Island Hopscotch – Part 2 – Isle of Arran to Oban and Two Inspiring Chaps

I remember a photo I took of a friend once, mud was specked across his teeth and his blurred grin streaked across the shot. It was an action shot of him riding a muddy trail in the Cairngorms, the buzz obviously masking the taste of mud in his mouth. People like riding bikes. Riding bikes is just a fun thing to do I guess. Think about it – how many times do you pass someone on a bike and see them smiling at nothing in particular? Every time I see it it makes me smile too. Cycling also has a grim side but, by choosing an adventure near the limit of what you can achieve, can lend itself to endeavors of great personal challenge and fulfillment. And that’s the point: it’s a personal and individual challenge. One man’s walk in the park is another man’s walk though the garden of hell…but that saunter through Satan’s orchard can bear the most delicious fruit. Moments of shear elation creep up and release involuntary whoops for joy and moments of crystal clarity seem to put life in complete order and make any problems feel surmountable. These are the fruits of self inflicted labour and are what drive many adventurous cyclists on.

Waving goodbye to the Isle of Arran, seen here from the north on the ferry to Claonaig from Lochranza

I met Dave Kinniburgh as I waited for the ferry across to Kintyre from Lochranza. Dave was cycling ‘side to side’ from the most easterly to the most westerly point on mainland Great Britain. A journey of 567 miles from Lowestoft in Suffolk to Ardnamurcan point in the Scottish Highlands. “I’ll be 67 next month” said Dave with only the tiniest bit of trepidation. He was travelling completely unsupported and, with no camping gear, was banking on finding safe and warm refuge at the end of each day. I could tell when looking into his face that he had walked through an orchard or two of his own, but Dave’s turmoil lay deeper than just a bike ride. He had undertaken this ride to raise money and awareness for Lymphoma Research Trust after he and his wife had lost a son to the disease. I can’t imagine the emotional journey Dave had experienced during endless hours in the saddle but it was plain to see that he had taken himself out of his comfort zone and was pushing himself towards his personal limits. Dave completed his goal and has raised over £4000 for Lymphoma Research Trust, to find out more about his journey or to donate some money please visit his just giving page.

Dave and Adam having a chin wag about all things two wheeled on the ferry from the Isle of Arran to Kintyre

Bikes are good when they have engines too. Interesting dude number 2 of my ferry ride to Kintyre is Adam Lewis. He was travelling with a few more horses than me and Dave – namely a trick DRZ650 kitted out for touring in the most remote places in the world. Adam has the tedious day job of guiding motorcycle tours round Northern India and Nepal for 7 months of the year but then appeases the monotony by spending the rest of the year travelling the world (literally – over 70 countries so far) on his beloved DRZ. I’ve always had a love for motorbikes and am sure I will tour on one some day but for now I am loving the pace and physicality of touring by bicycle and wouldn’t have swapped with Adam given the choice. That said – I did get a massive twang of jealousy as a motorcycle tour round India has long been on my list. I’m looking forward to picking Adam’s brains in the future about the logistics of such a trip. Adam also goes on cycling adventures and is a generally interesting bloke, he writes a blog about his experiences here which has some awesome photography and is well worth checking out.

Me on the ferry slipway at Claonaig, Kintyre. Looking south with the Isle of Arran skyline visible behind

Although enjoying chatting to my two new buddies I couldn’t wait to get pedaling that morning. The weather looked kind and the sun felt good on my skin. I settled in to the long climb out of Claonaig and narrowly missed a grass snake which was enjoying the slow baked tarmac. Someone was about to turn the oven off though as the thermostat plummeted down to somewhere near baltic and the wind picked up. By the time I got to Lochgilphead I was slipping in to the cycling trap of getting cold and hungry and doing nothing about it. It’s sometimes easier to just keep pedaling and only listen to your body when you hit a real low. As I was to learn quickly, this is not conducive to an enjoyable cycling trip in a region with such a changeable climate which hasn’t yet fully emerged from winter. My cycling tactics from this point would be characterised by smart clothing choices and frequent stops for food – eating before I got hungry. After a wardrobe change in the public loo and a visit to the shop to buy beige meat based products and chocolate, I sat on the picnic bench overlooking Lochgilp at Ardrishaig. Pinned to the table by a well chewed stick was the following note:

