Andy (Grimmy) and Mike had invited me to join them on a trip to Scotland, but as the start clashed with the bank Holiday weekend away with the kids, I had to decline. I did work out that I could join them for the end of their trip though, and finish off with a couple of days on my own. I haven't been to Scotland since my teens, and then only to the cities, so was looking forward to seeing some more of the scenery. With the bike loaded up with a couple of changes of clothes, and the zumo loaded with routes gleaned off here, I left work at lunch time on Thursday and headed north. I-pod fending off the boredom the motorways quickly swept by, until I found myself on the other side of the Erskine bridge and onto the A82 alongside Loch Lomond. Here the enjoyable riding started, and I hooked up with a bloke on a Sprint who was heading for John O' Groats. We parted when I headed west to Oban and my rendezvous with the lads. Quick change and we walked down to the quay for an excellent meal at a small restaurant called Cuanmor and a couple of beers, while they enthused about the riding they had enjoyed so far. Had a wander round a couple of pubs, as you do, and laughed as Tony got collared by the local drunk.
Friday morning, and Mike was first away, taking the quickest route home, as he had a plane to catch.
The rest of us followed the road south to Loch Fyne, then along the shoreline through Inverary, and to the junction with the A82 at Tarbet towards the top of Loch Lomond. Here I said farewell, as they sped south for home, and I retraced my steps to Inverary for lunch. After a quick sandwich and a brew I took the A819 north on a whim, and rejoined the A85 to Connel and then north to the cafe opposite Stalker Castle and along Loch Linnhe. Crossing the bridge onto the A82 I caught the ferry at Corran then through Strontian, following a parcel delivery van who obviously knew the road very well!
A black cloud had hung onto the hills to my right, and a couple of spots hit my visor, but soon cleared. At Salen I took a minute to decide what to do. G.C's report of this route had suggested that the trip to Ardnamurchan Point would take an hour from here, and an hour back. It was now 4.00, and the last ferry from Mallaig was at 6.30. The weather was glorious, I had no fixed plan, only a brief outline, so I chose to visit the lighthouse and stay on the mainland tonight. Decision made, I enjoyed the fantastic single track road and its stunning scenery, treating myself to a coffee at the visitor centre before turning back the way I had come.
Back on the A861, then the A830, I arrived in Mallaig at 6.45 and did a couple of laps of the town before settling at The West Highland hotel for the night. The receptionist let me have a double room for the single rate, and after dumping my gear I enjoyed a couple of beers, sat on the steps overlooking the Sound of Sleat. Another superb meal, this time in the hotel restaurant, which was full of German tourists on a coach trip. Spent some time chatting to the tour guide and admiring the view with a couple more beers, which saw me ready for my bed. So shortly after watching the sun set over the tail end of Skye, and providing some nourishment for the midges, that's just what I did.
I woke to a bright but hazy morning and had a wander across to the quay where some fishing boats were being unloaded. The first ferry leaves at 08.10, but breakfast didn't start until 08.00 and I didn't want to miss that, so had a leisurely start. Boarding the ferry with a few other riders, we stood up on the passenger deck and chatted as Skye drew nearer. Cloud obscured the peaks and added a chill to the ride across to Broadford, where I stopped to fill up. Leaving the cluods behind I carried on, sailing blissfully past the turn off for the A863 which I intended to take. One swift u-turn later and I was back on track, watching the dramatic peaks recede in my mirrors as I headed for Dunvegan castle and my next coffee stop.
A couple on a heavily laden 600 envied my panniers, all their gear was piled high on a tiny rear rack! Had a quick look at Fairey Bridge, then on to the Stein Inn where I thought about stopping to soak in the view, but I still had a few miles to cover and the bike didn't want to stop. Realising that my original plan to circumnavigate Skye was a little too ambitious, I cut across to Portree, then retraced my route. The clouds had lifted now, and there were plenty of photo opportunities, none of which seem to have done justice to the views I was looking at!
Across the bridge, leaving Skye behind, then left in Kyle to follow the road through Drambuie and Durnish, with a diversion to Plockton for another coffee and some more photos.
Some more glorious single track road alongside Loch Carron, including a wrong turn that led me to someones boat house, and I joined the A890 heading for Applecross. Stopping briefly to fill up, I noticed a number of open sports cars parked up, some on trailers. I had gatecrashed a club day of some sort, as they were everywhere!
