But there are more tales of delicious cakes on the horizon folks - this instalment is truly a journey centred around delectable baked goods...
We can start the cake journey in Lochranza itself. The distillery cafe has an excellent selection of baked goods, and I was most fortunate to have arrived when they had just finished dressing a rather large, Bruce Bogtrotter-esque chocolate fudge cake. Needless to say, I had two slices washed down with plenty of tea, and followed with it with a salmon salad, because of course, dessert should always come first!
Riding out of Lochranza was fairly simple, the ferry terminal was located approximately 200 metres from where I was staying. The ferry to Kintyre offered final glimpses of Arran, still very much emersed in mist, and the first views of the rolling hills of Kintyre. The occasional young gannet followed the boat, swooping low over the water, white feathers mingled with black.
It was a slow start on the other side of the water. My legs felt quite tired, which is always the case after a rest day for me, so I took my time, stretching them out and enjoying the views of the dark green hills, with small clusters of wind turbines dotted here and there on the horizon.
While munching on my sandwiches in a bus shelter in Kilmartin, enjoying the views and contemplating whether it would be so glutinous to also frequent the cafe adjoining the museum, a guide who was running an organised cycle group recommended I took the national cycle route through Kilchrenen by Loch Awe, as it's a far more scenic route and less stressful with the oncoming traffic heading for the ferries at Oban. It would be hilly at times, but worthwhile.
I took his advice, forwent the cafe, and turned off the main road. He was right: the route was lumpy in the extreme, and I cursed him a fair few times for sending me on such a daft hilly route when fully loaded with panniers, but it was well worth it. I climbed through great swathes of forest, some sections cleared with great timber stacks ready for shipping, and Loch Awe stretched out below. Some parts of the wood held the mist from the rainshowers, creating an almost ethereal lush green to cycle through. The root dived down through the woods, reaching a small collection of lodges and houses, and, most importantly, a cafe come shop come post office. I hunkered down for a brew and an excellent piece of rocky road.
The road ahead was much the same, and I reached Kilchronen in good time, so I paused at the local pub for wee bevvy before finding a camping spot for the night. I briefly considered asking at the pub for a place to stay, but I'm fairly sure it was well beyond my price range, besides the weather was good, and it was time to pull on the big girl pants and do a bit of wild camping.
Now although I have camped on a number of occasions, I have never actually wildcamped before, and was a not a little bit nervous about it. Somehow, I had managed to build it up in my head as a fairly big deal, so whilst being outwardly quite calm about the whole thing, I was actually feeling very apprehensive about it all. In my mind, I kept saying to myself that if I'd simply done it with a friend beforehand, then I wouldn't feel so nervous about it, but I had run out of time for a practice run.
I managed to find a spot with relative ease however, and rather dramatically dived off the deserted road. My stealth at hopping over a low mossy wall was hardly necessary, my proximity to a rather noisy river rendered my tiptoeing rather pointless, but I was still so nervous I couldn't think beyond trying to keep as quiet as possible. With Bella well hidden in some ferns, I dived into my tent to escape the cloud of midges that engulfed my head, and proceeded to massacre any and all that had dared to follow me inside.
Still feeling nervous and flinching at every sound that wasn't the river, it wasn't exactly a restful nights sleep, but it was better than nought. I donned my full midge-prevention kit - aka full waterproofs with overshoes, head net and gloves so the only exposed part of my body was my fingers, so I managed to pack up camp quite painlessly, and jaunted back to the road feeling tied but quite smug with success! I had done it at last! As ever, it was not as big a deal as I thought it would be, no one came along to tell me off, and Bella hadn't been stolen, so I was feeling pretty chipper, if hungry!
The final pedal to Oban was fairly slow, but on arrival I enjoyed a huge Scottish breakfast courtesy of the local Wetherspoons. Then it was a case of hopping on the next ferry to Mull! The boat took us out of the harbour, past Lismore and on to Craignure. There was no sun, but there was a tailwind, so I zoomed along the road towards colourful Tobermory, the theme tune for that popular children's show Balermory running through my head and keeping pace with each turn of the cranks as I climbed the hill past Salen.
