Mostly, this is random stories from my various trips as I collect them, but I've a wee backlog to get through too and those will pop up occasionally.

Feel free to leave comments.

Tuesday 30 October 2012

Border Patrol

I've been thinking about this one for a while. Last winter I did a couple of longer evening rides with a few mates, Carlisle to Edinburgh and Berwick to Edinburgh. That left me with part of the triangle to complete - the Coast to Coast. As it transpires, this is also a route I wanted to do as part of a longer term project. So, I looked at train timetables, selected a route and then waited. On a few occasions I'd dig out the plan but somehow it just never quite happened. Often it would be the weather but usually something else would pop up. With the clocks about to go back, I thought I'd better get the finger out and get on with it. Inevitably, the weather once again decided to play games with me. The first snow flurries of the winter arrived once I'd booked the hotel and train. 

Day 1
Undaunted, I was up early but really not feeling that great. Unrested, dodgy guts and a hoarse, dry throat weren't the ideal start to my day and it didn't get any better sitting on the train to Carlisle.

Leaving Carlisle station looked promising - lots of NCN stickers to follow. Unfortunately, they weren't followed up and I spent some time exploring a car park and various back streets. Eventually, I let the GPS guide me until I started to pick up the NCN7 signs again and they took me all the way to Gretna for the obligatory photo stop.

England on the left, Scotland on the right. That's irony.
This is the River Sark - the official border on the West coast and immortalized by Rabbie Burns in his song "Parcel o' Rogues".
Now Sark rins o'er the Solway sands
And Tweed rins tae the ocean
Tae mark where Englands province stands
Sic' a parcel o' rogues in a nation

(I should point out, for the benefit of my English friends that they are not the rogues in this tale. That would be the Scottish gentry that sold our independence for money.)

Leaving Gretna took me to Gretna Green and the famous blacksmiths shop. In reality, I was more interested in the nearby cafe as I was, by now, gasping for my second coffee of the day. Little wonder when it was already after 11am.

Setting off again I was starting to get worried about the ride ahead of me. I was already behind schedule and I just couldn't get my riding funk on. In one way I was happy to reach Canonbie. This lovely wee town is placed just where the terrain changes from the gentle river flats to the hillier terrain we normally think of as the Borders and that was the issue. I knew that the riding was due to get a bit tougher. Is have been less concerned if the projected South-westerlies had put in an appearance instead of the bitter Northerly I was experiencing. Still, the scenery was lovely, it was dry and sunny and before too long my planned stop at Newcastleton was upon me.
There was already 3 cyclists in the cafe. Hardcore, older types with all the gear. I asked where they were heading, to which the reply was "home". Brilliant. They seemed impressed by my plans though.

I knew that there would be little chance of finding any more facilities for a while and hoped that necessity would push me on. The climb from here up to Wauchope would be the first real push of the day but it mostly went in OK. Passing the little car park at the top of the climb was an important little milestone of my trip. Up until now, all the river systems had been draining into the Irish Sea. Now, I was in the Tweed system, draining into the North Sea. This then is the Druim Alba - Scotlands Watershed. In theory, it's downhill all the way from here to Berwick. However, I knew that I had a couple of hurdles to navigate before I'd be there.

The first issue happened almost immediately. Here, on the north side of the hills, the sun hadn't got round to melting the overnight snow and I hit the first patch at some speed, trying not to panic and keep a nice gentle, curving line round the bend. I did take the precautionary measure of unclipping my feet ready for a bale-out but it proved to be unnecessary and I just took it a bit easy hitting blind spots.
Still freezing in the shade
The descent to near Bonchester Bridge was enjoyable, if a bit cold and, the climb to Carter Bar was a lot more gentle than the route adopted by the A68. I was, however, completely done in, struggling to keep it moving and watching the daylight slowly disappear. It was a feeling more of relief than pleasure that hit me when I eventually pulled in to the Border car park for another photo.
The literal high point.
My GPS told me it was now 17 miles to my hotel and, as it was already well after 4pm, I knew I would have to push on a bit to get in before dark. Fortunately, the first thing in front of me was the fast switchback descent of the A68. This took me quickly to the Hownam turn off for more little lanes away from the main road. On the way I passed over Dere Street - an ancient Roman Road and one of the very few off-road "roads" in Scotland.

This is certainly a very quiet corner of the world and as dusk descended I was keeping a count of how far it was to each farmhouse! Eventually, and after almost missing the last turn, I made it to Morebattle and the Templehall Hotel. I'd not quite needed my lights, but it was close.

Day 2
After not the best nights sleep, I awoke to see the extra hour of daylight passing by outside my window while I waited for breakfast. Obviously not as cold as yesterday had been, it was now quite damp with a light drizzle evident as I was prepping the bike for action. My first port-of-call was Kirk Yetholm which had been my original destination (had the Border Hotel not been fully booked). It's a really lovely little village and stands at the end of the Pennine Way, on the St Cuthberts Way and now also marks the start (or end?) of the Scottish National Trail too.

My self-imposed route now took me on a long, winding detour around this very pleasant little corner of Scotland, the game here being to run as close to the border as I could without crossing it or taking any u-turns. This meant I'd see signs for, e.g. Coldstream 8 miles, but I'd be heading away from them taking in extra lanes and side roads. The South Westerly that had been promised yesterday had now turned into more of a North Westerly which had me puffing a wee bit as I fought against it but once I reached Kelso and my first brush with the River Tweed, I had a fantastic blast all the way along to Coldstream. Here, the road crosses the Tweed again marking another important part of the border.