Thankfully I managed to avoid the majority of them and had a reasonable run up Bealach Na Ba, with just one moment going down the other side that tested the brakes and my sphincter muscles. A small yellow sports car swinging into a passing place on my side of the road, which I was aiming for to let him past! At the Applecross Arms I decided that I deserved a pint, whilst admiring a pair of Aston Martins, or more importantly their passengers! From Applecross I followed the coast road, unfortunately back into the mist which spoiled the views somewhat. A gaggle of sports bikes came up behind me, so I let them past, following at a safe distance as the last two were definately riding outside their limits. Back to normal roads, the mist cleared and once again I could admire the scenery, stopping at a viewpoint above Loch Torridon for a smoke and more pictures.
An old guy on a pushbike spotted my Maroc sticker and came over to chat. He was doing roughly the same route, but admitted to expecting to take a while longer. He had cycled around Morocco last year, hardcore or what? Riding on through the National Park area of Glen Torridon a Subaru stormed up behind me, so I pulled into a passing place. A little girl waved at me from the passenger seat, just before her Dad (I guess) bottomed out the suspension completely in a dip in the road sending sparks and stones flying everywhere. He didn't stop, so I can only assume that they are built to take such treatment? At Kinlochewe I turned left towards Gairloch. The first part of this road was empty and very enjoyable, but when it became single track there was a mini traffic jam caused by two camper vans travelling in convoy. They stopped off in Gairloch, and once again I had the road to myself. Through Poolewe, alongside Loch Ewe, then across to the imaginatively named First, and Second Coast, I came around a corner to the most beautiful view.
There was a layby, so others had thought the same, and I stopped and fired up my Jetboil for a brew and a smoke. The map told me this was Gruinard Bay, just before the village of Little Gruinard. An American couple stopped their hire car and asked me to take their picture, and had a brief chat about the bike. I followed the footpath away from the road for a short way to "water the plants", and saw a number of bouqets of flowers tied to the fence. All I can assume is that someone went over the cliff there, intentionally or not.
As It was now 5.30, I pressed on to Ullapool to find a room for the night. A couple of recommended B&B's were both full, so I cruised into the town keeping an eye out for "Vacancy" signs. As I came to the Royal Hotel, a bunch of bikers sat outside waved furiously at me, so I turned in and rode up to them, thinking it was someone off the site.
A barrage of questions followed, most I can't remember, but one was "Are you Charlie Boorman?", and another was "You'll be wanting a drink then?", all delivered in fairly broad Scottish. Realising that these were not Tossers, but friendly enough, I answered "Ewan" to the first, and "Stella" to the second. A pint was in my hand almost before my helmet was off, and so set the scene for the rest of the evening! The biggest Haddock and chips I have ever seen graced my plate from the pub in front of the ferry landing, and we sampled a couple of hostelries along Shore Street until 9.30 when I am not ashamed to say, I had to cry "enough!". Mindfull of the days riding ahead, it would not have been prudent to drink anymore. As it was, I woke up at 3.00am, lying on my bed still in my clothes!
After a little more sleep, I woke suprisingly refreshed, and after another huge breakfast packed the bike for the last time. Last nights revellers appeared just before I left so I was able to thank them again for their hospitality before I fuelled up and headed out. A disagreement with the Zumo saw me take a ten minute detour in the wrong direction, but soon I was back on the right track and the tourist route, signposted to John O'Groats, north through Unapool to Laxford Bridge.
These roads were outstanding! Very little traffic, spectacular scenery and lots and lots of curves! I was enjoying myself so much I almost forgot my caffine and nicotine addictions! (note I said "almost") This was as far north as I intended to go, so it was a trace of sadness that followed me as the legend "SE" appeared in the compass window and the ride became "the ride home". I cheered up when I realised that I still had a couple of hundred miles to go before I hit motorway though.
The A838 is a single track road upon which I saw no signs of life for miles. The scenery is dramatic, as you ride alongside yet another Loch, with nothing but the tarmac to remind you that civilisation is here somewhere. I should image that this would be seriously inhospitable in winter, but as I still had all the vents in my 'stitch open, I was pretty pleased with myself, just me the bike, and a fairly stiff breeze for company.
