Isle of Skye: the poster Island

I always have mixed emotions coming towards the end of a cycle tour. Having settled into this rhythm of life, I crave more days to spend wending my way through this glorious landscape, more time to hop off the bike and hike through some of the mountain ranges I've only had time to admire from the road. I enjoy the now swift and slick process of assembling and dismantling my mobile home, embracing the bad weather days with a wry smile and simply being thankful that it's only raining and not a headwind. Appreciating those rare but wonderful days when the sun is shining and the wind is at my back.


Skye has been about slowing myself down, giving myself a bit of 'relaxation time' as I will be swiftly back to work when I return home.


I had a final Harris Gin in Tarbert, then set sail for Skye, crucially with an empty stomach! Fortunately, it was a 'successful' crossing, though I still picked up a few of the puke bags for good measure...can't be too careful, plus they make great rubbish bags for when I'm on the road.

Trying on all the tweed at the Harris Tweed shop!

Landing on Skye, the winds picked up to gale force for my first day, so cycling the Trotternish peninsula was certainly an interesting experience. Fine for heading north and west; with the wind at my back, I zipped up the hill out of Uig, and enjoyed the rollercoaster road that runs around the peninsula. The scenery is starkly different from the Outer Hebrides, with plenty of woodland, the grass so lush and green along the river valleys that were fed from the mountain springs. Tiny villages with whitewashed cottages were dotted throughout the landscape, some houses clinging to the shoreline, others taking some shelter in the hills.

But as soon as the road bent south, I was that wonderful acute angle to the wind, not quite on the nose, but the slightest cross-head wind that threatens to knock you off your bike with every break in the hills or turn in the road. I couldn't help laughing at some points, it being so strong that I was brought to a genuine standstill on a flat road...I'm a fairly strong cyclist, particularly after a few weeks of hard pedalling, so this was quite an experience, and I couldn't stop myself chuckling in mild shock!

Enjoying a picnic lunch...

...in a great wee bus shelter, complete with gate?!

With such gusts to contend with, I decided to be safe than sorry, and set up shelter in Staffin. This was such a test for my tent, the wind and rain howling all night, with the wall of one side so pressed in that I wished I'd found some rocks to help weigh down that side of my fly sheet. But it held fast, and I stayed dry and warm for another night.

Jogging along the beach at Staffin

Supper in the tent, the wind howling outside!

The Trotternish peninsula is a stunning place to see from the seat of a bicycle. With the wind dying down, I pedalled south and soon came across the inevitable hoards of cars parked at the side of the road: I had reached the Old Man of Storr. It's a walk I had been wanting to do, so I pulled on my trainers and joined the crowds of tourists stretching their legs up the steep incline.

Kilt Rock waterfall on route to Old Man of Storr

Busy path

Now, while I think it is great that so many people take the time to visit this beautiful landscape, I am sad to say that I have a problem with some of these tourists. I realise that a lot of this will sound hypocritical, being a tourist myself, and I also understand that I'm visiting one of the top tourist destinations. This walk is akin to tackling Arthur's Seat in Edinburgh (indeed, a great deal of the scenery in Skye has me reminiscing over that favourite city of mine, the horizon a constant string of Salisbury Crags). But it makes me sad when people lament the mud on their pristine white fashion sneakers or suede ankle boots that they have worn to tiptoe up the not easy incline, and then halted at the end of the well gravelled path.

When the sign at the road says that the route requires appropriate footwear and clothing, read it and take heed! We are in Scotland, not the Mediterranean, so don't expect the route to be mud-free!! And furthermore, don't berate me for splashing through the puddles and squishing through the mud - if you are foolish enough to wear designer clothing on a Scottish hillside then expect some dirt and rain to embed into the white denim.

So needless to say, I was glad to reach the higher ground and take a quieter route up to the Old Man, and to sit leaning against that great pillar, watching the terror of people searching fruitlessly for cover because the rain clouds decided they could wait no longer...I wondered if he was chuckling quietly with me...

