Stop the thief!
United Kingdom | Scotland | Anno 1974
17 – Wednesday 4 September | Broadford
18 – Thursday 5 September | Broadford – Glenbrittle | 28 km
19 – Friday 6 September | Glenbrittle – Duirinish | 103 km
20 – Saturday 7 September | Duirinish – Strathpeffer | 104 km
21 – Sunday 8 September | Strathpeffer – Kingussie | 132 km
22 – Monday 9 September | Kingussie – Falkland | 148 km
23 – Tuesday 10 September | Falkland – Melrose | 126 km
24 – Wednesday 11 September | Melrose – Carlisle | 107 km
25 – Thursday 12 September | Carlisle – Dalton | 107 km
26 – Friday 13 September | Dalton – York | 100 km
27 – Saturday 14 September | York – Caenby Corner | 105 km
28 – Sunday 15 September | Caenby Corner – Baston | 85 km
|
|
|
17 – Wednesday 4 September | Broadford
For four hours, it rained cats and dogs while we made our way from Fort William to the harbour town of Mallaig. From there, we crossed the turbulent strait of the Sound of Sleat to Armadale on the Isle of Skye by ferry. After cycling through the rain for over another hour, we were relieved to arrive at the youth hostel in Broadford. Or so we thought. Because there was no room for us – mind you, the only youth hostel on this island.
But the hostel father is a good judge of character. He immediately sees that we are completely at our wits' end. In a moment of empathy, he comes up with a solution. His assistant is attending a conference in Edinburgh. We may use his room.
It is a very small room with a single bed. Just big enough to lay the mattress on the floor next to the bed and create two sleeping spots. For a nighttime visit to the toilet, the mattress has to be moved aside; otherwise, the door can’t be opened.
18 – Thursday 5 September | Broadford – Glenbrittle | 28 km
The radiant morning sun makes up for much of yesterday's misery. It is going to be a beautiful day, and we are eager to explore part of the island. A good long walk will do us good – a chance to stretch our legs in a different way.
Isle of Skye |
|
|
We entrust our bikes and some of our luggage to the care of a friendly farmer in Sligachan. Our plan for today is to trek over the ridge to Glenbrittle and spend the night in a youth hostel there. Tomorrow, we will return to our bikes and leave Skye behind.
Cuillin Hills is the highest mountain range on Skye, featuring about a dozen Munros that just fall short of a thousand meters in height
Isle of Skye – Cuillin Hills |
|
Isle of Skye – Loch Sligachan, Allt Dearg Mor |
To our left, the rocky Cuillin Hills unfold in all their glory. This is the highest mountain range on Skye, featuring about a dozen Munros that just fall short of a thousand meters in height.
What they refer to here as the Sligachan Waterfalls turns out to be little more than a modest cascade in a stream. We continue our ascent along the ridge beside the crystal-clear, babbling waters of the Allt Dearg Mor.
Isle of Skye – Sligachan Waterfalls |
|
Isle of Skye – Allt Dearg Mor |
From the ridge, we now gaze southward over the wide valley of Glenbrittle. Sparkling in the sunlight, the slow, silvery waters of the Brittle wind their way toward Loch Brittle.
Isle of Skye – Allt Dearg Mor |
|
Isle of Skye – Glenbrittle |
We now follow the river – at this height, no more than a narrow little stream – downstream. After a journey of about twelve kilometres, we arrive in Glenbrittle. Since the 1930s, a youth hostel has been waiting on the banks of the Allt a' Choire Ghreadaidh for hikers and nature lovers. Our joy knows no bounds – they do have two beds available for us.
Isle of Skye – Glenbrittle |
|
Isle of Skye – Loch Brittle |
Without hesitation, we set out again, climbing up the slopes of the Cuillin Hills. It’s a bit dangerous, with all the loose stones, but the view is stunning. In the west the sun slowly sinks towards the sea above the peaks of some islands whose names we do not know.
