The Not-So-NC500 - DAY 2

WORD OF THE DAY

Beastie (blastie - Scottish) (noun) an insect or other small animal. 
As in "the blasted beasties came in clouds to devour me in the night". Nothing "timorous" about these wee midgies!

LOCHARRON > GAIRLOCH
Emma's Strava Effort

We woke up to, you guessed it, rain! At least it served to wash away the larger bits of the sheep poo that had smeared every inch of our kit. I had a fair amount of trouble clicking into my pedals as my cleats were so heavily caked in the stuff. Nevertheless, we packed up and headed back to town.  At this point I would like to add to learning #4 from my first post – Packing up your camp on a rainy morning is the most arduous part of the whole thing and can take nigh on an hour, especially if you’re so anal and your boyfriend is so cack-handed, you won’t let him help you pack anything away.

Once in Lochcarron, we visited the shop and the facilities. Most Scottish towns we came across boasted clean public loos (I mean, I’m not scared to duck into a bush for a nature wee, but a nice proper loo is always welcome). As we scoffed down our gourmet breakfast – two hummus and smoked cheese sarnies, that I had just made on my knee as I crouched on the pavement (food blog to follow) – a couple who were also doing the NC500 came over for a chat. We tentatively asked them if they were braving the Bealach na Bà pass. They said that they had been unsure but just that morning had decided to crack on – they had tackled the climb once before, but without bike bags and not in such crap conditions, so they were expecting to get off and push for the majority of the climb. At this point, I had a little wobble and as soon as they had biked off, I turned to Hamish saying “Should we just do it? Let’s just do it!”. He promised me the re-route ride would be just as enjoyable, and anyway we could see the thick fog creeping over the higher land surrounding us. We stuck to our guns.

A quick and, at times painful, lesson: the majority of larger Scottish towns sit on the water’s edge, whether that be on the coast or on the edge of a loch. This means that they tend to be at the bottom of a steep hill. So, that cold and rainy morning as we said goodbye to Lochcarron, before we’d had a chance to even remotely warm up, we were straight into a punchy categorised climb with gradients of up to 11%. Cry.

Once at the top, we were straight into a descent down to the base of the Bealach na Bà pass through what felt like the jungle; the vegetation was positively tropical (sadly the weather didn’t follow suit). At the bottom, we stopped to take some pictures with a sign that had been plastered with an eclectic mix of stickers, to the point where they were covering almost the entire sign. A very cool stop-off on our route.

On we biked and Hamish, ever thirsty for a strong coffee, insisted we stop only 14 miles in at Shieldaig – I prefer to break the back of a ride before I stop. This was a striking village, perched on the edge of a large coastal loch. Sadly (for Hamish) the café door was open, but they weren’t yet serving so… onwards!

As we headed inland and skirted Upper Loch Torridon the scenery transformed into something that wouldn’t look out of place in Austria – vast banks of high ground rising up in all directions with low bodies of water nestling between them. When we left the sea inlet behind, we passed Beinn Eighe, an imposing wall of rock, making up one of the great Torridon peaks. It was chosen as Britain’s first National Nature Reserve. We soared along its single-track roads with an uplifting tailwind. On the one hand, it was a place you want to stop, take in the scenery and take tons of photos; on the other, I wanted to savour the amazing single-track deserted roads, especially with an elusive tailwind. We rolled gleefully through the undulating terrain and flew into Kinlochewe where we stopped for a toastie in the Kinlochewe Service Station, which should have been called The Real Midge Bite Café. The owner had kindly put some fans out to disperse the pesky blood suckers but one or two battled against the gusts onto my apparently tasty skin.

As we greedily munched down our food, two cars with mountain bikes mounted on the back rolled into the car park. We got chatting to the group and they said they were driving around the NC500 and stopping to do various offroad trails en route. Other than us they had met only one other pair who were cycling the route and asked us to look out for two chaps from Leeds on our travels. I couldn’t stay to chat for long as I was beginning to feel light-headed from the loss of blood that the midges were sucking out of me.

We went back on ourselves towards the coast, hugging Loch Maree for the final 19 miles towards Gairloch, arriving just after four. We were looking forward to a relaxed evening in what looked like a lovely town with a large harbour and fab beach, so we set off to make camp and get some scran (a word I have always associated with Geordies, but upon Googling the word’s origin, I discovered it is actually Scottish – fitting). We traipsed up and down the coast for five miles trying in vain to find a spot to camp for the night. An hour later and fast losing hope, I hopped off my bike and ran down a narrow path towards the coastline, leaving Hamish to man the bikes. I found a secluded viewing point equipped with a bench with views of the whole bay, a gorgeously flat piece of ground that sat below a rock, shielding us from view. It really couldn’t have been more perfect, and the healthy coastal breeze to keep away the midges really sweetened the deal.

I unclipped the bike bags, locked up the bikes, stomped down the lovely springy grass and proceeded to make camp. Again, I wouldn’t let Hamish get involved in this process, so he quickly got changed and scurried off to the shop to get dinner. It looked as though we might actually get to enjoy a dry evening, so the rock was soon peppered with every item of kit we had worn in the last few days drying and airing (some had developed a rather fusty odour).

Hamish – MY KING – only emerged down the path with an effing Chinese and a can of Camden pale ale! I have never loved this man more than at that exact moment. (He still wasn’t able to look alcohol in the eye after the morning of Day 1). We wolfed down our tubs of noodles and as we sat in silence, looking out across the bay with two empty, greasy containers resting on the bench beside us, I let out a little chuckle. I had done a considerable amount of research on the must-try foodie destinations along the NC500, but when it came down to it, I honestly couldn’t have cared less what I was eating as long as the portions were large, the grease content was high and the prep/wait speed was nil.

Tummies full, with a hard-to-beat view, we sat on the rocks near the shore, reading our Kindles in the waning sunlight. The breeze was beginning to slacken and as our mad swatting became more urgent, we retreated into the tent and hid behind the midge net, through which we could watch the gorgeous pink sunset.

We woke up twice in the night.

First… because a drunken group stumbled along the path above us causing an absolute racket. Suddenly a woman screamed as something ran down the path past them, crashing into the undergrowth right next to our tent. I mean it was probably a fox, but when you’re protected only by a flimsy piece of material, your mind really plays tricks on you. I thought it was a wolf – pretty sure they have them in Scotland. Hamish didn’t like to guess but asked if I had anything I could use as a weapon to hand. Eventually, we drifted back off.

Second… I woke up needing a wee and hopped out of the tent thinking nothing of it. Within seconds, my face was caked in midges. They bombed every inch of exposed skin – even heading up my nose – so I dived back into the tent slapping and rubbing my face hoping to kill them all off. After a while in the tent swatting anything that moved, we fell back to sleep, dreaming of the Airbnb we had booked in Ullapool for the following evening.

Thanks for coming exploring with me!
Have you got time for a little more? Click here for The Not-So-NC500 - Day 3

Check out my Instagram page - @BirdOnABikeBlog