Cake By The Ocean

Woke up to grey skies. Still no otters in sight.  Early breakfast with three workers who are erecting a factory-built house further up the island, in six days.  Two of them live on the outer Hebrides, and one (the boss) in Perth where the houses are made.  They were gloomy: "Aye, it's going to be a long day ... No wind, midges'll be out".  Told me about the potholes, and the hills "like this" showing a near-vertical incline.  Just before I left, a light rain started.
What can I tell you about The Long Road?  It's mostly straight.  Some right alongside the sea, some through remote moorland, and some high on a hill like a lonely goatherd, overlooking the sea. Reasonably hilly. Very peaceful, with a slight following wind, only the sound of birdsong for company, and sometimes the sea. Twenty miles long, with less than twenty houses along its length.  The rain came and went.   It wasn't spectacular but enjoyably peaceful. At the end: nothing. A sign saying "end of public road. Please leave vehicles here".  I turned round. 

 

On the way back I visited Inverlussa, where I'd heard rumours of a beachside café.  On the way down to the beach I passed a dozen or so deer about 15 metres away: they looked at me without being unduly alarmed.
The café was in a horse box - self-service with a tin for donations. The "proprietor" was there, re-stocking, and she told me that it was a community effort with the neighbours.  I looked round but could only see two houses beside the bay. "Oh, no, they're in Ardlussa, up the hill." They also have a gin-making business, and she had just returned from an awards ceremony in Edinburgh.
As I had my tea and cake in the horse box, a heavy shower passed over.  Good times.
On the way back, I passed a motorist. He wound down his window. "How far to the end of the road?". About 4 miles. "I don't suppose there is a petrol station there?", looking anxiously at his fuel gauge.  Seriously.
Later I passed some fell runners. There is an annual Three Peaks race this weekend, which involves running up and down three mountains on three different islands (Beinn More on Mull, one of the Paps of Jura, and Goat Fell on Arran), sailing between the islands.
Lastly, an interesting fact about Jura: George Orwell wrote the novel 1984 here, and was nearly drowned in a boating accident at the infamous Corryveckan whirlpool. Now you know.