Day Four: Islay to Oban

Port Askaig Islay; Wednesday 9:50am (summertime only). This is the only CalMac sailing of the week between the Southern Western Isles and the Northern Western Isles, arriving in Oban at 14:10. It is imperative that we catch this ferry or the rest of the holiday is doomed.

We are wakened before the alarm chimes at 6:30am by crashing 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 great 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.

Day Three: Islays West Coast

Today is the only day not scheduled with an early morning appointment with a ferry. With this comforting knowledge we remain in our bunks while the less fortunate with their noisy children vacate their rooms and communal dining area. Getting out of bed and performing morning ablutions in such a small area requires strategic planning and foresight or collision is inevitable. With military precision we time our assaults on the bathroom to the second ensuring that one of us is solo in the room to dress without the chance of accidently injuring himself/herself against a nearby partitioned wall.

Breakfast complete we mount our bikes and revel in the lightweight of our chariots minus the panniers. Pressing on to Islay’s Atlantic coast we turn left after Bruichladdich on to the B8016 to our first stop at Scotland’s most westerly distillery. The distillery is situated on the western side of Islay, near the small town of Kilchoman. The distillery began production in June 2005 and was the first to be built on the island of Islay in 124 years. The distillery uses barley grown on site at Rockside Farm and malted at the distillery. The converted farm cum distillery houses an impressive visitor centre and diner where Emma samples her first Cullen Skink (a thick Scottish soup made of smoked haddock, potatoes and onions).

A couple of miles west of the distillery lies some of Islay's most beautiful coastal scenery, namely Machir and Saligo Bay. The road to the coast takes us to the top of a little hill where we get magnificent views over Loch Indaal and Loch Gruinart with the mountains of Mull in the distance. Following a rough single track road downhill we reach Machir Bay. The wind and light conditions on the beach are relentless in their diversity and we spend a happy hour absorbing its many mood swings.

Three miles to the north of Machir Bay lies Saligo Bay. The bay is accessible through a gate west of Loch Gorm. Passing an old military bunker we cross dunes riddled with numerous rabbit holes and descend to reach the breathtaking beach. Saligo Bay offers one of the most beautiful light conditions according to some photographers and is a favorite spot for people to watch and photograph an Atlantic Sunset. From this point 3000 miles due west is the coast line of North America and only water in between.

On our return to Port Charlotte we stop to capture an old red phone box situated miles from any form of civilization. Bizarrely we find that the phone box only accepts credit cards as payment, we ponder over the anger that must rise within an individual who, having traveled 5 miles to access this box finds that he/she has left his/her credit card at home. Has BT forgotten about this lonely box or has Ofcom forced them to keep alive a local emergency lifeline? We strongly suspect the latter.

Part of our holiday plan is to reward ourselves each evening with a gourmet meal followed by a rich dessert. Accommodation and transport around the Islands has been pre-paid and frugal in its conception. To compensate for our frugality we aim to enjoy the best that each stopover has to offer in the way of culinary delights. Tonight we bypass the overpriced and overrated Port Charlotte Hotel and wander along the main street to the towns other eatery The Lochindaal Hotel.

As mentioned in our Trip Advisor review this place badly needs some TLC. Too many, this is the sort of establishment that you would walk in to and walk straight out of i.e. stained covered carpet, nicotine walls, windowless toilet, dirty upholstery and a token drunk at the end of the bar. As we enter the premises and assess the surroundings the drunk at the end of the bar offers us a cheery welcome and then proceeds to step behind the bar and serve us a drink. He informs us that the Landlord is busy as he quickly pours our drinks and introduces himself. My gawd what have we stepped in to here we wonder! A bottle of Red Eye poured liberally from the bartenders hand accompanied by a piano player playing an out of tune honky-tonk piano would not be out of place in this saloon!

