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Travel StoriesThe Scottish Trip 2008 - By Ren Withnell
The Scottish Trip 2008 - Ullapool To Fort William
The morning is dry, but the clouds look ominous. All along our journey the local Scotsfolk tell us they have had little or no rain for 6 weeks, quite unheard of this far north. It would be just fine if it started to pour when I get here. We take breakfast in a café above the local outdoor and camping shop, quite a find as you’d never know it was there if you didn’t spot the small sign. Back at the campsite as we decamp we say our goodbye to the other 3 bikers as they head into town for breakfast too.
Back on the road we follow the A835 south to Gorstan then turn onto the A832 that will take us to Kyle of Lochalsh. I rode this road last year whilst returning from Inverness. It’s a lonely, empty road. As I travel along I feel like the great adventurer again. In my head I’m the dark traveller, crossing remote mountain passes where only brave shepherds and wild creatures would dare to be. All this is shattered as I’m passed by baggy looking old biker on a classic BMW with Tesco bags strapped to the back seat. I guess the fact that I’m travelling along 2 lanes of smooth tarmac means that a whole team of navvies were here before me too.
After Strathcarron on the A890 the road becomes narrow, steep and twisty again. To make it even more interesting it also runs along steep cliffs with Loch Carron below. I’m still moving nicely but the weather is looking more like rain every minute, a few spots on my visor indicate the worse is yet to come.
Before we head into Kyle of Lochalsh I detour a couple of miles to The Eilean Donan Castle. We are now back onto the major roads and correspondingly the tourists are out in their masses. We pause only to take a few pictures then head into Kyle. After refuelling in Kyle we look for somewhere to eat and refresh. The chip shop café in town is packed full so we cross the sleek Skye Bridge and find a smart café in Kyleakin, across the water from the Kyle of Lochalsh.
The Eilean Donan Castle, a few miles from Kyle of Lochalsh. It's impressive but full of tourists too.
As we park the bike the rain is starting. The café serves us with expensive food and refreshments and we sit inside watching the rain get heavier and heavier, the sky on Skye is getting darker and darker. Before we set off I put on the waterproofs and batten down the hatches. It’s not actually that far from Kyleakin to Armadale, but with the rain, roadworks and poor visibility the ride seems to take forever. Last year this road seemed to be fast and smooth, sweeping and fun, this year it seems busy, wet, dark and very tedious.
The ferry terminal at Armadale is wet too, as you’d expect. I pay the £16.40 for passage to Mallaig and we sit in the waiting room, dripping on the floor tiles and feeling damp all over. The gf does not like the rain. She’s damp around the cuffs and although she’s keeping on her brave face I know she’d rather be in the sun, all warm and dry, rather than dripping in a cold room. As we wait more cars and cyclists arrive. The cyclists are really wet and desperately trying to lift the mood as they laugh whilst wringing out their clothing.
On the ferry we sit outside overlooking the front of the small ship. The gf keeps her helmet on and as the rain gathers even more momentum I put on my lid. What a sight this must be for the car drivers, inside looking out at the two daft bikers sat in the rain wearing all their kit and looking rather forlorn and dejected. I take some pleasure in watching Malliag come into view out of the mist as the ferry judders under it’s own power.
The Armadale to Mallaig Ferry. Picture courtesy of www.everystockphoto.com. It was far too wet and miserable to get the camera out.
There seems little point in stopping to look around Mallaig. We had taken a good look 2 years ago on what was then quite a nice day, if a little windy. I roll off the ferry and go straight onto the A830 to Fort William. This road is another of those famous riding roads. There is a section that passes through a forest that is narrow and twisty, the rest of the road is fast with never ending bends and broad views. The forest section now is all roadworks and traffic lights. It seems the whole section is to be widened and will become open and fast like the rest of the road. In the rain the roadworks are slippery and traffic is heavy. After this the road is still a joy to ride even in the wind and the rain.
We stop briefly at Loch Linnhe campsite but decide to see if we can find a site closer to town. The nearest I know of is the Ben Nevis site, at the foot of the mainland’s largest mountain. The site offers a shop, clean facilities and acceptable prices. It also offers an abundance of midges.
In case you don’t know, here’s a little bit of information about midges. The midge, a tiny little fly, likes to bite. It likes damp, still mornings and evenings. It does not like wind as it get’s blown away. What midges particularly love is ME! I have “Midge Restaurant” written all over me. So it should not come as such a surprise to me that on a damp, soggy campsite, near a river, on a windless evening and in the north west of Scotland, that I’m being bitten.
I’m not being bitten occasionally. I’m being bitten relentlessly, 5 or 10 times a minute. The gf, who 2 years ago hardly got bitten at all, is also being attacked. I’ve pulled up my scarf, kept my body covered but my forehead and cheeks are itching and sore and I’ve barely unloaded the bike. It takes longer than ever to get the tent up as each movement is interrupted by swatting, flicking, rubbing and scratching. It’s driving us madder and madder.
This is just a tiny portion of the midges swarming around this evening. Each and every one of those black dots is a hungry midge, waiting for it's next bloodthirsty meal. And on the menu is me.
With the tent up we decide, quite wrongly, to make tea on the stove. The gf gets tinned spuds and corned beef from the shop to make potato hash. Between itching and swatting and cursing I heat the spuds. In with the spuds there are midges that get caught in the steam. We can barely eat the meal, we walk and run and swat and curse and scratch and rub and watch as midges crawl across our hands and face. A shower brings temporary relief but as soon as the water is switched off the devils are upon us again.
Finally we retreat to the inner tent. Inside the relief is only slight. It’s too late now as my bites swell and boil. We sit there, miserable. We can’t carry on like this. Strange how, amongst all the things I’ve worried about on this trip, the midges was not one of them. Yet here we are, trapped in a tent, surrounded my the tiniest of flies and yet we are in fear of our wellbeing.
I bravely decide to venture into town to meet the Rivington lads for a drink. The gf, quite wisely, decides to stay put. Even the short amount of time getting my bike gear on causes more bites and more itching. In town the lads seem unsympathetic to our plight, generously informing me that the BnB they are in has a few midges but it’s no problem.
Back at the site the gf is still hiding in the tent. She informs me she’s managed to kill most of the midges inside, but as soon as I step in 10,000 more follow and it’s back to square 1 again. We sit in itchy, scratchy, spotty and sore misery. This is no longer fun. This is not what we had come here for. This is thoroughly depressing. We discuss our options. It’s too late now to decamp. We will have to sweat it out and decamp in the morning. Should we just give up and go home? Should we get a BnB for the night? Should we get some insect repellent? We decide to sleep on it.
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Travel StoriesThe Scottish Trip 2008 - By Ren Withnell