After breakfast Chris and I headed north around the head of the long and quite wide loch to start our ascent of 'Rest And Be Thankful'. Gerry had warned us that this hill was to be feared, so we started the climb (fearfully) in nice low gears and found, gingerly turning each bend waiting for the wall of pain ahead. Four miles later we stood at it's summit, somewhat bemused but certainly without complaint, at it's lack of teeth. I'm not sure what gave Rest And Be Thankful its name, our best guess was that the thankful bit was that the road doesn't pass over 'Beinn An Lochain'.
The downhill was long and lovely and dropped us down to the shores of Loch Fyne where we resisted the temptations of the distillery (it was a Sunday) and the oyster bar (i mentioned the big breakfast) and headed West along the loch's North shore to Inveraray. Inveraray is, I would boldly suggest, one of the country's prettiest little towns. It's has the air of an unspoilt fishing village, yet with it's own jail, bell tower on top of a mountain, and a castle. With the sun shining I thought it felt a bit Italian, or perhaps Greek, or maybe Portugese but I'm not sure Chris' "hmmnn...maybe" meant that he agreed. We stopped by the church for a sandwich and a powerbar, before bumping into Maddie and Jane - always a pleasure.
When it became time to leave, we headed North (I'm assuming you've spotted a theme by now) across Glen Ariay towards Dalmally. This actually gave us a much tougher climb than R.A.B.T but the resultant views over Loch Awe with it's beautiful ruined castle (Kilchurn) were spectacular, and worth the unexpected effort. We took the B8074 off of the A85 which was fantastic as it turned out not to be so much of a B road - more of a towpath along a riverbank - and as such pretty much absent of any cars. It was nice to ride two abreast for a change and we made the most and chatted like two old men about what a good stretch of water for fly fishing it looked - a pasttime that I dont think either of us has ever done! But we sounded confident.
About halfway along the river shallows and widens on a nice bend so Chris and I agreed it was time for elevenses. When I had anticipated a hard day ahead (of which this ticked the box) I'd* been making jam sandwiches (* - that is the royal 'I' - it was actually mainly Maddie). I'm not sure of their nutritional value but they do wonders for an ebbing morale - and they were ritually consumed, as we contently sat on the banks of the River Orchy, surrounded by lovely mountains and with some sun to boot! It took us about twenty minutes to both realise that if jam sandwiches are the preferred snack of the sweaty cyclist, then two sweaty cyclists were the choice brunch for the infamous Scottish midges. So we pressed on, and nice as it was to be riding side by side, the surface (absent of almost any tar) was slow, so it seemed to take an age to get back onto proper tarmac - but that we did at the Bridge of Orchy.
As we stopped at the pub to call Maddie we saw a couple of cyclists pull in heading in the opposite direction. Likely End2Enders I figured, and we were closer to J.O.G than Lands End I made a concerted effort to ensure they got a good look into my eyes. It was pretty much my best Paddington stare. They hurried into the pub without talking, perturbed I guess by the odd, goggle-eyed bloke outside. I made a note to self not to overdo the 'the look' from here on in.
After a stiff climb North we passed Loch Tulla, went over an agreeable bridge, before an even tougher climb took us to a seemingly popular vantage point atop 'Black Mount'. Again not black. The view South was a sight to behold but, as it turned out, not a patch on what the next twenty miles were to conjure up.
As you cross Rannoch Moor, disecting the two lakes there, the vastness of the place starts to become apparent. You almost feel like you've landed on a new, uninhabited planet. But it's as you turn North-Westerly and get your first sights of the 'Heads of Glencoe', that you realise you're somewhere very special. Chris and I descended in silence - except perhaps for the odd "Jeeessssus". I have yet to go to New Zealand but having watched 'Lord of the Rings' a number of times, this was how I imagined it. Two collosal mountains stand magnificent either side of the 'entrance', their opposing slopes smoothly merging into the valley floor making a giant halfpipe. A solitary white house in the middle of the valley completes the picture. This was, by some margin, the most impressive landscape I'd had the pleasure to cycle and it's a ride I will never forget.
If the entrance is dramatic then the 10 mile descent to Glencoe village, is just one big grin, even if my attempt to clock 50mph was thwarted by a slow VW camper. The scenery was a cross between how I imagine Austria (another country I hadn't been to but I had watched 'Heidi') and a scaled up Cheddar Gorge.