Me and the Old Man

I realise that this all sounds like a rant, but for me the attractiveness in visiting somewhere like Scotland is that it is a beautiful and rugged landscape, which, in some parts, has that allure of inaccessibility. If you want to see these wild and secluded places, to experience them firsthand in all their untamed glory, then there needs to be a level of effort and respect for the environment in which you venture, and sadly, I think there is a lack of understanding and appreciation in this instance.

I think I prefer it at this distance...

Portree was a shock to the system. After the peace and quiet of the tourist centres of the Outer Hebrides, this small seaside town felt full to bursting with tourists, that inconveniently kept stepping off the road into my path without looking...so after a quick lunch I made for the relative quiet of the smaller A roads, heading back out west towards Dunvegan, where I thought I may do a little touristing myself and visit the castle I saw advertised.

Portree

However not long before entering the village I was another sign for Skye's Oldest Bakery and Cafe. Naturally, I needed to get my priorities right and made a detour for the bakery. They had not opened when I arrived, but as soon as the shutters were drawn people appeared out of nowhere, forming a veritable scrum at the door. I had not realised quite how popular it was, amongst both locals and tourists alike, all clamouring for the bread, scones, cakes, shortbread and pies. I stopped in for breakfast which included a freshly baked roll still warm from the oven, followed by cake, of course! It was another top cake moment for me, a superbly moist deep tray bake slab of chocolate cake, topped with a thick layer of fudgy icing and crumbled flake. I was sorely tempted and just managed to resist buying an entire tray and strapping it to the top of my panniers!

Quality cake!!

On route south, I made a detour off the main road to Carbost, to visit the Talisker distillery...the whisky tasting made for an interesting onward pedal down to the beach at Glenbrittle, but the dip in the sea at the Black Sands beach quickly sobered me up!

The impending Cuillins

Mmmm let the tasting begin!

Yep...the only person sane enough to go for a dip

Is it a seal??....nope tis moi!

An initial trip to Skye would not be complete without a visit to the Fairy Pools, so I cycled slowly back up the road the next day. The pools form a great zigzagging scar in the mountainside, with water cascading down the steep valley. The weather being mizzly kept the less hardy tourists away, and a few hardier than myself took to the water, splashing into the deep pools - had I known you could plunge pool in the water I would have brought my own swimmers! Next time...

My final night before returning to the mainland, I stopped at the eco-campsite at Armadale, which had the best paid for pitches of my trip: mine overlooked a bay through a window of trees, where I could watch seals playing in the water whilst I ate my dinner, the sun slowly sinking behind the hills.

Overlooking Raasay

On route to Armadale

My view over the bay for the evening

Cheeky seals playing in the water...alas this was the best picture I have!

So I am come to the end of my journey on Skye. I think as a cyclist, it is perhaps not the best of places to visit at this time of year, particularly after the peace of the Outer Hebrides. I have still enjoyed my time here, it has been eyeopening with it's dramatic mountainous landscape, and like with everywhere I have visited so far on this trip, I hope to return to scrape beneath the surface that little bit deeper.


But for now, onwards to more exciting cycling and baked goods, courtesy of the mainland!!

The Outer Hebrides

After stocking up on supplies in Oban, I hopped on the ferry to Barra, joining what appeared to be an entire convention of touring cyclists at the Terminal. Weary cyclists disembarked the ferry, rather oddly having chosen to cycle the Hebridean Way from Top to Toe, which although sounding rather lovely, is into the prevailing winds...surely as a cyclist you research your prevailing wind direction prior to choosing your general direction of travel?! (I realise I made this mistake with Canada, but only in my inability to remember El Nino, despite years of geography and climate lessons...)

Now I've previously thought of myself as a strong sailor. I've never experienced issues with sea sickness in the past, and so thoroughly gorged myself on pancakes and mussels before the crossing, plus purchasing and consuming all of my ferry snacks within about one hour of boarding.