From Coldstream, I was back onto quieter roads with some beautiful old houses tucked away, large gates lodges and ornate gateways marking out some quite extensive grounds. In theory, I should have turned North after reaching Paxton but as Berwick-upon-Tweed sits astride the river where it meets the North Sea and gives its name to Scotlands most South Easterly county I thought it was only right to grant it honorary Scottish "citizenship" and grace it with my presence. It was quite a shock to suddenly see so many folk. It was still a damp day but the town was fairly heaving with both locals and tourists and I was lucky to get a seat in the Cafe Nero to enjoy a decent coffee and some hot food.

So far, I'd mostly had a relaxing comfortable ride and as I started North out of Berwick I was looking at my clock, pleased at my schedule. That didn't last long. The first problem was that my plan to follow the coastal path and avoid the A1 immediately came unstuck passing a large caravan park. The ground was rough and extremely muddy which had me slithering along. Progress at this rate would have me out another night. I therefore headed back onto the A1, taking advantage of a pavement all the way to Marshall Meadows. A quick enquiry to a local told me that the path here was even less likely to be ridable so it was back onto the A1 dual carriageway to the Border Viewpoint then off to cut through Lamberton. This left me with only 3 miles of so to get onto the Burnmouth exit towards Eyemouth. 

By now, I was beginning to feel quite tired. The headwind had picked up a little but I just didn't seem to be generating any power. This was worse when I exited Eyemouth towards Coldingham where the moor just seemed to be one long climb after another. I'd approach each bend sure that this was the last climb, only to see the road still rising in front of me. As I slowed, the daylight slowly leaked away and around 15:30 I opted to switch some lights on for safety. Eventually, I reached the top of the moor and could see a long downhill ahead of me but, more importantly, the coastline and various landmarks all the way to journeys end at Dunbar. 

I was so intent shooting down the hill, intent on making up some time, that I almost missed the GPS telling me I had a right turn to make. This was the junction for Pease Bay and as soon as I started down it, I was wishing I had actually missed the turn. Rather like one of those quaint Cornish coves, here the road dove steeply down to the sea. A ford at the bottom looked crossable but I opted for the safety of the footbridge before heading steeply back up to cliff-top level again. Cruel. 

Navigation from here couldn't have been simpler - just follow the NCN signs first along one side of the A1, then cross at Torness, then along the other side until a lane appears that takes you on a strange little detour round the back of the cement works. Of all the NCN routes I've been on, this surely has to count as one of the most bizarre!!  Finally and just as dusk was truly settling in, I made it to the railway station at Dunbar where the staff were happy to let me bring my bike into the waiting room, put my feet up and relax almost semi-unconscious until the train to Edinburgh arrived.

Tuesday 9 October 2012

Like the windmills of your mind

A wee errand involving a drive through to South Glasgow saw me with a couple of hours to kill so I thought I'd head up to Eaglesham Moor for a closer look at the Whitelea Windfarm. I'd been thinking about this since sometime earlier this year when I saw that they were advertising 70km of trails suitable for mountain biking and walking. Even from the leaflet I could see that they were only really referring to the access roads used for all the windmills but I still thought it was worth checking out. 

Initial impressions were favourable. They've a lovely wee visitors centre with the usual array of coffee and snacks plus a wee shop. Showers and a bike lockup space were an unexpected bonus. They also have a hands-on "experience" area to show how the technology all works. I can see how the PR folk would love all this and there was a few school trips through while I fuelled up. It did take me back to a very similar experience I had when I was younger and we all trooped round the Dounreay Nuclear Power Station visitor centre. This time, I thought I'd avoid this bit and make my own mind "up close and personal" with the windfarm itself.

There is quite a bit of expansion work going on to the windfarm so I was told that some of the tracks (including the main spine road) were currently closed. This would severely limit how much of the windfarm I could actually get around but since I had limited time it wouldn't be an issue. The map I was given showed all the tracks and the numbers of all the towers. This meant that getting lost was next to impossible, which was handy as some of the tracks looped over the moors. 

Individually, I find the windmills quite elegant. On a mildly breezy day, their slow rotation has a somewhat soporific effect and I find it quite calming. Up close, indeed right underneath the blades, the noise was less than I'd expected. This comment was also made by some walkers I met at a viewpoint. From here, looking over the moor, I didn't find the windfarm at all jarring. If anything, I thought the array rather added to/complemented the ruggedness of the moors. From the same viewpoint, I could also see the Greater Glasgow conurbation, with the central belt sliding across towards Grangemouth and the windfarm at Climpy. 

In this setting then, it all made sense. Power-hungry customers, windy bleak moor, short transmission distance. Without going into all the finer details of the economics, if land-based windfarms are ever going to make sense, then this, surely, has to be one of the best examples. The fact that the owners are also going out of their way to promote public access can only be applauded and it's certainly worth a walk - or cycle - around for the great views out to Galloway, Arran, Argyll and the Highlands. On a clear, crisp winters day this would be a fine place to lose yourself for a few hours. 