I got to chat to a great pair of chaps in the Youth Hostel in Tobermory, both ex-teachers enjoying a short tour of Mull, Col and Tiree. They were big cyclists and travellers, one having cycled Alaska to Mexico and still dreamed of a world cycle tour, and the other having travelled through Europe in 1961, and was in Berlin two months before the wall was fully instigated. He told me of his travels between West and East, of bribing the police and armed guards with chocolate and cigarettes to make the customs process quicker, and of speaking to people who were desperately trying to escape but feared being shot in the attempt.
From here I enjoyed a short day trip out to Ardnamuchan. The roads were blissfully deserted, narrow and almost like mountainbike trails as I wound my way through the great volcanic rings to Sanna Bay. Sanna and Portuairk are tiny communities poised on the very edge of Britain's mainland, and the beaches there are beautifully sheltered, the water so clear and sands luminescent. I went for a gentle run along the trails that cut up and over the hill to Portuairk, then back along the beach to Sanna, whipping off my shoes and socks to run through the water towards the end.
As I returned to my bike, Willie came into my life. Willie is a 60-something plumber from Inverness, who drives a VW van named Sally. He came over, offered me some of his orange pepper (not a euphemism) and a ride back to the ferry in his camper. Of course I sad yes - I'd been admiring the van since I saw it and was thrilled to get to go for a wee drive in it! Willie had been to Sanna with his family ever since he was a boy, and still made the return journey every year. He knew so many people locally, including characters such as 'Nan the Man' so called for her sexual orientation and propensity to wear her deceased father's clothes, and her brother 'Iain the Fence', who, unsurprisingly, built fences for a living. And as we bumped along the road close to the ferry, we bumped into the legend that was Nan the Man herself, riding along the road on a lawnmower, torn and faded shirt flapping in the breeze.
Deposited at the ferry, he bid me farewell to go and get fed and enjoy a bottle of whisky with Nan the Man, revving the van back up the hill.
The remainder of this packed day involved pedalling over the north road of Mull towards Mull. The day had turned blissfully warm, so much so I whipped off my base layer and enjoyed the sun on my arms for a change, as I gently pedalled my way along the almost alpine-like roads to Calgary. Here, I camped at a popular 'wildcamp' spot, popular for the beautiful bay, and perhaps the permanently open public loo by the road side.
I wandered up and down the beach, through the water, even tempted to go in for a quick dip - it was a very close thing, the cozzie was on and I went in as far as my thighs, but chickened out at the last minute. After all, I had just eaten my tea!
I pedalled around the western road in Mull, then came across a road closure sign for heading south ast Ben More. My rumbling stomach told me that this would probably be a good moment to head back towards Salen and pick up some scran. This was a great decision: I halted when I saw a great pair of birds soar over the field to my left, and just managed to spot the two eagles disappearing behind a small rise - alas no photo, as there was no time to whip out the camera.
And from that point, the day got even better, because I frequented the Salan Coffee Pot Cafe. And it was here that I got to try a most glorious piece of cake I've had, and I'l go as far as saying it, in years. I was initially torn between the lemon drizzle and the sticky toffee cake, so naturally, I bought a slice of each.
The lemon drizzle was lovely, the drizzle helping to keep the sponge moist. However, the sticky toffee cake was out of this world. I don't know whether it was because it was fresh, or that I was hungry for something of that ilk, but that cake would have made Merry Berry weep with joy and bring out the hallowed Paul Hollywood handshake. The lightness of that sponge, so delicately balanced with the thin yet simple toffee topping with tiny chunks of toffee decorating the top. It was truly heaven. I savoured every mouthful. I have a number of friends who are excellent bakers, and I myself enjoy spending time baking, but I raise my hat to this talented baker - a truly marvellous slab of cake.
So my tales of Kintyre, Mull and Ardnamuchan are at an end. I may have missed the south of Mull, but I like to think that I have more left to explore,, and I have to say the experience has been most memorable. I have thoroughly enjoyed my short foray into the Inner Hebrides. But now, it is time to head beyond, out into the Atlantic, and onwards to the very edge of Europe. Onwards to Barra!
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