West west coast route

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Twilkes

Guru
Before I did this, someone told me that if I was travelling all the way up to the top of Scotland, not to miss the west coast. So this is the route I took and it was the best part of the journey. I also did it north to south so I was still fresh through all of this landscape, rather than the swearing-at-hills that I did a lot of in Devon and Cornwall:

http://goo.gl/maps/k5QWv
 

theloafer

Legendary Member
Location
newton aycliffe
hi Twilkes
you missed out cape wrath..:ohmy:
the west coast of scotland has some of the best views...:thumbsup: did more or less the same route in 2006 but from arran -mull-skye then applecross.... planning on a north-south route jogle for my 60th and thats about the way i will be going ^_^
 
I've done most of those roads on my last three trips north.

A good variation for straight along the north coast is to go Strath Halladale - Loch Naver - Strath More.
The coast route is ~35 miles and ~3.4k feet climbing.
The inland route is ~65 miles but only ~2.9k feet climbing plus the roads are even quieter than the coast road.
 
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Twilkes

Twilkes

Guru
I thought about Cape Wrath, but the idea of getting cut off and stranded with the tide wasn't on my agenda at the time, although another cyclist guy at the hostel in Durness did do that trip. But the climb south out of Durness was made more enjoyable by a handlebar bag full of grapes, so I highly recommend that as a classy way to travel. 8-)
 
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Twilkes

Twilkes

Guru
In fact I found my travelogue from 12 years ago, so I'll post those days here. This was from the perspective of a 23 year old who had never cycled more than 40 miles in a day before, and that only once, and that almost put him out of action. It's funny looking back at the little details that make the trip, most of them nothing to do with cycling but which I wouldn't have discovered without cycling, and I also remember being more impressed with Torridon than Glen Coe, so that's another reason to go west coast.

Day 1 John O'Groats to Thurso - 20 miles

I stayed at Thurso the previous day so there was an initial 20 mile cycle to reach the starting point, and it was here that I noticed that Caithness is the roadkill capital of Britain - hundreds of creatures in various stages of squishness, some of them merely unidentifiable pancakes of fur. I rode past what I thought was a defunct scorpion and, wondering whether Scotland was tropical enough for such a minibeast, turned back to inspect it further. Turned out it was just a frog with particularly pointy feet.

There's very little at John o;Groats - a couple of hotels, the odd shop and a tiny harbour area. I was sat writing the requisite postcards when a mother and daughter approached me and asked if I'd just done an 'end-to-end', because they'd finished theirs the previous day. They'd taken 18 days, and said that if I wasn't fit now, I would be by the time I'd finished. I told how I'd got lightly toasted (by the sun) the previous weekend, and the mother mentioned how that could be a problem - she'd caught the sun during her ride, and found it a particular problem 'especially on the backs of my knees'. I didn't pick up on it at the time, but on the ride back to Thurso pondered exactly what riding position she'd been using....

I got my photo taken by the official photographer, and talked for a few minutes as it was fairly quiet. A guy had arrived a few days ago, after having walked from Land's Endbackwards - he was supposed to have been an experienced backwards walker, and had a support team with him. i guess they'd have been driving behind him, shouting out directions - 'left a bit; right a bit; mind that pothole'. Either that, or he'd have needed a special helmet with an elaborate system of mirrors.

On the ride back to Thurso - the real start of the trip - it started drizzling, which then turned into a heavy shower. I didn't particularly want to get soaked on the first day, so I pulled into a driveway of one of the few houses around and asked at the door if I could shelter under their porch. This resulted in being invited in for milk and cookies and a fifteen-minute discussion on the university funding system.

???

On arriving back at Thurso it started raining again, so I sat in the station eating lunch. The plan was to carry on cycling west until I got tired and then pitch the tent and sleep. To cut down on accommodation costs, I was going to sleep outdoors and eat out of cafes and corner shops - kind of a back-to-basics thing, getting in touch with nature. However, I'd never been camping before and thus didn't realise that, wondrous though it is, nature is inherently cold and damp. Which is why, when the rain didn't stop, I went back to the hostel and hoped tomorrow would be a drier day. But I would definitely sleep outside tomorrow - I wrote it in my diary.

