No room in the inn
United Kingdom | Scotland | Anno 1974
13 – Saturday 31 August | Keld – Carlisle | 53 km
14 – Sunday 1 September | Carlisle – Wanlockhead | 108 km
15 – Monday 2 September | Wanlockhead – Loch Lomond | 116 km
16 – Tuesday 3 September | Loch Lomond – Glencoe | 109 km
17 – Wednesday 4 September | Glencoe – Broadford | 136 km
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13 – Saturday 31 August | Keld – Carlisle | 53 km
We can't get out of this anymore. During a climb, the right pedal of Jean's bike broke off. We have made our way down to Shap, a tiny village at the edge of the Lake District, surrounded by steep hills on all sides. But there is no bike shop in this village, a friendly shopkeeper explains to us. We are stuck.
That doesn’t account for the empathetic voluntarism of the shopkeeper
But that doesn’t account for the empathetic voluntarism of the shopkeeper. His son doesn’t use his bike very often. What would we think if he mounted one of his son's pedals on Jean's bike? We want to give him a kiss, a big kiss on both cheeks. Just in time, we realise that the British rarely appreciate such displays of emotion.
The man immediately gets to work. However, the old crank – the connecting piece between the pedal and the bottom bracket – is stuck fast. It won’t come loose. No worries, a bit further down the road is a car garage. They have heavy equipment there.
With a heavy heart, we head there. After all, it is Saturday. But our fears are unfounded. As soon as the garage owner understands our predicament, he immediately gets to work. The bike frame shakes under the hammer blows, but eventually, the crank gives way.
Back to the friendly shopkeeper. The pedal from his son's bike has already been removed. Shortly after, Jean's bike is equipped with two pedals again. Off we go. Even the rain doesn't bother us anymore.
With these heavy bikes and all their technical issues, we dare not tackle the Scottish Highlands
But this can’t go on. That realisation even begins to dawn on us. With these heavy bikes and all their technical issues, we dare not tackle the Scottish Highlands. We throw in the towel. In Carlisle, we ask for and receive permission to store part of our luggage in the youth hostel.
From now on, we will travel from youth hostel to youth hostel. Although we haven’t reserved any beds anywhere, we assume that late in the season, this shouldn’t be a problem. We have a membership card from the Flemish Youth Hostel Association, as we will be staying in central London in about three weeks.
What’s more, youth hostels actually have showers. That is a refreshing prospect after two weeks of cycling.
14 – Sunday 1 September | Carlisle – Wanlockhead | 108 km
With undisguised satisfaction, we drop our gear in a corner of the shed – tent, poles, stakes, ropes, air mattresses, blankets, gas stove, gas bottle, pots and pans, plastic jerrycan… Neatly stacked, they’ll wait there for us until we return in the foreseeable future.
With our morning routine now significantly shortened – no more tent to break down – we can head out earlier. Heavy clouds hang over the land, bringing rain all day. About sixteen kilometres north of Carlisle, we cross the River Sark and cycle into Scotland. We can hardly believe it.
In Scotland, you can marry as young as sixteen without needing your parents’ permission. In England, however, parental consent is required until you’re twenty-one, a law in place since the Marriage Act of 1753. The predictable result? If defiant parents threw up obstacles, marriage-bound English couples would, from the late 18th century onward, hop on a coach to Edinburgh and get married in the first village across the border. If necessary, the bride-to-be was even abducted, willingly or not.
If necessary, the bride-to-be was even abducted, willingly or not
Over time, that border village, Gretna Green, has become world-famous. Couples even come from abroad to marry here, sometimes because they can’t back home, and sometimes just for the thrill. But as we don’t have any brides with us, we continue our journey via Dumfries to Mennock.
We are now on the threshold of the real Scotland. About time, because we have been on the road for two weeks. In Mennock, we leave the main road behind and opt for the promising B797, which will take us upstream along the River Nith, through the Mennock Pass and right into the Lowther Hills.
Mennock Pass |
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We cross the River Sark and cycle into Scotland. We can hardly believe it
A fascinating landscape unfolds before us as we climb higher. These hills aren’t exceptionally tall, generally reaching between five and six hundred meters. But it’s their unique, harmonious appearance that leaves an impression – majestic cones covered only with grass and low shrubs in countless shades of green and brown. Lined up neatly, they wait photogenically for us. There’s no sign of human presence anywhere. It feels as though we’re the only ones in the world.
However, we’re not entirely alone. We’ve encountered a phenomenon: the Scottish sheep, a ruminant supposedly meant to spend its days grazing in wild grasslands. Scottish sheep, however, seem to prefer paved roads, ideally gathered together in a cosy cluster. They settle in with a stubbornness that would impress any mule. They barely budge for cars, and even less so for cyclists.
This way, we reach Wanlockhead, which, at an average height of 410 meters, is the highest village in Scotland. Satisfied, we settle into the youth hostel, an authentic spot with a metal rack over the stove where you can hang your clothes to dry. The hostel keeper cheerfully turns the crank, raising the clothes as they dry.