All day long, we have been enjoying a radiant sun. In rainy Scotland, this will prove to be a unique experience for us.
19 – Friday 6 September | Glenbrittle – Duirinish | 103 km
After a day of toil like yesterday, we’ve had enough. This isn’t our opinion; it’s what the sun thinks. Today, it’s throwing in the towel. The rain takes centre stage and treats us to a heavy downpour on our way back.
In Sligachan, we settle back into our daily routine and get back on our bikes. A narrow road leads us through desolate yet beautiful nature. They call these single track roads here, paths so narrow that vehicles cannot pass each other. It’s an oasis of peace, making for very pleasant cycling, and we fully enjoy the stunning landscape of Bealach Udal. If a car does exceptionally show up, it waits patiently behind us until the next passing place. That’s how it should be.
At times, this lonely road – at 279 m the highest mountain pass on Skye – is damn steep. But we knew that beforehand; a traffic sign at the turn warned us of gradients of up to 20%.
It’s an oasis of peace, making for very pleasant cycling, and we fully enjoy the stunning land-scape of Bealach Udal
Isle of Skye – Bealach Udal |
|
Isle of Skye – Sound of Sleat, Kylerhea |
The fun doesn’t last long; eventually, we descend to Kylerhea, an insignificant village on the east coast of Skye. No one would have ever heard of it if it weren’t for the strait that separates us from the mainland, which is only about five hundred meters wide here. Since the 1600s, a ferry service has connected Kylerhea with the village of Glenelg across the water.
The economic significance of this connection cannot be overstated. In the past, all the livestock raised in the Hebrides was driven here on its way to the markets on the mainland. It will be more than twenty years – until 16 October 1995 – before a bridge will finally connect the island of Skye with Kyle of Lochalsh on the mainland. Nevertheless, the Glenelg-Kylerhea ferry service will continue to operate as part of Scotland’s heritage even after that.
In the past, all the livestock raised in the Hebrides was driven here on its way to the markets on the mainland
Ferry Kylerhea – Glenelg |
|
|
It’s a genuine turntable ferry, the vessel that takes us from Kylerhea to the mainland. Worldwide, this is one of the last ferries of its kind. It docks beside the concrete slipway, after which the crew manually rotates the turntable with a maximum of half a dozen cars on it toward the quay. Vehicles can then easily drive on and off.
In the west, the most magnificent sunset of our entire trip unfolds, but we can’t fully appreciate it.
A sense of unease creeps over us. Our fears are soon realised: the youth hostel in Kyle of Lochalsh is fully booked – where have we heard that before?
In the west, the most magnificent sunset of our entire trip unfolds, but we can’t fully appreciate it
But we’ve learned from our mistakes. Well, just a little. This time, we started looking earlier, so we have more time to find an alternative – a B&B, for instance. That’s how we end up in Duirinish, about six kilometres north of Kyle of Lochalsh. There, a woman happens to be renting out a caravan – a bed and breakfast without the breakfast, so to speak. The low price surprises us. Did she notice our hesitation? Do we look that desperate? The fact is, she promptly quotes a higher price. We won’t lose sleep over the extra £2.50.
Duirinish – B&B without &B |
|
A milder climate in the east |
20 – Saturday 7 September | Duirinish – Strathpeffer | 104 km
There are some certainties in life. The sun rising every morning, for example. Or technical problems cropping up every day. Today, it’s my odometer acting up. Not exactly a vital component, but it would still be inconvenient if it gave out entirely. More concerning, however, are the issues with Jean’s new pedal – or rather, the old pedal that belonged to the son of that shopkeeper in Shap. For now, it seems we’ll be able to push through both problems.
With the weekend approaching and store hours in mind, we need to stock up for two days. That’s easier said than done, as the route we’ve planned is sparsely populated. Finding shops along the way will be futile. To be safe, we take a detour of about ten kilometres to Lochcarron to stock up on enough supplies.