I clearly have not experienced anything other than smooth crossings before now.

As soon as we were beyond Mull, the open Atlantic began to rock and roll more fervently than a local shindig with a plentiful supply of homebrew. Needless to say, my stomach began to churn. It's a fairly long crossing by my standards - five and a half hours from Oban to Barra - and the minutes crawled by, until one particular lurch had me rapidly bringing up my entire breakfast, lunch and snacks in one fell swoop. There had been no time to make a heroic dash for the bathroom, and alas, I became that person who chunders on the carpet, in the middle of the cafeteria.

The staff, rather understandably, banished me to the outside seating for the remainder of the trip with several puke bags should I have any further moments of weakness. I sat shivering on the top deck, pale and clammy, not particularly enjoying the blank canvas of a view that the back of the boat afforded - a slight variation in blue the only hint of differentiation between sea and sky.

It was quite a surprise to see a great lump of mossy rock appear on my left, and I swivelled to see a number of small islands rising out of the mist, my first views of the Outer Hebrides.

Not exactly arriving full of beans, I returned to my bike and got chatting to a fellow cyclist, Heather. We ended up teaming up for a night of wildcamping, and made our way out of Castlebay, over the causeway and onto Vatersay, the island at the very bottom of the archipelago that is reachable by bicycle.

We scouted out a small deserted beach on the Uidh peninsula, and talked over dinner about our various motives for our trips. Heather is returning to New Zealand after twelve years of living all over Scotland, including two years out on Lewis, and this bike trip is a final tribute to a country she loves, and a way for her to see friends for the last time before she moves back. I was sad to see her pedal off the next morning, I feel privileged to have met such an adventurous and caring individual.

However I quickly managed to find her further along the road - she had managed to pick up a dog in her attempts to leave Vatersay, and so I helped herd the hound in the direction of the police station. She had managed to ask a passing driver who they thought the owner might be, and when we told the police officer that it could belong to a Donald Macclean, he laughed and said there many many Donald Maccleans on Barra and Vatersay alone! Nevertheless, after a few calls to the most likely Donalds, the owner was found! The dog was placed under arrest in the one cell, and the officer bid us farewell.

It seems that I have made it my subconscious mission to find and experience the worst British weather in the entire UK this June: while the rest of the country was enjoying a heat wave, I was coming up with a number of ways to escape the windy, rainy weather in Castlebay, giving my body a break from cycling. The local Community Shop housed me for a number of hours, where I kept continually topping myself up with tea and hot chocolate, and chatting to the owner Ruth.

But really, when the weather's a bit miserable, I resorted to getting even more soggy - I went surfing for the afternoon with the guys who run the local hostel. I have never surfed before (at least not to my memory!) so Ben showed me the basics before letting me loose to make a complete fool of myself on the thankfully deserted beach back out on Vatersay. And I had a brilliant time, falling over more times than I can count, bobbing along in the waves, waiting for a good one to come by. And, incredibly, I managed to stand up three times, the final one apparently being 'a solid stable stand'! I was beyond chuffed!! Leaving the water, thinking I looked like a sunkissed windswept beach goddess meets surfing badass, I managed to trip over the cable attaching me to the surfboard, and flobbered my way out of the water more akin to a seal in my full length wetsuit, booties and cap. Ignoring this slight mishap and fashion faux pas,  I returned to the hostel to shower, elated at my speedy progress.

Well earned dinner

Making the most of the prevailing winds, I set off early on the Sunday thinking it would make sense to get a healthy chunk of riding done. However before I caught the ferry, I made a slight detour (about two turns of the road detour) to have a quick gander at the airport. I ate my breakfast sat at a bench that overlooked the vast swathe of sand, still glistening from the receding tide, the hangar just visible at the far end of the beach.

Overlooking Barra Airport

A short ferry crossing took me to Eriskay, and the pedalling began for the day. My time on this tiny island was fleeting - it was  maximum one mile from the ferry terminal to the causeway to South Uist. Crossing the causeway, I glanced over my shoulder, Eriskay already becoming indistinct with each turn of the pedals, the small village a blur of houses being lost in the hills.