So - if windfarms make sense here, where are they questionable? Well, I think there are still some places where they truly clash with the landscape. The occasional white tower on lower slopes of mountains can be overlooked by the tourists who flock to Scotland. Extensive farms intruding upon iconic views risk alienating these tourists and therefore the livelihood of many Scots. My current bugbears are; the Monadliath - visible from the Cairngorm National Park, Ben Wyvis - the view descending down the A9 towards Kessock is one which deserves to protected and the Loch Luichart extension - this will completely ruin the view west from the Black Isle into this rugged mountain landscape. Thankfully, people are waking up to the dangers of un-fettered expansion of land-based windfarms. Here's hoping it's not too late and we can yet maintain the correct balance.

Wednesday 26 September 2012

By Klibreck and Altnaharra

Have you ever listened to the words of a song and had them so completely resonate within you that you think the song was written for you? I guess most of us will have heard some love song that reflected our feelings, but for me, there's another. It's a song about a book and the song tells of the feelings of the songwriter upon reading that book. The song and the book are both called The Summer Walkers. The book, by Timothy Neat, is about the hawkers, tinsmiths and other travelling workers who would gather themselves up each year and journey into Wester Ross and Sutherland. The song, by Runrig,  is so evocative that I bought the book and delved into it. Upon reading it, I found I was resurrecting old, long-buried memories of my own, of times when, as a child, I'd travel with my family through the highlands. I remembered we'd often see the travellers with their horses and carts on the narrow, single-track roads that were all that existed in the 1960's. My mum always called them the Tinkers. She'd look down her nose at them a bit - even though we weren't exactly what you'd call middle class. She'd call them "dirty" and make occasional references to them being somewhat less than trustworthy. 

Ironically, we were camping and travelling too and sometimes we'd spend a night or two at a quiet, unofficial campsite. My dad used to call some of these "common land". From reading The Summer Walkers I now realise that many of them were stances once used by the travelling people. The book highlights a lost culture. Although told mainly in the word of the travellers, the author had only the last remaining elderly folk to talk to and the practice has now disappeared with the customs and language almost completely lost. What we are left with today is the spectacle of "My Big Fat Gypsy Wedding", nothing more than a gross distortion of what was a fine tradition.

But this is a biking blog and you're thinking "get on with it!" So, here I was with a couple of days free and a plan to make the most of the remaining longer days. I figured this would be my last opportunity to get right up north so I'd planned a nice circular route which would also be my first "century" (100 mile) ride this year. From Lairg, I'd head up to the north coast, then back down. My choice of direction was largely dictated by the prevailing wind, being an easterly. I recalled riding along the north coast last year into this same easterly and how tiring it had been, For this reason, I'd do the loop anti-clockwise.

The ride started well. Away at 9am there was little traffic. The views out to the West were hidden behind a blanket of grey cloud but a little watery sunshine was splashing my shadow onto the tarmac. It's a fairly steady climb from Lairg until past the Crask Inn where the munro of Ben Klibreck appears and then another fairly steady descent to the Inn at Altnaharra. The crosswind was strong but not overly so, but I knew I was up against it a little when I turned due East alongside Loch Naver. At least the road made some semblance of melding into the landscape so I'd get an occasional calm spell. Turning North made it slightly easier again and when I saw the end of the loch, I knew that I was at least trending downhill now to the coast.

One thing to be very careful of up this way is the lack of facilities - don't be expecting to stop for a coffee every few miles - so just before reaching my turn West I loaded up with a little food. This was just as well. Although I now had the wind behind me, the road did that great coastal thing of just climbing and descending every few miles. It was with some relief that I realised I was just a few miles from Tongue, whereupon the first heavy rain of the day hit me. I guess I should have thought myself lucky. After all, I seemed to have missed all the showers thundering through, but getting drenched just before my planned lunch stop seemed so unfair.

The bar in the Tongue Hotel was warm and cosy, with a proper fire going and I was glad to get in for a hot drink and a warm meal. The chicken pasta was great - although the portion was fairly prodigious. However, I knew that the shorter days and my lack of big rides this year meant I really had to get back on the road. I did have a slightly shorter return option available by heading down past Loch Loyal but I figured I'd stick to the original plan and headed out for Hope. This was another big climb and the wind seemed to have turned more south easterly so it wasn't helping me as mush as I'd have liked. The steep descent into Hope killed off most of the climbing effort with little reward and I then turned south onto the little unclassified road along Loch Hope. 

I'd been along here a couple of times in the past, though never to this very end of the road. The last time was for the lovely annular eclipse of May 2003 when a few mates and I had climbed Ben Hope to get the best possible view of the already-eclipsed sun as it rose. 

Annular Eclipse - 31st May 2003

That day had also seen me do me second ascent of Ben Klibreck and I recall it felt a bit novel to be on my second munro of the day and it still be breakfast time. 

Now, I was heading against an increasingly strong headwind, weaving my way across the best bits of tarmac and avoiding the often grassy strip down the centre of the road. On the way, I passed the broch at Dun Dornaigil and took a couple of photos under the very curious gaze of one of the local cows. 

Dun Dornaigil and the cloud streaming off Ben Hope

A couple of miles - and quite a bit of climbing - further on is the track leading to Gobernuisgach Lodge. This track cuts right across country and is on my "to do" list for 2013. Turning east again, I battled my way back towards Altnaharra, to be confronted by another downpour just as I reached the Inn. Without any second bidding I was indoors and drinking another coffee for a bit of warmth, passing some time with the locals and some visiting anglers. By the sounds of it, my day had at least been more successful than theirs. 