From Lairg, down to Bonar Bridge, across and then an almost missed turn right onto the B9176 and another splendid road, before stopping at the service area at the A9. Not the most welcoming of stops, but it fulfilled a need for both me, and the bike. A steady ride to Inverness, then let the Zumo guide me to the road that runs along the east shore of Loch Ness. Along here I managed to ignore the intended route, and followed the wrong road (A862 instead of A852) just after Dores, so I'm not sure whether I missed out on Nessie or not. I enjoyed the riding though! Rejoining the correct route, down towards Fort Augustus, I followed the narrowest single track road to date. No passing places, and hemmed in by trees, I began to doubt my trusty satnav, but a couple of minutes later it dropped me back on the main road again. Alongside the Caledonian Canal I had a couple of fast cars to play with for a while, until I peeled off at Fort William to take a look at the Lochy, and have a drink. It was now 2.30, and I really was heading for home. Taking the road past Glencoe and over Rannoch Moor I began to see more and more bikes, so eased back to the speed limit, remembering the warnings about cameras and unmarked cars. The skies were becoming overcast now, so the scenery, whilst still dramatic, was rather more subdued. At the "Green Welly Stop", I filled up both bike and rider just as the first spots of rain fell. Swapping my visor and closing the vents on the 'stitch for the first time since I left turned out to be an inspired move, as the rain increased in intensity to a steady downpour. Following a tourist coach was little fun, but I managed to slip past before the narrow roads alongside Loch Lomond. At Tarbet I can only assume that the traffic joining from the west caused the huge queue of cars crawling along all the way to the Erskine bridge. Sailing (literally) by them at a steady 20mph, I was joined by an ever lengthening line of bikes. The M8 through Glasgow marked the end of the best riding, and I promised myself a stop at the first services to have a coffee, put on another layer, and dig out my I-pod. Bothwell services duly appeared on the M74, and I sorted myself out. Caffine, nicotine, sweatshirt, ear plugs, tunes, all went in or on under the awning near the door. Fellow smokers comiserated with my apparent plight (wet lighter!), not realising the fun I was about to have! As I swung back onto the motorway, now awash, "Overkill" came thundering through the autocom. No worries.
One more stop at Carlisle at 7.30 for the last tankful of fuel, and a pint of milk for at home. A couple of miles of filtering through the bottleneck before the M61, then the rain finally stopped as I passed the quarry and onto what is my daily commute. A police car slotted in behind me on the A49 and tailed me for a few miles, at which point I remembered that as today was June 1st, my tax disc was now out of date! (My insurance renewal paperwork hadn't arrived when I set off, and I couldn't tax on-line, honest!) Thankfully, he turned off at Weaverham. The last few miles, someone told me, are the most dangerous of any journey. Happily, I remembered this and made sure I didn't relax, which probably saved me from becoming a bonnet mascot on a foolishly driven Landcruiser making a rash overtake on a bus straight at me. My lights not bright enough?
The bus driver was amused by my reaction, I didn't see the other drivers, I had my hands over my eyes!
At 9.30 the bike was in the garage, the kettle was on, and my gear hung up. A truly superb weekend! Why haven't I been to Scotland before? Fabulous place. I will be back.
Mark
Friday morning, and Mike was first away, taking the quickest route home, as he had a plane to catch.
The rest of us followed the road south to Loch Fyne, then along the shoreline through Inverary, and to the junction with the A82 at Tarbet towards the top of Loch Lomond. Here I said farewell, as they sped south for home, and I retraced my steps to Inverary for lunch. After a quick sandwich and a brew I took the A819 north on a whim, and rejoined the A85 to Connel and then north to the cafe opposite Stalker Castle and along Loch Linnhe. Crossing the bridge onto the A82 I caught the ferry at Corran then through Strontian, following a parcel delivery van who obviously knew the road very well!
A black cloud had hung onto the hills to my right, and a couple of spots hit my visor, but soon cleared. At Salen I took a minute to decide what to do. G.C's report of this route had suggested that the trip to Ardnamurchan Point would take an hour from here, and an hour back. It was now 4.00, and the last ferry from Mallaig was at 6.30. The weather was glorious, I had no fixed plan, only a brief outline, so I chose to visit the lighthouse and stay on the mainland tonight. Decision made, I enjoyed the fantastic single track road and its stunning scenery, treating myself to a coffee at the visitor centre before turning back the way I had come.
Back on the A861, then the A830, I arrived in Mallaig at 6.45 and did a couple of laps of the town before settling at The West Highland hotel for the night. The receptionist let me have a double room for the single rate, and after dumping my gear I enjoyed a couple of beers, sat on the steps overlooking the Sound of Sleat. Another superb meal, this time in the hotel restaurant, which was full of German tourists on a coach trip. Spent some time chatting to the tour guide and admiring the view with a couple more beers, which saw me ready for my bed. So shortly after watching the sun set over the tail end of Skye, and providing some nourishment for the midges, that's just what I did.