As the landlord returns and we settle down with our drinks we find the welcome from our hosts to be genuine and informative. On enquiring about some food the landlord informs us that this is the chef’s night off: but not too worry as he will put us something together should we wish. This kindly gesture results in the drunk resuming his title of temporary barman as other locals enter the bar and introduce themselves. As the night proceeds we find that many of the locals work in the Bruichladdich distillery and are not averse to sampling its produce thus providing us with anecdotes and hospitality that its expensive rival would bottle and sell if they knew the ingredients.

Amongst the many nuggets of information passed on to us by the locals is the news of gale warnings threatening to hit Islay’s shores the following morning. Returning to the hostel through the white streets we hope the forecasters have got it wrong as any possible disruption of the Wednesday ferry to Oban will result in the remainder of the holiday being abandoned.

Day Two: Arran to Islay

The early morning sun breaking above Lochranza brings a welcome orange tinge to the surroundings around Loch Ranza and the Castle directly adjacent to our front door as we take in the early morning vista. The rain ravaged glens of yesterday are coming alive and embracing a welcome respite from the precipitation that has been oh so familiar to them this summer.

Breakfast is served in the Ministers old study room and we are seated next to a fabulous bay window overlooking the tranquil bay. As we make quick work of the hearty breakfast we begin to threat at not making a thanksgiving prayer pre-breakfast in such pious surroundings.

After wishing our enchanting landlady our farewells we cycle the short distance along the shore road to Lochranza pier where we board the 30 minute crossing to Claonaig on the east coast of the Kintyre peninsula. Seeing Arran disappear in to the distance from this departure point is a truly wondrous sight. The northern hills which were covered in low rain filled clouds yesterday are now visible through sun dissected scatterings of cumulus.

Looking over to the Kintyre peninsular we notice a backbone of high land running down its spine and we realise that we have another hill to surmount if we are to catch our next ferry from Kennacraig on its western coast.

We have factored a 90 minute allowance for this 5 mile trip from Claonaig to Kennacraig. On paper at the time of its conception this seemed like an ample allowance. The reality of climbing hills weighted down with panniers and the constant breaks to capture still and moving images have not been accounted for and we find that we have to cycle down off the hill at great speed to capture our ferry with 20 minutes to spare. This 20 minute window turns out to be fortuitous as the ferry closes all its doors 15 minutes prior to departure and before we can catch our breath we are aboard and sailing towards Port Askaig on the Isle of Islay.

En route to Islay the ferry first sails down West Loch Tarbert. As it emerges from the loch the Paps of Jura spring into view, and then command the horizon, as they do throughout our stay on Islay.

To the east there are striking views across the low-lying island of Gigha, to the Kintyre peninsula: and across both Gigha and Kintyre to the still more distant mountains on Arran.

Port Askaig lies at the north end of the island via the Sound of Islay with close-up views of the southern end of Jura. As we arrive in port 2 hours after our departure another steep incline exiting the harbour catches our eye as we begin our preparations for our 15 mile cycle south to Port Charlotte; the best-preserved and most attractive village on Islay.

The Isle of Islay has around 3200 inhabitants, covers an area of 600 square kilometres and has an impressive 130 miles of coastline. Islay is famous for its malt whiskeys and has eight working distilleries on the island making the malt whisky industry one of the most important sources of income for the island.

Three miles short of Port Charlotte we pass through the small town of Bruichladdich on the shores of Loch Indaal which is dominated by its distillery. As we pass we notice an imposing copper still sitting proudly in its front yard with a letter from ‘Bruichladdich’ singularly embossed on 13 whiskey barrels underneath it. Bizarrely, protruding from the still there appears to be the lower limbs of a male hanging from the open end of the still. We find at a later date that this is a joke at the expense of the Americans and their errm, defense policies.

Apparently the distillery was monitored by the US Defense Threat Reduction Agency during the Iraq war on the grounds that the distilling equipment could be used to make chemical weapons. The distillery maintains a series of webcams and learned of the surveillance after a US agent informed them that one had broken down! Aware of the absurdity of the situation the workforce decided to expose the Americans over exuberant surveillance techniques by sticking these dummy limbs at the end of the still to mimic the eventual destination of a weapons inspector should our American cousins decide to send one over.