All that remained was the last big climb up past Klibreck again and then the long, steady 13 mile downhill almost all the way to Lairg where I encouraged my legs to spin a bit faster to get my days average speed up a bit. 

A long, hard day then. the wind had turned against me and my legs seemed a bit surprised at the amount of effort. However, the route was fabulous with the Sutherland landscape in the very first throes of Autumn and the roads almost deserted. On the way round my 104 mile loop, I'd passed so many of the place names contained in the song The Summer Walkers, though the "long winding shores of Loch Maree" will have to wait for another day!

Sometimes when you journey
Through the pages of a book
You're taken places beyond words
You let them speak the truth
Today I've opened treasures
That my eyes could scarce believe
They're the words of confirmation
Everything that makes me sing

Summer comes to Sutherland
And you bend the hazel bow
You harness up the ponies
And you head out on the road
By Kilbreck and Altnaharra
You journey to your rest
With the guiding might of Suliven
For the campsites of the West

And it's up by the Shin
And up by the 'Naver
And the long winding shores
Of Loch Maree
By Ben Hope and Ben Loyal
By Stack and by Arkle
The road reaches far
Now the summer is here

Now your words are not of sentiment
Shallow or untrue
But wells of living water
And from their clear deep sides we drew
The songs, the tin, the horses
This country's great and ancient wilds
Your faith in God and man and nature
And the keenness of your guile

So have you stood out on Coldbackie
At the time the sun goes down
Or up on the king of campsites
In the hills about Brae Tongue
That's when music filled your evenings
It's all so different now, this world
For you were the summer walkers
And the fishers of the pearl.

So as we close another chapter
That we label Archive Gold
Still the Conon flows each morning
And the dew falls from the sloe
But today you took me walking
Through a land that we have lost
While our children sit at websites
With no access to the cost

And it's up by the Shin
And up by the 'Naver
And the long winding shores
Of Loch Maree
By Ben Hope and Ben Loyal
By Stack and by Arkle
The road reaches far
Now the summer is here

Friday 21 September 2012

A Change of Pace

With the shoulder injury slowly healing, I've been gradually weaning myself back on to off-road riding. Starting with smoother trails - and on the fatbike - I had worked up to some rougher stuff in the Pentlands and then took the Santa Cruz Blur out for a spin. Everything seemed to be fine, so I'd decided I'd pop down to Glentress today for a change of scenery. 

I got up, got packed and organised and then sort of stalled. No matter what I did, I just couldn't get that final bit of impetus to get me out of the door. Another cup of coffee and a brief glance out the window confirmed that the weather was still pretty much perfect and, eventually, I could think of no reason not to head off. And then things got a bit weird....

As I was driving down the A703, I realised that I was actually quite nervous and anxious. This took me aback somewhat. After all, I was only heading down to ride a bike. Then I thought about it a bit more and tried to work out what was going on. 

I recalled that my last visit to a trail centre had been Laggan, months ago. I'd not really enjoyed it. My riding was all over the place and the bike felt all strange. The latter, I discovered, was due to a snapped pivot bolt. So, maybe I was a bit nervous about having a similar experience? Then it hit me. At a trail centre, the riding is really all about getting down the hill quickly. The man-made obstacles are designed to stretch and challenge you and, even without the pressure of following riders, you can't really just bimble along - yet that's what I'd mostly been doing recently. 

There's nothing much wrong with bimbling. Attention can be focussed internally - on one's own feelings and thoughts - or you have time to take in your surroundings. Either way, the riding is very much a secondary activity. Now, I was about to change all of that and I guess I wasn't sure what to expect.

As it turned out, everything was just fine. I managed another short delay at the Peel Cafe, grabbing a roll and coffee, but once I was under way I just settled into the different vibe that the trail centre provides. The handling issues I'd experienced at Laggan had all gone and I felt I was actually hitting some of the rougher stuff as well as I ever had (I'll never be quick). When I did reach the car park again, I was both energised and relieved. I just need to make sure I don't leave it as long before my next visit.

Monday 17 September 2012

Petrichor Summer

So. Autumn is almost upon us and we've mostly been bemoaning the lack of a summer. It certainly seems like we've had it wet, cool and windy. But there have been days, short spells when it almost seemed like a "proper" summer was going to arrive. Back in March there was that glorious week and then we had a great weekend in Aviemore for the packrafting. It all seemed so promising....

...much like my Summer has been. Having decided not to commit to any events this year, my diary was clear to be flitting around, especially once my daughters exams were out of the way and the school holidays had arrived. 

It all started so well. My tour around the West Coast was soon followed up by a long-awaited chance to ride in Harris and then a week camping with Mim - and that's what did it. Sometime during a day of paddling on Loch an Eilean and Loch Morlich, or in the loading and unloading of the kayak, I strained something in my shoulder and a couple of sleepless, painful nights ensued. Frustratingly, despite painkillers and physio, the pain is still only slowly subsiding and my ability to get comfortable on a bike has been hampered with any severe jarring being completely out of the question. 

Activities since mid-July have therefore been somewhat limited but I thought it was worth a quick summary in any case.

Ruling out cycling just meant more of an excuse to get out walking so Mim and I headed up to the Clachaig in Glencoe for a couple of nights. We've looked at staying here a few times but it's invariably booked. What I did find surprising - and it was most noticeable during breakfast - was the clientèle. Very few folk seemed to be of the hillwalking/outdoor fraternity and we had lots of families and older couples. For sure, it's not exactly budget accommodation these days, but it still seemed a bit out of place.

