DAY 16 - Ardrishaig to Craignure (Isle of Mull)

Refreshed from the hospitality of the Grey Gull we continue on past Lochgilphead on the A816 and into the most beautiful verdant valley of Kilmartin Glen. We pass the historic site of Dunchraigaig - a collection of 4-5000 years old ancient monuments and then on up the hill to Kilmartin where we have a quick coffee break at the museum.

After heading inland we again join the coast overlooking Ardfern at the top of Craignish – yachts moored safely out of the white capped waves that are whipping up the loch. We make a brief stop to take in the view from Arduaine gardens overlooking Lock Melford and then on to Kilmelford for a steaming cup of leek & potato soup at the Cuilfail Hotel, in front of a roaring fire.
The remainder of the ride to Oban is in heavy showers. However, encouraged by a break in the clouds  we decide to divert our route via the western Isles to Skye and take the 5:30pm ferry to the Isle of Mull. When would we get another opportunity?


On board Simon is in heaven. He has at last found someone to talk to intelligently about two of his passions – birds and football. For me the light was spectacular for photography. Miraculously my camera starts working again properly after the shutter had seized up when I fell off the dry wall back before New Cumnock.

.  We had checked  with the tourist office on what limited accommodation there was on offer in Craignure while waiting for the ferry and decide to secure a room at the more upmarket Isle of Mull Hotel. Way more than our usual and rather full of stuffy older people too smartly and comfortably dressed for our liking.  We decide to bike back to the ferry where we have an excellent meal at the Craignure Inn and discover we could have stayed there. We meet Jonathan & Tracy a lovely couple on holiday from Dewsbury near Leeds. They generously donate £10 to our charities

Simon Sez,

A better day although sill plenty of showers, some heavy. A beautiful ride up the west coast to Oban. The west coast and the western isles are so wild, rugged and beautiful.

By the time we get to Oban we had more or less decided to go further off piste and go via the Western Isle route up to Skye & the Wester Ross rather than the more conventional route  via Fort William & Loch Ness.  We were sucked in by the sheer romanticism of the Western Isles and rather ignored the “Amber Alert” forecast given.  We made the fateful decision to take this route. We went to Tescos and stocked up on energy bars.

On the ferry from Oban to Mull we drank a pint of bitter forsaking the £3 offer for a double Black Bottle (Islay malt blend).  Sometimes we make very bad decisions.

We meet an incredible man from Lancashire, Gary Jenkins. He is a seriously mad “twitcher” and bird photographer who is going to Iona to photograph corncrakes and then to somewhere else to photograph White Tailed Sea Eagles. He was also a fanatical Burnley FC supporter claiming to have missed only 6 games in 24 years. I had as a boy been to Turf Moor, home of Burnley FC  several times and had watched the great Burnley and Northern Ireland player, Jimmy McIlroy score a goal there from a corner (c.1958) I mention this to Gary who said “Jimmy’s still a God in Burnley” We watched gannets soaring and diving through his fantastic £1800 Swarovski binoculars and he told us about the amazing birds he had photographed ( 3 in this month’s Birdwatching magazine to which I happen to subscribe).

As we approach Craignure on Mull he mentions that there are usually Black Guillemots to be seen in the harbour. In the harbour there only two birds to be seen on the water, a pair of Black Guillemots, bobbing up and down. Rare birds that I have never seen before. Very beautiful – black as the night with large round pure white wing patches. Very exciting.

Into Craignure we book into the more upmarket Isle of Mull Hotel & Spa. It is raining hard. We eat at the Craignure Inn where we drink some excellent Highlander bitter – 4.8% ale with a real bite


I could murder a cigar

DAY 15 - Lochranza to Ardrishaig

Simon Sez,

It was raining when we took the little ferry to Claonig.

On the ferry there was a young Dutchman with a bike. It had 2 large rear panniers and 2 front panniers, one on each side of the front wheel; a front top bag on the handle bars and a tent perched on top between the rear panniers.  He was cycling all over Europe. He stood on deck in the teeth of the gale with a permanent smile. John & I agreed his smile had been stitched on. It was the sort of smile, slightly superior, that one longed to erase.

Claonig. I search in vain for any sign of habitation. There is nothing. Not even a hutlet. Just a concrete jetty and an upright structure masquerading as a post.