I woke to a bright but hazy morning and had a wander across to the quay where some fishing boats were being unloaded. The first ferry leaves at 08.10, but breakfast didn't start until 08.00 and I didn't want to miss that, so had a leisurely start. Boarding the ferry with a few other riders, we stood up on the passenger deck and chatted as Skye drew nearer. Cloud obscured the peaks and added a chill to the ride across to Broadford, where I stopped to fill up. Leaving the cluods behind I carried on, sailing blissfully past the turn off for the A863 which I intended to take. One swift u-turn later and I was back on track, watching the dramatic peaks recede in my mirrors as I headed for Dunvegan castle and my next coffee stop.
A couple on a heavily laden 600 envied my panniers, all their gear was piled high on a tiny rear rack! Had a quick look at Fairey Bridge, then on to the Stein Inn where I thought about stopping to soak in the view, but I still had a few miles to cover and the bike didn't want to stop. Realising that my original plan to circumnavigate Skye was a little too ambitious, I cut across to Portree, then retraced my route. The clouds had lifted now, and there were plenty of photo opportunities, none of which seem to have done justice to the views I was looking at!
Across the bridge, leaving Skye behind, then left in Kyle to follow the road through Drambuie and Durnish, with a diversion to Plockton for another coffee and some more photos.
Some more glorious single track road alongside Loch Carron, including a wrong turn that led me to someones boat house, and I joined the A890 heading for Applecross. Stopping briefly to fill up, I noticed a number of open sports cars parked up, some on trailers. I had gatecrashed a club day of some sort, as they were everywhere!
Thankfully I managed to avoid the majority of them and had a reasonable run up Bealach Na Ba, with just one moment going down the other side that tested the brakes and my sphincter muscles. A small yellow sports car swinging into a passing place on my side of the road, which I was aiming for to let him past! At the Applecross Arms I decided that I deserved a pint, whilst admiring a pair of Aston Martins, or more importantly their passengers! From Applecross I followed the coast road, unfortunately back into the mist which spoiled the views somewhat. A gaggle of sports bikes came up behind me, so I let them past, following at a safe distance as the last two were definately riding outside their limits. Back to normal roads, the mist cleared and once again I could admire the scenery, stopping at a viewpoint above Loch Torridon for a smoke and more pictures.
An old guy on a pushbike spotted my Maroc sticker and came over to chat. He was doing roughly the same route, but admitted to expecting to take a while longer. He had cycled around Morocco last year, hardcore or what? Riding on through the National Park area of Glen Torridon a Subaru stormed up behind me, so I pulled into a passing place. A little girl waved at me from the passenger seat, just before her Dad (I guess) bottomed out the suspension completely in a dip in the road sending sparks and stones flying everywhere. He didn't stop, so I can only assume that they are built to take such treatment? At Kinlochewe I turned left towards Gairloch. The first part of this road was empty and very enjoyable, but when it became single track there was a mini traffic jam caused by two camper vans travelling in convoy. They stopped off in Gairloch, and once again I had the road to myself. Through Poolewe, alongside Loch Ewe, then across to the imaginatively named First, and Second Coast, I came around a corner to the most beautiful view.
There was a layby, so others had thought the same, and I stopped and fired up my Jetboil for a brew and a smoke. The map told me this was Gruinard Bay, just before the village of Little Gruinard. An American couple stopped their hire car and asked me to take their picture, and had a brief chat about the bike. I followed the footpath away from the road for a short way to "water the plants", and saw a number of bouqets of flowers tied to the fence. All I can assume is that someone went over the cliff there, intentionally or not.
As It was now 5.30, I pressed on to Ullapool to find a room for the night. A couple of recommended B&B's were both full, so I cruised into the town keeping an eye out for "Vacancy" signs. As I came to the Royal Hotel, a bunch of bikers sat outside waved furiously at me, so I turned in and rode up to them, thinking it was someone off the site.
A barrage of questions followed, most I can't remember, but one was "Are you Charlie Boorman?", and another was "You'll be wanting a drink then?", all delivered in fairly broad Scottish. Realising that these were not Tossers, but friendly enough, I answered "Ewan" to the first, and "Stella" to the second. A pint was in my hand almost before my helmet was off, and so set the scene for the rest of the evening! The biggest Haddock and chips I have ever seen graced my plate from the pub in front of the ferry landing, and we sampled a couple of hostelries along Shore Street until 9.30 when I am not ashamed to say, I had to cry "enough!". Mindfull of the days riding ahead, it would not have been prudent to drink anymore. As it was, I woke up at 3.00am, lying on my bed still in my clothes!
