Steve Kidd Cycling Trips and Guides

Ardnamurchan Peninsula, Scotland, July 2015

First things first: Just go and do this.

Let me explain how and why. Because the Ardnamurchan peninsula is QUIET and beautiful, the energy expended honking up hills on a bike is rarely wasted by braking down the other sides, the road is basically a rollercoaster of a journey, and only on one, albeit significant, section did I feel I had invested energy for no return. The following travelogue will also serve, I hope, as a guide. A decent cyclist could do this in a day, I took four! You could do it on a road bike, but that would be really uncomfortable, especially along the Loch Shiel track, You could do it on a mountain bike, but this might be cumbersome on the road sections. I bought a Dawes Galaxy tourer, loaded with tent, sleeping bag etc, and that seemed perfect for the job! If you are going to put your kids head on the chopping block that is cycling, this is as good a trip as you could take them on. Oh, and a month after you have finished you might have almost forgotten the rain and the midgies.

Getting There

Just drive.

Or, if you are foolish, rich in time, cash, and patience you could catch the train. To start at the return journey, my daughter Julia took a lot less time to get back from New Zealand to Pontefract than it took me from Lochailort station!

Despite a collection of two dozen tickets, on the way up at Glasgow they put us on a bus to Fort William. Not a direct bus, but a loser bus that stopped at every station the cancelled train was meant to stop at. I got off at Crianlarach, threw up, and spent the night in the newly painted platform waiting room. The Youth hostel was booked up with people older than me who had driven, so I had a bottle of wine, some shit from Lidl in Glasgow to eat and Disgrace to read on the tablet, nobody disturbed me, so I was good!

But boy oh boy!!! Joy on joy!!!! I got on the sleeper service the next morning, and that cup of coffee just has to be the best one I have EVER had. I sat down in the dining car and it took me a millionth of a nanosecond to realise "That was worth waiting for"! I am truly blessed to have experienced this quintessentially brilliant, essentially British trip, through the highlands of Scotland in some weird crossover between The Thirty Nine Steps, The Darjeeling Limited and Harry Potter. That trip to Fort William, sat on a couch as people emerge from their cabins to have their senses blasted by the glory of the west coast line, just has to be the most civilised way to spend breakfast time anywhere

Day 1: Glenfinnan Station to Strontian

From alighting at the picture postcard Glenfinnan station, TURN LEFT; it is the easiest of rolls down to the Jacobite monument at the head of Loch Shiel, two k down the hill. Obviously at this stage one is agog with excitement at the prospect of a beautiful bike-ride, but a walk up to the pay gate next to the edifice suffices to initiate the real start of your trip. On the path between the road and the monument LOOK FOR THE BOARDWALK which takes you through the brush and over the river to the forestry track on the South side of Loch Shiel. It is sweet, secluded, safe and a decent short cut from going via the road.

Once on the track alongside Loch Shiel, you just follow your nose for 20 kilometres, the water on your right, the mountains to your left and the westernmost chunk of real estate in Great Britain unfolding down the lake in front of you.

Loch Shiel Loch Shiel is imposing. To put it in perspective, it is way bigger than Windermere, the largest lake in England. The eastern end is flanked by steep mountain sides, it looks cold, deep and a real challenge that only the ironest of iron men could swim across. It is, for its majority, not as picturesque as Windermere. Perhaps because I was there in the rain it dulled the beauty a tad, but what it has not got for the large majority of its length is roads. Just the one track along it's south side. If it's seclusion you seek, this place is nearly there. At the Western end it does open up (it was originally a sea loch, thousands of years ago), and on my return along those shores, in the sunshine, it seemed a helluva lot more genteel and becoming.

With a bit of luck it will be dry. On my trip it was damp and drizzly for the first part, which meant that I couldn't really knock of those distances that I might expect on a metalled road. The track itself is absolutely unambiguous, wide enough for a monster truck, and surfaced for such, friable and stony, but well cyclable. I was so glad I didn't have super-narrow tyres here. After 15 k I stopped and exchanged a Tennants for a can of Slovenian lager, and tested my anti-midge measures.

Midgies and Scotland Midgies ARE a problem out in the western highlands and islands of Scotland in the holiday months. I am told that July and August are the worst, the West of Scotland is the headquarters of their organisation, and low levels near water are where they hang out Given that I ticked all the boxes, I took precautions, and never got driven any more insane than I am already. Overlooking Loch Shiel, at my first real break, I put a chemical insect repellent on my left arm. This had been given to me by Mick, who goes and lives in the jungle in the Philippines for six months a year, and it was meant to be the dogs bollocks. On the other arm I coated myself in lemon juice from Aldis. Looking back I could not tell the difference. I think I may have had a couple of lemon juice bites, I know I got some but hell, I enjoyed my stop, my chat and the view. When you are actually cycling, midgies are not a problem at all at all. I got myself a midge face net at Fort William (and used it), and I tried to avoid being marinated in honey and tallow and standing naked in marshland at sunset, so, conclusion. Be sensible, take some form of repellent, buy a midge net hat off eBay before you go (otherwise it's a fiver), and try and pick exposed, breezy places for your stops.