Out of Claonig up the rather brutal hill in the rain over the peninsula of Kintyre to beautiful Tarbert. On the way up the hill (about 2 miles) the smiling Dutchman overtakes John & I with effortless ease. The bastard!

Tarbert was glorious but wet. Up Loch Fyne to Lochgilphead. In the Argyll Arms for lunch we were very bedraggled indeed. I purchase a waterproof “Mac in a Sac” which fits over my cycling jacket. Dry at last.

We find a marvellous place to hole up for the day – The Grey Gull Hotel in Ardrishaig. It meant cycling back down Loch Gilp for 2 miles in driving rain. We arrived totally ruined and were greeted by a friendly kiwi proprietress, age 67 and her husband. The chef kindly gives us mugs of hot soup. It was an excellent place to while away a wet afternoon. I had a hot bath and then lay in bed watching the races from sunny Goodwood, York and Haydock Park.  John slept.

We were revived.  The afternoon was greyer than a greyhound, greyer than a battleship. The rain was relentless but the hotel was warm and comfortable.

An excellent supper in the hotel restaurant. We drank some indifferent bitter but washed it down with the excellent Bruichladdich

I could murder a cigar

DAY 14 - New Cumnock to Lochranza

Simon Sez

By this time Humph is much fitter than an alley rat. He is still in open toed sandals but the hush puppies have dried out. We charge to Kilmarnock, fast main road. We refuel. I buy an enormous map of Scotland, bigger than a double bed.

We missed the 12:30 ferry  to Ardrossan to go Arran by some 20 minutes which gives us time for a decent lunch with Humph before we part company. We appear to have gate crashed a Ladies-Who-Lunch club – there are about 40 women in various groups eating, gossiping and guzzling white wine and 3 wild and ragged male cyclists in shorts.

Humph catches the train from Ardossan to Hull via Glasgow with a minute to spare and we take the ferry to Arran armed with the remains of the Bruichladdich.

I thought I knew something about hills until I got to Arran! But what a beautiful island. Huge  mountains rise straight out of the sea. We cycle alongside the seashore towards Lochranza in the sun.  We see a pair of red-breasted mergansers in the sea and hear a cuckoo loud and clear. Amazing that a cuckoo flies each year from Africa to Arran. Then the hill – “The Boguillie”. My former partner Nina Wilson whose parents have a house on Arran had mentioned the hill to me. She is not one to given to exaggeration. She said there was “quite a hill” before Lochranza. Quite a hill! The understatement of the last 10 years!  What a bugger! It went on and on and up and up into the mountains and got steeper and steeper. I couldn’t believe it. John just pressed a little harder on the pedals. I collapsed.

The ride down to Lochranza was fantastic. We stay at the 5 star Youth Hostel. Spotless. We share a room with 4 strange men – double bunks. I only ever saw one of them. We eat at the wonderful Lochranza Hotel overlooking a loch and drank several pints of Deuchars. What a beautiful place is Lochranza. As wild and as romantic as its name. An enormous rainbow seats itself on the hill on the far side of the loch from the hotel.

We get back to the hostel late. Our room is in darkness and the 4 strange men are asleep in their bunks. John crashes around and I put the light on. We go to bed no doubt roundly cursed by the 4 strange men who had inevitably woken. John said I snored. I didn’t but I heard him snore.

In the morning we were up early and left the 4 strange men in bed.

I could murder a cigar

Footnote.  We have now travelled over 700 miles in two weeks. But Scotland is a big place with monstrous hills and monstrous rain.

Day 13 - Annan to New Cumnock

Black Thursday.  For me that is.  We invite our landlord Steve, who has been very helpful, to be in a photo with us in front of our B&B. As I wheel my bike from the back I see the front wheel is completely flat. We return to the garden and I replace it with a new inner tube. After the photo I am about to mount and see that the back tire is also flat. So, the only option is to replace it with the tire I had just changed for the front. Amazingly it holds the air. We can only assume that someone had let out the valves on both tires in the short time they were out of the shed while we packed. Too coincidental. “It must have been that fat bloke we saw loitering in the back garden”, helpfully suggests Simon. By this time our early start has been squandered. It is already approaching 10am

We continue to Dumfries. As a precaution I get a new tube fitted on the rear wheel and we coffee at a Costa in a lovely square. The sun comes out. Humphrey generously buys a bottle of Bruichladdich for the trip and equally kindly carries it in his capacious panniers. Things are looking up!

