Cardinal Spins 14 revisited: NW – Day 9 – the end of the adventure

It was my final day of cycling; the very end of a long and wonderful summer of adventure. It began in early June and I had imagined it would be over before now. But in a way, I was happy that I was able to enjoy cycling in the Hebrides in November. That in itself was a new experience and it exposed me to the mountains in their autumn colours, and an altogether quieter Isle of Skye. It can get too busy here in the summer season. It was still a busy little hostel in Broadford that I left at 7.30am as daylight slowly took hold, with guests from all parts of the globe. I may have been the only British person staying. Skye seems to attract people like a magnet, despite its notoriously poor weather, and it can get difficult to find food and accommodation here. But not in November, thankfully, and the often busy A85 was a much more enjoyable cycling experience.

But this morning I was mostly on a quieter road that leads south east from Broadford along the Sleat peninsula to the small ferry port at Armadale. It was a journey of 17 miles and it afforded the most stunning views of the Sound of Sleat and the mountains opposite, including the wild country of Knoydart. In this morning’s still weather, with high clouds, you could see all the summits. It was quite a sight.

I had once again been lucky with the weather and the 30 minute ferry crossing to Mallaig turned into an outdoor wildlife cruise. A pod of dolphins came over alongside the boat, to everyone’s general delight. It is an uplifting sight. They just look like they are having such fun, and have no apparent problem keeping up with the ship. What a thrill.

Mallaig felt like an old friend who lives far away. I spent a lot of time here, passing in and out on various ferries, in 2022, so I knew exactly where I wanted to have breakfast. This was the same cosy cafe where I watched the demise of Boris Johnson on my phone, so it held fond memories. Today there was a fire burning in the grate and I treated myself to Cullen Skink, a traditional creamy Scottish broth with smoked haddock and potatoes. Yum.

I wasn’t in a desperate hurry today. I had all of the remaining daylight to cycle the 45 miles to Fort William along the fabled “Road to the Isles”. Time, therefore, to detour through the small village of Morar to the shores of Loch Morar in search of Scotland’s less famous monster, Morag. She doesn’t get spotted much because (a) there is no road along most of the length of this huge loch – the country’s deepest – and also because (b) she doesn’t exist. But if she did, Loch Morar has much better opportunities to hide away unnoticed. So maybe I’m wrong. It is a beautiful, peaceful place, enclosed by large mountains, and you can really only access the very bottom end, close to the sea. There is only a mile of land that separates this expanse of freshwater from the exceptional white sand beach at Morar, through which tumbles perhaps Scotland’s shortest river, whose name you can guess. It’s not too short to have its own hydro electric station, mind.

The next village along the coast is beautiful Arisaig, and the best way to get there is along the old coastal route. This is among the most enchanting six miles of road anywhere. It twists and turns past more white sand beaches and bays, with mountain views inland and the islands of Eigg and Rum on the near horizon out to sea. Rum has proper mountains, the tops of which were obscured by a hat of white cloud. But Eigg is a flat topped plateau, with steep cliffs all around its edge and a nobbly eminence, the Sgurr, off to the left side. It is very recognisable. Along this stretch of coast is perhaps the most beautifully located golf course in the world. It was here, by the very tiny clubhouse, that I was first interviewed by the Ordnance Survey in 2022. It was a long interview, by phone, and the sun shone throughout. I remember thinking that life could be worse. I had similar thoughts today.

Arisaig is a very pretty little place with a large marina and a wide bay protected by the islands. It’s the sort of place you just want to stop. There isn’t much here and it was mostly closed on a Monday in November, but I was able to get lunch in the Old Library that opened at noon, just as I was done with taking pictures. Since there is almost nothing else available all the way to Fort William, I did the sensible thing. It is quite an upmarket little establishment, and I ended up choosing Cullen Skink all over again, but I have no issue with that. It is delicious and comforting food, and I would be leaving Scotland in the morning. Why not?

There really was nothing else for the next two hours. Nothing except empty roads, lochs and mountains in their bronze and yellow autumn colours. The road was quiet and I cycled with purpose, knowing that I wasn’t far from the end. At length, I reached Glenfinnan at the top of Glen Sheil. Here the long, finger like Loch Shiel heads away through the mountains to the south west, accessible only by boat. At the top end, the Harry Potter curved viaduct carries the railway across the valley, drawing in crowds of tourists. There is a small takeaway cafe in the car park and they gave me a free latte for arriving on a bicycle! The girls serving said it gets ridiculously busy with tourists in the summer. I noticed double yellow lines on the main road for a couple of miles either side. Glenfinnan is beautiful; but I prefer my scenery free from tour buses.

Leaving the crowds behind, it got quiet again. I had an encounter with a red deer stag who was standing maybe a hundred yards off the side of the road in bracken. There were only the two of us around. We looked directly at each other for quite a while. I looked away first!

The final section after Glenfinnan was along the shores of Loch Eil, a continuation of Loch Linnhe around the corner from Fort William. Ahead of me, unmissable, was the huge and knobbly bulk of Ben Nevis, partly obscured by cloud, as usual. If it couldn’t be Harris on my last day, then this would do for me as a finish point.

And that was that. It has been an amazing few months of adventure taking me many new places. I have visited two new extremities: Cape Wrath and The Lizard. I have had amazing weather (I only got wet on my bike four times in five months). I rode twelve ferries and an ocean going paddle steamer. I cycled along many canal towpaths and railway cycle paths. I got just two punctures.

Furthermore, Jenni and I had wonderful days exploring the places that my lines connected, like Ironbridge, Lincoln, Skipton, Chester, Castle Howard, Durham, The Isle of Man, Belfast and Shrewsbury.

And now, right at the very end, a dramatic first. Someone tried to steal my bike off a stationary train in Preston! I stopped him. It was all over in thirty seconds. I happened to look out through the window at the right moment. I raced off the train and along the platform after him. He dropped it on the platform as I chased him and yelled. The guard held the train for me. What a tosser. Who would do that?

But that was a rare moment. It has been almost entirely a pleasure, everywhere. And now I have an even longer list of places to return to. Which I will. Soon.