Day 12: Annan to Dent

A very early start indeed today, up and off by 5am. Perhaps it was my subconscious ensuring I got out of Scotland and into England as soon as possible. Well, that Scottish beer was a bit rubbish.


Met up with my friends Simon and Sue at Carlisle, who are joining me for a couple of days. We cycled south through the northern Lakes and dropped in on Mark’s aunt Alison. She is hand-rearing two lambs in the garden of her cottage. One is for breeding, the other for, erm, well, you know. If small children ask about the lamb’s destiny, make up vague stories about going off to a farm in Derbyshire or something.


This is on display on a garage on the A6 near Shap. Who says cars are not ecologically sustainable?


It was a long day for me, with quite a few miles of cool cloudy breeze and nondescript scenery – and many of thrilling scenery, such as our last long trail hugging a hillside into Sedbergh, and finally a valley-floor trundle to the campsite at Dent.

In the excellent Sun pub in Dent, we got chatting to a local farmer. It was the sort of conversation that makes you realise you're not in London:

-Where did you cycle from today?
-From Annan.
-Annan? I used to buy cattle from there.

Miles today: 79
Miles since Cape Wrath: 601

Day 11: Crosshill to Annan

The campsite I found last night, by chance, is a real gem. It's in an old Georgian walled garden in the middle of a wooded valley. Perhaps this explains the strange smell in my tent when I took my shoes off last night. I must have been camped over an old compost heap.


With tailwinds, at last, and plenty of sun, today was another fab cycling day, through the often Dales-like scenery of Ayrshire and Dumfries'n'Galloway. It was a day for whizzing along for the sheer pleasure of it. I finished in Annan, where it was an evening for having a pint and curry for the sheer pleasure of it.

Miles today: 81
Miles since Cape Wrath: 522

Day 10: Rothesay to Crosshill

An early start, zigzagging down a remarkable and little-known road in Rothesay from the campsite to the ferry. Serpentine Road has nine hairpin bends and must be Britain's most corkscrewy street. The landlord of the pub the previous night where we watched the football lives on it. We hope he got home OK.


We did a quick tour of Great Cumbrae Island, which is the home of what claims to be Britain's narrowest house. It's not even as wide as a bike. Presumably they have a folder instead.

Mark left to catch a train back home, and I ploughed on the coast road on another baking hot day. Half of Glasgow had come out to the beaches of Ardrossan or Troon. The other half kept asking me how far I was cycling.


To which the answer was Ayr, where I visited Robbie Burns' cottage. In Ayr there was a takeaway called BURNS SUPPER, which seemed unfortunate.


I also went up Electric Brae, a famous optical illusion where a downhill looks like an uphill (it's downhill coming towards the camera). I spent half an hour gleefully freewheeling uphill. Unfortunately the trick didn't work with any other inclines en route to Crosshill, near where I found an extraordinary secret campsite.

Miles today: 75
Miles since Cape Wrath: 441

Day 9: Lochgilphead to Rothesay

A day of baking hot weather, quirky things and magnificent Kyles of Bute scenery started with a fine lunch in Tarbet, a common place name in Gaelic which apparently means 'you can't top a Tunnock's'.


As we cycled out to the ferry there was a man playing the bagpipes by the side of the road. Perhaps it's to scare the children away from the traffic.


We stumbled upon a Shinty match, watched by a crowd of about 150 vociferous locals. Kyles of Bute beat Bute in a tense cup match that ended in a penalty shootout. Shinty is a mixture of aerial hockey, golf, tennis, and kendo.


Finally we stayed in splendid Rothesay, on Bute. It's famous for its Victorian architecture, and has these showcase Victorian Toilets. They're signposted as a bone fide tourist attraction.

Miles today: 47
Miles since Cape Wrath: 365

Day 8: Tiree to Lochgilphead

The ferry to Oban took me and Mark into summer. On the mainland it was glorious sunny weather, Scotland at its May best. After the windswept austerity of the Hebrides it was a surprise to see things like trees, and our own shadows, again.


The scenery south from Oban was wonderful, lochy and green and lush. And hilly.


The direction signs in this part of Scotland are in Gaelic and English. In a few places they're in Idiot, too.


We stopped at the ancient settlement of Kilmartin to admire their mini-Stonehenge. The stones are precisely aligned so that on the morning of solstice each summer, the sunrise is obscured behind the wood.

We ended with a run alongside the Crinan canal - a real west coast hidden gem - to Lochgilphead, for a fine curry and an enthusiastic discussion with our friendly Bangladeshi maitre d' about cricket.

Miles today: 64
Miles since Cape Wrath: 318

Day 7: Castlebay to Tiree

The good news is today that there was no wind. The bad news is that there was fog instead. So you could cycle at a normal speed again, you just couldn't see anything.

Still, in the tantalising periods of terrible visibility between those of no visibility, I nipped across from Barra to Vatersay, the last tickbox Hebridean island in the chain of ferries and causeways.

From there it was a ferry to Tiree, where I met up with my pal Mark. He's come up specially to join me for a couple of days to drink whisky, swop stories, and perhaps do some cycling now and then.


Tiree is a very likeable little island: one enormous flattish village green with houses plonked at random on it, as if shaken from a box. They don't have driveways: the owners just drive their cars from the road straight across the grass.

The pub was great fun. There were some entertaining Belgians, and the barmaid was at school with my niece Lucy. It's a small world. And a small island. One day I'd like to cycle right round it. I think I'll do it tomorrow, before breakfast.

Miles today: 13
Miles since Cape Wrath: 254

Day 6: Lionacleit to Castlebay

A torrid night of gale force winds and driving rain reduced my tent, and most of its contents, to a sodden lump this morning. At least I know now that the various bits of 'lightweight' camping kit I bought really are lightweight - I could see them floating around the tent at 1.30am.

So, another very early start got me out into the mist and drizzle across South Uist, and with a relatively flat moonscape to cycle over and relatively light headwinds, it felt things were suddenly getting better. More island-hopping over dramatically long causeways (above), which like those yesterday - according to the signs - are apparently riddled with traversing otters.


The ferry from Eriskay took me to Barra, the southernmost major Outer Hebridee. Here I found a very nice indie hostel overlooking the castle and bay of Castlebay, the island's main town, whose name was clearly decided by a committee.

Barra is famous for its airport, whose runway is a beach. Here planes really do take off and land on the sand, with timetables determined by the tide. Except there weren't any because of the ash cloud.

Miles today: 40
Miles since Cape Wrath: 241