The entire day, we’ll be cycling eastward on long, arrow-straight roads through a desolate, almost treeless landscape. And all day long, a stiff easterly wind will blow straight into our faces. By the afternoon, we can expect a hefty dose of rain to add to the challenge. So, we impose a strict schedule on ourselves: we take turns riding at the front for ten minutes, giving the other a chance to shelter from the wind. It feels like we’re part of a team time trial.
We impose a strict schedule on ourselves, as if we’re part of a team time trial
It’s little more than a T-junction in the heart of the Scottish Highlands, but Achnasheen will become a milestone for us. To the left, the route continues northward along the rugged west coast to Durness, and possibly to far-off John o’Groats in the northeast corner. To the right, however, the route leads to Inverness and then southward along the east coast – which basically means heading home.
With 1,775 kilometres on the odometer, it’s time to decide how far our ambitions reach. Roughly estimated, we’re 1,500 kilometres from home – about fifteen days of cycling. Which means we will arrive home around 22 September, should we start our return here and now. Heading to the far north of Scotland, however, would require an extra six to eight days. But there’s still plenty of work waiting at home before the new academic year begins. So, reluctantly, we accept the fact that the right turn is indeed the right turn.
From west to east |
|
|
It’s a fairly modern youth hostel where we settle in for the evening in Strathpeffer. There’s no shortage of free beds. Equally modern are the flashy bikes of two young South Africans who, it turns out, are also touring Scotland. Their bikes boast three sets of seven gears. What a contrast to my simple Sturmey Archer three speed hub – roughly a lower gear for climbing, a higher gear for descending, and a normal gear for flat terrain.
We feel like country bumpkins in comparison
The South Africans proudly show off their other gear: a lightweight tent, aluminium poles and pegs, ultra-light sleeping bags, compact gas stoves... We feel like country bumpkins in comparison. We keep silent about the heavy-duty equipment waiting for us back in Carlisle.
21 – Sunday 8 September | Strathpeffer – Kingussie | 132 km
Taking the A9 straight from Strathpeffer to Inverness is the fastest option. But not the best, as that would mean skipping Loch Ness, and you simply can’t do that – imagine if Nessie decided to surface just now. So, we take a detour. Admittedly, we go a bit overboard with it. A wrong turn costs us a needless 14-kilometer round trip.
Loch Ness is Scotland’s equivalent of the Brussels’ Manneken Pis – not particularly remarkable in itself, but it’s something you just have to see. To be fair, the vast lake nestled between green hills is very picturesque. But it doesn’t really stand out from the many other Scottish lochs.
Loch Ness |
|
Via the A9 southwards |
A perfect habitat for a privacy-loving prehistoric monster
What does set Loch Ness apart is the peat soil and turf that wash down from the hills in large quantities, reducing the water’s transparency to nearly zero. A perfect habitat for a privacy-loving prehistoric monster.
The first sightings date back to 1933. Many have followed since, but the observations are anything but consistent. The monster is said to be three to five meters long. Or maybe twelve to fifteen meters – that’s possible too. It might have one hump, but it could also have two or three. Or none at all. Most agree that Nessie has a neck up to two meters long. Although it might be shorter.
What is certain is that the mythical creature has a scientific name. In fact, more than one, since its species remains unidentified. A scientific name is essential to grant the creature the legal protection it’s entitled to. After all, imagine Nessie really exists, and some reckless person decides to shoot her – or him (we don’t know Nessie’s gender either).
For us, though, Nessie doesn’t make an appearance. Disappointed, we head to Inverness, the unofficial capital of the Scottish Highlands, and take a brief stroll through its not-so-picturesque centre.
From here, the A9 will be our companion for nearly 200 kilometres, all the way to Perth. Gone are the single-track roads; now it’s a wide asphalt highway built entirely for motorised traffic. Cars zip past at high speeds, and bike lanes exist only in our imagination. But there’s no alternative.