Day 2 Thurso to Durness - 70 miles

It was still a damp day, Scotch mist and all that stuff, but no actual rain so I left fairly early. There are basically two roads in northern Scotland - one of them goes west, the other south. Once you've gone west, you pretty much have to keep going all the way around the coast - which isn't such a bad things, as it's the most impressive landscape in the country.

There was a lot of uphill stuff, climbing onto barren moors with no houses or even trees, just empty emptiness. Combine this with cycling through damp fog and little traffic and there's a very strong feeling of being separated from the civilised world, which can be nice - stopping on top of a hill with vision down to about 30m and no noise at all is about as opposite to city life as you can get.

Eventually, I reached the bits of the road that go back down again - it's a little soul destroying to climb up a huge hill and turn a corner to see.... another huge hill. Freewheeling downhill with no traffic is great, as you can weave across the road and take the racing line through corners. You do have to watch out for sheep though - they have no respect for braking distance.

I stopped at a place called Bettyhill for a hot potato and hot chocolate - by this point I'd have eaten anything if it had been hot - and then carried on the 9 or 10 miles to Tongue, arriving at 3pm. I tried to decide what to do next - it was too early to stop, and I still had a fair bit of energy left, but there apparently wasn't very much for the next 40 miles. I figureed I'd carry on and just pitch the tent if I got tired, so that is what I did.

Good call. Straight into an almost vertical four-mile climb with nuclear headwind and persistent drizzle. And there wasn't anything for the next 40 miles, except a coffee shop. And that was closed. I was starting to think I may have made a minor error in judgement....

I put my bike down to get a drink, and one of the panniers came off. I was trying to fix it back on when a voice said 'Are you having a little trouble?' It came from one of two ladies cycling in the other direction, and who seemed perpetually cheery even in the most abysmal of conditions. They assured me that it was downhill after the next half mile (it was) and that the weather would clear (it did) and that I would have a nice ride around the loch ahead (I did).

It seems that when you think it can't get any worse, it doesn't. It's just that all the other times you thought it couldn't get any worse, it did. I guess you have to just think it at the right time. Or not at all.

There were some huge hills (up, naturally) towards Durness, and my left knee was almost immobile by the time I finished. Obviously, I wouldn't want to be sleeping outside tonight, especially with damp clothes, so I found the hostel. But I would definitely sleep outside tomorrow - I wrote it in my diary.

Day 3 Durness to Lochinver - 60 miles

The skies would clear up today, and the winds would be coming in from the north giving me some natural assistance in travelling south. I stocked up on food before I left, including my all-time favourite purchase throughout the trip: a bunch of seedless grapes. After a bit of downhill, there was a long climb out of Durness, and rather than just staring down at the pedals it's much more civilised to munch on a grape or three. At an average of two a minute, you can turn a half-hour three mile ordeal into a sixty-grape leisurely ascent. It would be too costly to do it regularly, but 'grapes-on-bike' is the only way to travel.

After the big climbs there was a long descent of (I think) around 15 minutes. I didn't wear a watch, and I didn't have a cycle computer on my bike so I never really had any idea about how far I'd come or how long it had taken. I had maps so I was spatially aware, but time and distance was something I didn't concern myself with. Looking at the length of some of the latter days, I think this was possibly a Good Thing.

Once I'd reached Unapool, I took the scenic route towards Lochinver. Scenic in this case translates as 'gee, I'd hate to take a car on that road'. It started off really fun with quick ups and downs that were a cross between Alton Towers and skiing the moguls, but then the ups and downs got more up and less down - needless to say there were no shops around. I found a few 25% descents, but quickly realised that they are inevitably followed by 25% climbs. And by this time I'd run out of grapes.