Our troubles have come to an end; there’s much beauty ahead of us in Scotland
Our troubles have come to an end; there’s much beauty ahead of us in Scotland. Dropping off our gear in Carlisle was a real game-changer.
15 – Monday 2 September | Wanlockhead – Loch Lomond | 116 km
We climb a bit further to the highest point of the Mennock Pass – 468 meters above sea level – then embark on a long descent toward Abington. A dull valley, nearly flat, replaces the delightful Lowther Hills. Through Hamilton, we arrive in Glasgow – not exactly Scotland’s most picturesque city. Meanwhile, our lives have returned to a semblance of normalcy, as Jeans rear wheel shows a broken spoke, while in the ball bearing of my front wheel the balls make strange noises.
Glasgow has no shortage of bike shops. This is likely our last chance to put an end to our problems once and for all. At the largest bike shop we can find, we have a completely new rear wheel installed on Jean’s bike. But even here they don't know what to do with my front wheel. Yet they don’t call it terminal, so we decide to just keep cycling.
We’re not fond of wide main roads, but the Scottish road network leaves us little choice
We’re not fond of wide main roads, but the Scottish road network leaves us little choice. For the next few days, the broad A82 will be our constant companion – from Glasgow through Dumbarton, Loch Lomond, Crianlarich, and Glencoe, all the way to Fort William, a stretch of 170 kilometres. There’s no bike path to be found. We accept the busy traffic without much grumbling. But it is tenderness when we think back to the lovely B797.
The rain seems to become our constant companion as well, at least from midday onward. The spokes on Jean’s rear wheel are now doing well. The mischievous virus has no other option but to jump onto the tires. In Dumbarton, Jean gets a flat. No worries; we can fix that ourselves. But when we arrive at the youth hostel on the shores of Loch Lomond, that same tire is flat once more.
16 – Tuesday 3 September | Loch Lomond – Glencoe | 109 km
Loch Lomond is one of the many Scottish lakes that were carved out by glaciers during the last Ice Age – over ten thousand years ago. In the Lowlands, these glaciers had it easy, as they could spread smoothly over the soft sandstone across a large area. However, here in the hard rock of the Highlands, it was a much more challenging process. The ice of the glaciers had little grip on those tough rocks. Erosion primarily occurred in depth, caused by the stones and boulders the glacier carried deep within its belly. This is how those typical long, finger-like lakes were formed. This also applies to Norway, where the fjords were formed in a similar way.
While Loch Lomond stretches over 36 kilometres in length, it is nowhere wider than 8 kilometres. Yet, it is the largest lake in Great Britain when considering its surface area. However, in terms of water volume, Loch Lomond must concede to Loch Ness, which boasts an incredible depth of 230 meters. There’s also something else that makes Loch Ness quite special, but more on that later.
Loch Lomond |
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To Glen Coe |
Erosion primarily occurred in depth, caused by the stones and boulders the glacier carried deep within its belly
This is a picturesque setting. It goes without saying that city dwellers love to settle here, with the sprawling city of Glasgow located just 35 kilometres away. We also want to stop here from time to time, both to admire the beauty and to patch Jean’s tire.
A steep climb at the northern end of Loch Lomond takes us to Crianlarich and then on to Tyndrum. In the meantime, the rain has started again. It’s a bit unfortunate, as a true climax is approaching.
To Glen Coe |
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For nearly fifty kilometres, one of the most impressive landscapes in Scotland unfolds before our eyes. We find ourselves three hundred meters above sea level, in a desolate, almost treeless expanse with no signs of habitation. Shallow lakes with otherworldly names like Loch Bà and Loch na h-Achlaise have formed in the boggy peat. On the horizon, rugged mountains dominate the landscape, with the glacial valley of Glen Coe in the northwest corner.
Glen Coe |
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It’s an imposing, deep valley bordered by peaks reaching nine hundred and even one thousand meters high. Such mountains are called Munros here, named after Sir Hugh Munro, who first published a list of all Scottish mountains over three thousand feet (or 914.4 meters) in 1891. Today, there are about 282 Munros.
Such mountains are called Munros
As if the scenery weren’t impressive enough, inky black rain clouds hang low over the valley, accompanied by occasional rumblings of thunder. Some mountain tops are even shrouded in clouds. We set our bikes aside and climb a bit up the Aonach Eagach Ridge, the northern valley wall. From there, we have a spectacular view of the dark valley with the famous Three Sisters on the opposite side – Beinn Fhada, Gearr Aonach, and Aonach Dubh.
Glen Coe |
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Like any respectable Scottish clan, they had been at odds with another clan for centuries
But it’s not just the unparalleled nature that makes this valley so special. Historically, the MacDonald clan held sway in this valley. Like any respectable Scottish clan, they had been at odds with another clan for centuries, namely the Campbells – though they themselves had long forgotten the exact cause of the dispute.
This feud escalated when King William demanded an oath of loyalty from the Scottish clan chiefs on 1 January, 1692. The Scots somewhat derisively referred to this newly minted monarch with Dutch roots as King Billy. Maclain, the clan chief of the MacDonalds, was said to have responded to the king’s call with insufficient enthusiasm – at least according to the king.
