Loch Etive and Loch Lommand

Rain wakes us during the night, the drops making that familiar pinging sound on our tent’s nylon shell, but it has thankfully drifted away by the time Dave gives us a shout at 7.20am.

Midges are nestling in the porch of our tent and without the head nets and Smidge it would have been a pain packing away the camping stuff. They did, however, make us do it as fast as poss’ and we are in the King’s House before you could say 'a full English'.

For a change we order haddock and poached eggs.

We take it in turns to get washed up in the bathroom before cycling the kilometer back to the A82, which we go straight across, and then start to head down the cul-de-sac lane to Loch Etive, some 20 kilometers of it, practically none of which are up. Fab.

The glen is a wide one, the sides sweeping up in a wonderful, green-coated U. It tries to rain, but it doesn’t come to anything and we keep going at a decent speed.

It is almost 10.30 when we come to a large house. We think it effectively marks the end of the road, but once Dave has got his water bottled filled by the woman who answers the door – a mother holding her two-week-old baby – we pedal quite a bit further, down past an abandoned cottage and around a locked gate, to eventually reach a small logging yard, where a sign points to the public footpath to Bonawe, something like 20km away.

This is where the fun begins.

The path is easy to see as it snakes through knee-high grass. Then it all becomes boggy and the route isn’t so well defined. There are rocks to negotiate.

I’d read the first few kilometers are hard, but I thought they’d be better. We are literally dragging the bikes. It is going to take ages.

It takes an hour to go about one km. During that time we try going along the shoreline, which looked sandy and relatively easy to push, but there are rocks and slippery seaweed to contend with: we return to the grass.

After 90 minutes, Dave’s knee and ankle are sore and inflamed, so we ponder our options. There aren’t many: keep going; turn back; or get a boat ride.

The first one is dismissed. We turn around, trudge back through the bog and grass and seaweed, spending another frustrating hour.

We then sit and rest for a while by the loch.

I’d already made arrangements for Loch Etive Cruises to pick us up from Bonawe, the quarry at the southern end of the loch, and to ferry us across to Taynuilt, where we’d get the 6.35pm train.

Obviously we are not going to make it there in time and getting the ferry owner, Donald, to come up the loch and take us all the way south is the way to go. It’ll cost us a fair bit. We decide to call to find out exactly what the financial damage will be.

Dave can’t get a signal. Great.

Then I recall the house, and an old red phone box, so decide to go back and try my luck. Debbie comes too.

Dave stays put. He’s had enough.

The house and phone booth are a bit further than I remember. When I pick up the phone, there's silence. The thing is dead. Great.

I then knock on the door of the house, hoping the young mother will answer, but no-one is now at home, and they are highly unlikely to be back any time soon, what with the nearest place being at least an hour’s drive away. Great.

A couple of hikers get out of a car. I ask about making a call. The young guy can't get a signal. Neither can his partner. Great.

Then I spot a guy with what looks like a camera, peering at a large LED screen, so I ask him if he has a phone. He says there is no signal here.

It turns out he is working on updating detailed maps and his gear is in fact a Leica GPS unit, which I can only guess cost a small fortune. He says he knows it's actually possible to get a signal higher up Glen Etive, and kindly offers to drive us up the road. My luck is in. Maybe. We jump at the chance.

It only takes a few km before his phone has three bars. I call Donald. He is reluctant to come. Great. He says it’ll be pretty expensive. I tell him about Dave, and our train tickets, and he quotes around 300 quid.

Then he asks me call him back after a few minutes. When I do he comes down to 200, which is what I’d expected it to be, and says he can leave pretty soon and get to us in a couple of hours or more.

Hopefully that will allow us time to sail back down the loch and get our train. It is certainly going to be tight. And expensive.

There's a large redundant boat shed with most of its roof in tact and we shelter from the drizzle in there. It's about 3.30 when a dot making ripples across the loch comes into view. It's Donald, right on schedule.

The ride on board is pleasant enough. Donald makes us hot drinks to take away the chill, and around the half-way point he pauses so we can look at some seals resting on the rocks near the eastern bank. Mist clings to the mountains.

We dock in Taynuilt at 5.30, so we have an hour to kill. We find the village shop and buy some bananas. A French pair of cyclists cruise up and one stops - my guess is only one who can speak some English – and after a quick chat about routes and experiences, we go across the road to the train station and wait for our 6.35 to Ardlui.

It arrives just a minute late.

Ardlui is a basically a hotel and a marina, with an adjacent caravan park.

We need to eat, so go into the hotel. The receptionist says he has one room left, which we can have for 88 quid, and as it's the eve of my birthday, it seems like a good idea to take it. Dave gets to camp across the road in a secure area, which he pays nine quid for. That price includes the use of the showers, but we say he can come up to our room and soak in the real tub; much more civilized.

Today's ride: 25 km (16 miles)
Total: 457 km (284 miles)

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