Day 14 – Back to Stornoway

Skin, it is said, is waterproof. Lycra, on the other hand, is not. Good news, then, that on a day of some dampness, my legs were bare from the knee down. The weather was reasonable this morning in Inverness, and I enjoyed a breakfast latte with my Tesco meal deal triple pack bacon and egg sandwiches on the banks of the River Ness, opposite Inverness Castle. The train to Kyle of Lochalsh, the old ferry terminal for the Isle of Skye, left on time at 10.59am with both of its generous allocation of bikes aboard. Richard, a Scottish cyclist up from London, was going all the way to Kyle. I was getting out after about an hour in Garve, the closest place by train to Ullapool, but still a stiff 32 mile cycle away up the A835. These are unofficial east to west miles, of course; but that doesn’t make them any easier.

It stayed dry-ish for the first few smooth miles to Inchbae, where I took advantage of a coffee shop. In these remote parts you’d be mad to ride past one and not stop! I was immediately aware of the presence of large numbers of big trees for the first time in my trip. It felt a bit weird. They were even sawing up thick logs with a chainsaw where I stopped. Pushing onwards, the road began to climb. I had spotted that the river next to the road was flowing back in the direction I had come from, so I knew there was something significant ahead. The cloud was fairly low, so you couldn’t see the tops of the neighbouring mountains; but you sensed they were there. For the first time, I could see the odd patch of lingering snow on the exposed lower flanks around me. Ahead in the distance, you could still see grey outlines of peaks to the north; but nothing felt very welcoming. I climbed on.

The rest of the day provided mixed weather; that is a mixture of cloud and rain, mostly at the same time. As I got higher, it got wetter. It was never too bad; but it was a pretty exposed piece of road with nowhere to stop and shelter even if I wanted to. So I pressed on and eventually started to descend quite quickly into a wooded gorge. This broadened into a green valley and buildings started to appear. I was motoring in top gear: but had to screw my eyes up against the hard raindrops. As the road flattened out, a sign pointed to a gallery and coffee shop down a driveway, so I pulled in to dry out and warm up. One hot chocolate and a piece of home made peanut and apple cake later, with my waterproof drying on the fireguard, I was ready for the last 10 miles to Ullapool. For the moment, the rain had stopped and it became brighter. I headed along the beautifully smooth tarmac into a lush valley, quite different from the last 20 miles. Here there were bluebells carpeting the verges, tall trees with their early lime green leaves, rhodedendrons in flower, new shoots of bracken poking their heads up, and a general feeling of abundance and sheltered calm. The road reached the very southern end of Loch Broom and followed its northern shore as it broadened out. Except for the smell of seaweed in the air, I could have been fooled quite easily into believing I was on the shores of Lake Coniston in Cumbria, right down to the roadside cottages and dry stone walls. It was very pretty.

Then suddenly I turned a bend and before me lay the low white buildings of Ullapool (another of Thomas Telford’s planned fishing towns) and I was there. The harbour was buzzing with activity, despite the weather. I got the ferry staff to open the large perspex Calmac bicycle shelter for me and used it as my own temporary home, ideal for changing into warm, dry clothes while I viewed the excitement of a skiff regatta on Loch Broom. Each race lasted at least 20 minutes and involved boats rowing over to the far side of the loch and back. The races were hotly contested between small open boats rowed by 4 people, 2 on each side, plus a cox. Small launches followed them across the loch and back, while spectators cheered loudly from under brightly coloured gazebos on the shore. It all seemed very serious and it looked like very hard work! The rain won’t have helped.

At 4.30pm the Calmac ticket office opened, so I bought a return and then found a pub to sit out the hour until boarding time. There were a few boats moving around the harbour; but no sign of this morning’s excitement when it was visited by the world’s largest and most expensive private yacht. It was owned by a recently deceased Russian oligarch, then the subject of a bitter divorce, and now caught up in a complicated battle over his estate. At least that is what the cafe owner told me earlier. Apparently this oligarch was not subject to sanctions. I’m not sure there are any good oligarchs. Presumably this one was not one of Putin’s closer friends.

I was the only cyclist crossing to Stornoway, so got I got to walk on first to an empty car deck. I was also off first, ahead of a full load of vehicles in this big ferry. The queue for the restaurant lasted almost the whole way across, and I was hungry. In the end I gave up and joined it. My fish and chips were well worth the wait though. I chatted most of the way to an American pizza restauranteur from Austin, Texas, who was over on vacation. He was passionate about doing food the right way and has all of his pizza ingredients flown over from Italy. I tried to set modest expectations for his trip down the Hebrides. Food aside, for his sake and mine, I really hope the weather improves. The forecast looks promising for my next 2 days of map bagging, as I head down to Harris and its mountains and beaches. I’m still in “getting back to the start” mode until I reach the west coast tomorrow afternoon; but I can’t achieve that without more cycling in the morning. Then we turn around and do it all again in coast-to-coast number 2.