Day 47 Thurs 14 April:  Militarily speaking, things have changed a lot since my few years as an aircraft technician in the RAF. I had no idea how far-reaching  the privatisation of our armed forces had ‘progressed’. PFI in Education and Health has been openly controversial. But I’ve clearly been sticking my fingers in my ears and singing la-la-la whenever the defence budget has been debated. As warned by my knowledgeable flying bro Neil, there is currently a major NATO military exercise under way in the far north of Scotland, centred in this very region,  i.e. Cape Wrath, Durness and beyond. What I hadn’t realised was the way the British, U.S. and other participating NATO forces now set up camp on such important occasions. The local Bunkhouse and many of the B&B businesses had NO VACANCIES signs on display at this normally quiet time, because they had been block booked by the MOD for military personnel. Their driveways and car parks were full of shiny new privately hired, civilian registered 4×4 vehicles. This is supposed to be a MILITARY  exercise!  When I were a lad, it were canvas tents,  mess tins and  dried rations and we moved around in blue-grey or camouflaged three ton trucks. Apparently, B&B at the Wild Orchid Guest House and Hertz rental leather upholstered Chelsea Tractors is now the preferred, more economical strategy. So, before I lose too much sleep worrying about who is planning to invade us via the North Coast of Scotland and whether we really are prepared, let’s talk about something else, like daffodils.

Warning: Controversial national emblem observation: There appear to be more daffodils per garden and per meter of roadside verges in Scotland than in Wales.  If the flowering of daffodils is an indicator of the arrival of spring,  then I have  been travelling back in time. On leaving Bristol in late March,  many daffs were already past their best. When I reached Carlisle and then Dumfries & Galloway, the daffs there were a week or two behind but still quite vibrant. By the time I reached the north coast of Scotland I’d begun to notice unopened daffodil bulbs. The chill in the air confirms it. Winter is creeping back!

Meanwhile, what about Lifeboats? A quick glance at the Lifeboat map somewhere on this page should show how far apart Lochinver (the last RNLI Station visited) and Thurso (the next one to visit) really are. This must be the longest stretch of UK coast between Stations. At least three days cycling around this part of Scotland when the weather is fine. Today brought a great improvement,  with next to no wind. At a glance,  Durness to Bettyhill is no distance. Just 18 miles in a straight line. By road, it’s about three times that, up and over many more hills, down the west side of Loch Eriboll, up the east side, over A’Mhoine, down to Tongue, back up to Bettyhill.

 

 

Day 46  Weds 13 April:   Just two or three more days left with my support team (aka brother Phil). He’s abandoning me when we reach Thurso. Don’t worry about me Phil. The forecast for snow is probably an exaggeration anyway. I’ll have my solo storm tent and half a packet of fig rolls so I’ll be all right. You just go on home in your warm camper van.

Today we reached the north coast of Scotland! Nothing ahead of us except the cold, rolling North Atlantic. Behind us, all those mighty mountains and glens. Getting here today was not easy. The last 24 miles were frankly, not fun. The long haul from Rhiconich was not as steep as some recent ascents but the northeasterly wind increased with every northbound metre climbed. Worse than that, there was no let up at all along the ‘flat’ ridgeway, where a modest speed of 10mph could not be maintained without a great deal of hard work. Finally my most crushing moment was the realisation that, having started to descend towards the Kyle of Durness, the relief of free-wheeling was not happening. Having to push on the pedals to go downhill is just wrong.
And I thought yesterday was tough.
With the prospect of another good campsite for Phil,  this time with what looks like a view of one of his favourite Cornish beaches and a comfy bed of wild orchids for me,  I was easily persuaded to make Durness our base for tonight.
Short day,  short report.  I’ll try harder tomorrow.

