Scotland 2025 Day 8 - Mostly Flat
How sad. Like most things in this life it has been and gone in a flash. That’s the Outer Hebrides done. 3 days of magnificent cycling in such a beautiful part of the world. Meeting more folk from all over the world than I have ever met before in just one day.
You just get chatting you see. It’s impossible not to. Every cyclist has a pace. Some faster than others. Some slower. Thus on every ride, and because this part of the world is blathered by cyclists, there are loads of slow speed overtake moments cos this is a place made almost entirely of hills.
My first slap on this ride is from a Canadian lady. Another retiree travelling around the world cycling in more places than I’ve ever been. And thats a lot. A divorcee I’m guessing with a bob or two in the bank who ran a cosmetics advertising agency with her husband. A man she thinks she should have ejected from her life much sooner than the 35 years that it took her. A lady with a fine complexion. Someone who gave me a pleasant friendly yet firm slap and a smile simply because I said that I didn’t think she was old enough to be retired.
That left me wide eyed with a silly grin on my face. You know Benny Hill style. There ya go Wayne you can say proper nice things to ladies too you know and not get a thwack in the chops for not engaging your brain first.
Her name? Lenore L’Oreal. I guess she’s French Canadian. Something to do with washing powders I think. Probably why she had such a good complexion for her age.
All bikes are tied up together when on a ferry. We’re at the back and normally the last to get off the boat. Sudsy - as I now called my new Canadian friend - gets off the boat with me. We all have a pleasant chat and wish each other well. Shes riding some matt black sexy specialised non electric razor of a thing which like her has lumps in all the right places. And she’s off! And I’m quivering in my pedals wanting to chase her. But we must stay together as a group mustn’t we?
David the Gentle Giant is ready. An expert at handling well lubricated chains so hes slick and creamy and ready to go. Where he gets the lube from we can only guess huh?
Brad is ready. A man carrying a small computer centre and power station combination in his right pannier. Along with an industrial electric shaver. He is shorn clean head to toe and is also ready for the off.
London Alan though is still on the boat having problems with his granny knot. Trying to untie his bike. C'mon London Alan I cry, I was joking when I said I was going to give you a Calmac Viking burial! Don’t make me do it! She’s getting away!
I watch as she crests the hill with her tail light winking at me. And shes gone. Story of my life really.
In retrospect there wasn’t a lot of route planning to do here. There are few roads on the island but we look at the maps anyway to give us a measure of distance to be travelled and feet to be climbed. Gives us all chances to prepare our excuses to give to our arses, testicles and knees later in the day.
OS maps reveals the busty contours of the land about us with a nipple like trig point on top of every buxomly hill. Outdoor Active tells us the feet we will be climbing being that it is a favourite app of the walking community. Komoot completely underwhelms us with its basic lineage but is a good one for getting us anywhere fast. Strava is a favoured one for folk without memories so thats us now huh who want to show others including ourselves where they’ve been when they get back to the retirement home. And Google Maps. Used by fiction writers not unlike myself cos its vision of reality is from another dimension. Not unlike myself.
Today we looked through the Google window. We put in our destination and turned the crank. With a ding it spits out a paper ticket that simply says ‘mostly flat’. Yeah right. We’re at the bottom of a huge hill climb and Google spits that junk out at us. And away we go swapping breathless hello’s with the people that pass us.
Theres a young couple, a couple of proper racing snakes from Glasgow out for their daily ride. Then the German sounding Portuguese lass who I catch up to, with her Italian boyfriend who suffered a blowout earlier in the ride. I assume his tyre and not with his Italian girlfriend. They’re lovely to chat with. Ciao baby 😊
Staying in a hostel means we meet other folk around the kitchen table. The German lady from North of Berlin who just gushes about how beautiful this place is and how friendly the people are in this part of the world. Or any other part I think if your baseline is some place north of Berlin. Then theres the Aussie with the lovely smile and a beard that finishes about 1 mm short of the eyelids. An ex convict type for sure. Shes on this journey with her partner from Dublin having met some 20 years or so ago about the time when I worked there. A place where I also fell in love with a raven haired big buxomly thing who sadly was already betrothed to another. Dammit!