Clever dogs up here

A dog leaving a note for his friend? Hope Malc didn’t forget the stick or he would be in big trouble! In my slightly bewildered state I found this hilarious and sniggered into my sausage roll as I looked out over the loch. What was I saying about cyclists smiling at nothing in particular? My legs felt weak for the next half an hour and I began to doubt my making it to Oban in time to have dinner with some friends I was dropping in on. They got going though and with the bit between my teeth I cruised up the A816 and rolled into Oban 10 minutes ahead of schedule. The road between Lochgilphead and Oban isn’t the most friendly of cycling roads – it is the main road and has some fast traffic – but I didn’t find it too bad and the scenery was fantastic. I had thought about making my way to Oban via Islay, Jura and Colonsay to avoid the main road but there are only two ferries a week and I didn’t have the time.

I spent the second night of my trip in hospital in Oban. Thankfully as a guest though, not a patient. The friends I dropped in on are both doctors so after a pint in the evening sun and dinner looking over the harbor we retired to their doctors accommodation, just past the A&E drop off. And as I got up the next morning to laze around and wait for my ferry they were long gone – off to swish through some wards and save some lives.

The next stage of my trip was the reason I went to Scotland – objective number 1 – ride the length of the Outer Hebrides. The weather reports were mixed but I had heaps of warm clothes, a sturdy tent and a couple of good legs…what could go wrong?

Day 2: 23rd Apr ’15

Location: Lochranza to Oban

Distance: 60 miles

Island Hopscotch – Part 1 – The Isle of Arran

I tippy-toed out of the ferry terminal toilet and, clad in fresh smelling lycra, scampered in stocking feet past the family eating lunch, past the pasty white tattooed bloke in full Adidas regalia and out to my bike. I had made the decision not to wear modesty shorts for the sake of comfort and quick drying but my mountain biker soul means I never feel comfortable wearing lycra in public until I am sat on my bike. Together we have an identity, an excuse, and it becomes clear that I am not a self-conscious Russian gymnast who has fallen from the rings and can’t find the changing room.

The fully loaded steed at Oxenholme train station at 645am – let the adventures commence!

The crossing to Arran was serene – the Firth of Clyde was a millpond, the sun radiated a big golden grin and soaked me with enthusiasm. Soon I was beaming like an idiot…a big stupid grin, one that comes from your stomach and doesn’t have a start or a finish. A pint of Stella on the crossing only served to encourage this euphoria and by the time I got to Brodick I simply couldn’t wait to stamp on those pedals. I wanted the wind in my hair and sweat on my back.

Ferry crossing from Ardrossan to Brodick, Isle of Arran

The night before I had panicked about my gear ratios and decided I needed something more favorable on the hills than a compact chainring with a 28t cassette so I pinched the 34t cassette from my mtb. This in turn required me to also pinch the long cage XT derailleur – all set. Until I remember the new cassette is 9 speed and I have a 10 speed shifter. Off with the bar tape which I had freshly applied after changing all the brake and gear cables and on with a 9 speed shifter from my road bike. Finally, with bits from each of my bikes, the tourer was working a dream and I was left with 5 hours to get some sleep.

Amazing run in to Blackwaterfoot from the south with a tail wind – best bit of tarmac on the island too

Ting-slap – my chain slipped pleasingly into gear with a clunk. The hours of last minute faffing paying off with every precise gear change. Good gear shifting is so important when carrying weight, minimising the loss of power and momentum when grinding slowly up the hills. Wearing my Flanders jersey I picked up at the Tour of Flanders a few weeks earlier I powered away from Brodick like I was in a race – and damn near kept it up all the way round the island. I felt epic. The sun was shining and I could do what the hell I wanted for 10 whole days. My new gear ratio was tested on the 15% climb out of Kildonan and seemed to cope just fine, not exactly spinning but I didn’t want it to be easy 😉

With the sun on my face, the wind on my back and exuberance bursting from my thighs I made swift progress up the west coast averaging 17mph between Blackwaterfoot and Lochranza. The west of Arran looks over the Kintyre peninsular and has a long beautiful shore of smooth boulders. With lungs enriched with fresh air and a heart singing with freedom I wrote a poem:

“Blisters burst on my bald back tyre

mist lifts from the Mull of Kintyre

swollen landscapes and heaving breast

remember the desk is where the gun is kept”

A reminder to myself as much as anything to break the status quo, to shake up my normal life and do something different. Sometimes you really don’t know how much you need it until you go. After a few months of significant changes in my life I felt the freedom of having the whole sky above me, humbled by feeling infinitesimally small and insignificant – how liberating to be a daft little spec with silly human problems.