The scenic road went on for about five miles too long, until I eventually coasted down to Lochinver, a tiny fishing port. Most of the settlements are either in valleys or near water, so the last couple of miles of each day are generally in the direction of down – which is the best direction for a bike to go in.

I was determined to sleep outside – I figured that if I did it once I'd get used to it, and be able to save huge amounts of money on the rest of the trip. I coasted around the village for a while, then rode up a footpath trying to find somewhere secluded to sleep. I settled on a spot between two rock piles, where I couldn't be seen from the road or from the houses a little further up the hill. Unfortunately, after i'd set the tent up and put all my gear inside, I discovered that there were a number of pointy rocks under the long grass, leaving me with a choice of only three possible sleeping positions – none of them particularly comfortable.

It drizzled in the night, was damp in the morning, and everything in the tent smelled of mildew. It took me two and a half hours to leave the comfort of the sleeping bag the next morning, and in all probability two and a half years to get me to sleep in a tent again. I wrote that in my diary too. [2012 update: camping is actually brilliant as long as you ignore everything you don't like about it]

Day 4 Lochinver to Ullapool – 30 miles

The first half was along another long and winding road, but it seemed more palatable than the previous day's. Parts of the single-track road weren't even surfaced, so I was praying my tyres would withstand it all – I hadn't had any bike problems so far and didn't particularly want to start now. The only sticky moment was when my jumper decided to leap from under the bungee cord on the rack and sacrifice itself to my rear brakes. The wheel didn't skid, just slowed down with an odd rotary sound and the smell of burning fibre. On picking the jumper out of the wheel, I inspected it and noticed that the brake pads had melted two holes in the back – it was still wearable, if a little drafty in places.

It took a little adjustment getting back on the main road for the last ten miles – I'd been used to not having any cars around at all, and suddenly here they were blasting past at sixty mile per hour. The good thing about main roads is they're generally straight and the hills are fairly long, so you don't have to worry about changing gear all the time, or negotiating corners. The newer ones have a few feet of tarmac either side of the main roadway, very handy for not getting hit by mobile homes – some of them are the size of a small house, and driven by people who have no concept of other traffic.

The bike I was riding has a gear on the rear wheel that is about twice the size of the others – I think Raleigh call it MegaRange or something similar, but I christened it 'ludicrous gear' because I never thought I'd find a use for it. On flat ground, you pedal as fast as you can and it only gives you 7 or 8 miles per hour. However, on the last few days I'd used it for virtually every hill climb – it could probably take you up the side of a house if there was enough tread on the tyres. The bike may be going incredibly slowly, but it invariably gets you to the top of any hill with your legs reasonably intact. It is something that legs are very grateful for.

Once again, there was another triumphant descent into a fishing town, this time the larger Ullapool. Gliding through the harbour was nice, but not as nice as seeing signs for a sports centre which had a [large intake of breath] swimming pool! Legs had decided that we wouldn't be going any further that day, and deservedly took themselves off for a swim – or a float, as it turned out. After pushing yourself through hours of the Scottish backcountry, it really feels as though you've earned it when you arrive at your destination.

I decided that, as it seemed I'd finish the trip in half the time I'd originally planned, I may as well spend the spare cash on accommodation, thus avoiding sleeping outside – at least, that was as good an excuse as any.

One interesting development – I was beginning to lose the use of the fingers in my left hand. A this stage I thought it was frostbite from sleeping in the cold the previous night, and found it merely curious. Something to keep an eye one.

Day 5 Ullapool to Torridon 80 miles

The first fully sunny day, more valleys, more trees, more water – this part of Scotland has more provision for tourists than the north, and you can see why. Even if there still aren't too many shops, there are at least hotels that I can buy chocolate from and get water bottles refilled.

The climbs (sorry to keep going on about them, but there's just so many) were longer and less steep today, meaning more freewheeling down the other side. The best day for photographs too – all the ones previously have a washed-out misty sky, whereas today's have some colour to them.

