Bikepacking Scotland

Day 1 -  Start as you mean to go on.

We landed in Edinburgh late on a Friday night. The age old problem of balancing work and adventure meant the 6 hour journey to Scotland started at the end of the work week.

Playing it safe for the first night, we booked a campsite. Speeding through a pitch black, bat infested bikeway through the suburbs, flying high on the anticipation, the inevitable happened, the first flat tire. A speedy torch light repair and we were on our way.

Day 2 - Fueled by potato cakes and Irn Bru

We were rewarded for our midnight riding with a walk looking out over the North Sea. We started slow, taking the unloaded bikes into the city center to check out the Edinburgh Fringe and enjoy our first taste of the soon to be Elixir of Life, Irn Bru.

The itch to get moving soon took over, eager to ‘get to the good stuff’, we headed for Falkirk, the halfway point to the ‘good stuff’. Having packed up our gear, we experienced some hike-a-bike, when a short cut turned into a bridleway our 25mms couldn’t handle.

Rolling into Falkirk, the official/unofficial sponsor of the trip, McDonald’s came into view. We refuelled and with the sun setting, we needed somewhere to sleep, wild camping is legal in Scotland, so with the whole wide world at our feet, we settled on a cushy spot near the Falkirk Wheel

Day 3 - The long road along Loch Lomond!

A big day ahead. We were going to ride hard. We had a ferry to catch. In what is becoming a theme, the glass spokes reared their ugly head, at about 8am on a Sunday morning (who brings spare spokes?!). Halfords became our saviour, we were back on! Skirting past Glasgow and another flat, we followed a river, complete with very brave cows, up to Loch Lomond. 

We skirted the edge of the Loch, enjoying the flats as the spectre of elevation surrounded us. After a dip in the Loch, we hit our first major climb, a long winding A-road up to fabled Crianlarich. Our long awaited resting point for the day. We were rewarded with beer, beaten only by the Bru as the most refreshing way to end a climb. We finished our day at Tyndrum, the ‘house on the ridge’ of the Highlands and made a quick visit to the ‘Green Welly Stop’...for bug spray. We had hit midge country.

Day 4 - Just some light drizzle! & Curry would have been a bad idea!

Anxious not to miss our ferry to the Outer Hebrides, we set off early. We were met with an all-encompassing scene, rolling hills, lochs and forests, a beautiful misty morning for a ride. Flying down the other side of the mountain we had climbed the day before, we were on cloud nine, on course to be very early for our ferry. 5 miles outside of Oban, the heavens opened. Drenched to the bone, we took refuge in a Tesco cafe, hauled up next to the radiator, desperately trying to dry ourselves and our gear. 

A casual 5 hour ferry to the island of Barra sounded like a breeze on paper. Cruising through the Sound of Mull, we were looking forward to a rest after riding over 200km and being eaten alive by midges. The open water having other ideas, we spent the voyage with our heads over the side of the boat. 

Arriving in Castlebay, Barra at dusk, with empty bellies, we devoured fish and chips and finished off our day with a steep climb and looked for a pretty spot to camp, which turned out not to be that difficult.

Day 5 - The Hebridean Way!

The Hebridean Way is a 300km cycle route running directly through 10 islands of the Outer Hebrides. We planned to ride just over half of it, ending in Tarbert where we would hop on a ferry back to the mainland. 

After prying the ticks out of our legs, we rode northwards, following the empty roads, through rolling hills, interspersed with magnificent views of the ocean. Our first ferry of the day, mercifully shorter than the rollercoaster we’d taken the day before, took us from Barra to South Uist. More of the same followed, South Uist had a desolate charming quality. The years of wind battering the isle meant very few trees, all the plants were small and hardy, much like the residents. 

We hit the causeways to Benbecula where we were met with equally spectacular views and rain. Maybe having gazed too long at the ocean, a mad dash was needed so we didn’t miss the last ferry to Harris. We hadn’t seen a Co-Op in miles and we were hungry. Fish and Chips answered the call in Leverburgh and we rounded the day out with a Caledonian Ale and set up camp in the garden of a local hostel.

