Homeward bound:
The evening at the Dunard hostel right on the shoreline at Castlebay and just a stones throw from the ferry terminal was a convivial one. The hostel was full with visitors from Ayrshire, Dundee, Berkshire and the USA. I also bumped into an intrepid traveller from South Korea who I'd also seen at the hostel in Tarbert on Harris. He was a late arrival and settled for the only accommodation available which was the sofa in the lounge.
My 4 bed bunk room was compact to say the least and for the first time in the week I was assigned to an upper bunk. The bunk bed was one of those fragile looking tubular metal affairs which sqeaked and distorted massively as I climbed the ladder. I feared for the safety of the elderly gentleman below. Also in the the room was the chap from Reading who was hunkering down for the night with eye shades and ear plugs as I got ready for bed. The final room mate was a young American woman whose verbose drawl could be heard from anywhere in the hostel. It's the 3rd time this week that I've been in a mixed dorm, I hadn't realised that this was quite common now.
My return to 'civilisation' awaits:
It's often the case that those closest to a meeting point are the last to arrive and so it was, as I casually loaded my panniers on to the bike I glanced over my shoulder to see the line of cars actually boarding the ferry. I set off in hot pursuit, of-course the access road I could see from the hostel wasn't the one I needed, it was a one-way system. I had to climb a hill and go round the back of the terminal causing yet another last minute flap. I made it and settled in for the four and three quarter hour return to Oban. It struck me that I can fly from the UK to the Middle East in the time it takes for the ferry from Barra to mainland Scotland.
It was a beautiful day to be cruising down the Sound of Mull.
A few scraps of snow remaining on Ben More on the Isle of Mull. The Islands highest peak and the very first Munro I climbed many years ago.
As my journey nears it's end, for others it's just beginning.
The port of Oban:
I expected Oban to be busy, at least by comparison to the Islands I'd left behind but I wasn't prepared for the masses of tourists, throng of cars or the deafening sound of pneumatic drills and clouds of dust from the town centre road works.
I joined the line of traffic and aimed for the southern end of town stopping only at a busy petrol station to pick up some lunch before climbing the hill out of town bound for a 16 mile afternoon route I'd planned to kill some time before I could get into the night's accommodation.
After 5 miles I was able to leave the busy road, immediately the reduction in stress was apparent and soon I adopted the mindset of a cycle tourer as opposed to the survival instinct of a cycle commuter.
I stopped for my sandwich at Loch Nell, a pleasant spot which in normal circumstances would be considered scenic but being spoilt by the Hebridean sights, it seemed less than impressive.
Continuing northwards on a succession of steep ups and downs I eventually arrive back on the coast at the estuary of Loch Etive at the Connell bridge.
The very fast flowing outlet of the Loch was being used for swift water rescue practise as each member of the crew took their turn in being dropped in the water and subsequently picked up by the others.
I then joined the busy A85 for the journey back to Oban. Not enjoying the fast road I was pleased after a couple of miles to see a sign for a cycle path for Oban. I followed the sign and after a little flummoxing around in a housing estate I picked up the track and enjoyed a traffic free route to the outskirts of town.
The cycle path popped out at Ganavan bay, where a typical British seaside scene unfolded. I bought an ice-cream and sat for a while enjoying the sunshine.
Back into Oban and my final and unwanted stop-over before my train for home at 5:20 in the morning. I'd booked into the cheapest hotel in town by way of a treat after a week spent in hostels. What a stupid move, I'm sure Oban's Youth hostel would have been a better choice!
The hotels only saving graces were it's proximity to a bike shop and a chippy, neither of which I was in need of.
The room had 3 huge sash windows, 1 facing south and 2 west. Only 1 window opened, the other 2 were painted shut so the full heat of this unseasonal sunshine had raised the temperature to that of a furnace.
The room was the sort of dubious place I often encounter abroad but for half the price. No en-suite, no breakfast, no charm. My Hebridean heaven was well and truly over.
A 4:15am alarm had me away on the final leg of my journey.
Only remaining, the hassle of lugging the bike on and off 2 trains, the confusion of crossing Glasgow and the final 10 mile ride home from Preston station.
Another tour comes to an end. I finally made it to the Outer Hebrides, I'd hoped to get there to do some walking but now never will. I think aboard a bike is a good way to see the islands, their open spaces lend themselves well to the pace of cycle travel. A car is too fast, you miss too much and walking would be too slow for the less interesting sections.
Although not a difficult tour compared to some previous outings it certainly had that essential element for travel, a degree of uncertainty. This time it was whether I could complete the tour, I'd almost cancelled the trip due to health issues and was resigned to an early abandonment although there was no contingency plan. Admittedly the possession of a phone and a credit card make outings somewhat less of an adventure than they may otherwise be but nonetheless I'm glad the tour went ahead and a lesson was reinforced. Just give it a go.
I regret not seeing anything of the Isle of Lewis, of not staying in an old Black House as planned and of not having more time to explore other corners of the islands.
I'd like to say I've eaten well on this tour but it's more a case of well, I've eaten. I've scoffed more Scotch Pies, bags of crisps, Chicken curry pies and drunk enough Irn Bru to sink a battleship. I treated myself to a curry on the last night in Oban, I wish I hadn't.
So, my tour of the Hebrides will live in my memory for as long as my faculties last. Will I return, probably not, too many other places to see and not enough time.
My tours are usually all too short but a great joy is the anticipation and planning of the next one. It won't be long before I embark on my next excursion, back to my beloved Andalusia.
I'll happily settle for the weather I've had the past few days if not the food.
I wish you well on your journeys.
Mark
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