would he be wearing it). Kevin trying to take a sneaky picture of him was a picture in itself.Once on Harris we went our separate way, Hairy Bikers to Lewis, Kevin, Bobby and Mr Bean to a remote hostel (lucky old Kevin and Bobby), and us towards Tarbert ready for an early morning ferry to Skye. The wind still howled, the rain held at bay, it was cold. Harris was different again, the road running around the rugged mountains, hugging the coast offering views over wonderful windswept beaches, cycling at its best. After a climb inland we aimed for a coffee shop in Tarbert, but the rain caught us, the wind lashing cold rain from the side, penetrating instantly, oh what fun! The cafe arrived not a moment too soon.
We sat there as long as we could, hiding from the rain, talking to a couple of cyclists from Arran. We departed to search for a place to camp. As we left voices called, it was Bobby and Kevin, “We are in a bunkhouse around the corner,” they told us, “we couldn’t face the climb back out of Tarbert in the rain so we’re stopping here.” Surely a euphemism for, ‘We couldn’t stand a night alone with Mr Bean.’ Another social night appealed far more than a climb out in the rain for us too, so we joined them.
In a pub around the corner a ceilidh was advertised, we ventured in. Sadly it was no ceilidh, just a ceilidh band playing so loud we couldn’t talk. A ceilidh really needs to be danced to, listening is no good, after the first one they all sound the same. Kevin and Bobby knew how to drink, pints were followed by whiskeys, whiskeys were followed by wine. They remained more sober than me after two pints. I can’t remember what we talked about but I know I had a sore throat from shouting by the end of it.
We only just caught the ferry to Skye, the gates were shut, “You’re a bit late, boarding is 45 minutes before departure,” we were told. Kevin and Bobby went north to Stornaway, shame, they had been great company. An hour and a half and a big cooked breakfast later we were at Uig on Skye, heading for a small road across the mountains. “I looked for that road,” Irn-Bru told us, “I never found it.” Too much vodka in yer Irn-Bru, it’s there and dead easy to find. We climbed gently through moorland along a single track road before dropping suddenly through a gap in the mountains (photo). At the bottom we joined a small main road, shocked to find it was double carriageway, even more shocked to find traffic used it! It rolled its way along the eastern shores, rain hit us again throwing lumps of ice at us, what fun we had. I waited for Mally, she never arrived so returned to find she had completely out of energy (bonked is the correct cycling term). We ate lunch standing up in the driving rain. With fuel in her tanks we were away again. We had turned south and were battling combined forces of strong winds and rain, progress was painfully slow, the scenery was spectacular but the enjoyment gone. We passed through Portree, a delightful port of coloured houses. I was cold and shivering, I didn’t enjoy the place. We departed south on the A87. I eventually warmed up but enjoyment never returned. The wind still trying to force us back no longer worried us, the traffic was the problem, endless traffic in both direction. Skye is a large island with a population of a mere 10,000. They must have about five cars each and some devious way of driving them all at the same time. After the quiet lanes of the Outer Hebrides where every passing motorist waved, this was terrible, we both hated it. We made our way to Sconser and quickly took the ferry the isle of Raasay, population 190 and even less cars, rarely driven because there is nowhere to go.
The wind still howled, the rain still lashed, we got off the ferry and entered the brand new waiting room, and waited for the rain to stop. It sort of stopped so we climbed up through the trees on the only road heading north, towards another hostel. Nowhere was flat or free of rocks, as it rained, the hostel looked so inviting. We opened the gate, the wind still strong, then Irene the warden came out to greet us, “This hostel doesn’t open for another week, but come in quickly and we can argue about it over a cuppa tea.” Some folk are friendly, some like to talk. I very quickly realised we had stumbled on somebody who likes to talk...non stop! Inside we were introduced to fellow warden Graham, the only person who could stop her talking, by talking non stop himself. It was still yet
to dawn, we had arrived in Hell!“We are from London, we only arrived yesterday to ready the hostel for opening next week and there has been a split water pipe which has cut off some of the electricity. We shouldn’t be staying here as the fire alarm is not working, but you can stay here, we couldn’t send you out in the wind and rain. We are cyclists ourselves so we know what it is like.” We were shown to a room, Irene fussing and talking non stop. “I’ll get you some duvet covers.”
“Don’t worry, we can use our sleeping bags.”
