North Uist to Harris
sunshine
While the hostel may be basic, the guests are incredibly friendly. There's a family with a tandem and a couple of other cyclists. After waking up early - around 7:00 - one of the women on wheels generously offers me some toast plus cereal with milk for breakfast.
The sun is bright and I take a few snaps of the ruined, moss-covered church nearby before pedaling off under blue skies, feeling good, and soon pass by a sign for the Loch Druidibeg Nature Reserve and then cross causeways with little traffic and no trees in sight. The wind must be a real killer here at times.
Later, a sign points to a stone circle, so I pop and have a look, walking along a path across moorland to find it - a magical location!
My bike is locked up at a nice looking restaurant at the start of the path and once I get back it seems like a good idea to have a pot of tea and some soup while enjoying the sunshine in its neat garden surrounding what appears to be a recently mowed lawn.
Even with these detours, my progress is pretty good and I manage to get the 1:40 ferry - having cycled 65 km by now - just in time, sailing from North Uist over to Harris.
It's a push into a strong head-wind - unusual as it generally blows from the South - and I wonder if it'd be better to simply linger and enjoy this wonderful weather, or press on and see as much as I can while its sunny.
Harris is very beautiful - maybe the most beautiful of all the Hebridean islands - are there are two routes to cycle: one up the east and the other up the west coast. I opt for the latter, as it passes some renowned beaches.
It's a great ride along Harris's western shore, with the narrow tarmac route hugging the island's shoreline, which has wonderful, huge stretches of sand that are deserted. No doubt the water is pretty cool, but it resembles Tahiti.
Again, I wonder about stopping and finding out by going in up to my knees, but keep cycling north towards Tarbert, where there will be accommodation.
In places the sea is boarded by machair, with sheep keeping the grass to just a couple of inches tall. Elsewhere patches of purple heather dot the landscape, with slabs of rock sloping down to the blue water.
The road kicks up and as it does so the wind follows suit and once at the top I need a rest, so sit and drink a carton of orange juice. It gives me a chance to soak up the vista of rugged terrain and it seems strange the place isn't crowded with visitors.
| Heart | 1 | Comment | 0 | Link |
My reward is a downhill whiz down to Tarbert, the island's biggest place and capital of Harris; having said that, it's just a village with a population of around 500.
From its small port, ferries sail across to Skye, my next destination. The local tourist information office says there are no rooms available tonight, but I want to ask around anyway.
The main hotel - the Harris Hotel - looks pricey, but I'm hungry, so pop in. No, there are no rooms, but dinner is superb and the manager - maybe the owner - is very helpful and tells me about a good spot to pitch my tent - just back up the hill.
After sitting in the comfy lounge with a beer or two while using the hotel's Wi-Fi, I book breakfast for 8:00 tomorrow and ride back up the slope as it starts to get dark.
Where the manager recommended is too steep for me to push the bike - it's a rough track - so I cross the road and find a spot overlooking the sea. The wind is strong and there are sheep roaming around, but it seems that I'm not going to bother anyone.
It'll likely rain during the night.
Rain woke me during the night and it's still grey when I get up at 7:30, pack my damp tent into the panniers and glide down the short hill to the Harris Hotel for my 8:00 brekkie - black pudding, bacon and fried tomatoes, washed down with nice coffee.
This a pretty plush hotel and plumy voices are rising above the gentle clinking of table ware, but the serving staff are very accommodating and do there utmost to make me feel welcome. Let's face it: I'm paying the same as everyone else.
This being Sunday and with these remote islands being very religious, the hotel is the only place in Tarbert that's open, so I hang around and use its Wi-Fi. The weather isn't inviting and it rains most of the morning and when it does eventually stop, the sky remains overcast and my original plan of riding to the most northern island - Lewis - is cancelled. Instead I start to pen my speech for my daughter's wedding in a week or so. It's something that I've put off, as you do.
Because pitching my tent in the wet weather doesn't appeal, I bite the bullet in the early afternoon and pay for a hotel room.
| Rate this entry's writing | Heart | 3 |
| Comment on this entry | Comment | 1 |
3 years ago