The spice of life

Five star hospitality at Glenmachrie B&B. My Aga-dried washing was delivered outside my room in the morning. A breakfast spread worthy of a top hotel. I settled for just four courses: grapefruit with added healthy seeds, porridge, eaten with a traditional spoon made of Highland cow's horn; full Scottish breakfast with haggis (perhaps an acquired taste?). And ... well, I had to take the fourth course with me to eat later: one of the four homemade scones on my table.  It would be rude not to.
Outside it was grey, rainy and windy.  A good day to be on a ferry.  Aboard, I was greeted like a long-lost friend by the lady from the Ballygrant stores & café.  Goodbye, Islay.

There are of course many islands that I haven't visited.  I regret not visiting Colonsay, which has about 15 miles of road and a brewery, but with two ferry trips it would take a whole day.  Coll and Tiree are a bit bigger, but the ferry timings are worse, requiring at least three days if you want to spend time on both islands.  Then there are the many outlying Shetland and Orkney islands, and Rhum, Eigg and Muck near Skye.  But I reckon you would have to do a lot more than cycling to get the most out of a trip to any of these.

The ferry set off on dreadful weather but arrived in the dry: the rain had headed off north.  Yesss!  Leaving Kennacraig I set off south on the main road to Campbeltown, which heads down the west coast of the Kintyre peninsula, the fourth of the fingers that I started at Ardfern. It's much bigger than the other fingers: so big that you can see it from London, at least you can on the weather map.
The main road was unremarkable except for the headwind.  To spice things up a bit, I left the main road to try out a track which ran for a couple of miles along the sea. It looked ok on Google satellite view.  Well if variety is the spice of life, this was at least a Vindaloo.  It had been resurfaced by a herd of cows, so there were hoof marks everywhere.  It ran between the sea and one of those enchanted woods where the trees amd rocks are covered with moss and Old Man's beard lichen, so parts were worth the trip. Then there were several twenty metre stretches that were completely under water, with bog all around. But I was committed by then, and I made it at the cost of filthy wheels and a case of bog foot.

Halfway to Campbeltown is Gigha, a long thin island with a 20 minute ferry crossing.  As we approached, there were quite a big group of cyclists coming down to the slipway.  I waved hello and then recognised Ann Bath, Steve Gordon and Neil Guild, who were doing a tour in the other direction. Not much time to chat but Ann warned me about some hills on the Mull of Kintyre, the bit below Campbeltown.  My second ever selfie is attached as evidence: that's my "how do you work this thing?" expression.

People had said Gigha is beautiful, but I think it's mainly known for its extensive gardens, which I didn't visit.  The road, running from top to bottom, is ok, with some lovely hedgerow flowers, and a few rather nice bays in the north.  And a Michelin listed café near where you wait for the ferry.  Cake was served with fruit of the forest and cream, and a spoonful of stewed rhubarb which no doubt had a much more expensive name.  The economy drive starts soon. 

I can tell you something else about the main Campbeltown road. It's long.  Very long, much like this blog post, a bit of an endurance test.  Even though it's​ pretty flat, by the time I reached Campbeltown I felt as if I'd climbed an alpine pass.  Without sny lunch, save for a posh breakfast scone and a cake.