After a little more sleep, I woke suprisingly refreshed, and after another huge breakfast packed the bike for the last time. Last nights revellers appeared just before I left so I was able to thank them again for their hospitality before I fuelled up and headed out. A disagreement with the Zumo saw me take a ten minute detour in the wrong direction, but soon I was back on the right track and the tourist route, signposted to John O'Groats, north through Unapool to Laxford Bridge.
These roads were outstanding! Very little traffic, spectacular scenery and lots and lots of curves! I was enjoying myself so much I almost forgot my caffine and nicotine addictions! (note I said "almost") This was as far north as I intended to go, so it was a trace of sadness that followed me as the legend "SE" appeared in the compass window and the ride became "the ride home". I cheered up when I realised that I still had a couple of hundred miles to go before I hit motorway though.
The A838 is a single track road upon which I saw no signs of life for miles. The scenery is dramatic, as you ride alongside yet another Loch, with nothing but the tarmac to remind you that civilisation is here somewhere. I should image that this would be seriously inhospitable in winter, but as I still had all the vents in my 'stitch open, I was pretty pleased with myself, just me the bike, and a fairly stiff breeze for company.
From Lairg, down to Bonar Bridge, across and then an almost missed turn right onto the B9176 and another splendid road, before stopping at the service area at the A9. Not the most welcoming of stops, but it fulfilled a need for both me, and the bike. A steady ride to Inverness, then let the Zumo guide me to the road that runs along the east shore of Loch Ness. Along here I managed to ignore the intended route, and followed the wrong road (A862 instead of A852) just after Dores, so I'm not sure whether I missed out on Nessie or not. I enjoyed the riding though! Rejoining the correct route, down towards Fort Augustus, I followed the narrowest single track road to date. No passing places, and hemmed in by trees, I began to doubt my trusty satnav, but a couple of minutes later it dropped me back on the main road again. Alongside the Caledonian Canal I had a couple of fast cars to play with for a while, until I peeled off at Fort William to take a look at the Lochy, and have a drink. It was now 2.30, and I really was heading for home. Taking the road past Glencoe and over Rannoch Moor I began to see more and more bikes, so eased back to the speed limit, remembering the warnings about cameras and unmarked cars. The skies were becoming overcast now, so the scenery, whilst still dramatic, was rather more subdued. At the "Green Welly Stop", I filled up both bike and rider just as the first spots of rain fell. Swapping my visor and closing the vents on the 'stitch for the first time since I left turned out to be an inspired move, as the rain increased in intensity to a steady downpour. Following a tourist coach was little fun, but I managed to slip past before the narrow roads alongside Loch Lomond. At Tarbet I can only assume that the traffic joining from the west caused the huge queue of cars crawling along all the way to the Erskine bridge. Sailing (literally) by them at a steady 20mph, I was joined by an ever lengthening line of bikes. The M8 through Glasgow marked the end of the best riding, and I promised myself a stop at the first services to have a coffee, put on another layer, and dig out my I-pod. Bothwell services duly appeared on the M74, and I sorted myself out. Caffine, nicotine, sweatshirt, ear plugs, tunes, all went in or on under the awning near the door. Fellow smokers comiserated with my apparent plight (wet lighter!), not realising the fun I was about to have! As I swung back onto the motorway, now awash, "Overkill" came thundering through the autocom. No worries.
One more stop at Carlisle at 7.30 for the last tankful of fuel, and a pint of milk for at home. A couple of miles of filtering through the bottleneck before the M61, then the rain finally stopped as I passed the quarry and onto what is my daily commute. A police car slotted in behind me on the A49 and tailed me for a few miles, at which point I remembered that as today was June 1st, my tax disc was now out of date! (My insurance renewal paperwork hadn't arrived when I set off, and I couldn't tax on-line, honest!) Thankfully, he turned off at Weaverham. The last few miles, someone told me, are the most dangerous of any journey. Happily, I remembered this and made sure I didn't relax, which probably saved me from becoming a bonnet mascot on a foolishly driven Landcruiser making a rash overtake on a bus straight at me. My lights not bright enough?
The bus driver was amused by my reaction, I didn't see the other drivers, I had my hands over my eyes!
At 9.30 the bike was in the garage, the kettle was on, and my gear hung up. A truly superb weekend! Why haven't I been to Scotland before? Fabulous place. I will be back.
Mark