Day 6 - And a mid morning swim! & The Long Way Round

Newly invigorated, from a shower and hot coffee from a kettle rather than a flaming coke can, we had a late start, meandering along the craggy coast, admiring beaches that looked more at home in the Caribbean, than at the most westerly part of Scotland. The breakers proved too enticing and we took the plunge. 

After refuelling in an art gallery with cheese scones, a mountain lay between us and Tarbert. We proudly lifted our bikes over our heads at the top and raced down to the ferry port. Macaroni pies were discovered and eaten in bulk and a helpless strangers gear shifter was likely destroyed in an effort to fix it because ‘...my friend Jimmy knows a thing or two about bikes…’ (disclaimer: this was 4 years ago, he could probably fix it now). Thankfully, the ferry crossing to Skye was smoother and shorter and we arrived in Uig with Macaroni pie still in our bellies.  

The landscape of Skye had been one of the original inspirations for the trip. With Golden Hour approaching we rode north, the long way round to Portree, the best decision of the trip. The otherworldly scenes that greeted us will be etched into our memories forever. Photos cannot do them justice and if you haven’t seen them by bike, at dusk in the middle of summer, you haven’t seen them at all. Strava says there was a fair amount of elevation gained, all forgotten in the wake of the setting. To cap off the day, we wild camped on a cliff, standing on the edge of the world and chowing down on noodles and meatballs. We felt like kings.

Day 7 - Disappointingly didn't see any fairies!

The Old Man of Storr is the most famous landmark in Skye. Located at the highest point of the Trotternish Ridge, the largest landslip in the British Isles, it can be seen from miles around. Well, we woke up hungry, having perhaps eaten a little too regally the night before we had nothing, so we blasted past the ‘Old Man’ to Portree and found a trusty Co-Op. 

It was a hot day, the clearest we had seen. Fortuitously, our mission for the day was to swim in the Fairy Pools. With the sun at our backs, we climbed past fantasy mountains and caravans, forests and pubs. Skye makes you work hard for the pools. We climbed for what felt like hours, battling a rear derailleur screaming to be on flat ground and cursing the man for climbing. We hiked when the bikes couldn’t take us any further and were compensated with fresh, magically spring water, crying out to be swam in. 

Tearing ourselves from the pools, we begrudging made our way back to the main roads that would lead us off Skye, with a heavy heart. We both agreed this had been the best day so far and with rain forecast for the next day, we splurged on a fancy haggis, neeps and tatties and a local brew, and pressed on to the Armadale, for our final ferry the next morning. A minor scare to close out the day, nowhere wild enough to camp, remedied with a creepy horror film-like campsite, seconds from the ferry.

Day 8 - Washed Out Bus Stop

A quick ferry crossing from Armadale to Mallaig. The clouds we’d seen over the mainland became ever more imposing as we approached. The rain started as we disembarked and didn’t stop for the next 8 hours. We attempted to brave the 60km to Fort William, giving up almost immediately, we took a break in Co-Op, grabbed a snack and waited for it to blow over. Obviously it didn’t, so we hitched a ride on a coach, daydreaming of one day coming back to ride the route, as we sped to Fort William. 

Sheltering in Mcdonald’s, we commiserated over what felt like an adventure cut short. We had intended on ending with a summit of Ben Nevis, but it seemed the weather had over plans. Luckily, at our lowest point, when even Big Macs and chicken nuggets couldn’t pull us from our funk, the rain stopped, we found a campsite at the base of the mountain and we were back on. Laughing our way to the campsite, we had a new lease on life.

Day 9 - Walking above the clouds!

The bikes were put away for the day. We were going to climb to the highest point in the United Kingdom. Having read a sign recommending ice picks and multiple layers and a week's worth of food, we felt woefully unprepared, even more so, when halfway up the mountain we discovered we’d forgotten to fill our water bottles. 

Ben Nevis is just a big staircase, but after a week of cycling nearly 600km, we felt it, especially on the way down. They don’t tell you it’s harder on the way down.

Day 10 - Drygate

Our adventure was coming to an end. We took a train to Glasgow, hauled up the bikes in a dodgy looking hostel, the height of luxury after a week in a tent and went in search of a battered Mars Bar. One of the biggest regrets of the trip is that we couldn’t find one. We took one last look at Scotland before our train home in the morning, exploring the city sites, drinking beer and settling on battered fish.