We divert from our route and take the northern A road towards  Kilmarnock. Good advice from Steve at breakfast. Although quite busy it enables us to catch up for lost time. There are still hills but they are rounded, not steep. They are vivid green and dotted with sheep and gorse of the freshest yellow.  I go to the top of a rise ahead of S&H to take a photo. As I stand on a dry stone wall to get a better perspective for the shot, it collapses. I fall headlong into a ditch, narrowly missing the barbed wire fence but catching my face on the posts. Our First Aid kit gets its first airing and the plasters stem the blood coming from nose and cheek.

As we approach New Cumnock I sense that my rear tire has deflated. We limp another ¼ mile to a rather expensive and pretentious lodge on a golf course that specialises in weddings. We get a separate cottage so we can stow the bikes. While the others bath & shower  I replace the rear tube with the new spare I had bought in Dumfries.  It is starting to rain again. Never has a Bruichladdich tasted so good at the end of a long & frustrating day.  However, we have completed 58 miles in fairly difficult conditions and still a head wind.  Who said it was easier going from South to North?

Simon Sez

A day of troubles for John & his bike.

I have no memory of Dumfries save that Humph bought a bottle of our favourite Islay malt, the Bruichladdich. We then went north off piste. We had tea in a fish & chip shop opposite an undertakers. The proprietress used to be a solicitor's clerk and couldn’t understand let alone explain why she was now working in fish ‘n chips. Humph begins to resemble a meat pie. Everywhere we stop he is on the hunt for meat pies, hot or cold.

I could murder a cigar

DAY 12 Tebay to Annan

This  has been our longest day and we complete 61.8 miles. The rain has eased somewhat and we have pleasureable ride  up the Eden Valley through Penrith, Carlisle and on towards the Scottish border. Fields of neatly planted corn form a frame for our view of the hills beyond.

We are flanked on either side by the Cumbrian Hills and, in the distance, the Lake District. In Penrith we find a bike shop to look at a squeak that has developed on Humprey's bike. I buy some spare brake pads and we have lunch in a pub. Simon spies a book in their library on  travels to a Tibetan Kingdom. Amazingly it is inscribed as being owned by one Norman & Christel Marsh, friends of their parents from the 1930's. Humphrey donates £2 to keep the book. He appears to have an amazing capacity in his panniers!

We stop for some food in Carlisle and Humprhey shows us around the Cathedral and Castle and I book a B&B on my iphone in Annan, just west of Gretna, so we have an end in sight to a long day.  We continue up to Longtown and the weather threatens again. Turning west towards Gretna we are met with a fierce north westerly that is now head on. The last 10 miles we could barely manage 7mph and we arrive in Annan at 7pm exhausted.  But, we have crossed the border into Scotland,  and have now covered over 600 miles.

We eat at the Del Amitri restaurant - about the only place open at 9pm. The best meal so far with a very eclectic menu. Our hostess gives us each a "Fallachan" - a liqueur made from goats cheese originally introduced by the vikings and now resurrected by a local Lanarkshire farmer from Walston.  His cheeses were excellent.  We cap off a great day's ride with a malt in the The Blue Bell pub dated 1770.

Footnote:  I am updating this from Ardrishaig just south of Oban on Loch Gilp. It is Sunday 22nd and we have now completed 730 miles coming across to the Isle of Arran on Friday night.  We have holed up in the Grey Gull Inn to escape a storm. This morning has cleared (somewhat) ...we will press on to Oban and then decide whether we take an alternative route via the Isle of Skye or the more busy one up via Loch Ness to Inverness.  Do not know when we might get internet coverage...this may be the last post for  awhile. This is a big country.

Lets hope there is a sliver lining to all the clouds.......!

DAY 11 - Slaidburn to Tebay

This has been a tough day and we only manage some 43.2 miles. The combination of wind and rain have continued to be challenging. However we have had some bright spots and parts of the scenery have been stunning as we leave Slaidburn. Vast valleys and streams in the mist, the hills dotted with sheep and tussock.

