the evening ferries too, due to low tides.

Inveraray

Easy riding up the lochside, although the mist turned to drizzle and the view of the other bank disappeared.  At Ardrishaig the puny Loch Gilp turns off, a pimple on the back of the mighty Loch Fyne.  It's also the other end of the Crinan Canal, so I followed the towpath,elevated a bit above the main road, for a couple of miles to Lochgilphead, which is - oh, you already know.

The dreich weather continued as I continued my atmospheric ride along the loch.

Despite what you've heard, it is not a long way to Inveraray.  Long, gradual ups and downs on a good road, not much traffic, nice views on a sunny day (I guess).  Plenty of cafés.  But it might be a long way from Inveraray tomorrow.  I would say it's a well-to-do place, with an impressive high street, several touristy shops, a nice castle, and a famous jail.  Good youth hostel too, if a bit smelly.  Just in front of the Inveraray Shinty Club.

After two recommendations, I ate at the George Hotel. Excellent food and service despite​ being packed: it's a well-run money-making machine, and they deserve to be successful.

Tootling up to Tarbert

Mist rolling in from the sea this morning. Tick: been there, seen that.  After a doze on the early ferry back to Claonaig, I set out on the road to, well nowhere in particular, around the shore to Skipness, where I chanced upon a castle dating from around 1300. And while admiring the rather fine turreted house next door, I realised there was a deer right in front of me, among the tables of the less fine café (look carefully at the photo).
It's a gentle, dank, autumnal May morning.  Lovely day for going nowhere, enjoying the smells of pine and wild garlic. After ten miles, I'm back at the ferry terminal, ready to head to Inveraray.

... Following which there was a short intermission, a few hills and I was back at Kennacraig, from where I'd set out for Islay five dsys ago. Still zig-zagging. Just across the peninsula is Tarbert, on Loch Fyne: a nice mix of working fishing town and marina, a welcome elevenses stop overlooking the harbour.  From Tarbert you can catch a ferry across Loch Fyne to Portavadie, missing out an 86 mile circuit around the head of the loch.  But where's the fun in that?  I'm off to Inveraray.