The climate on the Cairngorms can be likened to that of the Arctic tundra
A steep climb out of the Ness Valley takes us over the Slochd, a mountain ridge standing 405 meters high. As we approach the popular ski resort of Aviemore, we catch sight of the Cairngorms off to the left in the distance. This is a truly unique mountain range, beloved by hikers and winter sports enthusiasts, but also feared. The climate on this plateau, which rises between 1,000 and 1,200 meters, can be likened to that of the Arctic tundra. Temperatures as low as –27 °C (–16 °F) have been recorded here, along with wind speeds reaching 283 km/h. Conditions can change drastically in an instant, and snowfall is possible on any day of the year.
That’s not the kind of terrain for cyclists like us. Tomorrow, we’ll respectfully give the Cairngorms a wide berth, content to simply enjoy the view from afar. But for now, we settle into the youth hostel at Kingussie. This marks our seventh day of cycling in Scotland – and the very first time we’ve arrived at a hostel in the evening without being soaked.
22 – Monday 9 September | Kingussie – Falkland | 148 km
We continue southward along the A9 toward Perth. It’s going to be an easy ride, even though we’ll cross two mountain passes and face a slight headwind. From here to Perth, it’s almost continuously downhill, and the sun puts on its best performance all day.
We pass Dalwhinnie, the village home to Scotland’s highest-altitude whisky distillery at 351 meters above sea level. It’s also one of Scotland’s coldest villages, with a dismal annual average temperature of just 6.6 °C (43.9 °F).
We climb steadily to the 460-meter-high Drumochter Pass, and a long descent serves as our well-earned reward. Everywhere, the purple heather is in full, lush bloom. The same pattern repeats about 40 kilometres later at the 400-meter-high Killiecrankie Pass, which barely slows us down. We spin the pedals briskly, coasting down descents that seem endless.
Still, those descents require caution. Zooming downhill too enthusiastically can have its consequences. Like that time when part of Jean’s luggage came loose during a breakneck descent. The result was a spectacular display on the asphalt, featuring twelve fresh eggs and a jar of strawberry jam. Going faster than 60 km/h is risky anyway – at those speeds, the needle on my odometer risks snapping off entirely.
We spin the pedals briskly, coasting down descents that seem endless
Heathland landscape along the A9 |
|
|
In the late afternoon, we roll into the flat landscape around Perth. Only about twenty-five kilometres separate us from the youth hostel in Falkland, at the foot of the Lomond Hills. We look back, without any trace of fatigue, on a ride of nearly 150 kilometres. In hindsight, this turns out to be our longest ride.
There have been no technical problems today. But we know better than to get too cocky; we’re fully aware that triumphalism is not the way forward. As a precaution, we decide to swap the tires on the front and rear wheels, just to evenly distribute the wear.
23 – Tuesday 10 September | Falkland – Melrose | 126 km
It’s quite a strong wind blowing towards us from the south over the relatively flat landscape. Today, we have a visit to Edinburgh on the agenda. So, we need to cross the Firth of Forth, the wide estuary that connects the Scottish capital with the North Sea.
It takes us about three minutes to cycle from one tower to the other; they’re that far apart
Forth Road Bridge |
|
|
We don’t have much choice. Only the Forth Road Bridge manages to span the enormous river mouth. Just ten years ago, on 4 September 1964, the bridge was opened. At 2.5 km in length, it was the longest suspension bridge in the world at the time – outside the United States, that is. Two colossal towers, each 156 meters tall, support the structure. It takes us about three minutes to cycle from one tower to the other; they’re that far apart.
It feels as if we’ve stepped into another country
Edinburgh Castle |
|
|
Over an hour later, we’re overwhelmed by Princes Street, the lively shopping street at the edge of Edinburgh’s New Town. We’re not used to such busy scenes anymore. It feels as if we’ve stepped into another country. But the view is spectacular – the historic facades of the Old Town, Edinburgh Castle perched on its volcanic Castle Rock, and, of course, our very first glimpse of pale gentlemen’s knees under one of those famous kilts. The archetypal bowler hats make their appearance too, usually worn by distinguished gentlemen armed with a stiff upper lip and a black umbrella.