And to mention one more group. A family from Australia. Mum with her 10 and 15 year old sons and husband in tow. Him with some trailorised road train of a bike thingy. Her carrying enough chocolate munitions to keep the kiddies happy in this not ‘mostly flat’ countryside. We chat a little earlier that day as we pass one another, and like most folk riding bikes, they are full of smiles and energy. I watch in awe as the 10 year old leaves London Alan in his wake whilst eating his favoured Caramello Koala chocolate bar on a grade.
I crest a long pull and wait at the top for London Alan to arrive, slowed somewhat by the addition of an untieable granny knot that has been unceremoniously ripped off the boat.
I watch with amazement the Aussie lass power up the climb and come to a halt at the side of me and whilst straddling the bike gave a great spread feet high hands YAHOO! like shes some Wolverine X person. For sure a buxomly lady wrapped in pale blue lycra leggings and tight top sporting a set if rather powerful legs, broad shoulders - and then I spy them. Shes also sporting a pair of chesty panniers too that would put London Alan’s to shame.
She looks me square in the eyes with a broad perfectly toothed non scot gold coast smile to which I say ‘WOW sport! You’ve got a magnificent pair haven’t ya!?’
CRUMP!!
She’s a convict too for sure. Robbed me of my senses she did. Also sporting wicked knuckles. Courtesy of her great-great-great grandfather navvy canal digger petty crook, a one way ticket holder courtesy of Britains judicial system of the 19th century.
I fumbled around and luckily found my plastic cataract inserts in my facial rubble and somehow managed to pop them back in. The wrong way around though cos all I saw after that was her wobbly arse departure as though looking through broken bathroom window glass…
Stornoway is a rough expensive non Glaswegian expensive slag heap. Shame is that you have to pass through that port to get into or as in our case out of the island chain on the ungodly 7am ferry.
We land in Ullapool just as the rain arrives.
I’ll write more about that wonderful non flat journey to Beauly tomorrow. I’m hoping that the 4 retired gals on non e-bikes survived the day after seeing the high speed police car whizz by us back to the monstrous wet hill climb on which we left them. This is a busy A road that for sure is the exact opposite of ‘mostly flat’ 😟.
I pray all is well…
Ciao for now
You just get chatting you see. It’s impossible not to. Every cyclist has a pace. Some faster than others. Some slower. Thus on every ride, and because this part of the world is blathered by cyclists, there are loads of slow speed overtake moments cos this is a place made almost entirely of hills.
My first slap on this ride is from a Canadian lady. Another retiree travelling around the world cycling in more places than I’ve ever been. And thats a lot. A divorcee I’m guessing with a bob or two in the bank who ran a cosmetics advertising agency with her husband. A man she thinks she should have ejected from her life much sooner than the 35 years that it took her. A lady with a fine complexion. Someone who gave me a pleasant friendly yet firm slap and a smile simply because I said that I didn’t think she was old enough to be retired.
That left me wide eyed with a silly grin on my face. You know Benny Hill style. There ya go Wayne you can say proper nice things to ladies too you know and not get a thwack in the chops for not engaging your brain first.
Her name? Lenore L’Oreal. I guess she’s French Canadian. Something to do with washing powders I think. Probably why she had such a good complexion for her age.
All bikes are tied up together when on a ferry. We’re at the back and normally the last to get off the boat. Sudsy - as I now called my new Canadian friend - gets off the boat with me. We all have a pleasant chat and wish each other well. Shes riding some matt black sexy specialised non electric razor of a thing which like her has lumps in all the right places. And she’s off! And I’m quivering in my pedals wanting to chase her. But we must stay together as a group mustn’t we?
David the Gentle Giant is ready. An expert at handling well lubricated chains so hes slick and creamy and ready to go. Where he gets the lube from we can only guess huh?
Brad is ready. A man carrying a small computer centre and power station combination in his right pannier. Along with an industrial electric shaver. He is shorn clean head to toe and is also ready for the off.
London Alan though is still on the boat having problems with his granny knot. Trying to untie his bike. C'mon London Alan I cry, I was joking when I said I was going to give you a Calmac Viking burial! Don’t make me do it! She’s getting away!