The girls had missed all of this as they had gone to Oban when they left Inveraray to get us some energy drink - so we made them jump in the car and drive it all - the sort of request that rarely turns out to be a good idea - but this time it was.
The evening was spent in Ballachulish owing to the lack of any eateries in Glencoe (what is it with these places?).
Day 17 - Monday 18th August: Glencoe to Aviemore. 78.53 miles, 793 metres climbed.
As we left to cross over to Scotlands East coast we were still buzzing from the previous days journey. We were aware that today would be less dramatic (it just had to be), and it was also going to be ridden into the throat of a strong Easterly wind (sods law kicking in again and seeing the wind change direction). But, as ever, we were in good spirits.
We crossed Loch Leven across a moderately likable bridge and then followed the coast of Loch Linnhe towards Fort William, the ridge of mountains to our right providing us with a lovely windbreak. Each time we turned a corner, of which there seemed many, and saw a big mountain we suggested confidently to each other that we were looking at each other. But it was obvious when it was.
As we left Fort William - a sprawling outdoor boundsy sort of place - we'd been riding for 90 minutes, which meant just one thing - a stop for a pee and a Powerbar. This was a ritual we were not to break. And didn't. In addition the sun was out so the jackets came off (the first time since Cheddar) and we progressed for all of about 22 beautiful bare armed minutes before the sun duly went in and they had to go back on.
At Spean Bridge we turned onto the A86 and it was here that the wind really started to wear us down. We promised ourselves lunch at 1pm but as I had neglected to make any, we needed to find a shop. At Roybridge Chris spotted a sign that I'd gone straight past - 'last shop for 40 miles'. Nice one Chris. All stocked up we headed off to Loch Laggan, where I stopped for a photo of Adverkerkie ('Glenbogle' for any viewers of 'Monarch of the Glen'). The castle is on the southern shore and we were riding along the tree lined northern one so with no obvious vantage points, I had to climb over the road barrier, through the trees and scramble down a perilously rocky bank to the shore, in order to get a clear view. Anyone who has witnessed someone trying to walk, even on a smooth road, in carbon soled road shoes will be able to picture the somewhat unglamourous descent exactly, anyone who hasn't need only think of a drunk woman in stiletto's trying to cross a cattle grid. That wouldn't be too far off the mark.
When I finally made my way back to dry land, we realised the sensible idea would have been for Chris, in his entirely normal SPD shoes, to take both cameras down. Ho hum - we didn't dwell on the error.
Lunch followed and consisted of a chicken sandwich, some fruit pastilles (apparently pronounced pasteeeeeels) and a phone call with Mr Littlefield, which mainly centred on Chelsea's more successful start to the new season (than Utd's), and the fact that whilst I had chosen the wettest August for years to cycle the length of the country - he was in Spain, or Portugal (somewhere hot at any rate) kicking back a beer.
The Adverkerkie Estate is beautiful, and very large - as are many of it's houses. As we reached the Cairngorms National Park, somewhere near Laggan if my memory serves me right, the waterproof bottoms had to go back on (rain). The process of getting these babies on can, at the best of times, challenge your sense of balance, but if you add to the mix my inability to multitask, then you will understand my frustration at having to answer the phone (I know I didn't have to but in my world multi-tasking includes the ability to think and dress). Rather than describe the following scenes just picture the drunk woman again)
We reached Newtonmore at about 3pm - and stopped on exactly the same stretch of pavement chosen by three very well oiled Scottish gentlemen to exit their local. They seemed to say hello - at least that's how my ears heard it - before "progressing" down the road. Their multitasking challenge was seemingly more one of walking and, well, anything really.
We hadn't received confirmation from the girls as to whether Aviemore or Newtonmore was the destination so for a while we were at a loss as to what to do. We didn't feel like riding the 16 miles to Aviemore only to have to turn around. But equally we didn't want to hang around so we decided to press on regardless and not think about the consequences. This we did quickly, through Kingussie, Kincraig all the way to Aviemore.
The town's economy, much like Fort William's, centres around providing nourishment and expensive (but vital you understand) clothing to all the outdoorsy types. With the absence of any bridges to admire my attention turned to Aviemore's really quite quaint railway station. But we didn't dawdle - as an evening of eating and drinking in a nice (if perhaps overly tartan) hotel awaited.
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