With an old bike ...
... by Bill McLaughlin?

10. An Island discovery! I had fired myself up for the run to Ullapool, having been told that the bit of the road past Loch Ewe could be a nightmare for cyclists. The informer had probably never used a bike in his life. The road was a joy, undulating up then down, up a little bit more, then down a little bit less, each section taking me higher and higher until eventually it appeared to me to be thousands of feet above the Loch. In reality it was only about four maybe five hundred feet but I had nobody to contradict me, so thousands it was! After about five miles of this with the road running parallel to the shore away way below me and the steep drop too close for comfort, I pulled in to simply admire the view. From this height the sea was a deep blue. All around was were bright green fern and wild flowers and while away over beyond the opposite shore, over the land to the far side I could make out the a hazy skyline that told me I could see was seeing the Atlantic. I reluctantly moved on, coasted across the high neck of the Greenstone Peninsula and dropped slowly at first into Gruinard Bay. The village is called Little Gruinard and that is what it is. On the way down, on my to the left and in front of me I could see what a looked like a sandy shore and was attracted to it like a bee to honey! Just past the little village was the most gorgeous beach and bay, an almost a perfect horseshoe, and the sand sloping away from rocks into the bay. Yet another occasion when I had to say that I had never seen anything like it. Beaches yes; Saltcoats and Leven, but they were attached to towns; with rows of little rich people lining lined up facing the sea. But this, this empty space was all mine. I dropped the bike as soon as I hit the sand and ran up the dunes piled up in front, tripped on the top and rolled over and over down on to the beach proper. I ran like a mad thing, hit the waves and was up over my waist before I knew it! I stopped cold. not just because The water was freezing and turning me blue as I stood but I also felt a bit silly and looked around to see who might be watching this maddie from Glesga! No one, nothing. So I ran back out of the sea shaking with cold, with the water squelching out of the my good cycling shoes and I laughed and laughed. I was going mad! Once the initial euphoria was over had passed, I lay in the sun to get warm warming up and drying dry out. I watched watching the sand glisten in funny (strange ?) patterns on my legs before wiping it away. I heard a shout, then a long whistle and turned to find that I was being 'rounded up' by a big hairy sheepdog. 'He'll no hurt ye son, he's jist working up tae yon sheep' A wee wiry man came up the same way from the same direction as the dog had come, but it was away it had gone by then by this time. 'Come by' come by' the wee man shouted and the dog turned. The guy stuck his fingers in his mouth and gave various whistles. The dog turned again, lay down, got up, crouched, turned, lay down and started back, this time herding about five or six sheep at the a trot. The shepherd left him to it. Either the dog or the sheep, maybe both, knew where they were headed. but They went over the road and disappeared behind a hillock. No need for gates and fences up here. The man lit a pipe, 'Have ye come far son? Never saw the sea before, because ye seem to be wearing it laddie!' 'It was so beautiful mister,' I said, 'I just wanted to jump in, ah wisnae daen any harm.' 'Mair harm tae yersel,' he said, 'just be glad ye never swam oot to the island.' I asked him what he meant, because even if I had been tempted, the little island just off shore about half a mile from the shore was too far for me to even contemplate a swim. 'Yer soaking wet, son, come up tae the hoose and Mither will make some tea and I'll tell ye aboot it.' We both walked up and across the road, where his wife made me welcome. Apparently I was 'just in time' to share their mid day meal! Another Mammy to add to my collection! After we ate had eaten, the shepherd told me of how about the Government had used using the island as for an experiments. They were the early chemical warfare experiments with Anthrax! The Ministry of Defence had apparently decided that this remote beautiful place was just perfect to for infecting with the spores of Foot and Mouth disease. The island was now forbidden even if you were daft enough to go near it. There were signs all around its little coast line with the Skull and Crossbones and danger warnings. The shame of it made me want to cry out. The shepherd was bitter since he used to summer pasture his sheep on it. and Now nobody could go would be allowed near it for probably over a hundred years. Daft bastards! The Westminster Government had made a Scottish Nationalist out of me! I left them the shepherd and his wife, thanking them and stuffing in my bag some sandwiches in my bag that 'mother' had thoughtfully made for me. What was is it about me? I was thinking. Do people think I am starving or something!