On the way up, we bagged Beinn Dorain and Beinn an Dothaidh. Mim was particularly pleased at doing the former as the long views of it and path round the bottom were still fresh in her memory from doing the West Highland Way. From the summit, we were able to pick up long stretches of the WHW both South - towards Ben Lomond - and North to Ben Nevis and it gives a great perspective on the sort of distances travelled each day when you can see it all laid out before you. 

Our second day was a bit overcast and dull looking so we took ourselves out to Ardnamurchan for a drive. I enjoyed retracing some of my recent road bike miles and pointing out some of the highlights to Mim. I actually surprised myself at the steepness and length of some of the hills, thinking that I'd not really noticed them so much when cycling. 

Our return home on day 3 was fitted around a trip to the Lost Valley (Coire Gabhail) in Glencoe. This was another first for Mim. The last time we'd tried this the river was a lot higher and we ended up on some very dodgy scree. No such problems this time once we'd navigated our way across the diversion which avoided the bridge that was being repaired. This turned out to be another lovely day - though it was, once again, raining when we got home.
The Lost Valley - Glencoe

Lake District
As if to rub salt in the wound of my sore shoulder a stag weekend down in Keswick was tom include some Ghyll Scrambling. Now, normally I'd have been all over that but I judged that pulling/being pulled by that arm was likely to result in a great deal of pain. As a result, I opted to take the Amazon down with me and to do some light on-off-roading by making use of NCN71, the C2C route.

The drive down was uneventful enough and the hostel at Denton House was basic, but clean and well sorted. Dumping all our gear and heading to the pub for food was first on our "to do" list and thankfully they were still serving dinner. I say thankfully, in actual fact the food was at te very poor end of "pub standard", even the portions were a bit meagre. At least the chips were fairly good and I availed myself of whatever anyone else deemed they didn't want. The Scotch selection was also a bit meagre, but we sampled some of that anyway and headed back to our dorm to lay into the Jura and the excellent Balvenie. I can't recall quite when we eventually turned the lights off, but I knew even then that I hadn't had the best preparation for a ride the next day. 

As it turned out, I was still fairly chipper in the morning and after a bit of prison-style breakfast I headed off on the bike and into Keswick proper. After a brief stop at a local bike shop for a multi-tool (something I'd forgotten to bring), I found NCN71 and headed off on some quiet roads. If it had stayed like that, all would have been fine, but alongside Bassenthwaite Lake the track turned into a proper "forest road" that had the Marathon tyres scrabbling for grip. I had a couple of dodgy moments with the back wheel stepping out before I opted for a bit of pushing up and through the MTB trails of Whinlatter. Back on the roads again, I made decent time all the way to the old railway line - now cycle path - taking my into Whitehaven. The only real issue I'd had up to now was the large number of C2C cyclists heading towards me and their often dodgy road-sense. The cycle path took a nice line and didn't seem to deviate in the manner that many do, so I was soon in Whitehaven for a spot of lunch, satisfied that I was now half way around my circuit. What's more, it had stayed dry, with only a cold breeze taking the slight edge off things.

Post-lunch, I located the coastal track which headed towards Workington - also confusingly NCN71 and was soon on quiet roads again to Cockermouth. This was where I had my only navigational problem of the day, with the Sustrans route weaving its way through the town. That would have been bad enough, but one section was closed and with no diversion marked I had to improvise a little. No matter - I was soon under way with the hills before me and a bit of a climb to get back to Keswick. Again, the Sustrans way of doing things caught me out a little and the small, single-track road I was on petered out at a gate. The waymarking was clear enough, I'd simply have to ride over a field. 
Yep - that's the route
That turned out to be fine but when the route entered the forest above Bassenthwaite Lake again I'd have been a lot happier on a mountain bike. Whoever thought of sending road bikes along here needs some serious talking to. Playing the safety-first card again and mindful of the stress to which I was subjecting my wounded shoulder I again opted to walk. Now, it's bad enough having to push up-hill, but walking a bike downhill just isn't the done thing!

All in all, a mostly great experience of a Sustrans route and that's a little surprising to me having issues with some more local ones I know. Perhaps that's just it - as a tourist the routes work really well. The roads are quieter and there are few navigation difficulties with the very clearly marked NCN signs removing the need to refer to map and GPS. It certainly showed that my concerns about Lake District roads being overly busy were mostly unfounded and, based on my experiences, I'd even consider the whole English C2C at some point.

Tuesday 24 July 2012

Coasting around the West - Day 4 and Summary

Suitably re-invigorated by my epiphany of the previous afternoon and the pleasant surroundings, I was, once again, heading off from my campsite in a good mood. The only cloud on the horizon was the knowledge that the tailwind I'd enjoyed most of my trip would be working against me all the way to the ferry at Craignure. Cooler than it had been, the sun was playing a bit of a waiting game too. 

I did remember to stop for a photo at a sign I'd seen yesterday...
Basic facilities

...I'm not sure if that best reflected my state of mind or if it was directions to the local amenities.

