Hebrides Tour - Day 5

Heading south:

Last  night's hostel was the 'Backpackers Stop' in Tarbert.  None of the mod cons or underfloor heating of last night's hostel but warm and welcoming with lots of nice touches like towels, free tea, 'fresh' coffee, rice, pasta, and all the  breakfast  cereal a cycle tourer could possibly need and all for £20.
It was a good  5 minutes walk into 'town' so once again I was stuck with staying in the hostel.  Getting back on my bike to find food in the evenings rarely appeals. I did however pop into town before settling down to get provisions  for the following day and a couple of bottles of local beer for the evening.
As look would  have it there was a chippy right next to the hostel, meticulous planning on my part.

                                         Hostel yellow, chippy white - happy days

There were 3 other travellers in the dorm, one of whom was a young French guy called Thomas. 

He'd camped out for the last 5 nights but now took refuge in the hostel as his tent was in the bin having been destroyed by the gales of the previous night.

Thomas came out with the quote of the week so far (read in a French accent) - "I murst resharge my iperd, I carn go to ell but not wizout music".  I like his style.

The plan today was to ride from Tarbert to Leverburgh at the southern tip of Harris.  I had all day to do just around 25 miles so it would be nice to ride at a very leisurely pace. The day started immediately with a steep climb from the hostel, a big ask of lungs and legs barely awake. 
I'd planned to take the minor road down the east side of the island but was advised by the warden at the hostel that the west side was more scenic and less hilly. It was a no brainer.

Again, it was windy and chilly but not on the scale of yesterday. Continuing the pattern of the week, I made use of a bus stop for shelter and as time was on my side I checked my map to see where the minor road by the bus stop led to.  It led to a beach called Losgaintir.

I rode the 2 miles and landed at a car park and toilet block. Frustratingly there was a sandy path leading to the unseen beach which was guarded by a cycle unfriendly style.  I normally wouldnt attempt a walk of this distance, 'over 100 metres' but having come this far I decided  to press on.  An awkward tussle got my bike through the style so I had something to lean on to help me on my way.  It was worth the effort.

The route down the west coast was a succession spectacular bays and rocky promontories.

As the miles rolled by I realised that it may be an option to get the earlier ferry to Bernaray at 2:10pm.  As I neared Leverburgh time was tight and it became a full blown race to make Leverburgh on time.  I arrived in a sweaty breathless state. It was ominously quiet, yet another cancelled ferry, this time due to low tides!

I went into the waiting room to find 2 other less than happy cycle tourers, both buried in their books and resigned to the 3 hour wait.  I decided  to wander off to explore a bit more of Harris but on the road out I noticed a bunkhouse so plan B unfolded.  I checked that a bed was available and learned that there was a ferry at 8:25 the following morning.  l claimed a bed, checked my map and decided to ride round a loop of the south east part of the island and head for Berneray the following morning.

This side of the island is in complete constrast to the open aspect and wide sandy bays of the west.  It's all craggy and desolate with just a few isolated houses dotted around.

lm not sure I'd  want to live here but at least there  would be no issues with noisy neighbours.

The route was a joy and virtually traffic free.  It was anything but flat so today's  easy day turned out to be well over 3000ft of ascent, the Hebrides are not as easy as I'd presumed.  

I returned to the hosel to find the place swarming with a group from Yorkshire Ramblers,  13 of them and subsequently 5 other cyclists arrived so the hostel's facilities were stretched to breaking point. Everyone was very friendly though and we all bumped, tripped and nudged our way around each other during the chaos of food preperation in the evening.

Thank you to the gentleman who gave me a wee dram, the 2nd time this week thats happened.  I must look like the type that drinks whisky!


When I'd popped in to the hostel in the afternoon I was told it was pretty full for the night but that no one had yet arrived. 'Go and grab any bed in room no 4' - I couldn't find room 4, I went back to the owners house next door and asked for help.  'It's upstairs  he said, a six bunk room'  I'd already had a quick look upstairs but hadnt seen the room, I ventured back up the stairs. Upstairs was a mezanine level with just 1 bunk in an open area, a big mirror on the wall and not much else, now I really was confused.  I did another tour of the hostel to search for a different staircase, there was none.