As we round the coast to Port Charlotte we are immediately struck by the blinding whitewashed residencies in the village. The village was founded by Walter Frederick Campbell in 1828 and named after his mother. The village was built to provide housing facilities for the folk who worked in the Lochindaal Distillery, which opened in 1829, and was also known as Port Charlotte and Rhinns Distillery. The first licensee was Colin Campbell, but he owned the distillery for only two years and many owners followed him. The distillery closed in 1929 but its buildings still remain and some are now in use by the Youth Hostel in which we will be stopping for the next two evenings.

We quickly settle in to our bijou room which is tastefully furnished with one bunk bed and a sink before making our way to the renowned Port Charlotte Hotel. This is a Hotel that often appears in all the tourist guides and Sunday brochures and we make haste in expectation of fine cuisine.

Ohh dear, such was the service we received we felt obliged to write the following report in Trip Advisor:

Port Charlotte Hotel Review

As mentioned, the meals and desserts were of a very good quality but we found that the barman’s surly manner completely killed the mood of the place for anyone who had not over indulged in the many Islay whiskies that he was selling at Gleneagles prices. Over lubrication of the local tincture is not on our agenda as we decide to soak up the ambience of the waves crashing against shingle and rocky shoreline; the whitewashed houses highlighted by moonlight guiding us back to our cell and sleep.

Day One: Glasgow to Arran (Tour of Western Isles)

At last, the meander of the year for us has arrived, a jaunt that has been weeks in its construction and taken months of training. A journey that has required foresight in its planning and one that has caused numerous bumps and bruises in its preparation, an adventure that requires adherence to strict time parameters and a resolve to conquer all the irregularities that the Scottish weather conditions can muster. A holiday that will bring a daily challenge of energy, strength and determination and one we hope will be rich in reward as we tour the scenic splendour of Scotland’s western isles by bike and boat.

On day one we take the train from Glasgow to Ardrossan on the Clyde coast where we will take our first CalMac ferry to Brodick in Arran and cycle north to Lochranza to our first overnight stop.

Day Two will see us take the short hop by ferry to Claonaig where we cycle over the Mull of Kintyre to board the ferry for Port Askaig on Islay and then cycle south to Port Charlotte.

Day Three will be a rest day on Islay in which we intend to discover its sandy west coast.

Day Four sees us return to Port Askaig to catch the ferry to Oban via The Isle of Colonsay and access to the Outer Hebrides.

Day Five, we board the ferry to Isle of Barra stopping at Coll and Tiree en-route and then circumnavigate the island.

Day Six and we take the ferry from Barra to Lochboilsdale on South Uist and than cycle through South Uist, Benbecula and North Uist to Lochmaddy.

Day Seven and we cross between Lochmaddy and Uig on the Isle of Skye and cycle south to Sconser and another ferry to the Isle of Raasay lying to the east of Skye.

Day Eight is our final day which takes us back on to Skye and a cycle south to the port of Armadale where we board our final ferry to Mallaig on the mainland and a train home to Glasgow.

Standing majestically at the northwest edge of Europe, these far flung islands offer a rich diversity of landscapes and species, arts, crafts and music: the islands have an abundance of beautiful habitats... peaceful, unspoilt and natural. Fresh water and sea lochs unsurpassable in their beauty and abundance provide a great resource for fishermen and bird life alike; an oasis of calm in a chaotic world.

Cycling through Glasgow’s mean streets on a Sunday morning is not for the faint hearted as we pass various groups of males and females struggling to identify there whereabouts and time of day as they stagger about blinded by alcohol and false bravado. The sight of two people with heavily laden bikes so early in the morning seems to fuel their booze sozzled brains with amusement, they, of course see no amusement in being in a near state of undress while being unable to put together two coherent sentences. Can we really be leaving all this behind ;-)

The 8:40 am train to Ardrossan has a mixed bag of passengers, some of whom are suffering badly from the Saturday night excess and some like us who are going to Arran to explore its delights. Our pre-plan for this part of the holiday was to take our time and break ourselves in to our new bikes gradually as we travel north from Brodick to Lochranza. Unfortunately the weather as we look across from Ardrossan does not look promising. Low threatening clouds close in on us as we alight from the ferry and the sky opens up in torrential fashion. Stopping to make a minor adjustment to Eric’s seat we press on undeterred on the 14 mile road which is becoming increasingly busy by the use of Sunday morning churchgoers.