By lunchtime I got to Poolewe, a cute little village with a river, and there was a little park next to the water where I could just lie under a tree for a while – I was starting to feel the effects of the sun from that morning. I was enjoying the trip a lot, but I just wanted to get on with it all – stopping for such distractions as eating and sleeping were getting in the way of what I was here to do. Some days I would spend ten or more hours on the bike – back at home, I would have struggled to keep awake for ten hours....

The second half of the day was very strange – I made steady progress, then got incredibly tired. There was a slow descent that I couldn't even be bothered to pedal down – in fact, I came to a complete standstill at the bottom, wondering how I was going to carry on without falling apart. IT was here that I finished off the last of my food, oatcakes and a jar of lemon curd. That was a very good thing to do, because I didn't stop pedalling for the 8 miles to Kinlochewe. The same thing happened after I had a tin of custard before riding off to Torridon – perhaps there's something about yellow food that sports science doesn't yet know about?

The valley towards Torridon had huge mountains either side, and they were all covered with what looked like bunches of headstones – it was like a cemetery of rocks, perhaps the graves of walkers who didn't make it back to the hostel in time for curfew. None of the mountains would fit into my viewfinder so there's no pictures, but 'twas indeed a spooky way to finish the day.

I'd imagined that a hostel in the middle of nowhere would be fairly sparse and unpopulated. It turned out to be the most well-equipped so far, complete with thirty people on walking holidays, clad in knee length shorts and knee length socks, along with 22 cyclists from Cheltenham and their 22 bikes crammed into the tiny bike shed. Also, the middle-aged chap in the bunk below me was either snoring very loudly, or sawing wood very quietly.

I wrote in my diary that I seem to enjoy it more when I run myself into the ground. That may go some way towards explaining the ridiculous distances I'd run up towards the end of the trip.

Day 6 Torridon to Invergarry – 85 miles

The first part of the day was a nightmare – no food thus no energy. Also, I'd finally worked out that the drawback of descending at the end of a day is the obligatory climb out again the next morning. Flies were also a problem today – I couldn't work out if it was the same flies all the time or if they worked as a relay team along the length of the road, but they were always there. [2012 update: this was definitely flies and not midges – midges are less of a problem in Scotland than everyone says, although one bad experience can colour your opinion forever]

I stopped in a village called Lochcarron and watched some school children playing shinty, a cross between hockey and lacrosse. Also saw the first railway station since Thurso – the track ran parallel to the road for a lot of the way, except when it went around or through mountains and the roads had to go up. How come trains get to miss the hills? I'll have to do this again next year along railway lines with one of those pumpy-wagons that you see in cartoons.

I stopped to eat in a place called Dornie – not really a village, just a few tourist facilities and the Eilean Donan castle, which looks like the one on the BBC ads with the big red balloon. But as there was no balloon there today, I couldn't really tell if it was or not.

I was asked to take a photo for a New Zealand couple, and almost dropped their camera. Indeed, I found it most amusing trying to use cutlery in a bar full of people whilst eating dinner – not so amusing when trying to sign the Visa bill and being unable to hold a pen.... [2012 update: leaning too much on the handlebars squashed a nerve in my wrist....]

Day 7 Invergarry to Fort William – 25 miles

A short ride today, as Fort William is the first reasonable-sized town since Thurso and would give me a chance to unwind. Also, the last two hours of the previous day had almost killed me.

I took my bike in for a check, but there hadn't been any problems – I asked them to realign the gears, just to make sure, but I don't think it made any difference.

In the afternoon I just sat in a park with a newspaper and generally wasted time – after all the nothingness it was nice to have a town to get lost in. I was going to watch a film in the evening, and tried to have a quick nap around 5pm, but – I coudn't! The first time I've been unable to sleep in the middle of the day – what has this ride done to me?

NB I had originally planned to go up Ben Nevis in the afternoon, but after consulting with legs, they decided that they would rather die than walk any further than the chip shop.
 
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