However, William III did not stop there. In early February 1692, hundreds of soldiers from the Earl of Argyll descended upon the region. For twelve days they were given hospitality by McDonald's – a way of paying taxes at the time – while they feasted on their winter supplies. In the early morning of 13 February, they sprang into action. The intention was reportedly to kill all two hundred MacDonalds. In the end, only a few dozen were murdered, including Maclain himself, while many more – mostly women and children – died from deprivation after fleeing into the mountains without food or shelter.
The intention was reportedly to kill all two hundred MacDonalds
To what extent the Campbells lent a hand in all this remains a matter of debate. However, it is certain that they were not averse to a bit of collaboration.
We settle into the local youth hostel in Glencoe. Against the wall, the lyrics of a ballad from 1963 remind us of this infamous episode. We wined them and dined them, they ate of our meat / And they slept in the house of MacDonald, we read. To this day, the Massacre of Glencoe is still a topic of conversation in this valley. A monument erected in 1883 abundantly reminds the unsuspecting passerby of the tragic event.
17 – Wednesday 4 September | Glencoe – Broadford | 136 km
In the drizzly rain, we press on. A portion of the new Ballachulish Bridge over Loch Leven has already been completed. It is set to be opened at the end of next year (1975). But for now, that doesn’t help us at all. We have two options: either ride to Kinlochleven, all the way at the eastern end of the loch – a detour of twenty-five kilometres – or take a ferry across the water at the Ballachulish Narrows. The choice is quickly made.
Loch Leven – Ferry, Ballachulish Bridge under construction |
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Skye, the second-largest island in Scotland, is an absolute gem, and we definitely want to go there
It’s not far now to Fort William – barely twenty-five kilometres along relatively flat coastal roads. We reach the foot of Ben Nevis fairly quickly, which at 1,345 meters is the highest Munro in Scotland and the tallest mountain in the UK. We explore the town a bit and do our shopping.
A hike on the slopes of Ben Nevis sounds appealing, but the weather is too poor; the clouds hang far too low. This isn’t unusual; the summit of Ben Nevis is typically shrouded in clouds for 355 days a year. And walking in these conditions isn’t entirely safe. There are regular fatalities on Ben Nevis, so it’s best to stay away.
A few kilometres offshore lies Skye, the second-largest island in Scotland. It’s an absolute gem, and we definitely want to go there. The only question is whether it’s feasible today. It’s already 2 pm Inquiring around, we learn that the last ferry to Skye departs tonight at 7 pm from Mallaig, nearly 70 km away. Four hours of cycling, we cautiously estimate, especially since it’s pouring rain and we’re unfamiliar with the road conditions. Plus, once on the island, we still have another 26 km to the youth hostel in Broadford. Overall, it’s a risky endeavour, but we’re used to a bit of adventure by now. The alternative – wandering aimlessly in the rainy Fort William and staying at the local youth hostel – is the least appealing option.
Huddled under our rain capes, heads down, and eyes focused on the road, we pedal for four hours through the pouring rain. It’s a treacherous route. There are no towering mountains or long climbs to challenge us, but rather a lonely, narrow coastal road that twists up and down along the rocky shore. Irritating coves force us into a gruelling rhythm of steep descents followed by steep climbs. Ultimately, we’ll accumulate more than nine hundred meters of elevation on this relatively flat terrain.
Irritating coves force us into a gruelling rhythm of steep descents followed by steep climbs
Surprisingly, we pass a solitary fellow traveller on a heavily laden bicycle despite the dismal weather. Even more astonishing is our brief greeting being met with a girl’s voice from beneath her own rain cape.
Mallaig |
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It is six o'clock when we arrive in the fishing town of Mallaig. We actually have an hour to spare. The crossing of the four-kilometre-wide Sound of Sleat will take twenty-five minutes, as it turns out, and will cost us 85 pence per person.
At seven o'clock sharp, the MacBrayne ferry casts off. Known for its strong currents, the Sound of Sleat is a bit rougher than usual in this stormy weather. We order a Red Label in the ship's bar. We deserve it, we think. Against the warm glow of a strong shot, we certainly don’t say no, especially in our cold, wet clothes. The wooden tables in the bar have raised edges to prevent accidents. Still, we have to keep a firm grip on our whisky glasses to prevent them from sliding off and tipping over, as the ship sways heavily on the waves.
Still, we have to keep a firm grip on our whisky glasses to prevent them from sliding off and tipping over, as the ship sways heavily on the waves
As soon as the loading ramp at the dock in Armadale has settled, we rush outside into the rain. Nothing and no one will hold us back now. At full speed, we head towards the youth hostel in Broadford. We arrive there, feeling a little euphoric, in the evening darkness. Phew, we made it. The fact that one of Jean’s bike brakes has now given out doesn’t bother us in the slightest.
Until the sobering moment comes. It is nine o'clock; we have just wrung the water out of our socks and hope to do the same with the rest of our clothes soon when we find out that there are no more beds available in this youth hostel – the only youth hostel on this island. We need a moment to let that news sink in.
Jaak Palmans
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