The Not-So-NC500 - Day 3

WORD OF THE DAY

Drookit (adjective) extremely wet/absolutely drenched. Wet, wet, wet...

GAIRLOCH > ULLAPOOL
Emma's Strava Effort

Our alarms slowly brought us into the land of the living. As I turned to face Hamish, he let out a small gasp. “Em… what’s wrong with your face?!”  Just what you want to hear from your boyfriend first thing in the morning... I didn’t have a mirror to hand, so Hamish took a photo and tentatively showed it to me. I looked like a blowfish, so puffy my eyes had disappeared into my head to be replaced by tiny slits. Hamish’s diagnosis: The midge bites in the night teamed with probable dehydration (it’s quite easy to forget to hydrate when you’re being soaked through all day long) and not having showered for four days were taking their toll… on my face. My diagnosis: an allergy to camping.

Wet, wet, wet. I honestly couldn't remember the last time I was properly dry. The incessant rain and the welcoming thought of having a shower and a proper bed that night gave us a sense of urgency. I quickly packed up our kit (it gets easier the more you do it) as Hamish popped to the shop for our breakfast of cereal bars and bananas. He also forced me to chug a bottle of water and to have some of the rehydration drink I had neglected the day before.

And we were off. Straight into a categorised climb (typical) to take us out of Gairloch towards Poolewe. We rolled along the wet and undulating coast road taking in the amazing scenery. As you reach Little Loch Broom, the road sweeps inland and passing Dundonnell and leaving the water behind, you begin to climb. Little did I know it would be uphill for the next nine miles, rising up, up, up 1,083 ft, taking me just over an hour... my biggest ever climb. Hamish gave me little (really, the minimum) warning about the upcoming climb (perks of having the computer on your bike, which Hamish hogged all trip long – I mean I know it is his, but give me a go man…) and off he went. Where I can generally keep up with him fine on the flat, he swiftly drops me on any hills so tends to just wait for me at the top. Luckily, the steep section, reaching gradients of up to 10%, was dealt with early on and flattened out towards the back end of the climb. It did take it out of me, though. At the top, I dismounted and felt incredibly shaky. In the rush to get to Ullapool and our Airbnb, we had overstretched ourselves, and definitely not eaten nearly enough for the ride thus far. I’d neglected to take care of myself that morning, especially when I had woken up feeling far from 100% and I was really feeling the effects. Luckily I had a sandwich in my bag (at this point I thanked myself for keeping my bags stocked with food at all times) so wolfed it down, rehydrated and set off at a more sedate pace for the remaining 17 miles to Ullapool.

Thankfully, the next 10 miles were all downhill on deserted, smooth tarmac. A dream! We flew down the road and just before where the A382 meets the A385 and you turn to go back towards the coast, you will find the Corrieshalloch Gorge Viewpoint (amazing) which marks your route all the way along to Ullapool, about 13 miles in the distance.

With our Airbnb calling, and both of us flagging, we smashed the remaining miles. Heads down, rotating through the front, we got there on very tired legs in just under an hour, arriving just after 2pm. No messing around, we went straight to the Airbnb. They said we couldn’t check in until 3pm (always worth a punt, isn’t it) so we ordered a hot drink and sat (in the rain) outside The Arch Inn. 2.30pm, stomachs rumbling, and still half an hour until we could get into our room, Hamish ran off to Tesco to get us a meal deal (100% on my list of go-to foodie haunts en route, ticking my main box of convenience). When 3pm finally rolled around, we poked our heads in: “Ten more minutes, hen”. We caved and decided to wait inside – the 10 minutes turned to half an hour which turned into 45 minutes... I was fast losing my sense of humour. All I wanted was a shower and a lie down on something a little more comfortable than a ultra-lightweight camping mattress. At the blessed hour of 4pm, they finally showed us to our rooms.

Being a caring soul, I let Hamish have the first shower. (Control freakery, in reality; I wanted him out the way while I sorted out our bags.) I proceeded to unpack EVERYTHING. Hanging out our sopping wet tent to dry. Shoes, shoe covers and gloves on the radiator. And everything else hung out on every other exposed ledge or surface in the room. It looked like a bikers' bazaar. When Hamish emerged from the bathroom in a cloud of mist, he momentarily paused, taking in the (organised) chaos. He knows better than to say anything. Then I hopped in the bathroom for the best shower of my life!

After a short lie down, feeling more human than we had in days, we went for a stroll to find our bearings. Ullapool was gorgeous and remained a highlight of our trip. The small town boasts a Ferry Port which can take you to Stornoway in 2h 30m. Facing inland, it overlooks Loch Broom with mountains surrounding the low body of water. On this windy and wild day with barely any people around, but with a group of brave sailors racing across the swell, it felt truly special.

We spotted a laundrette so I ran (waddled) back to the room and gathered any of our belongings that could be washed and dried. The woman there said she had to do both due to Covid guidelines and that we could pick them up at nine the next morning – perfect! When we had chilled in the room a while longer, we popped out for a big feed.

After a heavy meal and a pint, we were well knackered, so we lumbered the 50m home and crawled into bed. Bliss! We we’re so tired, we could probably have drifted off to the sounds of Concorde taking off on the road outside our room – but the one noise that is sure to keep you up is the sound of squealing drunk girls. Our room was on the ground floor right next to the entrance to The Arch Inn bar, and this being the first night that pubs were open in Scotland, there was more than a wee bit of imbibing going on. There wasn’t the option to shut our windows to dampen the noise because the stench in the room seeping out of all of our damp kit would have asphyxiated us within seconds. Luckily the bar shut at 10am so they stumbled away, and the last dregs had dragged themselves homeward by 10.30am. Enter... my best night's sleep in years.

Thanks for coming exploring with me!
Have you got time for a little more? Click here for The Not-So-NC500 - Day 4

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