Passing through the small coastal villages of Corrie and Sannox we stop to capture the mooring posts on their harbours which have been painted to look like sheep, they look so life like from a distance that you feel compelled to go out and check there authenticity.

The hill that rears before us at 11 miles comes as a surprise as we were anticipating a leisurely coastal stroll on our first day. As we struggle with our gear recognition on our new bikes we take great pride in reaching the top of a two mile hill and take great exhilaration as we freewheel at great speed all the way down into Lochranza.

Lochranza is the most northernly sited of Arran's villages and is located in the north-western corner of the island. The village is set on the shore of Loch Ranza, a small sea loch. Lochranza itself lays along both sides of the loch it is named after, though the main focus of activity is on the south western side. The mouth of the loch on this side is home to the ferry slipway, and as you progress along the shore from here you pass a string of cottages, hotels and guest houses and the village hall. Dominating the small village is the stunning Lochranza Castle which sits proudly on a curved shingle spit in the bay. Opposite the castle lies our overnight stop; Castle Kirk guest house which as the name suggests was the old castles church at one time and has now been transformed in to a time preserved B&B and art gallery.

Although still early in the day we attempt to gain early entry to our accommodation as the rain has soaked us through and we are keen to gain some shelter to change our clothes. Our early arrival catches our landlady unaware as we wait patiently as she gasses on relentlessly to a friend on the phone oblivious to our presence downstairs waiting to be booked in. Coming off the phone she immediately suggests that we should give her all our wet clothes which she duly washes and dries for us. This is a thoughtful gesture that we are grateful to take her up on, as we prepare ourselves for an evening dinner in the nearby Lochranza Hotel.

As we stroll along in the early evening for our meal the torrential rain has subsided and the locals are out counting the damage and clearing blocked drains while hordes of Red Deer feed in gardens oblivious to the homeowners concerns. An extraordinary coexistence which seems to suit all concerned and one that adds to the fairytale feel of this quaint little idyll.

A Glimpse Of Wales

Our official summer holidays begin this week with our first meander over the Scottish border.

With excitement not experienced since childhood we wake up to the tune of a youthful Cliff Richard’s ‘Summer Holiday’. Imagine if you can, two grown adults dancing to the strains of Sir Cliffs’ cheesy anthem at 6am and you have a near vision of the surreal episode that Emma’s near neighbours are encountering as we prepare for our expedition to Wales and Eric’s quest to ‘Race the Train’. It should be mentioned at this point that the train in question is not an ‘Inter City’ but a more sedate method of locomotion which still prevails in Wales, the narrow gauge steam loco.

Setting off early to avoid the morning Glasgow rush hour we make great speed and reach our first port of call; Portmeirion, North Wales in 6 hours.
Portmeirion is an Italianate resort village in Gwynedd, on the coast of Snowdonia in Wales. The village is located in the community of Penrhyndeudraeth, on the estuary of the River Dwyryd, 2 miles south east of Porthmadog. Portmeirion has served as a location for several films and television shows, most famously serving as The Village in The Prisoner.

Built as a tribute to the atmosphere of the Mediterranean by Sir Clough Williams-Ellis the design of the village resembles the Italian resort of Portofino. Taking 50 years to construct Williams-Ellis constructed the village between 1925 and 1975. He incorporated fragments of demolished buildings, including works by a number of other architects. Portmeirion's architectural bricolage and deliberately fanciful nostalgia have been noted as an influence on the development of postmodernism in architecture in the late twentieth century.