The roller coaster road I'd travelled down on the day before unwound in the other direction and seemed equally hilly, but it was certainly a lot quieter. Before long, I was back at the head of Loch Scridain and starting the climb up Glen More. This was pretty sheltered in amongst the high hills on each side and it was fascinating to see the much older road/track taking an often more direct line up and over the col. It would certainly make a good off-road alternative for a coast-to-coast..... 

The descent down to the sea at Loch Spelve proved to be absolutely fantastic. The anticipated headwind had failed to show up and with a good road surface, easy corners and no traffic,I made some of the best speeds of the whole trip. What's more, the sun was popping out and everywhere just seemed so fresh. Before I knew it, I had arrived at Craignure and I could have caught an earlier ferry than I'd planned. However, I opted to chill for a while in the sunshine and had a leisurely full breakfast courtesy of the Craignure Inn.

Missed the boat?
Missed the boat
Soon enough, and after a relaxing sit in the sun, the ferry was back and I was off to Oban where Mim was picking me up. Another great trip completed.

Overall, this proved to be an excellent route. The Hebrides end-to-end is often touted as one of the great road tours in Europe - and rightly so - but I seriously think that this trip rivals it. Perhaps not so many sandy beaches (though there are still loads) but the combination of mountain and sea is unrivalled and the roads are mainly just as quiet. People I spoke to en route were very friendly and it has the advantage of easy access by rail at both start and finish. I'll certainly be recommending it in future. 

West Coast Route
Complete Route - 336km / 4613m of ascent

Kit-wise, everything worked out pretty well. I'm still finding the Scarp tent to be very well thought out and spacious. The stove, sleeping bag and mat (which are all recent acquisitions) all worked flawlessly. Carrying the camping gear turned out to be less of a burden than I'd anticipated although it helped that I'd cut right down on clothing. Having the flexibility of carrying my accommodation with me meant that I could change my plans as I went and this helped me stay a little ahead of schedule each day, even though I didn't wild camp at any time. 

The Amazon just carried on working the way it does. After some previous high-speed instability, I'd been worried that putting even more weight on the rack (the camping gear) would exacerbate this but the Woodchipper bars, and a bit of me shifting my weight forward on fast descents, seem to have calmed that down. I might investigate alternative forks with either rack or "Anything Cage" mounts to let me spread the weight a bit more evenly.

Food-wise, I decided to forego the energy products. Normally, I'd take some bars and some Torq powder for a drinks bottle each day but that just means carrying more stuff from the very start. I didn't feel I lacked power at any point though I could do with being a bit more disciplined about eating as I go rather than waiting and bingeing!

I do feel there's not much needs changing now, so it's just a question of sitting down with the maps and working out more routes - not that ideas are hard to come by!

More photos can be found here:

Coasting around the West - Day 3

Once again, I found myself awake early and keen to get on the road. That's always re-assuring when you are in to a multi-day trip. Eating and packing whilst trying to keep as quiet as possible, I was on my way be 7:30 - before any of the other campers had shown themselves. Having been to Mull only once before, and that on a bit of a rush-job Munro-bagging session, I was really keen on seeing a lot more. I'd had a good look at the map and had already spotted that (a) there were few potential food stops and (b) there were a lot of hills. My route was also subject to some deviation as there had been some bridges damaged in the previous weeks flash floods and the road was still officially closed. The detour would add 14 miles on to my days riding but, more importantly, would prevent me from riding a section I'd been looking forward to.

The initial stretch of riding this morning had me climbing away from the campsite for some time before a lovely, fast descent into a still-sleeping Dervaig. 

Overlooking Dervaig
Next was Calgary Bay, somewhere I've oft seen discussed and that I'd considered as a potential stopping point for this tour. Right enough, there were a few tents and campers dotted around the designated "wild" camp spot, but given how tired my legs had felt arriving in Tobermory last night, I was glad I'd decided not to crack on this far.

From here, the road simply got quieter still. After a while I started to take note of each house I passed, in case I had some mechanical failure and needed assistance. In the mean time, the stunning views of coast and mountains continued round each corner and over each hill., of which there were many.

Ben More in the distance
After passing the turn off for the Ulva Ferry, I started my circumnavigation of Loch Na'Keal which meant I was now heading towards the dark clouds which had been gathering over the Mull mountains. Sure enough, it wasn't long before the first spits and spots of rain started and before long I had to admit defeat and don the waterproof jacket. This loch was absolutely teaming with wild-life. Sea Eagles, geese and more heron than I've ever seen before seemed to be queuing up to take advantage of what must be an abundant fish supply. 

At Gruline, I came across the Road Closed signs and then had to decide whether to chance it or take the longer route. I decided I would bluff it out on the basis that I could always carry my bike over any unforeseen difficulties. More heron were seen along this side of the loch, with loads of twitchers out now too. I briefly tried to engage a couple in conversation but they were too intent on their telescopes and obviously had no interest in where they might spot the sea eagles....

The weather decided to clear up for me again which was slightly ironic given the damage caused by the rain the previous week. 

This was a bridge
The first two damaged bridges were passed easily enough by the use of temporary diversions. The third required a bit of a paddle across a wee stream. The local council workers were happy to chat for a while and we were soon discussing the old bridge at Loch Loyne. It was a shame to see what had happened here as these old bridges were to be replaced by pre-cast concrete culverts.

I now found myself approaching the rather formidable cliffs I'd spotted from earlier in the morning and wondering where, exactly, there would be space for a road. I needn't have worried, the road engineers had managed to build/use what amount to not much more than a little shelf, just wide enough for he single thread of tarmac.