Day 45  Tues 12 April:  Another day of statistics. One day’s food consumption: banana porridge, scrambled eggs, 2 slices of bread & butter, 2 fig rolls, Mars Bar, tea & 3 Garribaldi biscuits, more tea & choc Swiss roll, large bowl of pasta & meatballs, mini malt loaf, another Mars bar, more tea, crisps, large chicken rogan josh curry & rice, potato salad, 2 large beakers of red wine, 1 peach, many mini chocolate eggs, chai tea. + 500 ml of fresh water. That’s what it took to fuel up, regularly top up and then recover from today’s ride.
According to Garmin, that was 58.4 miles in 5 hrs 4mins of cycling. My slowest average speed, for two good reasons. First, this was my biggest climbing day so far, at 1,588 metres of ascent. Second, this was the hardest day so far in terms of head wind. The relentless northeasterly was at its keenest and meanest along the edge of Loch Assynt.
But what a day. No rain. Enough sunny spells to get those lochs, rivers and waterfalls sparkling. Mountain peaks so sharp, some still snow capped, looking as exaggerated and fictional as a child’s painting. It also dawned on me that those huge murals (or “our Murial” as Hilda Ogden proudly described hers) of a Scottish Highland scene on restaurant walls in the 1960s & ’70s were real photo prints.
Today’s thanks go to those very few motorists for their patience and courtesy on those slow, twisty climbs and white knuckle descents. I don’t mean most were not courteous. There were just very few of them around. Just two cars and one minibus on a 17mile scenic detour. Oh, and of course the occasional welcome sight of a strategically parked silver camper. Thanks Phil.
Also, many thanks to David Macaskill, the Cox’n/mech at Lochinver, for the guided tour of his immaculately maintained Severn class Lifeboat. It’s hard to say which moment gave Phil the biggest thrill today. Was it the Lifeboat tour or the RNLI Lochinver cap, which is probably still on his head as he sleeps?
Finally, watching the stunning sunset over the Minch whilst arguing over the precise species of silhouetted diving birds in front of us will be a brotherly moment to remember for ever.

Day 44,  Mon 11 April:  A non cycling day. Time for a brisk stroll before breakfast. What a difference a ray makes. Sunshine. It’s as if someone really has repainted the town overnight. Or at least the harbour. The morning sunlight on the blue, red and orange paintwork of the working boats and pleasure craft adds a bright freshness to the place. Even the streaks of rust on the well weathered, steel hulled boats have a warm glow.

But there’s still a chill in the air.  A small group of fishermen stand hunched, reflecting.  It’s just two days since the sad loss to this community’s small fishing fleet. The first working day since the realisation that the Louisa won’t be coming home,  nor three of her crew.
The orange & blue Stornoway Lifeboat, secured here at its mooring, is not the one called out by the Coastguard in the early hours of Saturday morning. Too far from Mingulay, where the Louisa suddenly took on water and sank. It was the much nearer Barra Island RNLI crew, visited by us just the day before, that responded to their bleeping pagers.
Two bodies were found and one man was rescued. Despite extensive searching by the Barra Lifeboat and Coastguard helicopter, one man remains missing.

After confirming with Martin John, the Stornoway Lifeboat mechanic,  today’s visit went ahead as planned. Yes, “life goes on”, but that must be very hard for some to swallow here in Stornoway for the time being. Again it was a privilege to meet three more RNLI crew members. Thank you Martin, Connel and D.I.

Time to leave the Western Isles. After our longest and last CalMac Ferry crossing, we are are now in Ullapool, back on the Northwest Scottish mainland, surrounded by snowcapped mountains. Some long, hard days in the saddle ahead.

Day 43: Sunday 10 April   Since arriving in the Western Isles, anyone who has questioned me about my route plans between the three well spaced All Weather Lifeboat Stations (Barra, Leverburgh and Stornoway) has initially given the same response. With a quizzical frown,  one eyebrow raised,  half a pace backwards and the sound of air being sucked through teeth (rather like Fraser’s catchphrase of impending doom in Dad’s Army), comes the exclamation “but…  you’ll have to climb the Clisham!”   When each of these helpful imparters of local knowledge are then asked to expand, this is where their descriptions of the Clisham begin to vary. From “quite short, but very steep”  to  “not too steep, but it goes on and on and. ..”    So, today’s the day to find out.