With my tail between my legs I sheepishly went next door again, 'I still can't find it' - the bemused owner marched me upstairs to the mezanine floor and pointed at the 'mirror' which wasn't a mirror but a big port hole style door opening with an 8 inch cill at the bottom, beyond it lay the elusive 6 bunk room. Senior moment or a visit  to Specsavers needed? 

Hebrides Tour - Day 4

The Ends justifies the means:

Friday night was spent at the 'Boutique' Cowshed bunkhouse (oxymoron?) in Uig. Now its a while since I stayed in a bunkhouse in Scotland but I don't  remember them looking like this!

It was very good indeed with small dorms, each bunk having its own little shelf, light and socket for the recharging of those modern travel essentials.  I even had a full curtain so I could blog in private.  The curtain however didn't keep out the light when someone burst through  the door 'western saloon syle' at god knows what time. The main room light stayed on for 10 minutes while the offender faffed with rustling
carrier bags and zips before leaving the roomd with the light still on.  10 minutes later I got up to switch the light off, the culprit returned soon after but clearly resisted the temptation to reoffend.

It may not have been the same person, although I suspect it was (a young oriental gentleman) that got up early in the morning, disappeared to the bathroom for 5 minutes, came back and sprayed half a can of deodorant on himself and around the room. I'm afraid the Lynx effect was lost on me, I could have kneecapped the little shit.

It was a glorious evening in Uig, sunny but too early in the season for midges.

The following morning also started promisingly but was windy and cold.

I could see the ferry I needed to catch for the Isle of Harris from the host so it was just a quick mile downhill to catch it.

The crossing to Tarbert is around an hour and 40 minutes, most of it was spent in the cabin as it was freezing and blowing a hoolie on deck.

I stocked  up on lunch in Tarbert and headed off on my planned route out to the west of Harris, I'd heard the road out to Huisnis was one of the most scenic in the Hebrides.  Progress was slow heading initially north as there was a vicious northerly blowing, The trip was an out and back route of around 30 miles with lots of hills enroute.  After a few miles struggling with the gales it didn't look good but then what else could I do with the day, the hostel wasn't open until 5pm.

I stopped for lunch at the only shelter for miles around, the end of a wall provided a bit of shelter from the Arctic blast.  I dined in style making the most of the finest local produce, a Scotch pie, packet of McCoys crisps and a can of Irn Bru.

Some views on the road to Huisnis:

                                                                 Highland Coos:


The return trip was just as cold and arduous as the outward one so were it not for the splendours of Huisnis, it may not have been worthwhile.

Hebrides Tour - Day 2

Come back Andalusia,  all is forgiven:

Unfortunately half of yesterday's blog went AWOL but it's not worth repeating so I'll start on Day 2.  Last night's accommodation at a former Fisherman's Mission was basic but adequate other than the unwelcome combination of ill fitting curtains and a very close by Belesha Beacon.  I'd  planned to get  the 09:30 ferry to Skye but following the previous evening's cancellation and the forecast gales, the advice  was to take the 07:40 ferry as that had more chance of sailing. 
The crossing was indeed lumpy but only 40 minutes so not 'quite ' long enough to induce any unpleasantness. 

The views from the ferry back to Knoydart and south to the small Isles including the unmistakeable profile of An Sgurr on the island of Egg.

On arrival at Ardvasar on Skye the sun was shining but in the direction I was heading, it didn't look so promising.

The wind was as forecast increasing in strength, mostly it was a welcome  tail wind but occasionally it was an entertaining cross wind.  Approaching Broadford it started to reach that intensity that threatens to blow you into the overtaking traffic.  I stopped in Broadford for some respite and a comforting bacon butty.
The weather by now was how I remember it on Skye, gloomy.  Only I do gloomy better than the Isle of Skye!