I had screenshots of all the ferry timetables I might need, one paper road map of Scotland (1:300,000) and OS maps of the Hebridean islands on my phone. Along with my camping gear and a multitude of warm clothing I also had enough food and fuel to survive for a week. I planned to have all the base ingredients and pick up more interesting/weighty things along the way.

Arrived at Lochranza to a peaceful scene; time to relax before finding somewhere to camp

Days on the bike are sometimes defined, or at least enhanced, by the camping spot at the end of them. This was a good day. I followed a track round to the east of Lochranza bay which turned into a footpath and led past Nelson’s Point. I swooshed past a canoodling couple and stumbled on the perfect camping spot. Scotland’s right to roam laws make wild camping a wholly more enjoyable experience than in England, never looking over your shoulder or feeling unwanted. I made camp in the blissful evening sun, a blanket of sequins stretched to Kintyre and I prepared dinner by a small fire.

My first camping spot near Lochranza, Isle of Arran

I cooked cheesy brown pasta with chorizo on my uncle Mart’s old stove, and as the sun went to bed I could just picture my late Grandpa walking hand in hand with my Grandma past this very spot as they were sure to have done. Indeed, I would be retracing many places they visited on their adventures round Scotland and I had promised my Grandma I would take some pictures of Applecross for her.

My plan for the next 10 days was deliberately loose. The only goals were to start on Arran, cycle the length of the Outer Hebrides, get to Applecross and ride the Bealach Na Ba pass. After such a fantastic day I honestly felt I could go home tomorrow and the trip would have been worth it. But go home I wouldn’t…tomorrow I would ride for Oban.

Are We There Yet Mum…?

After long journeys to Scotland with two bickering children my parents knew exactly how best to shut me up: get my bike out of the caravan. When I was little there was nothing more exciting to me than riding my bike in a new place – the swooping grassy lumps around a campsite, the crunch of gravel under my BMX tyres, swerving around potholes and pulling skids where I shouldn’t. The sense of adventure seemed to be heightened just by pedaling, by rolling. My bike magnified my tiny legs and opened up a whole new world for discovery. Even back at home the size of my world increased in increments governed by the landmarks I was told not to ride beyond: the holly bush at the end of the lane, the triangle by the farm and…eventually…the motorway bridge.

Now as a grown up – in body at least – I am rediscovering that feeling of an expanding world. Buying panniers and getting myself kitted out for touring feels like a pilgrimage to that boyhood sense of adventure. Out of all the travelling I have done – far and near – I have never felt so free as the day I rode away from the ferry with my panniers on the Isle or Arran.

On the swings where my sister and I played in the pouring rain on one of our Scottish family holidays

I recently spent 10 days cycling around the Hebridian Islands in Scotland including the full length of the Outer Hebridies. The trip was phenomenal in a number of ways and has ignited a passion for cycle touring. I intend many more adventures on two wheels to follow and already have plans in the pipeline – cycle touring does give a lot of time for thinking which inevitably gets channeled into planning more trips!

I have decided to write a blog about some of my experiences. It will serve as a personal journal, a record for the odd person who may be interested in what I’ve been up to (hi Mum and Dad!) and hopefully a source of inspiration to anyone looking to shake up their normal life and go on an adventure. I have found writing encourages me to think more carefully about experiences and possibly engage with life and adventures in a more ‘intentional’ way.

It would be great to hear feedback and to share experiences and thoughts on places, people and culture so please get in touch, ask questions, share ideas.

So here it is: the adventures and musings of some guy on a bike. Enjoy!

Part 1 of Island Hopscotch to follow.

Dave Sproston