After yet another hard, but gradual, climb I found myself heading swiftly down towards Loch Scridan and what I hoped would be a chance for a coffee stop. However, I was only to be disappointed as  my target, the Kinloch Hotel, was very much closed for business. After enquiring of a local, it seemed that my earliest opportunity would be at Bunessan so I wolfed down a Snickers bar and set off over more undulating terrain. After what seemed like hours, and definitely one or two hills too many, I eventually rolled in to the Bakehouse for a well-earned rest. I wasn't in any hurry. Once again, I'd over-estimated my journey time and with no definite ferry schedule, I knew that I'd make it across to Iona without any problems.

Eventually tearing myself away, I headed across the last headland towards Fionnphort. Compared with the rest of my day, this came as a little bit of a surprise with loads of folk milling around, coming off, or going on to the ferry and as we made the short sea journey, I got my first decent view of Iona and the abbey.

Iona Abbey

Soon enough, we were all disembarking and I was looking for the campsite. Thankfully, a handily-placed notice board highlighted all the island amenities and I set off for the short trip across to the west side of the island. It seems I made the wrong choice of route though and I had to negotiate a few closed gates and some gravel track before I found the signposted house.

I have to say, I was somewhat confused. I'd not expected much, but the house beside the "site" was empty, there were no tents visible and what looked like a small toilet block was in a field of  knee-high grass. I hung around for a while looking for inspiration, but none was forthcoming. It was around this point that I thought I might change my plans. Originally, I was going to camp on the island then wander around a bit, taking in the various sights. In light of the time of day I'd arrived, and the somewhat questionable facilities, I decided that I'd take a good look around before pitching the tent. 

Made it!
Furthest west (for this trip)
In all honesty, I was somewhat underwhelmed. I'd come to Iona expecting much more. I'm not a religious person, but I can't deny that the history of Scotland was heavily influenced by this Island and many other folk had spoken and written of a special spiritual quality. For me, perhaps inured by my recent trip to Harris and Lewis and my current tour, I only really saw another windswept Hebridean island - one which was pretty commercialised. After a brief spin around, I decided I'd just head back over to Mull for the evening, thereby avoiding any ferry delays in the morning. 

A bit down, I joined the queue for the ferry. Looking over towards Fionnphort, in the far south, hazy but clear against the sky, I could just make out two mountains. I knew instinctively that I was looking at Jura. And that's when it hit me - Iona wasn't the end of the journey, the path carries on and it's the path that makes the travelling worthwhile, not the destination. Hopefully, my path will carry on for a good while yet!

Bouyed up by my revelation, I headed back to Mull in good spirits and located the campsite at Fidden. While it might just have been my sudden good mood, I was absolutely knocked out by the place. On a beautiful little sandy bay, with lots of little rock outcrops and decent facilities, this has to be one of the top campsites in Scotland. I found a little shelter for my tent and sat out on the rocks eating the food I'd carried since Kyle and watching the sunset. This was everything I wanted my cycle touring to be about.


Saturday 14 July 2012

Coasting around the West - Day 2

I awoke at 6 after a great nights sleep. I'd actually left one of the tent doors open so that I fell asleep and woke up to the scenery. It's not something I'd normally do, but a combination of the better weatherproofing of the Scarp tent and a dab of Smidge before bedtime is making me a bit more comfortable about any late-night intrusions. Somewhat cloudier than the night before, the wind had also died down a fair bit and a few midges were dealt with whilst having breakfast and packing away. I was careful to pack all my "overnight" stuff in one pannier and everything I'd need for the day in another. That's just my way of having less faff when looking for waterproofs, food or other items throughout the day. 

I was on the road for 7:30, with a few other campers just beginning to stir as I made my way out. never the busiest road, this also meant I had little traffic when heading towards Lochailort. I knew that there would be a few wee climbs today so I was pleased when I dispatched the first couple with little effort and I made use of the relatively new cycle track where possible so that I could dawdle along with less care about passing vehicles. 

My first stop of the day was actually at the Princes Cairn. This is one of those Bonnie Prince Charlie locations that I've frequently passed but never stopped at until now. 


The turn off at Lochailort was one of the points I'd been most anticipating. This part of Scotland is pretty much overlooked by the hillwalking and biking scene and I feel that's a great pity. I was looking forward to seeing it in a bit more depth. Again, I was making pretty good time - so much  so that I passed a planned stop at Glenuig as there was nowhere open. Passing Ardmolich, I was confronted by Drynie Hill, one of the wee climbs I'd been expecting. It was nowhere near as bad as I'd feared, but then not being in a hurry, I was content just to get up and over it at a relaxed pace. From the top, I could see over the (currently hidden) Loch Shiel towards the hills of Sunart, an area I'd been mountain biking in only past year. I really love being able to join up these areas in my own in-brain "map" of the world. As for Loch Shiel itself, that looked completely alien to the wilder, mountain-sided loch familiar to me from the Glenfinnan end. Down here, it's a placid, wide body of water surrounded by green pastures and where it flows out to the sea there's a lovely old castellated bridge over the slow-flowing river.  



Acharacle follows and that's where I eventually stopped. Unusually for this part of the world, it was positively awash with tearooms and I was happy to be able to avail myself of apple pie and coffee outside to enjoy the morning.