“Oh you can’t do that. Scottish Youth Hostels insists you use the duvets. You can’t stay here and use a sleeping bag, it’s against the rules.” So we can break the rules and stay when the place is closed, has no electricity and no working fire alarm, but sleeping bags? Oh dear, dear me, a definite no, no.
We returned to the kitchen dining area to be talked at. Irene kindly showing where everything was in the kitchen, it was small, I could have found everything by taking two steps. The life stories began, how theymet in 2000 after Irene’s husband died. “Well, if you are going to tell the story, you might as well tell them everything,” Graham interrupted. “Anyway, anyway, they don’t want to hear about all that,” he interrupted again minutes later.
It was eight o’clock I needed to cook so took refuge in the kitchen. Irene followed standing next to me, guessing what I would need and fetching it. She was driving me nuts, I felt like pushing her out of the kitchen, desperate to say, “Go away, I am quite capable of finding a knife and a couple of saucepans.” I should have farted and gassed her out, why is it you can never fart when you need to?
We ate dinner, there was no let up, Graham told us about his cycling, “...I cycled across U.S.A. but you don’t to hear about that,” said in a tone inviting us to ask questions. He was right, we didn’t. Graham took over the talking, sometimes Irene would chip in, Graham interrupting each time with “Anyway, anyway,” and grabbing the story back, always contradicting her.
“We came here in February once,” said Irene.
“January,” Graham butted in.
“January 29th,” she continued. Petty arguments were regular, the ‘anyways’ becoming louder and repetitive the more Graham disliked whatever Irene had to say.
He told us about Calum’s Road where we would be cycling tomorrow. “It is very tough, there are 11 steep hill arrows on the map between here and the end of the road. The first is by the waterworks where you will see men working. I don’t know what they do but every time I go along the road there are always men working there. Very few cyclists cycle to the end it is so tough. I say cyclists, most aren’t really cyclist as they don’t wear lycra.”
Nine o’clock arrived. An hour in Hell is a long time. Mally’s eyes shut, I sensed I life saver, ‘please fall asleep’ I thought, it would give the excuse for an early night. Her head nodded, Graham kept looking at her, eyes shut head nodding, but he never let up. My eyes were heavy too, I was so bored, would these people ever stop talking? By nine-thirty I made our excuses, “We are really tired, we have had a long tough day cycling and really need some sleep.” We shut the door to our room, relief swept over us in our safe haven. Suddenly we were wide awake, on the bunks, wrapped in our duvets, giggling like school kids, interrupting each other comments, “Anyway, anyway…”
I slept well. Come morning I sensed neither of us wanted to leave the room first. I entered
the dining area and two happy wardens dropped their porridge spoons simultaneously, thumbs were raised with beaming smiles. I bit over the top I thought, then realised the lights were on, the reason for their childlike happiness, still over the top mind. Being the first to arrive I was lucky enough to have a repeat story of how they arrived yesterday, there had been a burst pipe and the electricity wasn’t working. They weren’t supposed to stay here as the fire alarm doesn’t work….HELLO! Remember me? I was here yesterday having my ear bashed with the same story. Please don’t tell me the story of how you met.
The weather was bad, the wind howled, the rain lashed and Irene invited us to stay another night. I think she needed some respite from Graham.
Mally was telling Irene of my cycle trip around the world, she was interested and told Graham about it when he arrived. “Anyway, anyway, when I cycled across the U.S.A….”
“John cycled across America, and the Outback.”
“ANYWAY, ANYWAY.” Graham stormed off, unhappy that somebody had cycled somewhere he hadn’t. Irene came through and asked me questions with enthusiasm. Graham walked through without a word, we both knew he wasn’t happy and wanted to stay out of the way. If only we had known that last night.
I asked Irene if she had heard the weather forecast. “I will have a look in the paper you,” she said.
“You don’t want to believe the paper, they are too general,” grumped Graham.
This made me take a great interest in the paper. “Dull today, dull tomorrow,” read Irene.
“Anyway, anyway…”
“Is that the same symbol the next day?”
“Anyway, anyway, they are no good.”
“It looks like being miserable.”
“ANYWAY, ANYWAY.”
“No sorry, the weather looks rough for the rest of your stay.”
“ANYWAY, ANYWAY, there is no point looking at those forecasts.”