I watch as she crests the hill with her tail light winking at me. And shes gone. Story of my life really.
In retrospect there wasn’t a lot of route planning to do here. There are few roads on the island but we look at the maps anyway to give us a measure of distance to be travelled and feet to be climbed. Gives us all chances to prepare our excuses to give to our arses, testicles and knees later in the day.
OS maps reveals the busty contours of the land about us with a nipple like trig point on top of every buxomly hill. Outdoor Active tells us the feet we will be climbing being that it is a favourite app of the walking community. Komoot completely underwhelms us with its basic lineage but is a good one for getting us anywhere fast. Strava is a favoured one for folk without memories so thats us now huh who want to show others including ourselves where they’ve been when they get back to the retirement home. And Google Maps. Used by fiction writers not unlike myself cos its vision of reality is from another dimension. Not unlike myself.
Today we looked through the Google window. We put in our destination and turned the crank. With a ding it spits out a paper ticket that simply says ‘mostly flat’. Yeah right. We’re at the bottom of a huge hill climb and Google spits that junk out at us. And away we go swapping breathless hello’s with the people that pass us.
Theres a young couple, a couple of proper racing snakes from Glasgow out for their daily ride. Then the German sounding Portuguese lass who I catch up to, with her Italian boyfriend who suffered a blowout earlier in the ride. I assume his tyre and not with his Italian girlfriend. They’re lovely to chat with. Ciao baby 😊
Staying in a hostel means we meet other folk around the kitchen table. The German lady from North of Berlin who just gushes about how beautiful this place is and how friendly the people are in this part of the world. Or any other part I think if your baseline is some place north of Berlin. Then theres the Aussie with the lovely smile and a beard that finishes about 1 mm short of the eyelids. An ex convict type for sure. Shes on this journey with her partner from Dublin having met some 20 years or so ago about the time when I worked there. A place where I also fell in love with a raven haired big buxomly thing who sadly was already betrothed to another. Dammit!
And to mention one more group. A family from Australia. Mum with her 10 and 15 year old sons and husband in tow. Him with some trailorised road train of a bike thingy. Her carrying enough chocolate munitions to keep the kiddies happy in this not ‘mostly flat’ countryside. We chat a little earlier that day as we pass one another, and like most folk riding bikes, they are full of smiles and energy. I watch in awe as the 10 year old leaves London Alan in his wake whilst eating his favoured Caramello Koala chocolate bar on a grade.
I crest a long pull and wait at the top for London Alan to arrive, slowed somewhat by the addition of an untieable granny knot that has been unceremoniously ripped off the boat.
I watch with amazement the Aussie lass power up the climb and come to a halt at the side of me and whilst straddling the bike gave a great spread feet high hands YAHOO! like shes some Wolverine X person. For sure a buxomly lady wrapped in pale blue lycra leggings and tight top sporting a set if rather powerful legs, broad shoulders - and then I spy them. Shes also sporting a pair of chesty panniers too that would put London Alan’s to shame.
She looks me square in the eyes with a broad perfectly toothed non scot gold coast smile to which I say ‘WOW sport! You’ve got a magnificent pair haven’t ya!?’
CRUMP!!
She’s a convict too for sure. Robbed me of my senses she did. Also sporting wicked knuckles. Courtesy of her great-great-great grandfather navvy canal digger petty crook, a one way ticket holder courtesy of Britains judicial system of the 19th century.
I fumbled around and luckily found my plastic cataract inserts in my facial rubble and somehow managed to pop them back in. The wrong way around though cos all I saw after that was her wobbly arse departure as though looking through broken bathroom window glass…
Stornoway is a rough expensive non Glaswegian expensive slag heap. Shame is that you have to pass through that port to get into or as in our case out of the island chain on the ungodly 7am ferry.
We land in Ullapool just as the rain arrives.
I’ll write more about that wonderful non flat journey to Beauly tomorrow. I’m hoping that the 4 retired gals on non e-bikes survived the day after seeing the high speed police car whizz by us back to the monstrous wet hill climb on which we left them. This is a busy A road that for sure is the exact opposite of ‘mostly flat’ 😟.
I pray all is well…
Ciao for now
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