Leaving Loch Shiel, after an initiation more jiggedy than smooth, my personal memory of the next couple of hours was trudging through the sodden pine forests up to 1000' and getting thoroughly soaked and pensive. On another day, without a full load, having been through a rejuvenation portal powered by locally hewn Strontium 90, on a road bike, in the peloton it would only take ten minutes. But not today for me. :(. The worst thing was, I just had my brakes on all the way down the other side to the village of Strontian, and by it was at 17:01 that I got to the shop which shut at 17:00. Alan took me up to the bunkhouse, I was grateful, booked in, went back for my bike, and the two miles back up the road was a pleasure, secure in the knowledge I would have a roof over my head. £20 was pricey for a shared room, but there wasn't anyone else there that night and hell, it was a seller's market. I saw a pine marten!

Day 2: Strontian to Ardnamurchan Point

The trip really came into its own on the morning of this section. The drizzle kind of faded away, running alongside the sea loch on a very quiet, but well surfaced gently undulating road was unadulterated fresh air heaven. (yes, there were many moments that I was trying to articulate the positive emotions that were running through my mind at the time). Waterfalls became mundane, any one of the hundreds I at least heard, if not saw, alongside the road would have been a tourist attraction with a visitor center in Yorkshire. The road was lined with these yellow irises or orchids, don't ask me what, and there is just something about trees and water. There was a 600' climb and descent, but definitely not as severe as the previous day's, and it was kind of great, because I got just about everything back on the downhills that I put in going up. And man, there were some spectacular views. I would provide a more detailed guide, but what is the point? There was one turn after about ten k, down into Salen, where there is a great little café by the harbour, one turn to avoid on the way to Kilchoan, and one turn to make just after Kilchoan, but really, after Salen, even a wrong turn wouldn't take you very far.

The Ardnamurchan Peninsula isn't just the most westerly place on the British mainland, it is most western by a long chalk, 40 km further west than Lands End. Every time it comes up in a quiz, Ardnamurchan Point comes up as the most westerly bit. IT IS NOT. About 30 minutes yomp south of the road near the lighthouse there is a headland called Corrachadh Mòr, and there is no two ways about it, it takes the biscuit as the last bit of our island heading into the Atlantic. When the road turns towards the last 500 metres up to the lighthouse, strike off south over the heather, not straight at the headland but to the left, and over a couple of streams and around an inlet with a white beach, then you can head up, it is fairly obvious. Corrachadh Mòr itself is a piece of rock, with a pool on top, you can't get down to the sea, at least if death is not on your list of options, and there are no lose stones on the promontory, so I threw a couple of 20p bits in the water.

The view from both this headland and it's near neighbour to the north embraces Mull, Coll, Tiree, Rhum, Skye, along with hundreds of skerries and other lumps of rock and expanses of the Minch and is quite immense.

There is a viewing shelter at Ardnamurchan point below the lighthouse. It had obviously been a victim of the elements, but I tidied it up for you, and spent a super cosy midgieless night as the man most western of 60 million.

Never saw a whale or seal, which is, by most accounts, quite unlucky.

I bet you 90% of people who visit the place where my tent was pitched (below the lighthouse) never really get to the westernmost point!

Day 3: Ardnamurchan Point to Captain Robertson's Cairn above Loch Moidart

That it was a wet start for me is hardly relevant. That I was thoroughly soaked after the first six miles was just one of those things. I would love to digress and tell you a story about what happened to me on the way back though. Just skip this if you are looking for tips on the trip.