Ferry at Eriskay terminal

I made my cultural stop of the day at the small Kildonan museum...mainly because it had an open cafe too, but the museum was actually very interesting, with plenty on the history and traditions of the Uist islands.

Powering through the islands of South Uist, Benbecula and North Uist, I marvelled at the open landscape, peaty and moorlike, bleak in some respects, but I found its wild and raw landscape a thing of beauty that I was in continual awe of.

One of the most remote postboxes I could find

I reached Berneray after a fairly long day out riding - the wind was just starting to die down. It was well worth the pedal though, I found a great spot for camping overlooking one of the beaches here. After setting up and doing my usual 'feet in water' session, I was just looking to start cooking some tea, when I heard the toot of a car horn, and the cry "home-baked goods for sale"! Home-baked goods and not a child-catcher look-a-like from Chitty Chitty Bang Bang?!?! Cake Man, as he shall forever now be known to me, pulled up right by my tent, opened the back of the van, and sold an excellent selection of cakes and scones for a pittance. I bought a variety (naturally) and enjoyed every crumb as much as I enjoyed the peace of the deserted beach.

Dinner with a view

Offerings from Cake Man!

Venturing onto Harris, the clouds finally broke and I had the first of two full sunshine days - no waterproofs required, and suncream at the ready! I spent a lazy day peddling through South (or West as the signs said) Harris, the landscape so very different from that I'd left behind: hillier roads, with a more rugged mountainous backdrop in place of rolling hills, fewer peatscapes but more open beaches stretching for what felt like miles. I spent a memorable few hours on the beach at Luskentyre, strolling through the balmy water, and although the wind was up, the sun was working hard to give us all a bit of that much needed Vitamin D.

The stripes are back, despite the variable weather!!

The hills grew as I headed north through Harris, with a particularly spectacular climb and descent to reach Lewis, the hard work well worth the sweeping arcs down to Bow Glass and Scaladale.

The transition from Harris to Lewis was distinct, despite them being part of the same landmass. The first distinction was a return to more peaty landscapes of the south, though the mountainous affinity with Harris persisted. There was also a woodland area almost directly after the border, which made it feel very separate to the more open lands of Harris.

Roads dipping and diving, the road turned westward. I paused to see the Callanish Standing Stones, delicate yet very powerful. Though, as anticipated, the pagans were moving in for the impending Summer Solstice.

I hadn't realised how well I'd timed my ride, but it seems that I made it to the Butt of Lewis on the longest day of the year! The final pedal was hard going, the wind having changed direction so whichever way I cycled it was a cross/headwind. Reaching Port Nis, I realised that I'd actually bypassed the lighthouse, so I pedalled my way around and along a long track to the Lighthouse, and the official end of the Hebridean Way. There were a few Frenchmen there who chatted to me briefly about my cycle, then they left. It was just me and my bike, at the end of the line, facing the open Atlantic. I did not feel that same rush of adrenaline from completing my ride, partly because it is not the end of my Scottish journey, but rather a wonderful feeling of calm that comes from achieving a cycling milestone. My legs were tired, but I was satisfied.

Turning back to head to Stornoway. the wind was that wonderful type of crosswind that is at the slightest angle off the nose, thereby meaning you're continually leaning into it and thinking that you may have a break at some turn in the road, but it just becomes that little bit worse instead. So I did what every cyclist should do in this situation. Find a cafe and enjoy the goods they provide; in this case, a top notch slab of quiche followed by quality victoria sponge, a great celebration cake befitting the completion of the Way.

Now, it's just a simple case of making my return journey, via Skye. I still have just over a week remaining before my train, so I have zoomed my way back to Tarbert to enjoy some celebratory Gin courtesy of the Harris Gin distillery, and awaiting the Ferry: Here's to many more miles of the open road - Cheers!