We headed north, stopping for a snack at the Fort William Commando Memorial, and later at the Well of the Seven Heads, which, disappointingly, sounds far more interesting than it is.
We turned west at Invergarry, and were rewarded after a long and unexpected climb alongside Loch Garry with incredible views of the loch, and a long, speedy downhill.
As we followed the road towards the west coast past the Five Sisters range of enormous hills, we experienced our third soaking of the trip. It rained heavily for about an hour, but the road mostly seemed downhill (either that or we were just becoming much fitter) and the scenery was fantastic. We arrived among thousands of incredibly annoying flies at the Youth Hostel in Ratagan, on the shores of Loch Duich, only to find it was fully booked. Not wanting to camp, soaking wet and covered in flies, we backtracked to a Bed & Breakfast we had passed in Shiel Bridge, where we spent a comfortable night watching Sky TV, drinking a plentiful amount of tea and feasting on the complementary biscuits.
With a challenging day planned, we both polished our breakfast plates clean, after another cooked breakfast. It occurred to me that with comfortable beds and cooked food on two consecutive days, we must be getting soft.
The weather returned to heat wave mode, and we set off into the hills, stopping briefly for a free walk around Eilean Donan Castle before the ticket office opened.
After some slow, hot, sweaty climbs (reminiscent of our time in Devon and Cornwall) through the hills around Loch Carron, we began the ascent of the mighty pass of Bealach Na Ba.
It was not necessary to go this way. In fact, it added about 25 miles onto our route. It was after reading about the area around Applecross, however, that originally drew us to the north-west of Scotland, rather than the much flatter and shorter route along the shores of Loch Ness between Fort William and Inverness. We wanted to get off the beaten path, and experience a challenge that we may remember for the rest of our lives. I think that is exactly what we got.
Fortunately, for my very survival, the sun disappeared for a while, and we were spared the relentless heat that had been with us for most of the morning. It was still not going to be easy, though. There were eight miles of relentless uphill, some of which was as steep as 1 in 5, climbing eventually to a height of 2053 feet. I ate the remnants of my Kendal Mint Cake, drank a litre of water, swallowed hard and jumped on my bike. It occurred to me that I’ve often felt quite pleased with myself having climbed smaller hills than this, let along drag a fully laden bicycle with the weight equivalent to that of a dead cow lashed to the back. We were both quite determined, however, not to give in, and we both fought the overpowering temptation to get off and push, and rode the whole way.
My vocabulary is not sufficient to explain how impressive the views were, nor could my camera quite capture the scale of it. I had Matt Monro’s song ‘On Days Like These’ playing in my head while I struggled with every cycle of my pedals, as the twisting hairpin bends, seemingly bottomless drops and metal barriers reminded me of the Swiss Alps in the opening sequence of the Italian Job.
A Frenchman stopped his van briefly upon passing us to give us a hearty “bonjour!” for encouragement.
Upon reaching the summit, we had a brief break. A cyclist, who had just come up the other side of the pass (noticeably more scantily laden than we) asked us if we had a problem. I told him my bike was fine, but my legs were probably broken beyond repair. I felt like I’d never walk again! Legs, however, were not necessary for the downhill. The seven or eight miles of downhill took about 15 minutes. The similar distance uphill had taken us over an hour and a half. As we neared the sea the sun came out, and it warmed considerably. We passed several deer in a field, no more than 20 yards away, and cruised into Applecross, were we had lunch on the beach.
Having had our fill of the highlands and the west coast, we decided to head east the following day, back towards Inverness. To anyone familiar with the geography of Scotland, this will begin to appear to be a very indirect route across the country. Simply getting to John O’Groats, however, was never our main priority. Instead, we both wanted to see as much as we could. We also greatly desired the satisfaction of saying, after hearing of the relatively direct routes of other cyclists “Oh, so you did the short/easy route did you?”
We once again rediscovered the savage headwind that had dogged us earlier in the trip, this time as we headed east across the highlands. Even on the flatter sections (which were few and far between) we struggled to maintain little more than walking pace, so our stops where frequent, and our progress slow. The views, were, as usual though, stunning. I think this was the first time it occurred to my that this would soon be over, and I would miss days like these; the challenge, the scenery, the adventure, the sleeping in a different part of the countryside every night, and the desire to get up at 6am every morning.
Reaching the east coast, we spent the next few days heading north up to John O’Groats. On the penultimate day it rained for only the fourth time in over three weeks. Wet, cold and hungry, we stayed at a Bed & Breakfast in Wick.
The following morning we raced up to John O’Groats, with the best average speed of the whole trip. We reached the post marking the most northerly and westerly point of the mainland British Isles, and it was all over. A few days later and we were both back to the comforts of home, both with weary legs but in one piece. We had ridden 1,236 miles.
A final count of the sponsorship has not yet been made, but we have already passed the £1,000 mark! The money will be sent to Dove House Hospice shortly.
We’d both very much like to thank everyone who supported and sponsored us.
