DAY 6, Wednesday 2 July

Today has proved hard work – not as a result of coping with problems, as the Norton has run fine, despite oil-leaks and the lack of the centre-stand now requiring somewhere to prop the thing up when stopped, but just through the sheer distance involved, and the nature of the roads. Doing this part of the ride, even on a thoroughly modern, totally reliable bike of today, indeed even by car, throws considerable demands on participants. Basically, the roads are very demanding, and with 246 miles of them covered today, we’ve taken from departing Ullapool at around 9.30 until arriving at the infamous Mishnish Hotel on the Tobermay harbour-front at 8 p.m. to simply cover the distances – oh, and hit two ferries’ timetables.

The weather has been much as before – strong winds have made riding much less rewarding and fun that it should be. Cranking into bends is what motorcycling is all about , in my humop, and having to do so with such caution and reserve, such that if the gust hits you at the wrong moment, your speed and angle-of-lean have so much in reserve you can compensate for a suddenly wind-induced extra angle takes some of the sparkle out of things.

Otherwise, the skies continue to be largely grey, ranging from lowering and precipitating, to higher and lighter cloud, and there have been a couple of very short bursts of sunshine to emphasise what we’re missing. There is no doubt about it, the scenery, spectacular as it is in the grey, somewhat miserable conditions we’re experiencing, takes on a hugely elevated grandeur with the benefit of the sun bringing out the colours more.

And yes, toady we’ve not been able to miss rain, albeit for only a short time, but heavy enough to demand a stop to put on the waterproofs and for me to roll away the sheepskin tank and seat cover I’ve been using to ease the strain on the nether regions, and protect the tank paintwork from the underside of the tank-bag, which is supposed to have a strap-on tank-cover to clip to, but works well enough on the fleece, held down by a small cargo-net that has to be one of the most useful items I’ve ever bought for motorcycling. The poor ol’ fleece is now looking distinctly grubby – hopefully, a couple of sessions in the washing machine once back in Childrey will restore it to its former glory, but I suspect it will be relegated to motorcycling service from now on.

We’ve learned our lesson regarding fuel-stops now, and start the day with full tanks, topping up after only 60 miles or so, and then again after about another 100, so that’s one potential hazard removed from contention.

Which leaves us free to concentrate on the ride!! Whilst not as spectacular as the extraordinary peaks of Sutherland that contrasted so enormously with the comparative banality of Caithness, the quality of the scenery throughout the entire day today has been exemplary, from leaving the B&B, to arrival straight onto the Tobermoray quayside, no more than 100 yards from the Mishnish.

B&B view, Ullapool Harbour

We’ve largely followed the coast from Ullapool along to the head of Loch Broom, then to Little Loch Broom, Gruinard Bay with is desolate and rather sinister harbour facilities, NATO compound and threatening-looking bunkers, and a large cargo-ship unloading whatever our military-machine requires delivering in such bulk to such a far-flung outpost, almost certainly a Cold War relic. The island in the middle of the bay was the site of a germ-warfare experiment using Anthrax back in the 1940s, and access is still limited, though it’s a bleak and desolate, tree-less spot, and I can’t imagine why anyone would want to go there anyway.

Then it’s Loch Ewe, with the famous Inverewe sub-tropical gardens at its head – yes, I did say sub-tropical; even this far north, a curl of the Gulf Stream ensures some favoured spots remain frost-free all-year-round, and some dedicated soul spotted this and created this wonderful enclave, but we’ve no time to stop and admire, though we DO stop and fuel-up, j.i.c our next planned petrol-stop at the Kyle of Lochalsh is marginal.

It’s now a quick hop across the peninsula to Gairloch – I say ‘quick’ advisedly, as the roads are anything but quick – they are mainly two-lane, but so wriggly, progress is inevitably comparatively slow, though not as slow as it will become later! We are on a deadline, with the last ferry to Mull at 18.40 necessitating our getting on to Skye via the bridge, and off again, back to the mainland, via the Caledonian Macbrain service from Armadale to Mallaig, so we’ve no time for un-necessary stops until we’ve achieved this absolute necessity.

From Gairloch one crosses over a ridge to hit Loch Maree, with spectacular views of first Beinn Eighe, then Slioch – the road itself along the Loch-side is a belter, and for once I can open the taps, allowing Neil to just about start to get into the Fireblade’s power-band.

From Kinlochewe at the head of Maree, we turn around the eastern and southern flanks of Beinn Eighe to head for Loch Torridon, and the roads are now almost exclusively single-track with passing places. There are now Police notices reminding motorists to use these to allow overtaking, and many of the comparatively few other road-users we come across are quite good at doing this, though there are the odd few who don’t seem to understand the etiquette. And most on-coming vehicles are pretty good about sharing the narrow tracks with motorcycles, though there are the odd few who don’t seemingly have much idea about their steed’s width!! Possibly Germans or Americans in hire-cars?