The obvious Italian/Roman/European architecture and the many oddities which abound on every corner radiates an eerie feel as the human mind convulses with mixed signals as it struggles to compute the knowledge of being on a Welsh estuary whilst being surrounded by extreme foreign influences.

The village, estuary and adjoining gardens prove to be photographic manna from heaven despite the overcast conditions but sadly we have to cut or visit short and move on down the coast to our weekender stopover at the seaside resort of Barmouth.

In Barmouth, we find the quintessential seaside resort, backed by jagged crags, fronted by ash-blonde sands and bordered by the dramatic Mawddach estuary. Like so many Victorian seaside resorts Barmouth has been sadly neglected over the past thirty years or so as it has failed to move on with the times. Still in situ exist the prehistoric amusement arcades and tacky gift shops with their double-entendre post cards and humour that should have passed away with the death of Benny Hill and the tedious ‘Carry On’ ensemble.Sadly in the modern time, these resorts are now used as a haven for waifs, strays and runaways and are best avoided because of there presence. Also the proliferation of: the stag night, the hen night, the pub day out, all hell-bent on consuming as much alcohol as possible with little consideration given for others make these once family friendly resorts a place to avoid if a quiet drink in good company is your prime consideration.

Our guest house which lies on the outskirts of town and slightly beyond the drunken hordes is fancifully titled ‘Harbour View’, admittedly the premises does possess an impressive vista of the harbour and the renowned single-track wooden railway viaduct that crosses the estuary but sadly we are placed in a room that overlooks a neighbors back door. Otherwise the house is in good condition and the landlady of a type which makes the British seaside resort famous/infamous.

Following a hearty Welsh breakfast the next morning we board a local train which takes us over the impressive Barmouth Bridge and along the scenic Cardigan Bay to the race start point at Tywyn.

Race the Train takes place alongside as far as practicable the route taken by the Talyllyn Railway on its journey to Abergynolwyn and back. In order to do this the course uses a mixture of public roads, lanes, un-metalled roads, tracks, agricultural land, and rough grazing pastures. The terrain varies all the time and is very wet & muddy in places; the route also ascends and descends quite steep terrain and runs on narrow footpaths with little chance of overtaking. On the plus side, the course does offer the chance for the viewing public who have boarded the train the chance to catch the runners at various vantage points along the hazardous route. Studded footwear is a prime consideration for this race; subsequently the well worn studs on Eric’s old gutties prove to be less than adequate for the task as he skates around the muddy course in a gingerly fashion, eventually completing the 15 miles in a painfully slow, 2 hours and 14 minutes.

On returning to Barmouth we dine in a plastic Thai restaurant which serves us an instantly forgettable meal but fortunately the night is redeemed when we find the pub next door to our B&B: ‘The Last Inn’ offers a friendly ambience in unusual surroundings exampled by a unique well where the mountain at the side of the establishment forms part of the pub wall and where fresh spring water forms a pond within the pub itself.

After a brisk walk along Barmouths endless beach the next morning to walk off the fried breakfast we head north along the Cardigan coast to Caernarfon which is dominated by its majestic castle. The castle's majestic persona is no architectural accident: it was designed to echo the walls of Constantinople, the imperial power of Rome and the dream castle, 'the fairest that ever man saw', of Welsh myth and legend. The location of the town creates a lovely view across the Afon Menai towards the south of Anglesey and we spend a couple of hours there soaking up its rich history and stunning backdrop before moving on to Snowdon the highest mountain in Wales.

Described ‘as probably the busiest mountain in Britain’, we find on our arrival at Llanberis at the foot of the mountain that the description lives up to the hype. We witness an unbelievable collection of people hanging around waiting to board the numerous rack railway trains hording the masses up the mountain. On investigation we find that the price for this sedentary lift through the clouds (£25) is pitched to suit the punter with big wallets and low aspirations. Time constraints on the day restrict us from ascending the summit in a more self-rewarding manner and we resolve to come back at a later date to claim the mountain by foot.

