I had hoped to complete all of this adventure by the end of October at the latest. I failed. I could see it coming, what with a family holiday to Montenegro in September, various other commitments, and some unhelpful weather in the north west of Scotland. I did pretty well to ride almost every part of every straight line in great weather. But one line out of sixteen, the long one leading north west, remained incomplete. I had abandoned it in Fort William a month before when the weather deteriorated. It has to be enjoyable. The final three days, between Fort William and the island of Harris in the Outer Hebrides, now stood between me and the completion of this whole adventure. The weather forecast there during October was consistently bad, so I had prioritised all of the other remaining sections, enjoying the better conditions further south. Until now. But Halloween had arrived, and there was nothing else left.
But when all my other compass lines out of Hathersage had been completed, a hopeful weather window began to appear. Not sunshine, you understand. Nevertheless, a relatively low threat of rain for a few consecutive days – days when I was free to travel – seemed a coincidence too good to ignore. It would already be November before I turned my pedals. The clocks had gone back an hour, stealing away a valuable hour of daylight and further shortening an already short cycling day. Things would not get any better. It was now or never, for this year at least. I was too close to fail without a last attempt. The Hebrides were calling.
If you take the first train of the day west out of Hathersage to Manchester, it is possible to reach Fort William by tea time. You even get time to buy a fancy Marks and Spencer lunch in Glasgow to take along with you on the spectacular train ride north. I never tire of this route. The hills were mostly cloaked in white cloud today, but the Cobbler stood proudly in its own pool of sunshine as we made our way up the fjord like Loch Long and over to Loch Lomond. This train splits at Crianlarich with its front two coaches heading off to Oban. I was correctly situated at the rear, for Fort William and Mallaig. The announcements to help passengers locate themselves correctly were many and varied. Short of leading everyone by the hand, I’m not sure what else the train staff could have done. But still people got it wrong. I helped out a group who had wrongly convinced themselves of their own version of reality, providing to them as evidence the seat reservations in our rear compartment. They were native English speakers. It’s not that difficult. Is it?
In an ideal world, I would have started cycling from Fort William and ended in Harris, and then travelled home directly. My window was constrained at the end by the arrival of my mother in law from America on the Queen Mary, if you don’t mind, for her first visit to these shores in three years, and I was needed at home. But with some serious thinking and planning ahead, I was cleared for cycling if I could make the transport arrangements work. There were a Oso couple of things to consider. First, we were now into winter timetables on the Calmac ferries, and that meant fewer choices. And second, I was scheduled to conduct a live radio interview on the morning of 1st November to promote my recently released book. So I needed to be in a quiet place with reliable Wi-Fi. Like, say, a hotel room in Fort William. Rather than, say, on a train or a ferry. Or a bicycle.
And so, via a combination of train and bike-carrying bus (a rare breed in Britain), I made my way over two days to Portree on the Isle of Skye, via some spectacular scenery in dry, if rather cloud-affected conditions. The locals I spoke to all said it had been the worst summer anyone could remember and the sun had been conspicuous by its absence. So the weather I had brought with me was, relatively speaking, pretty good! It is a service I try to offer wherever I go. I’m quite reliable.
The cycling only began early on Saturday morning, 2nd November, with a brisk 17 mile ride along the deserted main road from Portree to Uig harbour. I had to arrive for checking in before 9am, so I missed the hotel breakfast. Mini, the hotel cat, was manning reception when I left quietly at first light. There was no contingency in my schedule, so missing the boat wasn’t an option.
But everything ran smoothly and I enjoyed a massive Calmac cooked breakfast on board as we sailed away from Skye and into The Minch, bound for Harris. And after that, the day just kept on getting better. I have a soft spot for Harris. It is a harsh but beautiful land of mountains and sea at the very edge of the world. Half way through my third day after leaving home, I had arrived and it was time to cycle. Well, almost. But not before a warming bowl of sweet potato, leek and tarragon soup in the charming Harris Hotel bar. Then I had four hours of daylight to get sixteen miles out to the end of my line, at Huisinis, and back again. Along a tiny roller coaster of a road barely wide enough for a camper van.
The B887 is a special experience. I had waxed lyrical about cycling it on a sunny afternoon in May 2022. Today was a more brooding experience, but Huisinis, the prize for your efforts at the end of the road, would make it all worthwhile. Some places are special indeed, and this is one. It lives long in the memory. That’s not to say that the journey there and back through a combination of mountains and sea lochs is not also magnificent. It is glorious. And you have it all to yourself, barring the odd sea eagle. But today’s offering was more sea than mountains, and there was a significant southerly breeze to contend with. The little road, while heading mostly west, twists in every direction at times, so the wind was inevitably a factor.
I marvel at the fact that people live out here; but they do. The hills are bare and very rocky; some of the world’s oldest rock, in fact: Lewisian Gneiss to be precise. It is an unforgiving landscape, austere on a good day, hard as nails on a day like this. There were regular waterfalls and stunning views across water and land at every swooping turn of the little road. I think I saw half a dozen vehicles heading out out, and the same or less heading back, forcing me to use one of the many passing places necessary even on a bike. But everyone gave a friendly wave and a smile.
The white sand beach at Huisinis bay comes into view as you round a headland from the south. It is a sight to behold. The empty Atlantic beaches of the Outer Hebrides are rightly celebrated. They look like they belong in the Caribbean. Except, that is, for the Highland cattle, which remind you where you really are. A small herd was blocking the road down to the bay, and I inched past carefully. They didn’t seem bothered by my presence. Not bothered enough to move, anyway. But they certainly added to the spectacle.
At the far end of the bay the road comes to an end at three small dwellings. The last section of road is covered in white sand. Above the beach is a small building, Huisinis Gateway, that offers shelter and basic services (toilets and showers) to visitors. It is a warm and pleasant place to gaze out through the wide glass frontage onto the beach. There are vending machines and I gratefully bought myself a hot chocolate. This was an unexpected pleasure. And also excellent timing, because it was now that the rain arrived. Heavy rain. A small group of bedraggled adults joined me in the only shelter available, already wet but in good spirits. We chatted and agreed that wherever you are from (in their case Aberdeenshire), Harris draws you back. In this remote spot, so far from life as we mostly know it, none of us were on our first visit.
The ride back after the rain had passed was just as beguiling as the ride out and I made it safely to the hotel in Tarbert before the gathering gloom turned into darkness. I had never cycled in Scotland in November before, let alone the Outer Hebrides. Last year it would have been much more difficult. The storms began in early October in seemed not to end until May. I only just managed to finish my Boring to Dull ride on October 12th. But this experience made me think it might be something to repeat. I met a man in the bar after dinner who has spent seven years renovating an old school a few miles along the coast from Tarbert. He comes from Doncaster, like me. We had plenty in common. But this feels like a massive move to be making as he approaches seventy years old and – like me – he was very aware of the passage of time and its impact on your physical capabilities. There were things he wanted to do. I hope he manages to work it all out and gets to do them.
And now it is over the sea to Skye. I still have two days to go. It is happening out of sequence and I will be riding it backwards. But it will count under my rules. It isn’t even the first time. So no proper celebrations yet. The job isn’t done.