I knew there was a steady climb out of Broadford and I suspected the wind would be problematic.  What I didn't  expect was hail, driving rain and a wind that at one point brought me to a grinding halt on a flat section of road.  On the descent towards Slighacan the stinging hail had me squinting with one eye to see the road ahead.
I took refuge in a bus shelter at Slighacan and pondered on the merits of cycle touring in Scotland.

A minor improvement tempted me to move on, only around 8 miles remaining and indeed the rain did abate if not the wind.

I got to the hostel, the Old Inn bunkhouse at 2pm, much earlier than planned due to taking the early morning ferry. The hostel wasn't available until 5pm so I had 3 hours to kill. Now the pub would be the logical choice but fearing being blottoed by the time the hostel opened I choose to ride on along the shore of Loch Harpole to Portnalong.

I took the steep climb up behind the hallowed ground of the Taskisker distillery and continued on into a worsening gale. Just short of Portnalong further progress became almost impossible and again I had to take refuge in a bus shelter.

This is a video of my bus shelter No 2 experience, if I get get blogger to upload it?

The bunkhouse at Carbost is in a great location, scenic yes but also right next to The Old Inn, a favourite hostelry of old.  The haggis, neeps and tatties wrapped in filo pastry with an Isle  of Skye whisky and cream  sauce went down very well particularly as is was washed down by a couple of pints of Red Cuillin.

Hebrides Tour - Day 1

The journey north:

Into the Japanese Prefecture time zone.

Lugging a loaded touring bike on and off trains has to be my least favourite part of cycle touring, apart from maybe the endless climbs, and getting stung  by nasty hornet things in Spain, and crappy hostels, and strong winds, and hunger, and thirst and a few other things I won't elaborate on. Nevertheless, trains are a hassle.  I am probably more likely to upset my fragile back manhandling my bike on or off a train than at any other time during the tour.  At least spending all day on trains allows me a further recovery from my current back and hip flexor issues.  My 6 mile test yesterday has lulled me in to a hopefully justified sense of security but Thursday's rather longer journey across the Isle of Skye will be a sterner test which, if failed, will cause all sorts of shit. Fingers crossed!

Well, the journey started well and went significantly downhill.  Preston to Glasgow Central, no problem.  Except for the curious leep forward in time. Soon after crossing the Scottish border I noticed my phone had jumped from 10am to 6pm?  It seems I had changed to some obscure Japanese Prefecture time zone, has Scotland surrendered it's sovereignty to a distant land?
Once in Glasgow there followed a stressful ride across a busy and unfamiliar city. A half mile journey which involved cycling down one way streets and on pavements. Queen Street station was a big mess of building  works and judging by the demeanor of the staff there, completion won't  come a day too soon. 
The train I needed to Mallaig was to split 3 ways and no one seemed sure which part I should be on?  Fortunately the announcement put things right but that provoked a frenzied reshuffle on a very busy platform.  Having been told I must remove all pannier bags from the bike prior to boarding I was left weighed down with bags and trying to push my bike on to the train with one hand, not happy.

Once settled on the train I was happy that there were no further changes to make, I could sit back, relax and spend 5 hours watching the weather turn from sunny to shite! 

Ben Nevis is there somewhereg

Just before  arriving in Mallaig an announcement brought news that bad weather had caussed the cancellation of the evening ferry to Skye and that my ferry in the morning was also in some doubt.  A days delay would throw my week long plan in to turmoil. The journey from the station to my hostel is around 50 metres, I was drenched when I arrived, still not happy.  I got to my room and found the zip had broken on my cycling jersey and then I got a message from home to say the car  had broken down.  Beginning to see the funny side!

Let's see what tomorrow brings, more shit no doubt.

Oh, as I plan to be away for 8 days I've had to ask my wife Claire not to eat my birthday chocolates, I'll post another photo of the box when I return!

Final preparations

On the Last Minute!

