Day 5: fantastic finale

I discovered last night, for the first time on my journey, THE MIDGE. Relentless little beasts. They were nowhere to be seen during the day, but about 5pm one of their number obviously raised the proverbial flag and just like that, life became truly unpleasant. 

No choice then but to look for a bar. I found one a short walk from the campsite and enjoyed (non rehydrated) fish & chips. It had been my 4th helping of this particular menu item in less than a week. I think that’s ok isn’t it?? I kept my eyes peeled for the Northern Lights, alas too much cloud. 

Right, where was I? Glad I was 30km nearer the ferry port than I was supposed to be, is where I was. I knew when I planned the trip that I’d have an early start to catch the 10:30 ferry to Mallaig. If I caught the later one, I’d be racing to Fort William. 

Moving location meant that I likely had a 90 minute ride to Armadale as opposed to a 3 hour ride, so a “leisurely” 7am alarm. Ideal. 

I woke to dry skies and got on with the task of rehydrating some porridge. I made myself a mug of coffee then promptly kicked it over, so once again I made myself a mug of coffee. 

Packing my bags took on something of a final day rebellion; shoving anything anywhere and to hell with the consequences, far removed from my fastidious “everything in its place” which had been my mantra all week up to now. 

I set off at 8:30 as planned and headed south. After a couple of miles I turned off the A87 and took the road towards Loch Hourne and the south coast of Skye.

Before long, I saw a familiar tarmac strip to the right of the road. Was that another old road? If it was, would it be a proper path or would it degenerate into nothing as the faux A87 had done 2 days previously?

In for a penny, I took a gamble. It was the right decision. Old road followed new for around 5 miles, but even better, the old road was tucked down below the level of its younger sibling so was sheltered from the wind. Happy days. 

Eventually, old met new and I followed the shores of Loch Hourn towards the ferry at Armadale. The road undulated, fairly sharply at times, but nothing too troublesome. In any case, the views over to the West Highlands were enough to distract me from any discomfort. 

The ferry crossing to Mallaig was, as ever, straightforward, and I soon began the 70km leg to the finish line at Fort William.

The A87 was busy and fast, but soon appeared a turning for the scenic trail. I followed that. It was glorious. Quite lumpy, but super quiet and excellent scenery

All good things come to an end and the scenic route eventually turned back on to the A87. By now though, a cycle lane had been introduced. The road rose and fall, loosely following the uber scenic West Highland railway. With a slight tailwind pushing me along, I ploughed through the miles and stopped for a coffee and cake at the Glenfinnan station, just as the Jacobite steam train pulled in. 

Refreshed and refilled, I carried along for a few miles before turning off towards Camusnagaul. This would follow the south shore of Loch Eli back on single track roads and a world away from the A87 which hugged the north shore. 

There was only one slight risk to this plan - I was relying on there being a ferry at Casumagaul which would take me across to Fort William. On arrival, the signs were ominous. 

This was not like every other slipway I’d seen this week, and I’d seen a few. I decided to keep the faith and sat on the shores of the loch, looking over at Ben Nevis, or the bottom half of it at least. 

My piece was then shattered by the RAF.

Soon, calm and tranquility were restored as I waited in eternal hope for the ferry. I need not have worried. It arrived, bang on time, just like every other ferry I’ve caught on this trip. 

Whilst waiting for the ferry I’d been looking back on the last few days. The Hebrides had not been as I’d expected. I think I’d grown used to touring in warm climates where fine weather, sugar and civilisation were never far away. The Hebrides taught me that no matter how well you may plan these things, the weather and the weather alone will determine your fate. As for sugar, you need to plan in advance, sometimes by a day or more. 

I’d been looking forward to riding on Mull, as I had riding on Harris, particularly the Golden Road to Tarbert. In the end I did neither, and although I was initially disappointed, the roads I did ride were equivalent if not better than the experiences I may have had both on Mull and Harris. 

My first experience of wild camping was - indeed - wild. But despite the storm, I never felt unsafe. I never felt the need to lock my bike when I left it, as I habitually do in other countries. 

Some of the people I met, particularly in the Outer Hebrides, were genuinely lovely. From the farmer who tries to bolster his income through allowing the odd tent onto his land, but still chucking me a few quid to make sure I was able to be warm and comfortable, to the various cafe owners who were not only interested in where I’d come from and where I was going, but also that I was OK. The drivers coming towards me would stop at a passing place sometimes far in the distance and patiently wait for me to come through, offering a friendly wave as I did so. 

I have never seen so many honesty boxes as I did in the Outer Hebrides. It’s a principle which clearly works, and why shouldn’t it. 

Moving onto Skye, things changed a little. Faster and bigger roads, camper vans and commercialisation, and a feeling that remoteness was a little harder to find. That said, if you wanted to find it, it was there in spades. 

Before I left for the trip I joked that I was likely to return home wetter and wiser. Being wet is only ever temporary, but the wisdom I gained in this magnificent corner of the world will I hope stay with me forever. I’ve loved this trip and I hope to return some day. For now though, it’s the sleeper train home, together with the inevitable Edinburgh shuffle.