After the usual heavy breakfast,  a cautionary pause of half an hour to digest at least some of it,  some further jettisoning of unwanted weight (like that last piece of flapjack at the bottom of my snack bag, home made in Bristol a few weeks ago, sorry Claire but it’s getting a bit furry) and a nicely oiled chainset, off I go. I can now confirm that, if all the advice I had been given was combined it would be about right. Yes, it had a few nasty steep bits and yes,  it went on and on. But I did it. The first 7 miles were almost all uphill and restricted me to a low but respectable average of just 9mph. More disappointing was the realisation that the next 30 miles of gentle ups&downs was to be spoiled by an irritating NE head wind. However, there was one thrilling downhill half-miler where I just about managed to reach 40mph before a terrifying front wheel shimmy, combined with the bright red brake lights of the lorry I was catching up with, brought me back to my senses. The brakes still work well in dry conditions.

Lewis & Harris now done. After yesterday’s unbelievably beautiful beaches and rocky, rolling landscape of West Harris, today’s stark, mountainous start over North Harris (the Clisham peaks at 799 metres) was quite a contrast with the route through Lewis to Stornoway. This section was like a cooler, longer, lumpier, peaty version of Dartmoor, with extra helpings of mini lochs & tarns on the side.

Arriving in Stornoway was quite a shock.  Having grown used to long spells of isolation on narrow “main” roads with passing places for the occasional car or sheep, I’d quite forgotten about roundabouts, traffic lights, side streets and everything else associated with large towns. A bit of time to explore tomorrow, plus the planned visit to Stornoway Lifeboat Station. With the long ferry crossing back to the mainland in the afternoon, tomorrow is a non cycling day. I hope I remember how to walk.

Day 42: Sat 9 April   Just a brief report today.  Less than a day since visiting the Barra Lifeboat Station and wishing them well,  news of a very local tragedy is filtering through.  On arrival at Leverburgh earlier today we were told of the sad loss of life of some fishermen from these Hebridean islands. As I write,  the Barra Lifeboat is still involved in the search and rescue/recovery of missing fishermen, having been called out to search for a fishing vessel incident off Mingulay. It appears there may be family connections linking the fishermen and RNLI community.
This brings home sharply the reality of the hazardous coastline and the need for maintaining our Lifeboats.
Our thoughts are with the families and friends of those involved here in the Western Isles at this sad time.
Meanwhile,  thanks to Chris,  The Leverburgh Lifeboat Operations Manager, for today’s welcome as we arrived on the ferry from Berneray.

From Leverburgh, the well known scenic coast road around and over West Harris deserves a fuller report later. We’re now in another Tarbert, the one in Harris. On to Stornoway tomorrow.