Almost ready for our little adventure now. My brother Nick has been helpfully sorting out my bike with some much needed TLC, I'd sent parts over from Ireland and Germany and after some frantic tracking and a few phone calls my bike now has a host of new parts fitted and after a detailed checkover I've declared it fit for purpose and ready for the Sierra tour.

Were it not for the fact that Nick hasn't yet received the pannier rack he ordered from China a month ago we would be good to go. Oh, and the fact that his bike is broken!

Assuming we get Nick sorted out we'll set off on the 1st leg on Monday 27th.  

Today we visited the local market in Zurgena, a colourful but uninspiring cocktail of fruit and veg, cheap sunglasses and cheap clothes although I didn't find a replacement for my airport trampled shirt.

The local Goatherd doing his early evening rounds outside my brothers place.

A picture from Aguillas, the whole staircase was an intricate tiling mosaic.

Sierra Nevada tour - Shaky start

What could possibly go wrong!

After months of meticulous planning and just 2 days before departure for Spain for my bike tour our beloved devil cat decides to go walkabout and disappear off the face of the earth. Not happy that we'd arranged an all-inclusive boutique feline hotel stay for her she opts instead to cause maximum stress by playing hide and seek for a day and a half.  Only after allowing us to suffer repeated humiliation with the neighbours by standing outside making ridiculous noises to tempt her back in did she condescend to return. Needless to say she was then held under house arrest until she could be unceremoniously thrown into the cat basket and despatched to the cattery.

We arrived at the airport with much time to spare and me questioning why we were so early.  Claire said 'You never know what could go wrong?'
My father-in-law had kindly dropped us off and as I gathered the dismantled wheelchair and cases together amoungst the crowd at the drop-off point I put the shirt I'd been carrying on the roof of the car along with my phone. Immediately I thought, that's not a great idea so I put the phone in my pocket but left the shirt on the the roof saying to Claire 'don't let me forget that'!
I set about putting my wheelchair together. 'Did you pick your shirt up'? Claire said.
Oh shit!  The car was gone, along with my shirt.
Now with the amount of money I spend on clothes the loss of the shirt was of little consequence, the loss of the wallet in the shirt pocket with a couple of hundred euros and a credit card was a little more worrying.  It was my 'backup' wallet, as a seasoned traveller I generally split my worldly goods between 2 wallets.  As a seasoned idiot I left 1 on the roof of the car!

'Quick, phone your dad' I said in the panicked tone that a miser adopts when parted from his cash.  I thought for a second, there was little chance the shirt had stayed on the roof of the car for long so I despatched Claire up the road to look for it whilst I stood by helplessly in quiet mourning.

My resignation increased for 15 minutes and when my mobile rang I suspected the inevitable. 'I've got it'!  Unbelievably Claire had spotted a sorry looking rag off in the distance and against all expectations it was my shirt.  She took her life in to her hands and ventured out on to the busy airport road where numerous cars had mangled my shirt completely oblivious to the contents of the pocket.  A happy reunion soon followed and the wallet was found intact, the only damage being a set of shattered buttons and a well and truly non functional pair of headphones which I'd forgotten were in the other pocket. Claire, you're a star, happy days.

So, we made it to Spain without further mishap other than the misfortune of travelling with Ryanair "we're sorry but we don't have any tea, coffee or hot food on the flight this evening"!

Finally, I opened the shutter in our hotel room this morning and was promptly reminded of my 2012 road trip and my photographic essay on 'Classic views from Spanish hotel rooms'  Enjoy!

On the road again

On the road again, in Southern Spain:

In a week or so and after too long a gap the wheels and the walking stick will be back on the road and back in Andalusia.  The plan is to cycle from Almeria province and do a full circumnavigation of the Sierra Nevada massif, a route of some 600km and around 35,000 ft of ascent.

This time I won't have the luxury of riding at my own lazy pace as I will be accompanied by my brother Nick, a resident of southern Spain and someone who unfortunately and very much unlike me has the build and weight of a proper cyclist.  

I don't expect an easy trip!