Stories from
the road
(and beyond!)
Riding The Hebridean Way
Late in the day (as in, we only really decided for sure once we were already on the M6!) it was unfinished business that drew us back to the Outer Hebrides…
It's raining midges - crossing the Uists
Taking the West side of the island, it was time to crack on and hit our first new roads since Vatersay. Almost in celebration of this fact, very shortly afterwards Rhoda suddenly decided she would start pedalling forwards continuously for the first time ever. Jelly babies all round! It's amazing how, when you're touring by bicycle, your children hit all sorts of developmental milestones.
The graveyard shift - where is it OK to wild camp?
We had turned off the main road when it finished abruptly at a neat and well tended graveyard. Tom walked around the perimeter wall to see if there was anywhere we could go to the other side of it that might be less directly in the face of the fierce wind, and the foamy sea. He came back, eyeing up the ground next to the wall.
Mrs Risk-Averse is alarmed, and the inner monologue is running away with me.
Steaming socks on the ‘spine road’
Readying ourselves to get off the boat, we were in the invidious position of knowing that we were about to tackle our nemesis from our last visit here - the short, sharp climb from the slip, over the hill to the village and the causeway to South Uist. We decided not to put on an ‘ambitious, but rubbish’ display of heroic failure for the other tourists, so as we usually do now, we waited for everyone else to hit the beach and get up the road before setting off.
Vatersay - Barra(bados)
Rhoda is next, and then we are off to the shore, ready to play and explore.
There is no-one else around, at all. We have the most beautiful beach, right outside our tent door, and it is all ours.
This is what it’s about.
Odyssey from Oban: the beginning
Last time, we had set off with high hopes and, thwarted by strong headwinds, had cut short our trip at Lochmaddy. This time, we had a far better idea of where we were going, places we were keen to revisit, places we had missed last time that we wanted to explore, and a whole lot of local knowledge bestowed by our generous host from the night before (including a hand drawn map of highlights and camp spots for us to visit on Barra).
When a cycle tour becomes a night hike…
"Are there any lions, Mummy?", ponders Ruth aloud. I stifle the urge to giggle. The indistinct shapes around us start moving. And mooing. I reassure Ruth that there are no wild lions in Scotland. No, darling, no tigers either. Ruth is satisfied. Mummy and Daddy hold our breath - what will a field full of cows make of a family of cycle tourists turning up in the pitch dark and tramping across their field?