Time was getting on. If I didn't get to Ullapool before the hostel opened I might not get a bed. Over the high plateau of ground (necessary?) to another sea loch, Little Loch Broom. A long downhill ride, a pretty straight road for a change and right down until the road met the lochside loch side OR shore. I had dallied too long. and I decided I wouldn't make it to the hostel in time and started to worry about where I could spend the night. I had missed it! This little place on the map, Dundonnell! It has a hostel. I hadn't read anything about it but spotting the sign I pulled in. The building was a converted schoolhouse, through the an iron gate and up a gravel path. Nobody around as I parked the bike and went for a walk to see if I could find a warden. She found me, spotting spotted me from her kitchen window wandering down the main road (the only road). 'You stopping for the night?’ she asked. I told her about my plans to get to Ullapool and she admonished me, 'What's wrong with Dundonnell?’ No excuses. I just shrugged. We walked together back to the hostel together and she booked me in, showed me the facilities and left me to it. She came back later accompanied by a boyfriend? I assumed he was but didn't ask. 'We came to see if you wanted to go to the dance up in the village.' She motioned to a notice on the wall. 'You can't come to Dundonnell and not go to the dance' 'I'm sorry. I've only got shorts with me, nothing for dressing up' I had been travelling light and never thought about the possibility of a formal social night! 'Och, Alan here has a young brother about your size; he'll have something you can wear'. No arguments! I was ushered out to an old station wagon type car(? Necessary). First stop was to at Alan's house at the top of the village, back up the road I had just come down that day. Alan's brother was indeed about my size, but was still in schoolboy shorts. No chance was I getting putting them on! 'Wait,' said Alan, turning to his young brother, 'Go and get your Kilt!' Even less chance I thought. But, no they would have none of it, I was a stranger. and I had to come to the dance and I had to wear Alan's young brother's Kilt! We took off went back to the village and pulled up at the village hall. When we walked in there was already the music was already in full swing and we walked in. Alan and Jean (as I had now established her name) and me, they with had tickets and an explanation to they had a word with the ticket taker about me. I was waved in 'Enjoy yourself!’ he shouted after me. It was a great night. The band consisted of an accordion, a fiddle and a snare drummer. We danced like mad people; Dashing white sergeant, Strip the willow, Highland Schottische, St Bernard waltz. My time learning Highland dancing in the Boys Brigade was not wasted after all! OR My lessons in Highland dancing at the Boys Brigade were not wasted after all. I was offered a 'wee dram' and which I accepted as It seemed only right. The shepherd from Gruinard was there, on stage, playing the fiddle. At the break he came over and said, 'See ye didnae mak Ullapool then' and winked. He offered me a 'wee dram' which of course I had to accept. The fact I was well under age didn't seem to matter and as the night wore on, it mattered even less! didn't seem to matter even more! I had never tasted whisky before except when I used to sneak a drop at New Year family parties. I used to sneak a drop when I thought no one was looking. But this was different, and so was I next morning when I finally set out for Ullapool! Earlier on I had heard a banging noise. I had turned over in my bunk and tried to push it away, but it had persisted. Gradually it dawned on me that the noise was from outside. Being the only resident that night, I was having difficulty pin pointing the source. the My mind wandered – sleepy - but this was more than sleepy. Sounds of a key in a lock then the warden burst in into the room. 'You going to lie there all day?' she laughed ' Serves you right, pigging out on that the drink last night.' So that's what whisky could do to a body! She left and I heard her banging about the kitchen, I dragged myself up got washed and dressed and joined her. She had brought eggs and some bacon and was frying them in a pool of grease. 'A good breakfast will get you going' So I celebrated my first ever hangover in a wee schoolhouse miles from anywhere. What a start to a day!

Thankfully, Ullapool was only about 25 miles further on. No hostel chores for me today! My benefactor chased me on my way, wished me good luck and gave me a tin of soup to get me by at lunchtime! It was a fresh bright morning, almost gone by the time I had cycled the first dozen miles. I stopped there on the high road looking down the length of Loch Broom; the sea glittered and made my eyes water, but the scenery was magnificent. Another couple of miles and I came across Corrieshalloch Gorge. Leaving the road and taking a small footpath, I discovered the suspension bridge. At this point the gorge is about 40 feet across and the bridge, looking which looked fairly flimsy, stretched stretches over the 200foot drop. A waterfall drops almost vertically below the bridge and I had that hypnotic feeling of being drawn towards it, when the bridge began to bounce. Surely I had got over the previous night’s revels by this time? A notice at the entrance to the bridge warns 'NO more than six people at any one time!' I turned and there were to find six hikers with backpacks trudging across the bridge towards me. Each step they took made the bridge bounce a little and the nearer they got to me the higher the bounce. I was getting quite nervous and plucked up the courage to shout a warning to them, 'Only six, only six!' They all laughed and kept coming. One shouted 'Och this is part of the fun, we've had ten on here before. Don't worry son.' I worried. I sidled gently across, gingerly stepping gingerly so as not to cause the bridge any further stress. As they passed me, close to the centre of the bridge, the six head cases started jumping up and down, making the bridge swing and judder. I took off like a bat out of hell with their shrieks of laughter nipping at my heels as I ran. Safe on the far bank, I shouted 'Bloody head cases!' The biggest of them took a step towards me and I took off again, grabbed jumped on (?) the bike and headed downhill at speed! The run down from Corrieshalloch is a gently winding road that goes down and down, only levelling out after about three miles when it catches up with the river making as it makes its way to the loch. I watched the river as I coasted, the banks disappearing, making way for (repeat of making way) rocks and then a pebble outlet taking their place. The water, finding its level with no banks to hold it together, spread out and feebly joined the sea loch. Oyster catchers trotted amongst(?) the seaweed searching for food, their bright orange beaks throwing the weed this way and that. I was entertained and decided that a small patch of grass by the road on the roadside was a good place to stop. I had Dundonnell soup! After the break I kept getting glimpses of the village ahead, just a little house next to the water, then it which would then disappear as the road turned or climbed, then another glimpse, two houses this time. I crested a hill about a mile from Ullapool and was so taken aback. I had to stop. I was looking down on as perfect a picture as I could have imagined. The village stretched along a narrow peninsula pushing which pushed out into the Loch, the main road running past and away to the north. The village main street, Shore Street, its’ houses blindingly white in the afternoon sun, faced up the loch, it's back protected by The land behind separating protected it and separated it from the open loch and the sea. A jetty where a few fishing boats were tied up, stuck out from the street at the far end and a few fishing boats were tied up. I had arrived! This was the place that had occupied me my thoughts on my journey, the place others wondered if I was too daft to get to. too make it to. But I had made it. I took out my little black and white Brownie black and white camera and took several pictures as proof.to prove it! I rolled down the hill, pleased as punch with myself. and At that point I thought I owned the world!