Stories from
the road
(and beyond!)
Glasgow belongs to them - and we should take notice!
Back in Northamptonshire, and back on my commute (soon, I hope), I will remember the gritty city on the Clyde, and the practical statements of intent made manifest on its tarmac. Utrecht it ain’t - not yet - but fair play, guys. You’ve made a start, and it really is starting to show.
Riding The Hebridean Way
Late in the day (as in, we only really decided for sure once we were already on the M6!) it was unfinished business that drew us back to the Outer Hebrides…
It's raining midges - crossing the Uists
Taking the West side of the island, it was time to crack on and hit our first new roads since Vatersay. Almost in celebration of this fact, very shortly afterwards Rhoda suddenly decided she would start pedalling forwards continuously for the first time ever. Jelly babies all round! It's amazing how, when you're touring by bicycle, your children hit all sorts of developmental milestones.
The graveyard shift - where is it OK to wild camp?
We had turned off the main road when it finished abruptly at a neat and well tended graveyard. Tom walked around the perimeter wall to see if there was anywhere we could go to the other side of it that might be less directly in the face of the fierce wind, and the foamy sea. He came back, eyeing up the ground next to the wall.
Mrs Risk-Averse is alarmed, and the inner monologue is running away with me.
Steaming socks on the ‘spine road’
Readying ourselves to get off the boat, we were in the invidious position of knowing that we were about to tackle our nemesis from our last visit here - the short, sharp climb from the slip, over the hill to the village and the causeway to South Uist. We decided not to put on an ‘ambitious, but rubbish’ display of heroic failure for the other tourists, so as we usually do now, we waited for everyone else to hit the beach and get up the road before setting off.
Vatersay - Barra(bados)
Rhoda is next, and then we are off to the shore, ready to play and explore.
There is no-one else around, at all. We have the most beautiful beach, right outside our tent door, and it is all ours.
This is what it’s about.
Odyssey from Oban: the beginning
Last time, we had set off with high hopes and, thwarted by strong headwinds, had cut short our trip at Lochmaddy. This time, we had a far better idea of where we were going, places we were keen to revisit, places we had missed last time that we wanted to explore, and a whole lot of local knowledge bestowed by our generous host from the night before (including a hand drawn map of highlights and camp spots for us to visit on Barra).
A night out on Tiree
Tiree had such a friendly air, perceptible as soon as we rolled off the ferry. Lots of locals were there meeting friends, family and guests from the boat. Our trailer and trailer bike outfit drew a few glances, and kind enquiries.
We cycled a couple of miles from the quay and pitched our little tent in the dunes…
A car crash and an anxious inspection
It's fair to say that we had an inauspicious start to our trip to the Outer Hebrides. An hour's drive up the road to Scotland, I stopped the car at a red traffic light on a busy roundabout on the outskirts of Stoke on Trent. The Yodel van behind me did not spot the traffic lights and did not stop.