Driving back up the M6 in a sprightly 5 hours brings an end to the first part of our summer holidays as we rest up for a week in preparation for part 2 of our vacation with an epic cycle around the Western Isles of Scotland.

Link to 'A Glimpse of Wales' video

Emma Takes A Tumble

We travel to the heart of the Trossachs this week and the picture postcard village of Callander.

The Trossachs are often painted as a "Scotland in miniature", an area of lower mountains and lakes extending west and south from Callander to Aberfoyle, and interestingly reminiscent of the English Lake District. Whether the Trossachs would have achieved their fame without the influence of Sir Walter Scott is debatable; but while for some they are just the foothills of the real Highlands, for others they remain the most attractive part of Scotland.

Callander forms one of the main gateways to the Highlands. It sits at the eastern end of the Trossachs and at the southern end of the Pass of Leny, and is an ideal base for those wishing to explore the area. Sir Walter Scott and William Wordsworth both favoured Callander and it lays claim to Rob Roy, Scotland's answer to Robin Hood. Our motive for this visit is not to savor the romance or history of the locale but to use it as a starting point in our continued quest to gain full fitness for our forthcoming cycle excursion around the Western Isles and also the 14 mile cross-country Race the Train foot race that Eric has entered in North Wales on August 15th.

The route today takes us from the Callander through the forested Pass of Leny and along the western shore of Loch Lubnaig towards Strathyre village. The trail distance between Callander and Strathyre is signposted as nine and a half miles which we would mean a return journey of 19 miles which is perfectly feasible for Emma on the bike but would prove to be a tad ambitious for Eric in running shoes. With this in mind, comprise is struck and we decide to run/bike for one hour along the track before returning to Callander.

The weather could best be described as changeable (four seasons in one day) as we set of at a good pace in a cooling light drizzle. We quickly find a good pace and rhythm and begin to eat up the miles along the old rail route beside the River Lenny. The steady ascent of the track proves to be an easy work out as we make seven and a half miles on the one hour mark. Strathyre from this vantage point looks tantalizingly close and we resolve to come back in the near future to complete the full route. The return via the same route is mostly downhill and we rejoice in the comfort of free-wheeling a steady descent in near perfect running/cycling conditions. Alas this tranquil mode is interrupted when Emma takes her hand of the handlebars and her eye of the track resulting in an alarming tumble from the bike as we reach the final 2 miles. Thankfully there are no broken bones or sprains but the fall alerts us to the dangers of being complacent to the dangers of speed and naked flesh against tarmac.

28 Hilly Miles

In an effort to condition our legs or more accurately our Coccyx (bum bone) for the long distance cycle trip we have planned for August we travel to the shores of Loch Katrine and Trossachs Pier where we hire a couple of bikes to test our levels of cycle fitness.

The challenge we have set is to cover 28 miles in 4 hours from the pier to Stronachlachar and return. Again the weather conditions are unforgiving on the outward 14 miles as it proceeds to rain like a cow peeing on a flat rock. Undeterred we press on through face on sheets of rain that make the road in front of us near impossible to view with both eyes open. The middle section of the challenge proves to be quite hilly as we need to disembark at some particularly tough upward climbs. Our struggle up these hills is not helped by the ill maintained gears continually slipping, resulting in bruised calves as the pedals repeatedly slip and return to the lower leg with a ferocity that has the air turning blue with profanities.

Reaching the half way mark at Stronachlachar in a respectable 1 hour and 50 minutes we take refuge from the driving rain in the welcoming tearoom at the pier and rehydrate with a couple of soft drinks before climbing back aboard our bikes and return via the route we have just travelled. The weather is a little kinder on the return leg and we manage to take in some of the beauty that surrounds this natural reservoir and again return in 1 hour 50 minutes to accumulate a total time of 3 hours 40 minutes for the 28 hilly miles complete.

Alighting from our ill maintained chariots at Trossachs Pier with no pain and little fatigue we take great confidence in completing the undulating circuit in such adverse and challenging conditions and look forward with excitement to our cycle around the Western Isles of Scotland next month.