Ù

Day 41: Fri 8 April   I thought I’d been doing quite well. But everything is relative…
Not long after we’d set up camp and eaten enough chicken korma for four, a young lady turned up (at this, possibly the most beatiful campsite…) on a very heavily laden bicycle and proceeded to unload and erect her tiny tent a foot away from the cliff, on the edge of the North Atlantic. Putting me firmly in the Softy Glamper set. How dare she? More seriously,  well done Susan! Now living & working in Inverness but originally hardy Cumbrian stock.
This morning, by the time I had read and partly understood the instructions for making my own OatSoSimple porridge substitute, our intrepid neighbour had already packed up camp and headed off. Either that, or a combination of coastal erosion and Atlantic rollers had taken her in the night. (Not really.  We saw her leaving. Good luck with the rest of your solo adventure and may the wind be on your back.)
At last,  another Lifeboat Station to visit today. Just a few miles along the bonnie Barra coast at Castlebay is the Island’s Severn Class All-Weather Lifeboat.
With such large areas to cover in these frequently stormy seas,  the Severn, being the largest and one of the fastest Lifeboats, is the norm for most of the remote RNLI Stations around the Highlands and Islands of North & West Scotland. Thanks to John (Cox’n), Eoin (LPO) for another cheery, warm RNLI welcome with coffee, photos and ceremonial chart signing. A privilege to meet you and find out a little more about a day in the life of a Lifeboat Station. Also good to make early contact with Dupre, relief mechanic from Kirkwall. Looking forward to seeing you again soon at your regular base on the Orkneys.
A few more miles to complete the circuit around Barra before catching up with Silver Camper Van Man for the return ferry to Eriskay, then back up through South Uist, Benbecula and North Uist.
The last few miles of cycling to complete the unbroken Northbound link from Lochmaddy took me over one more causeway and on to Berneray. By now the wind had increased and it was raining heavily.
Thanks to Carol in far away Cornwall, for finding us a b&b venue for tonight. Time to spread out, wash & dry off kit and allow someone else to cook and wash up after us.
This time we’re lodged in another fascinating place. The location was given as “the last house on the island, at the end of the the beach”. It is just that. The remote, dark old stone house did not, at first appear to be very welcoming in the increasingly bleak weather conditions. No response to Phil’s first tapping, then hammering on the door. No sign of life. So, back to our mobile refuge, where one of our two phones showed one bar of signal strength.  Enough to phone the owner’s number. Within seconds, a cheery chap appeared and greeted us. Once inside, our lovely hosts and their warm, cosy farmhouse, combined to create an atmosphere that contrasted perfectly with the first impression on approach.
The offer of a hot bath and an evening meal clinched the deal. It did not disappoint. A veritable feast. Thanks Shirley and Steve.

Day 40: Thurs 7 April   Heading south today.  Wind direction : Northerly! On my side once more.  What I mean to say is, on my back. That very welcome helping hand.
The thrill of cycling down through this new (to me) territory is enhanced by the rapid progress over the mostly flat terrain. About 45% Peaty, boggy land, 45% water and 10% rocky outcrops. On the Western edge, mile after mile of dunes, white sand and blue-green-white rolling surf. The only pain felt today was that which was communicated via the agonised expressions on the faces of a few fellow cyclists going the other way, into the strong, biting Northerly.
From our well appointed Balranald campsite in North Uist (many thanks to our host Ann for the immaculately maintained facilities on site), onto and off Benbecula via causeways with “Otters Crossing” warning signs, down through South Uist, and another long causeway onto the higher, rocky ground of Eriskey, the destination for today’s ferry crossing to Barra.
Way too far for another man made causeway. Almost 50 miles today over a good number of the north-south chain of Outer Hebridean islands.
Progress was so fast that we almost made it in time for the ferry before the one that was planned. But not quite, so a long wait on the small, quiet, beautifully proportioned Eriskay. Plenty of time to ponder over what it was that was missing on these islands. No trees! But none the less beautiful for their absence.
Another day without a Lifeboat visit but getting very near. Our stopping place for tonight is, according to my very wise, experienced camper brother, “possibly the most beautiful camp site setting in the World.”
I didn’t argue because,
a) he’s cooking a huge chicken korma and I’m very hungry
b) he’s bigger than me
c) this is possibly the most beautiful campsite setting in the World.
For those interested, it’s Borve Campsite, just 3 miles from Castlebay on the West side of Barra. Right on the edge. Atlantic rollers providing the perfect white noise background to muffle the stereophonic snoring of brothers. I only heard mono snoring. Don’t listen to what Phil says.
Many thanks to the Borve site owner, Donald, for giving us a free night on site with full use of all facilities.