At Kirkby Lonsdale the rain stops. Two wonderful old bridges across the river Lune greet us as we buy hot coffee from a roadside café. 

A local points out a stone plinth with a hollowed out top and explains there was a leper colony on one side of the bridge and this was used for placing money and food for lepers on that side of the river to collect. It now appears to function alternatively as an ashtray or a bird bath.

Further up the Lune we come across a fly fisherman beneath another stunningly beautiful old bridge on a bend in the river.  After the Howgill forrest  and heading for the village of Orton we are flagging. We decide to stay the night at the next available place which is the Cross Keys at Tebay.  Rather unhelpful and surly staff, but the beer is good and we can bring our bikes inside. After a meal we retire early. I get my own room.

Simon Sez

It rains. This cycling business is becoming gruesome. It’s the rain and the hills. Lancashire and Cumbria appear Godforsaken.
 

By this time Humphrey is cycling in open-toed sandals – the "Open-Toed Cyclist". He is fitter than an alley rat. He and John tend to compete for the lead. I am usually to be found at a discreet distance behind but I have to admit the distance behind appears to increase each day.

Have lost count of the pubs and beers we have sampled. Things are becoming rather hazy & confused. One rainy day leads to another.

I could murder a cigar

DAY 10 - Leigh to Slaidburn

Wet again.  Big breakfast to cope with the day ahead. Bridget makes extra sandwiches from the abundance of bacon on the servery (which we have two day later  - a welcome snack in more rain).  Simon is in a real state. He has temporarily lost his goggles and his odometer, not to mention his mind.  Like the travelling rugby and cricketing teams, having ones wife join the team mid tour is an apparent mistake. It addles the mind and weakens the resolve.  However, it is lovely to have her support and encouragement and we are thankful she has kindly offered to take our panniers ahead of us to Blackburn. We get a text from Simon’s brother Humphrey who is to join us via train from Hull. The rendezvous is Blackburn train station, around 12:30. We negotiate our way through Leigh in rush hour traffic and head north through Westhoughton. Heavy rain is falling and the temperature has plummeted as we pass Lostock Junction railway station and find a welcome minor road right just north of Belmont to the left of Darwen Moor. We cross the M65 and are now soaked to the skin – Simon’s lightweight yellow jacket acting as a giant sponge.  We eventually reach the top of a hill and see Blackburn and it is thankfully a downhill run to the train station.

Bridget is in the station cafe. Warm and reading the papers. We grab a welcome cup of coffee and shortly are joined by Humphrey.  Fresh legs, fluorescent yellow jacket, bright red helmet and suede Hush Puppies He looks far too fit for our liking and had got off a few stops earlier at Accrington  and biked some 10 miles to get some practice in.

We lunch at Morrisons where Bridget has parked the car and Simon goes in search of a warmer jacket – a black hoodie for a tenner. We think he might get arrested or at least picked up an ASBO for looking particularly dodgy..

Our onward ride continues wet but we have a new recruit to keep us focused and positive. The hills get bigger. We had been advised at the outset to eat little and often to keep up the energy levels.  Our Waitrose "Eat Naturals" are now nearly finsihed. We come across a substatial stone shelter in the middle of nowhere for such a welcome break from the endless pedaling.

We finally reach Slaidburn, high in the Lancashire hills. A severe, remote but beautiuful place with a dramatic church as one approaches  from the hill below.

We have now completed just over 500 miles.  We are virtually halfway!



Simon Sez,

The worst day so far in terms of weather. It rains all bloody day. One begins to wonder what is the point. A naughty little voice says “you don’t have to do this”.

At Blackburn railway station, a well known meeting place for tramps and other down and outs, we meet my little brother Humphrey “fresh legs” Forrest. He is just as soaked as we are and is wearing a new pair of Hush Puppies, well known for their water holding properties. They have turned dark brown. He is dubbed the “Hush Puppy Cyclist”.  Kippy takes her leave and goes off to inspect a school in Ilkley. We press on through the rain into the beautiful Trough of Bowland which is now filling up with water. It would be very beautiful if you could see it through the rain. The hills around Slaidburn are ghastly.

 

The Youth Hostel is ok and the three of us share a six bunk room. We eat in the pub opposite where 7 huge men are hogging the fire and doing crosswords.

I could murder a cigar