Glenelg Inn

Kyle Rhea ferry from Skye

The sun comes out for all of about a minute as we load up the bikes after enjoying a slow breakfast. It is getting on for 10 o’clock.

The view of the loch is nice, the distant hills green. We cruise back to the main street, make a left and continue going roughly north-east, on a single track road, the A896. The right turn to Strathcarron soon comes.

The village station has a train standing at the platform and we ponder whether we should see if we can get on it with the bikes. From memory, it only travels along the shore of the loch, down to the Kyle of Lochalsh, our destination, and it seems the bike ride there would be a nice, easy jaunt, simply tracing the flat shoreline.

That's a mistake.

The road rears up. It's a long climb.

Then it drops at 12 percent.

Then it rises again.

Dave is suffering. We walk for a while.

Then it starts to drizzle.

We reach the top and shelter under some tall firs, the view of the loch spread out below with the train line hugging the near bank. We wonder why the road didn’t do the same.

We then ride a bit more, climbing.

I stop to wait for Dave and start a chat with a woman attending to her B&B sign. She recommends a café in a village once we get to the bottom of the descent. That is our goal: Balmacara Square... I assume it's just a village square.

After making a right at the junction at the bottom, it turns out to be quite a way along the busy A87 before we find the turnoff. Originally we’d considered taking a left, going towards Eileen Donan Castle, just past Dornie, but after riding so far we now know we’ll keep on going to the bridge over to the Isle of Skye.

We have a short climb to Balmacara Square and deserve a treat after slogging up and down all morning. In the café we get one after a light meal – sticky toffee pudding, yet again. You don’t find it in Taiwan.

The village itself is a nice place, with a pond and some old buildings, now all under the control of the National Trust, but we don't linger too long.

We get sight of the long bridge from the A87. We cruise down to it, pausing briefly at a pharmacist in the village to buy some sun cream. Yes. Despite the cloud cover, we’ve all got a bit frazzled, so it's just as well it isn’t full-on sunshine.

Instead of cycling across the long gentle arch, we walk it. The road going further across Skye is busy and the turnoff to the ferry is nice to reach, so as to get away from the stream of cars.

The single track that winds over to Kylerhea, to the eastern tip of the Isle, is great. The last ferry is at 6 o’clock, so we have almost two hours to get there. It doesn’t seem a problem. We take it easy.

It is a steady upward incline for a few miles. There is no sign of life, just trees and open countryside. This is another drover’s route; cattle were herded along it. Once the cattle got to the tiny village of Kylerhea, I’ve read that they had to swim across to Glenelg. They were then herded south, towards the growing towns and cities in the increasingly industrialized, eighteenth-century England, where beef and leather were needed.

We reach the pass and enjoyed the view for a minute before freewheeling down the narrow, twisting strip of tarmac, arriving at 5.15, well in time for the last sailing.

The ferry terminal is in fact just an information board and a life belt. Across the 500-odd meters of strait we can see the small craft, with the water between us flowing fast, making it hard to believe cattle could swim across.

Apparently some kind of ferry has been here for centuries, but this car one dates back to the 1930s, its rotating deck making it a one-off. After 15 minutes the flat vessel makes its way towards us. One car gets off. None get on. The two workers then push the swiveling turntable deck 180 degrees and we set off, chugging across the straight - Kyle Rhea - battling the current. We pay four quid each a few minutes before stepping back on land.

Once we’ve docked, the captain asks us where we arre heading. I tell him, and ask about the local man - Billy – who is said to run a boat service, taking people up the adjacent Loch Hourn. It isn’t good news. He says Billy has quit, but suggests a fisherman, telling me to ask for him once we get to the pub. The guy is a regular.

The road continues to Glenelg village, not too far away. We cruise along, spotting the ruined Bernera Barracks, now marooned in a field.

The large stone place was built in the 1720s, just after the first pro-independence Jacobite rising, when the British officer leading the counter offensive, General Wade, was charged with constructing roads and infrastructure to facilitate an armed response. It seems like a good camp spot for later.

We soon find the village street and at its end is the Glenelg Inn. There are quite a few people inside, propping up the bar and sat around in the comfy chairs. The World Cup game of Iran vs. Argentina is live on TV. We get a few pints and book a table, then plop down in a leather chesterfield.

The barmaid knows about the fisherman who can take us down the loch in the morning, but he isn’t around. One local says that he wouldn't be able to do it anyway, as he’s hurt his leg. Oh dear. We don’t want to try the hike over the top, via a rough track, to reach the head of the loch, as various accounts describe it as hard going, even with an unloaded bike.
Then someone suggests calling Peter, a man with a small boat. After a few more questions, the landlady asks another local for Peter’s telephone number. The guy reels it off the 11 digits and I jot them down. The landlady then offers me her landline phone, saying mobiles seldom work in this remote spot.

Peter quotes me 80 quid. I confer with Dave. It’s agreed. We’re all set and agree on a time.

Peter says he cycles the 10 miles from Glenelg to Arnisdale in 40 minutes, but I reckon on an hour, so tell him we’ll be there at 11am.

We book breakfast in the pub – 10 quid – and sit in the dining area and enjoy a great dinner. I have a streak, while Debbie has pasta, and Dave orders a seafood platter. The beer goes down well, as does a yummy dessert. We then sit back in the bar, which is now packed.

A small band is setting up their sound system for later. When they start up it's way too loud. Who was it who said 'amplification is the curse of mankind'? They were right.

The bar stays open until gone midnight, but around 10.30 we go back on the bikes and head to the ruined barracks - we have a boat to catch in the morning.

Today's ride: 65 km (40 miles)
Total: 210 km (130 miles)

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