Day 38: Weds 6 April.   No need to rush but no time to waste. Quick but fond farewells to Neil & Kate. Are those tears or raindrops? The ferry to Lochmaddy on North Uist doesn’t depart until 9.40 but we’re still in Portree and I have to cycle the 17 miles to Uig, North Skye. It’s raining and my fuel tank has been completely refilled with the usual heavy breakfast.  This time with fried Haggis instead of Stornoway black pudding. This, added to the gentle but long climb out of Portree, into wind and rain, makes the first few miles hard work. A glance at Garmin brings on mild panic. At this pace, Phil & the van may have to board without me. Even when on the ‘flat’, it’s hard to reach the usual 15mph. A few very heavy goods vehicles overtake, clearly on a mission to catch the same ferry. Instead of muttering the usual expletives I begin to realise the advantage of these great movers of air. Although a bit turbulent,  my pace quickens. The porridge is also kicking in. Instead of dead weight, it’s  becoming fuel. By the time the brow of the final climb is reached and Uig ferry terminal can be seen way below on the other side of the bay, Fondo & rider are accelerating through the 20s, then 30s. No need to brake, clear view around the bends. Pulled up alongside a slightly anxious brother with a few minutes to spare. Still unsure if we were going to squeeze on to this very heavily laden ferry, the calming, cheerful vehicle loader, CalMac Kenny eventually gave us the thumbs up. We’re on!  Just as well. Nothing against the good people of Uig but it would have been just a tad disappointing if we had been obliged to wait almost 10 hours for the late evening crossing.
A brisk headwind to greet me for the first cycle ride in these Western Isles.
A different landscape. Almost as much water as land. Having driven ahead to our planned rendezvous, Phil accompanied me for a while on the spare bike. He loved cycling a few miles north to meet me. Not so thrilled with the southbound return leg into wind. But he did it.
So here we are,  settled in to our cosy camper. The multi talented driver/chef is humming contentedly, chopping onions with one hand as he opens the wine and a jar of bockwurst with the other.
This is a very exposed part of the Outer Hebrides,  on the west coast of North Uist. A few yards away, over a low sand dune is a beautiful white sand beach. Then nothing but the North Atlantic for many hundreds of miles. To describe today’s weather, I’ll transcribe a bit of Phil’s phone call, eavesdropped earlier: ” ..The weather? Oh, it’s glorious.  Really sunny.  Hang on,  no. It’s raining now.  Blowing a gale. Just a minute,  no,  it’s fine again. ..”
No Lifeboat visited today. We are now well into the territory where, instead of counting how many Lifeboat Stations per day, it’s how many days between Lifeboat Stations.

Day 37: Tues 5 April   I’ve been looking forward to this day on Skye for some time. I had planned to follow the route advised by one of my cycling buddies who hails from this Isle, Danny Macaskill. He filmed it very professionally (you really must take a look at The Ridge ) but having thought long & hard about it, I decided it would be cheating to just go straight across the top.  This is, after all a Coastal Cycle Ride. I’ll be a man and go all the way around on the road. So I did. Well, as far as Portree today. The backdrop of the Cuillins, the most dramatic, rugged peaks in these isles, fair takes your breath away. As do some of the climbs hereabouts. The harbour mooring for the Portree Lifeboat has to be the best setting yet. Pictures to follow, eventually.

A big day in another sense today. It’s change over day for my support crew! Neil & Kate have now officially handed over the Camper keys to its rightful owner, brother Phil.

Thank you so much for the great job you’ve done. The shelter in the storm,  the hot soup lunch stops, the overnight accommodation, the top notch suppers, the many laughs …  A hard act to follow. If the first evening here together is anything to go by,  with after dinner home made Victoria sponge (thanks Carol) all the way from Cornwall, with Glenlivet chasers on a picnic table with the snow-topped Macaskill Cuillin Ridge backdrop, all bodes well. My young bro has just driven up from Cornwall, just 740 miles. The things we do for each other. I’ll buy him a beer one day.

Tomorrow,  over to the Western Isles.  Ferries permitting.