Loch Torridon from the start of the Applecross run

It’s wonderful scenery every inch of the way though, but slow, slow going. Things get even slower as we turn off the main road at Loch Torridon, to take the tiny track that snakes, and I do mean snakes, around the coast of the Applecross Peninsular. We’re doing this that will add at least an hour to the direct route from Torridon to Loch Carron for two reasons, one to catch the spectacular views across Raasay to the jagged profile of Skye, with the Red and White Cullin mountains in particular, the second to take the infamous Pass of the Cattle.

the Descent out of Applecross on the Pass of the Cattle

This does not fail to live up to its reputation, with a tough climb up and up from Applecross village itself, through great bands of exposed rock and scree fields, until one crest out with the view down the enormous U-shaped glaciated valley to Kishorn on Loch Carron far, far below, and the hair-pinned descent back to sea-level.

The road improves for the short trip along the eastern side of Carron and into Kyle, so we get a wriggle on, only interrupted by my experiencing a sudden loss of drive that I fear to be a broken primary-drive belt. So convinced of this am I that I stop and get out the spanners, to expose a still perfectly connected belt-drive without having gone through the spanner-less checks that would have eliminated this, so 20 minutes wasted, and the cause probably just some weird false-neutral the gearbox managed to find for itself between 4th and 3rd gear. Worrying, but we’ll just have to get on with it.

Fuel is all we stop for at Kyle, then it’s over the bridge and onto Skye, but no time to enjoy the scenic wonders we know it has to offer, as we’ve only a few minutes in hand for the ferry, and we’ve yet to obtain tickets.

the Bridge to Skye

The Cally McB man we first see is a really pompous ass, who obviously doesn’t like bikers. We’re threatened that without a stand for the Norton, we can’t be boarded – then he spots something else – “Is that oil-dripping?”. “Yes”. “Is it going to drip on the boat?”. “No, it only drips on tarmac”, I enjoy replying. Fortunately, the boat-crew simply adopt a pragmatic view, and I’m able to lean the bike against the side before it’s lashed down, and a cloth is put under for the drips!! And we manage the first (and only!!) cuppa during the 35 minute crossing, so pressed for time are we all day.

The road out of Mallaig is being re-made – no, not re-surfaced, re-made from scratch. For several miles, the old, twisting single-track road is being paralleled by a brand-new, shiny straight (ish) highway, involving about half of Scotland’s road-building equipment and crew, traffic’s progress now dictated by miles of 30 mph signs and frequent temporary traffic-lighting. We’re first off the boat, and so at the head of the queue, but it’s slow going, with plenty of time to observe the huge quantity of shattered bed-rock being removed to grade the new road. It’s butchery of the land in many ways, and the new route will be an imposition on the scenery in a way the old, narrow twister isn’t really.

The coastal road south is pretty slow, but pretty is the right word, though the rain starts now, and we’re forced to stop and cover-up. At Salen, we turn west onto the Ardamurchan Peninsula, and now the going is REALLY slow. It’s so nadgery, even 30 mph is difficult to achieve in most places, and the 20 miles to the tiny harbour at Kilchoan takes an hour of highly concentrated attention, though it is beautiful countryside we’re passing through, from loch-side to bleak moorland, including past Arnamurchan Castle which has obviously been recently the recipient of some very wealthy person’s attentions, with rather inappropriate, un-sympathetic and unattractive new iron-railings erected around it, and signage of the Ardnamurchan Estate dotted all over the place.

We arrive for the ferry with half-an-hour to spare, insufficient to take the road out to the lighthouse, and the most westerly point of Great Britain – oh well, some other time, perhaps.

The ferry is a ‘landing-craft’ type affair, letting down its bow-ramp onto a concrete slipway, so loading is instant, and we’re off to Mull. The bikes aren’t lashed down, but despite the high winds, the crossing is remarkably smooth, and after the first few slightly worried minutes, we end up relaxing on the upper deck, watching the sea-birds, including a few close encounters with gannets and cormorants as they wiz past us.

night stop at the Mishnish Hotel, Tobermoray, Mull

It’s two flights of stairs up to our rooms, and we wearily drag all the kit up, as there’s no secure parking to enable me to leave the pannier-bags on the Norton, left leaning on the harbour-side railing for the night. It’s a quick pint of the usual rubbish Scottish beer (only Edinburgh seems to offer good beer, and plenty of it, but not out in the wilds, apparently), then a meal in the first-floor restaurant, and a long soak in the bath, before composing this epistle – goodnight!!!!