Garve to Loch Torridon - Single-Track Mind - CycleBlaze

Garve to Loch Torridon

The thin curtains can’t hide the good news; the brightness penetrates the cloth. Sunshine is out there waiting for us. Oh yes.

An hour later, at 7.00am, it'd gone for good. The sky is a sheet of bleak gray by the time we walk down the carpeted stairs for breakfast, a nice feast of fresh fruit and yogurt, plus a full English.

A pair of 40-something women come in and sit at the next table. They are driving around Scotland ticking off castles.

"Where are you cycling to?” one asks.

“Do you know Applecross?” I ask in reply.

They've been and exchange glances.

"We thought the car was going to tip off the road, it was that steep" she says, before the pair look at each other again and give us synchronized grimaces.

We call in at a Tesco Express on our way back to the train station and stock up on drinks and food: jars of jam and peanut butter, a loaf of bread and a few sweet snacks. The small road we're eventually taking is kind of out-there. 

Our plan is to skip the first part by getting a train to Garve, about an hour away. It isn’t clear if we can get the bikes on the small train at gone 1.00pm. The ticket seller says to ask the guy on the platform, who in turn says it's down to the guard, who won't know until departure time. 

We go off to explore Inverness for a couple of hours.

Less than 10 minutes before the train departs we make a mad dash back to the station. The guard sees Debbie and me with bikes and tells us it's OK. Then he notices Dave with his. Now he isn’t so sure. He shakes his head and wonders aloud. There's only room for two bikes he says.

I explain we’ll squeeze them in with all the bags off, and thankfully he okays it, knowing we are only going as far as Garve. Result, albeit a ten-quid-each one for a relatively short ride.

It turns out he cycles often and has ridden the road going west quite a few times. He reckons we’ll enjoy it.

“It’ll be quiet now,” he says. “It’s busy between 8.00am and 9.00am, as delivery trucks are out then." 

Then he asks where we were going from Garve.

“Applecross,” and I then ask him is he's cycled up that road over to Tornacross.

“No.” he replies, shaking his head before giving me a forced smile.

We're on an adventure.

As the train starts to slow to a halt at Garve he comesback. The wind has picked up, he tells us, inviting us to stay on the train a while longer, until a station called Achnasheen. We think about it, but the weather doesn't seem too bad and we are all keen to get riding after so much time already spent sat on trains. 

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We get off under at the empty platform. The sky is leaden, but there are bright spots on the horizon, as are some menacing thick clouds. It could go either way. The wind doesn't seem to be a problem.

We soon make a left and get on the quieter A832, which veers due west, rising gently up and down. Dave, who hasn’t been on his bike for a couple of years, is finding it harder than expected. His knee hurts. Debbie and I have to wait for him to catch up a couple of times and when we finally reach Achnasheen, the three of us are ready for a refreshing cuppa, but the café beside the train station is locked up. 

The guard’s advice had been right. We'd spent a bit of energy without getting much of a buzz.

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At 2.00pm we pause beside the road and scoff the custard donuts and bananas bought back in Inverness. The climbing then continues. 

The head wind doesn’t help. It has picked up a bit. 

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Dave is now suffering big time. Everything hurts. He can't enjoy the scenery, which is a real treat; picture postcard stuff.

Eventually we get to see the great descent towards Loch a’ Croisg, the calm expanse of water nestled between the sweeping sides of the U valley, with our road winding down towards it. Magic.

Loch a’ Croisg
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It is another climb to the village of Kinlochewe, which sits on a junction. We make a left and find a café open. Debbie has a big wedge of sponge cake; I scoff some wonderful sticky toffee pudding. Magic. We need the calories. 

The road climbs again soon after.

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Clouds drifted over the lump of a mountain to our right. Getting soaked would have been cruel. Luckily we escape. The crest heraldsa long, gentle cruise down to Lochcarron, basically a string of houses lining the road, some looking uninhabited. 

I know there is a hotel close by, but Dave doesn’t want to ride any further. He is in pain. I thinkt we can eat at the hotel, watch England play Italy on the telly, then camp somewhere close by later. We stand on the verge of the road wondering what to do.

Right on cue, a loaded cycle tourist comes towards us.  I wave him down. Tim. He says the hotel ahead looks quite fancy, but I reckon they must be used to hiker types. Tim is looking to camp too, and knocks on some doors of the nearby houses and asks about the possibility of putting our tents right beside the loch. 

He gets told there is a free camp site a short distance back, so we ride together as a small group and make the turn and find the place, a small field ringed with trees - and awash with midges. 

Our net hats get pulled out of our bar bags and I pass the Smidge spray around. It seems to work a treat.

After pitching the tents and locking up the bikes, we find that the toilet block has male and female showers, with a constant supply of hot water. All for free! Magic. Unfortunately Debbie and I hadn’t packed any towels.

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To give Dave’s legs a rest, we decide to walk back towards the hotel. It proves to be a long one. 

The hotel is indeed posh, but the adjacent bar serves meals and we settle in with some beers and watch England lose in a lame display of football.

On the way back, past the vast expanse of loch, I tell Dave that the day's ride was probably going to be the easiest one of the trip. It isn't what he wants to hear. 

Tomorrow there is Applecross to tackle.

Today's ride: 60 km (37 miles)
Total: 63 km (39 miles)

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