The next junction, at Salen, is the start of one of those Scottish cul-de-sacs, the type that go on for miles. The weird thing about this one is that, unlike the other sea lochs I'd been circumnavigating all day, I'd not be coming back along this one, with a planned stop at Kilchoan campsite and a ferry to Mull the next day. The ride alongside Loch Sunart is really spectacular. each little rise seems to bring another viewpoint and the wooded sections (globally important temperate rainforest) are particularly pleasant. If there's one thing worrying me, it's that dark clouds are gathering over my shoulder, rather belying the blue skies in front of me. 

Again, I'm making good time and I do some recalculating in my head, juggling ferry times and snack stops. As I reach Kilchoan, I've just about made my mind up. I can head to Ardnamurchan Point, eat, and still make a ferry across this afternoon. With that plan now put into action, I turn northwards for the first time in a couple of days and meet head-on the wind that had been at my back so far. This last little section of road seems to go on much longer than it should, not aided by the steep little kickers needed to get over to the lighthouse. However, once I'm there I head round for a few photos and pop into the little cafe for some food and drink. 

It's almost exactly 30 years since I was last here, previously arriving on a motorbike. It's certainly a bit more lively now, with the cafe and visitor centre and what must be the UK mainlands most westerly set of traffic lights!



Suitably refreshed, and after chatting with various other folk making this rather out-of-the-way place part of their holidays, I head back to Kilchoan and the ferry over to Mull. Another lovely sea trip sees me land at Tobermory in search of the campsite which, if memory serves me correct, is on the Calgary road. This proves to be the case, which is a bit of a shame as that involves cycling up the rather steep Back Brae with cold muscles and this proves to be one of the few times on the trip that the added weight of the camping gear is actually felt. 

The site itself is just about OK, if rather non-descript. I'm glad that the breeze is keeping the midges at bay because the rather wooded nature of the site makes me think it could be pretty hellish otherwise. 

After a quick walk into town for dinner, the rain which had been threatening all day finally arrives.  The irony of getting wetter walking around than during my 100+km of cycling is not lost on me but it soon goes off again in time for the stiff walk back to the site. 

Again, I'm ahead of schedule and I have a relaxing evening knowing that I can head off whenever I want to in the morning without worrying about ferry times.

Coasting around the West - Day 1

I have a plan. It's sort of evolved itself with some random beginnings and sprung to me almost fully formed earlier this year. However, I've not been in a position to do much about it until the option of a few days away came up and I was able to sit down with the maps and do a little route planning. 

As a result, I'm on my way to Kyle of Lochalsh courtesy of Scotrail and some of its random booking practices. In this case, despite getting verbal confirmation that my bike was, indeed, booked all the way from Edinburgh to Kyle, I find that the first leg - to Perth - is a first come, first served cubbyhole barely large enough for two bikes, and there's one in there already. I've also opted to take the camping gear for a change. For my previous road tours I've made use of hotels and B&Bs, but I wanted the option of some wild camping and also the flexibility that not booking ahead offers. Of course, this means a heavier load, but I've pared down as much as possible in order not to make it too uncomfortable on some of the inevitable hills. 

Despite there being more bikes than bike space getting onto the Perth - Inverness train, the guard lets us sort it out and somehow we all squeeze on. It's nice to know that it's not all jobsworths these days. What's more, the weather is looking brighter the further we get from the rainy central belt and by the time we reach Inverness, it's positively sunny. A quick changeover and now it's the Kyle train. This would be a lovely, scenic interlude if it wasn't for the fact that (a) I have a migraine and (b) the carriage is half-full of school kids off on their summer break. Oh well.....

Kyle is looking great. Manoeuvring away from the station, I make my way towards the bridge for the compulsory photo and I'm pleased that there's a reasonably brisk Northerly wind. 


The first leg of my journey is to Armadale and I'm hopeful that I'll make it in time for the last ferry across to Mallaig. Right enough, as soon as I reach the turn-off and head South, it's like a massive push in the back and I feel I'm fairly flying along. With this encouragement I decide to forego a snack stop and push on, not feeling the weight of the camping gear, reaching Armadale and the ferry terminal with loads of time to spare - enough time for food and a coffee at the cheery little pier-side cafe. 


The ferry trip from here is well worth it. On a good day like this, views across to Knoydart and into Loch Nevis are stunning and the whole trip is only spoilt by having Mallaig as a destination.

Bikes on boats - my favourite

Still, there are some shops and a bank and before long I'm off along the roadside cycle track, through Morar and heading for Arisaig. Just before the last climb, I wheel off towards Back of Keppoch where I know there are a couple of decent sites and I opt for Gorten Sands. It's the last site on the track and has some beautiful little coves and a roped off area for smaller tents. I'm able to pitch in a little shelter but giving me a nice view North East so I'm very happy.

After a quick shower, I hot-foot it along the road to the pub - the Cnoc na Faire - in search of some food. Although I'm past the last food order time, the staff are happy to whip me up a fish and chips, and what a fish and chips it is. The tartare sauce is complete with whole capers, the chips are hand-cut and there's a generous portion of mushy peas to go with it. I'm very impressed. The last time I was in this pub was some 30 years ago and it was a smoky little dive of a place serving not much more than fizzy lager. 

By the time I've finished, the sun is almost setting so I order a single malt (I go large at the barmaids suggestion) and wander out to enjoy it. What a great start to my my wee trip, a couple more days like this please.