Edinburgh – The Mound |
|
Edinburgh |
Via The Mound we climb to the Royal Mile, the historic heart of the Old Town. This street, almost perfectly straight, connects two royal residences – Holyrood Palace in the west and Edinburgh Castle in the east. If Queen Elizabeth II were to consider walking from one residence to the other, she would cover exactly one mile. This is where the street has derived its name from since the early 20th century. Today, it’s mainly a tourist hotspot, with souvenir shops overflowing. Kilts and tartans are being thrust at you from every direction.
Edinburgh – Princess Street |
|
|
All that beauty keeps us captivated for quite some time. Perhaps too long, as it’s already 5:30 pm when we pick up our bikes again. Once again, a major miscalculation, as the next youth hostel is 64 km away in Melrose. It’s nearly 9:00 pm when we finally arrive. Thankfully, they let us in, and there are still beds available. Not our best planning, guys.
24 – Wednesday 11 September | Melrose – Carlisle | 107 km
It’s a very quiet day, a transition day, really. There’s not much to do. In Galashiels, we reach the A7, which leads us south via Hawick. There, we even meet a Flemish guy who’s exploring Scotland by hitchhiking.
Our reunion with our main luggage at the youth hostel in Carlisle isn’t exactly a joyful moment
Our reunion with our main luggage at the youth hostel in Carlisle isn’t exactly a joyful moment. From tomorrow, the relentless rhythm of loading and unloading will once again take hold of us. There’s no doubt it was a wise decision to leave the main luggage behind here. No significant technical problems have arisen, and we’ve been able to fully enjoy the rainy but magnificent Scotland for a total of 1,217 kilometres. With all that luggage onboard, we never would have managed that.
25 – Thursday 12 September | Carlisle – Dalton | 107 km
Grumbling, we mount our luggage on our bikes. Tent tarps, poles, stakes, ropes, air mattresses, blankets, stove, gas canister, pots and pans, jerrycan... the list seems endless.
As if to annoy us further, a tough route lies ahead, and a strong headwind picks up. Southward to Penrith, we follow the exact same route as on 31 August, but in the reverse direction. After that, we head east on the A66 towards Scotch Corner. This is an important traffic junction south of Newcastle-upon-Tyne.
In the evening, we stop near the tiny village of Dalton. A strip of grassland in a graceful S-curve of an abandoned country lane becomes our spot for the night. The grass is knee-high, it’s cold and wet, and the drizzly rain only makes it worse. And then, our can opener disappears somewhere in that tall grass. That’s a bit of a setback.
Clean water is, of course, essential for us – for cooking, washing dishes, and personal hygiene. So, every evening, we head to the nearest house to fill our plastic jerrycan with a few litres of tap water. But now there’s an extra task. With a bunch of canned goods in our arms, we’ll have to politely ask for a can opener. After all, we have neither the ambition nor the energy to prepare fresh soup and fresh vegetables in the evening.
It’s a bit of a shock for the woman of the house when she opens the door
The nearest house turns out to be a few hundred meters higher up the hill – that’s what you get when you seek out quiet surroundings. It’s a bit of a shock for the woman of the house when she opens the door. But as soon as she understands our tricky situation, she takes care of us like a hen with her chicks. Tap water is no problem, and neither is a can opener.
Dripping wet, we stand in the spotless hallway, surrounded by lovely furniture and a fancy carpet, waiting for the events to unfold, while little puddles of rainwater form around our feet. Then our saviour returns. Living on canned food? You can’t do that after all the effort you’ve been putting in, she grumbles, not entirely without reason. Promptly, she hands us half a dozen fresh tomatoes.
Feeling somewhat euphoric, we head down through the drizzly rain with our tomatoes and opened cans toward our tent. Ah, those Brits. A bit reserved at times, but often heartwarmingly friendly and helpful.