How I Was A Bad Nigger, and I was lucky to meet a Good Massa The strongest analogy of the pitiful treatment that cyclists and pedestrians get is to compare them to people who suffer racial disadvantage. As a cyclist, people often hate you, abuse you, and put your life in danger. Good people assume, in fact, are given precedence over you, and we, cyclists, accept it, clutching our hats and bowing our heads and thanking our oppressors. The most striking similarity is that the vast majority of participants in this, let us call it Carism are completely oblivious to the cold fact that a minority group are not just mocked, pilloried and abhorred, but when challenged deny their own prejudices. Whatever, something happened to me about 4 miles out on the way back. It was a pretty miserable old day and I was getting wetter and wetter. As I coasted down a hill, approaching me, on this single track road was a car, like one of those smaller 4x4s you get nowadays. I estimate he gave me a quarter of the road, and I squeezed through. I cannot remember if I had to brake, I very probably did, because we had time to exchange words, and I had time stop within hearing distance and take the few steps back to the car to remonstrate. I reached in through his open window, pulled his keys out and chucked them into the bog over his car, then cycled off. Within a few hundred yards I was realising what a stupid thing I'd done, I guess more from a pragmatic point of view, but the thought that I was alone on a 30 mile single track road, on a bike probably encouraged my thoughts of regret. I have a lot of anger inside me , but as a car passed me in the opposite direction I realised that it was only a matter of minutes before 4 strapping sons would be along to beat the fuck out me. I sat in the soaking heather out of the way to contemplate my idiocy. Having given myself sufficient time to thoroughly soak up water from every direction I thought, well at least I should get to a village and be beaten up in public. Shortly after setting off, I heard a car behind me and pulled over to a passing place. I've researched enough to realise that the optimal way to hurt or kill someone without risk of criminal action is hit them on a bike with a car. It was him. My heart in my mouth, I was genuinely chastened, and he said "That was a stupid thing to do" I said "My I apologise?" Do you know what he did? That lovely man put his open hand out to shake mine and said "That's good enough for me" Obviously he'd got his key back, we had a couple of minutes, and he made my life a whole lot better. His name was John, I'd say he may have been older than me, his car was silver, and if you ever see him tell him thank you, thank you, thank you. What a dick I was. What a great bloke John was. Nevertheless, this incident illustrates perfectly the parallel between Racism and Carism. I am the Bad Nigger. I was uppity, and I let years of prejudice get to me, and I snapped and did something wrong. I still maintain that all things being equal, half the road each is a fair deal, nevertheless, it is commonly assumed that the driver gets the majority, and every day, on every road, with every car the cyclist is subservient. For taking up less road, 130 cyclists a year die, the vast vast majority in impacts with cars. No car drivers die in impacts with cyclists. So I cracked, I shouldn't have done, but if you don't understand why, you don't understand racism. John was the perfect Good Whitey Baas, a true gentleman, warm, kind and forgiving. There are plenty of them. It doesn't make the prejudice cyclists systematically suffer any less reprehensible.

Sorry about that! On with the journey. The road was the same road as the way here, and just as good, especially with the sun eventually coming out and making life seem very much rosier. I thought the community Centre in Kilchoan was a bit pricey, and lacking in customer care. Maybe it was the sunshine, but the harbour Cafe in Salen delivered the goods for the second day in a row, with excellent hot food a and a wee shop to stock up with Hobnobs and Merlot, after which cycling was so easy, it was easy.

Going over the top of the peninsula via Loch Moidart is so much easier than what I did on the first day, and as I have said about 12 times, the sun makes all the difference. There were still a few midgies at a few hundred feet, but who cares, it was beautiful. If push had come to shove at this stage it would have been easy to knock off the remaining 25 km, and if you were doing it you probably would, especially considering my train from Lochailort wasn't 'till the afternoon (There is a really really early one in the morning), but whatever, I am personally glad I tarried a while, I don't do enough tarrying.

Day 4: Captain Robertson's Cairn to Lochailort

For the first time on my trip I managed to average less than 3 minutes a kilometre. At least for the first two kilometres. Which was all downhill. What is there to say about open roads with a car every three minutes by Scottish Sea-Lochs under Lake district sized mountains when it's not raining. There was a little climb over to Glen Uig, rewarded with the surprise of seeing the unmistakeable bosom like profile of the Red Cuillin on Skye, land of my youth, overlooking Broadford where I came of age and had the summer of my life and a pointer to Bla Bhein, my favourite mountain. Ever.

A pretty good reason to spend a while round these here parts is to visit the community shop in the village, where Sarah is the perfect hostess (was it Sarah?) with biscuits and a cup of tea for... just whatever you want to pay!

There is something about cycling on a hard surface, with no traffic, no ambiguity about the route, no stupid gates or rocks or sculptures to stop you in your tracks in a beautiful place that renders it practically effortless. The Dawes Galaxy is probably the first 'decent' bike I have ever owned (out of probably the best part of 40) and giggidy, it works, even with a full load of camping stuff. I know it was 16 k or so to the station, but I hardly noticed that, and so I was sat on the platform for three hours reading Treasure Island. I took a break to cycle down to Loch Eilt, and I wish I'd have just gone back to Glenfinnan and made a round trip of it, I mean I cycled a third of the way there anyway just for fun, and then back to the station.

The afternoon departure was never going to get me back to Yorkshire that day, so I got off at Bridge of Orchy, but that's not important now, and wasn't particularly important then. I'd had a fantastic, mind expanding, thought provoking, original holiday, and all I wanted to do was get home! Result.

Maps

Ardnamurchan Peninsula showing route and places mention by Steve Kidd, July 2015

For the same map without annotation click here

For a higher quality mosaic map click here