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

13. A days rest? The hostel turned out to be about three doors along from the Ferry Boat Inn, on that main street. It’s front windows looking looked back up the road I had just travelled like as if they had been watching for me, waiting, to see if I made it! I joined the small crowd gathering on the sea wall, we were all waiting on for the doors opening to open. I had actually made it before four o’ clock! We queued up got into a queue when the Warden opened the white front door. I checked in and was lucky. I got a bed upstairs, window at the front, facing the loch! Great! Down to the kitchen and where I heated up cooked one of those messy, stew and potato mixes all in the one tin, more liquid than meat. but What the hell, I was hungry and I wanted to get out and explore a while. It was Saturday night and the locals were all heading somewhere. I fell in with a couple of English motorcycle tourists and followed the mystery tour. We headed along to the pier, past the Caledonian Hotel and up into Argyle Street. I found this amusing as it was nothing like the Argyle Street I had left behind in Glasgow. One shop instead of dozens….. and no Trams! We trailed the crowd into a small stone building and were immediately asked ‘Tickets?’. Oops, I hadn’t planned on spending much on entertainment, my money was almost gone and I would have to wait until I got to Cannich to get some more.. where Hopefully Ma had sent on some cash there for me.! I decided to brass neck it! ‘Sorry mister, I left it in the hostel, I’ll just go back and see if I can find it’ As I turned away, my new English friends were paying cash to get in! The doorkeeper called after me. ‘Don’t bother running back son, there’s plenty room come on in.’ As I passed by he grinned and said, ‘Buy an advance ticket in Glesga did ye?’ Another small victory! But everybody conspired to make me feel I was winning! I had entered the world of the Highland Ceilidh for the second time in two days. This time I would not be drinking anything other than Iron Bru Brew, our other National drink! The band was a three piece, accordion, fiddle and drums and looked suspiciously like the previous night’s entertainment. The highlight of the night was a guy with a guitar who did a solo section, songs I had never heard before: folk songs, protest songs and ballads. We got back to the hostel late and sat around the kitchen. and Someone produced a guitar. Another singsong! But quietly quiet this time so as not to wake the early risers. ‘Coomb by ah’ my lord’ sounded quietly through the building, chorus and verse, chorus and verse. ‘The foggy foggy dew’ all about a bachelor living with his son! A strange concept to me. How can a bachelor have a son?’ Next morning, I decided to stay stop over another night. The atmosphere in this place was hypnotic and I took the fancied a day off from cycling. After a breakfast of eggs on toast, washed down with two cans of tea, I wandered off. First stop was the pier, where I stood watching some boats offloading fish, the on-board cranes hoisting dripping nets dripping right over the heads of the sightseers. Some of the fish were still alive and thrashing about in the nets, one heaved itself over the edge and came flopping son down at my feet. It was huge, a cod or something! A woman in a drab grey long, drab, grey skirt came rushing over and, in her haste, nearly knocked me into the sea in her haste, ‘Grab that son, that’s my tea!’ I tried to catch the thing by its tail and it shook, making me jump a mile! ‘Stupit wee bachle’ she shouts shouted. ‘Get it, get it!’ The fish disappeared into her shopping bag and she disappeared with the roar of the fisherman in her ears. Everybody on the pier laughed and the man on the nets joined in. The fish wasn’t grudged, but a show of protest had to be made, probably to satisfy the boat owner. Still laughing at the scene, I was wandering off in the direction of the north of the village, when I got was stopped by the English motorcyclists: ‘It’s a wonderful day for as run. Fancy coming with us? This one on a Panther bike just like the one my old man had back home. The guys had a bike each so there was spare room on the pillion. ‘Where are you off to?’ I asked, not wanting to be abandoned in the wilderness if they weren’t coming back this way! ‘Oh we heard of a place about seventeen miles away, Inverpolly and it’s supposed to have some cracking walks. Fancy it?’ ‘You commin’ back?’ I asked, still unsure. ‘Don’t be silly, of course we are, now can you ride pillion and not fall off?’ That decided me. A run on a panther solo bike! Up to that time I had only ever been on the bike/sidecar combination so this was too good to miss. I hopped on, and we took off, the wind whipped whipping at my eyes and making them water. and while the motorcyclist’s cornering near nearly made me weep proper tears!OR ‘had me on the verge of real tears.’ After the a hair-raising run, we arrived at the foot of a Mountain called Stac Polly. ‘Right young fella’ said my driver, ‘You look after the bikes, we’re off up that hill.’ ‘No chance, I protested. ‘I’m coming too!’ This was my first real experience of hillwalking hill walking. and When, after about half a mile the hill turned into a mountain, and I began to regret my bravado. Each step forward was accompanied by an equal step up. Like steep stairs except that the steps were covers covered in heather or fern and were uneven. Upwards and eventually on to rocks, not proper rockclimbing rock climbing apparently but it could have fooled me anytime! The slope got steeper as we scrambled over some loose scree and into a small corrie with vertical sides and a narrow passage through it. Thank god I had been cycling for my knees were now shaking with the effort. but I still has some strength left though, enough to get to the top? I came out of the slit in the rock closely followed by my companions. Spotting a ridge like line in front of me, I almost yelled out as I came abreast of the summit. I could hardly believe my eyes, it was like climbing a wall. and Over the top the most wonderful panorama spread out before us, lochans, mountains, the coastline, the sea and beyond, the Islands. The colours were like nothing I had had ever seen or could have prepared myself for. Sweeping steeply down the other side of this razor ridge were black rocks and purple blue heather merging with bright green fern then bouncing into the dark peaty Lochans. A blue loch then the land turned brown, then green and back to heathers all the way to the sea. A haze lay across the sea causing the blue to turn milky. and Far away it was broken far away by a the darker blue almost black outline of what we imagined were to be the Western Isles away across the Minch. We sat in silence, my companions and myself. What was there to say?

After a while we started back down the slope OR hill, and this proved almost harder than the climbing it. We reached back We passed past the rocks to and reached the knee high ferns, each step dropping to the limit of my balance. Then it happened; a steeper step hidden by the heather and over I went. Head first into a large yellow broom shrub (Unecessary?). and I came out the other side on my feet, then went over again, tumbling, panicking until I hit a level boggy bit of the hillside! Not for the first time on this trip I laughed with exhilaration, not for the first time on this trip. The English guys flew past me with giant steps, leaping over tufts of fern and couch grasses. We all got to the lower slopes and fell about laughing like lunatics. Probably through with relief at making it safely down! It was a slow ride back to Ullapool late in the afternoon. I was quiet and felt privileged. It was ironic but it had taken an Englishman to show a Scotsman one of his countries most wonderful sights OR one of his countries wonders..the best wonders of his country! At teatime, back at the hostel, it was toasted cheese on bread with some bacon and an egg and another slice of toast on top. ‘A sore haun’ we used to call it. After eating, another walk was called for. By this time we had assembled a motley crew. Led by the two English boys, about a dozen of us set off for the point, the little headland jutting out into Loch Broom. The warden had tipped us off. ‘Look at the sky. Go to the point and you’ll witness a sunset you might never see again!’ That was enough for us. I had already seen a cracker of a sunset at Gairloch and if this was half as good, it would be worth seeing, Some cloud had rolled up and we thought we were to be disappointed, but the cloud had left a gap over on the horizon between the sea and the land. As the gap got bigger, the sky behind took on a golden colour tint and the edge of the cloud turned to silver.began silvering up. The sun when it broke through out was low in the sky and nearly blinded us with its brilliance. and In fact for a while we had to look away. Then it began to sink, halfway across the horizon. It glowed bright a brilliant red and we thought that was as good as it was going to get. About ten minutes later the glow disappeared and for a second was gone there was nothing. And then the most amazing sight! Long strips of bright red blasted the underside of the cloud turning it crimson. The sky out at sea became a bright vivid pink and the whole cloud looked as if it was on fire. Looking back inland the light beyond the cloud was a magical kind of purple turning to dark blue as the sun sunk further. It was like as if the world was holding it’s breath, then bang, it was gone, the light extinguished. And everything was black. After a moments silence, a loud cheer erupted and I found myself joining in. God had put us in our place again!