26 – Friday 13 September | Dalton – York | 100 km
What is it with Friday the 13th? Not a drop of rain falls today, the roads are flat, and the wind constantly gives us a push from behind. Friday the 13th is our lucky day, that much is certain.
York – Bootham Bar |
|
York Minster |
Via Scotch Corner, we head towards the ancient city of York – barely a century younger than Belgium’s Tongeren, as the Romans only began working here in 71 CE. But it’s not the remnants of Roman structures that you should see here; it’s the imposing York Minster, the largest Gothic cathedral in Northern Europe after the Cologne Cathedral. The construction began in 1220, and the cathedral was consecrated in its current form in 1472. Anyone who finds a construction project of two hundred and fifty years excessively long would do well to inform themselves about the course of events in Cologne. There, it took them more than six hundred years.
York Minster – Main Portal |
|
York Minster – Great East Window |
The pièce de résistance is the enormous Great East Window. Dating from 1408, it stands 23 meters tall and almost 10 meters wide
As beautiful as the building is, it is primarily the stained glass windows that steal the show here. Some of the authentic glass panels even date back to the 12th century. The pièce de résistance is the enormous Great East Window. Dating from 1408, it stands 23 meters tall and almost 10 meters wide. No medieval stained glass window in the world can match its size.
York Minster – Elegant Gothic architecture |
|
York Minster – Western Towers |
We had planned to quickly climb up to the central tower, but it turns out that’s not so easy. So many steps – our tired knees, after three weeks of cycling, are no longer up for it. The magnificent view makes the struggle worthwhile – the flat landscape in the distance, the bustling city at our feet, the two imposing towers at the western end of the nave, and the elegant Gothic architecture of buttresses, flying buttresses and pinnacles.
Just beyond York, we set up our tent on a stubble field for a peaceful night.
27 – Saturday 14 September | York – Caenby Corner | 105 km
Before we even leave, Jean's tire is flat. Patching it doesn't help, as soon thereafter, the tire is flat again. We remove the inner tube and inspect it carefully, but we can't find any hole. Against better judgment, we put the tire back on the rim and pump it up. Miraculously, it holds, and for the time being, it gives no more trouble.
Today, our journey south takes us to Hull, on the banks of the Humber. Officially, the city is called Kingston upon Hull, but the locals never use the full name. There isn’t yet a grand bridge spanning the wide estuary, like the Forth Road Bridge in Edinburgh. The Humber Bridge won't be opened until June 1981. So, we make do with the ferry, which takes us across to New Holland for just £0.42 per person.
This is our first rejection in four weeks, and, as it turns out, it will be our only negative experience
From there, we head to Caenby Corner. When we ask a local farmer if we can camp on his land, we’re surprised by a grumpy “no”. Apparently, this man is not inclined to help what he sees as strange fellows. This is our first rejection in four weeks, and, as it turns out, it will be our only negative experience.
Speaking of negative experiences – Jean's tire is flat again. This drastically limits our options for finding another place to stay. About 500 meters further, we settle behind a shed for road construction machinery.
28 – Sunday 15 September | Caenby Corner – Baston | 85 km
This time we can't miss it. The hole in Jean's tire turns out to be quite large. So large, in fact, that we are forced to dig out our spare tire. The fact that it's also starting to rain while we're packing up the tent doesn't make things any better.
Every time a car passes by, cheerful honking echoes. But not everyone is so enthusiastic
Once again, today turns into a transition day. We make good progress via the A15. Lincoln, Sleaford, and Bourne pass by. We find a suitable spot for our tent right in the centre of a T-junction in Baston. Our presence in this unusual location doesn't go unnoticed. Every time a car passes by, cheerful honking echoes.
But not everyone is so enthusiastic. Around midnight, we are woken up by rumbling on our bikes. Damn, someone is trying to steal our bikes.
Jaak Palmans
© 2024 | Version 2024-12-10 15:00
Continue reading in (4/4)
This bicycle wheel does not contain explosives