We left our luggage and cycled along the single track road towards Calum’s road, the fresh air and strong winds feeling truly wonderful and we moved away from Hell. The road rolled, we were alone. We sheltered from a shower. “Do you think we will see any traffic today?” I asked.
“No.”
“Neither do I.” A minute later as we stood there three vehicles passed!
We reached Calum’s Road. To be honest it looked the same as the rest of the road, only steeper. It runs for almost two miles, formally a footpath to the settlement at Arnish. The footpath was rarely used, the locals took a boat around. People started to leave Arnish never to return and Calum saw the place dying, yet the council refused requests to build a connecting road. When Calum retired he set about building the road himself, a pick and a wheelbarrow his only tools. It took him ten years to complete, finished around 1980. It was a tough road to cycle which emphasised the magnitude of his achievement. After his death the council surfaced it. Bastards! Mally wanted to visit the road having read a book about it and also danced a tricky dance named ‘Calum’s Road’ at her dance group.
The road now holds significance with me for it is where my beloved leather Brookes saddle finally gave up the ghost when the front snapped off. It now sags and digs in my leg.
The road was tough though nothing compared to Hell. As we approached I asked, “Do you want to stay another night?”
“NO, not even if it is pissing down with rain.” We were in agreement.
We returned to Hell. “Did you make it to Arnish?” Graham asked in that smug ‘of course you didn’t,’ tone.
“Yes,” said Mally, “Calum’s road was amazing.”
“Oh! Anyway, anyway,” and off he went. I refrained from telling him I cycled the whole way, with a broken saddle and without using bottom gear as the chain slipped the first time I tried to use it, and there was nobody at the waterworks. It would have been too much for him and Irene would have taken the brunt.
Raasay was a delightful island, but as we left on the ferry I truly felt pure joy and happiness at knowing I would never see Graham again. He will always be the first thing I remember about the island, a complete arse!
On Skye, we took the back road to Moll finding a delight spot to wild camp, sheltered from the wind, the Cuillins to our right, water and Scalpay island in front and Raasay (Anyway, anyway) to our left. It rained. It didn’t matter, we were dry, had a great view and were far, far away from Hell.
At Broadford we took a backroad to Torrin, it rain in showers. We camped at another beautiful spot at the head of a loch. The rain start at 6pm and never stopped.
It was still raining the following dayas we cycled along the final leg of our journey to catch the ferry to Mallaig. The road was dull, the wind in our face, the cold rain soaking us. Mally needed food, we had to stop for lunch but to stand and eat in the rain would have chilled us to the core. We spotted a bus shelter, even facing the right way to shelter us from the wind. I waited for Mally, I knew she would be delighted. She arrived, she wasn’t. “Gosh, what a lot of hills there are along this road, quite tough to cycle up too, and never any going down. And the rain! It’s rains so much, I wonder if it will ever stop. Oh, and the wind, I think it makes it a tad more difficult. What a lovely time we are having! Would you mind if I brought my wet bicycle into this bus shelter rather than leaving it outside with yours.” At least I think that’s what she was trying to say, she used words I never even realised she knew, like the words came from another person. I was shocked, at least would have been if I could have stopped laughing. She needed food. As Mally gets hungry her language deteriorates. She had a tortilla wrap with houmous, I had one with houmous and raspberry jam. Delicious!
An elderly lady came to collect her paper from a box in the bus shelter. “Would you like a cup of tea of coffee?” We had left Hell and entered Heaven. I waited for her front door to open before running across to save her another soaking, the weather was terrible. “I have just heard the forecast,” she told me, “it’s going to turn foul this afternoon.”
Mally took the mugs back and was invited in to use the loo, “I will drip water everywhere,” she told the lady.
“Don’t worry. Men can go anyway, it’s so much more difficult for women.” She showed Mally a prayer about helping strangers for you might meet God. Sadly for her I am not God, and after what I heard Mally say earlier, she certainly isn’t.
It still rained when we arrived in Mallaig, so with a 6am train to catch in morning we opted for a bunkhouse, above a tearoom. The mixed dorms were fine apart from the couple canoodling on one of the bottom bunks. Thankfully they moved, though on reflection I wish they hadn’t, canoodling in doorways is even worse.
So that's how Quakers are different! Mally could record a words CD and send it to Graham. Even if he doesn't use it I'm sure Irene could.
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