We are wakened before the alarm chimes at 6:30am by cr
ashing waves across the shore at the front of the Hostel accompanied by a howling wind and heavy rain battering against our small window. Have we slept for three months and awoke in November? This isn’t summer, this is autumn giving way to winter. The blackness of the clouds makes it impossible to view the severity of the conditions but we need no metrological qualification to comprehend the task that awaits us.
We have to retrace our route from Monday back to Port Askaig; an allowance of two hours has been allocated to this task, again, on paper this looked ample. However today’s unseasonal weather conditions now make this a major challenge! Setting off at 7:30am we make excellent progress over the first 3 miles as the gale force wind behind us drives us north at great speed. The problems begin when the road veers on a easterly direction and the wind also changes direction; face on. This is where a person begins to doubt his/her own sanity. Cycling into a gale force wind we can confirm is only for the super fit, to cycle in such conditions laden down with panniers is impossible. The great Lance Armstrong would forsake his morning training run rather than brave these conditions. With no hope of cycling we dismount and decide to walk our way through the storm knowing that the road heads in a northerly direction three miles down the road. It is with subdued relief that we reach the turning point and remount our bikes for the final nine miles to the ferry terminal all the while being past at gre
at speed by numerous cars as they make their comfortable way to the same destination.
We are firmly of the belief that there is no waterproof material thus far invented that could keep us dry this morning. Too further add to our woes the toilets and waiting area at the pier are under refurbishment as we seek out local shelter at a bus stop. Unable to change into dry clothes our body temperatures drop dramatically and it is a great relief when the ferry arrives on time to take us to Oban.
Once aboard and free of our soaked cycle wear we are constantly recognised by those fortunate to pass us en-route in their air conditioned cars. Settling in to the comfort and heat of the boat we sit back content in the knowledge that our cycling is finished for the day. Today’s adverse weather conditions make The Paps of Jura invisible as is almost anything below 100 feet. A tragic twist of fate for us as this is a renowned route for its breathtaking scenery along the western coast of Scotland. Stopping briefly at the Isle of Colonsay we push on through the Firth of Lorn passing Scarba, Luing and Easdale to the east and Mull on the west and onwards through the narrow Sound of Kerrera followed by a careful maneuver into Oban harbour.
The youth hostel in Oban is situated in a 19th century town house on the seafront with stunning views across Oban bay to the islands of Kerrera and Mull. Booking in to our grandiose location we quickly locate the launderette to wash and dry all the clothes that took such a soaking earlier in the day. As the clothes progress through the wash cycle we find a quiet
hotel next door where we watch the mist begin to lift over the harbour as we indulge ourselves with an early evening aperitif.
Oban is a town in which we are familiar with, having visited there on two previous occasions this year. Our choice of eating establishment is also familiar to us as we return to an Indian restaurant we visited on our last excursion here.
A walk along the quayside afterwards helps to digest our mediocre fare before we settle into The Columba Hotel to watch Arsenal v Celtic on a large screen. Alas, a day that started in a miserable fashion for us both finishes in abject misery for Eric as Celtic are beaten 3 – 1.
Undeterred we trudge home to our separate dormitories to dream of adventures in the horizon and reflect upon challenges already conquered.
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