Today was a good day. I enjoy it when things happen that you could never have predicted, and that only occurred through a series of coincidences. That is how today unfolded. But not at first.
I awoke to a dry morning; but the clouds were practically touching the surface of Loch Carron. No point in cycling up through 2,000 feet of that! It is a feature of this trip that I will be left with a list of things to come back for. Either things I liked so much that one visit is not enough, or things that just didn’t happen this time around. In some ways I think of this adventure as a reconnaissance mission. If I see part of every OS map, I will have a much better knowledge of where to invest my time in the future. And so it is with the “Pass of the Cattle”. It will be there next time. For now, those of you who have conquered it in the past can have that one over me. You know who you are. Well done!
So instead, I gave myself the challenge of cycling to Strathpeffer the long way: via Torridon. It adds on an extra 20 miles at least, but includes some incredible scenery, even in cloudy weather, and takes in another one of the places named in the title of OS Map 24. I should say that it also cut down to a bare minimum the time I spent in the already road-starved OS Map 25 Glen Carron and Glen Affric. But that cannot be helped. Life is about choices. We will leave map 25 to the mountains that more or less take up its entirety.
The first 15 miles to Sheildaig this morning were very enjoyable, rain free and quiet. The small, pretty village of Sheildaig lies on the coast facing north and offered an early lunch opportunity. You can’t beat a seafood chowder and they do it well up here. So I sat outside and gazed across the calm water at Sheildaig Island and imagined coming back for some canoeing. A lady at the next table told me she had stayed in Applecross the night before and driven over the pass. I asked her how it was. “Quite scary” she said. “And you couldn’t see a thing!” I smiled quietly to myself for a decision well made.
I was all ready to leave when the heavens opened. So I retreated inside the bar and had another latte. Well, two actually. I ordered and paid for one, and they made me two. So I will forgive the rain. I chatted to the bar manager about his little slip. He was experiencing culture shock, he said, because he usually lives in Santa Marta, Colombia. Wow! Small world.
And then it was onwards along the side of the gorgeous Loch Torridon, among ancient rocky mountain landscapes that impressed despite not showing their full height. The weather simply makes the views different. I will always remember my sadly departed next door neighbour, at home in the Peak District, telling me he had never seen the same view twice in 30 years. Today, the views changed by the minute with every twist in the road and every movement of the clouds. I fell into step with three Dutch cyclists who could not have been in scenery more different from that of their home. We rode together through the quiet, narrow roads of Torridon until I arrived – not for the first time – at the road junction and tiny village of Kinlochewe. There we stopped for a coffee before they headed north to Gairloch and I once again took on the climb heading south in the direction of map 25. It was easier than last time around. The wind was almost helpful today. The 9 miles to Achnasheen passed quickly and the skies were teasing me with patches of genuine blue. Enough to make a sailor a pair of trousers, as my mum used to say (usually on damp camping holidays).
Achnasheen brought with it my second chance to stop at the Midge Bite cafe. I knew there was nothing else beyond it all day. Never pass an open cafe! So I stopped. The only other customers were two American ladies from Oklahoma. One had been living in Scotland for many years, the other was her old friend, over to visit. We got chatting and it emerged they were heading over to Skye that evening. They had accommodation but no meal booked. “We thought we would just wing it” they said. I winced and told them what it was like there. I hope they found food and get decent weather. The pull of Skye seems so strong; but everyone I meet who has been agrees with me that it is just too full at this time of year. There are so many other wonderful places not far away. If only we could all spread out a bit better!
Anyway, after they left I had only the 2 young members of staff in the cafe left to chat with. It was past closing time (again) and I was on my feet to leave when it somehow emerged that they were sisters and had started out life in North Nottinghamshire. Really, I said, where? Worksop, they said. I’m from Bawtry, I said, knowing they would know that was only 10 miles away. Oh, they said, our Grandma lives in Bawtry. And our mum went to school there. Really? I said. Which road did they live in? Sycamore Crescent, they said. Me, too, I said. Number 30. What’s your mum’s name? They told me her maiden name and I correctly guessed her first name. OMG. We were 2 years apart at school. And here we were in the middle of nowhere about 400 miles away from a place that had 1,500 inhabitants back then. It really IS a small world.
After that I fairly rattled along the remaining 25 miles or so to Strathpeffer, remembering the names of all our old neighbours. And what an unexpected surprise Strathpeffer turned out to be. It is (or was) Britain’s most northerly spa, a sort of Harrogate or Buxton of the Highlands. It’s not a large place; but it is made up of enormous hotels, pavilions and churches that speak of the grandeur of a bygone era. My hotel for the night, the eponymous Strathpeffer Hotel, sits right in the village centre. The lobby and staircase are straight out of an Agatha Christie movie, while the basic bedrooms are these days more akin to a youth hostel. It does the job though for the long distance adventure cyclist. The whole place, including the bar, seems to be staffed by a single individual. He was very accommodating and even pointed me away from the hotel’s continental breakfast in favour of the more impressive deli in the high street. As it happened, I ate there for dinner and it was excellent. But the portions were so ridiculously large that even I couldn’t finish everything after 70 miles of cycling. Goodness knows I tried. So I have a feeling I won’t need any breakfast at all.
Tomorrow is my last day for this section of the trip heading eastwards. Then on Saturday I will begin the long process of retrieving the car and starting my journey home for a week off cycling and a couple of other commitments. By then, all being well, I should have reached OS map 28, three maps on from today and another 60 miles in the bag. It won’t require an early start. I planned it that way. Who would have thought it?