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

I turned to the task in hand, through Glencoe; my goal the hostel(?) with the hostel my goal. The glen had a welcome for awaiting (?) me. It was raining(?) rained! Hard! Stair rods! Bouncing so high, it seemed, they were trying try and to get back to the cloud that had abandoned them. I stopped for a while, sheltering at amongst the rocks where the road cuts through at the head of the pass. Watched the water pour over a large scliff of rock and disappear into the glen. The clouds descended low like a big grey blanket over the mountains and although it was still fairly early, it got really dark. I stood feeling very alone and very small. The rain stopped and I suddenly realised how quiet everything was. I felt intimidated It was intimidating or it felt intimidating and it took all the nerve I had not to panic and break into a run, panicking like I was the last man standing! As I mounted my bike, ready to free wheel most of the way down to Glencoe village, I realised I could see under the clouds, It was like as if I was on a level with the cloud base. I could see the length of the pass, almost eight miles, but it resembled a tunnel. The clouds formed a the roof, the mountains the sides, no sky to be seen and getting darker by the minute. I jumped in the saddle (he has already mounted the bike a sentence back)and I took off like a bat out of hell, going way too fast for the road conditions. About five miles down the road, I pulled over and realised I was at on the site of the Glencoe Massacre. I had read all about this abysmal business, the massacre in 1692 of where the Campbells slew the MacDonald Clan by the Campbells.in 1692. I decided not to dither and through a fresh downpour, made my way to the hostel. I got a real highland welcome from the Occupiers. Tea was being brewed up and There were a number of mountaineers and hillwalkers hill walkers who had been rained off the mountains. Tea was being brewed up and they were all enjoying the company. enjoying the company, having been rained off the mountains. A mixed bunch, mostly up for the weekend from Glasgow or thereabouts. There was three women in the company and immediately they immediately decided to look after me, 'Yer soakin son, What made ye go oot in on a day like this?' When they heard I wasn't just, 'oot for the day'. They almost feted me. 'Imagine a wee boy like you taking the bike. For two weeks ye say?' Ullapool ye're heading for?’ I told then them about the deer and about the haunted Inverbeg. They listened! Then they told tales of their own ventures, I began to feel part of this one of them(?), I wasn't just a wee boy now. I was a Fellow Traveller! The next day, I headed off my destination was Loch Lochy some twenty-five miles north if I took the ferry at Ballachulish. but I knew however that the long road around Loch Leven was beautiful and winding so I opted to cycle the additional 15 or 16miles around. The rain had petered out to a light drizzle and the sky was clearing. I was on holiday. After My new 'mothers' had provided a fry up of eggs and bacon, provided by my new 'mothers'. 'Ye've got tae have something mer than toasted breid!' for sure enough They had noted that I was on light rations and insisted on 'Giving me a proper start to the day'. Breakfast over I took off around the bend in the road which lead away from the temptation of the ferry and headed up towards for Kinlochleven. The road runs east for about seven miles along the banks of the loch. At Kinlochleven it swings round in a long hairpin bend and goes back west following the steep sided of the north bank. Nine miles further on and I reached North Ballachulish. As the crow flies the distance is only three miles. I had travelled about three miles but I had cycled For me and my bike it was about sixteen to do it! I decided to stop at in Fort William for a while, but instead of resting up, thought it might be a good idea to do some climbing climb a bit on Ben Nevis. At least I had ambition! I left the bike at the side of the road and took the path that winds to the top of the highest mountain in Britain. I soon discovered that cycling shoes are no good not made for hill walking. and After about a mile, I abandoned the venture after about a mile. I had climbed a fair bit and the views were wonderful (spectacular?). Going back down was an adventure in itself, the steep slope carrying me in a headlong rush. With giant leaps Giant steps as I bounced down the hill. I yelled out for no good reason, yelling as I ran. just exhilaration It was exhilarating and gave me a peculiar feeling of freedom! There was a small stile at the bottom, over a dry stane wall. and I took it in one almighty bound, my foot touching the top of the stile. Too late I realised that the wooden step was wet and slippy slippery. I crashed over the other side turning over and landing awkwardly. Shit! I hurt my knee. With no one else around I could only hobble down to where I had left the bike was. Time for tea! Fortunately I was only bruised, but hurt my pride some my pride was hurt, Funny that, even with no one to witness my fall, I was embarrassed. I finished the 'drum up', repacked the saddlebag and painfully set off painfully. As I pedalled unevenly for a few miles to stretch stretched the pain out of the joint, while deciding I came to a decision: I wouldn't climb Ben Nevis for a while! The trip to Loch Lochy Hostel was only about another ten or twelve miles. and The weather had cleared up. so All was well with the world again. I checked in to the Hostel and went was going through the usual routine, when a voice from behind spoke, 'Hi, I'm Lena,' As I turned I was trying to figure out the accent. It was one I couldn't place, foreign yes but from where? I turned to face her and I stopped in my tracks as I faced her, I couldn't say anything for a minute, I was stunned. She was beautiful. She was definitely foreign and she was B black! Her smile broke all over me, beaming, all She beamed, her white teeth giving shame to shaming mine. Her smile dazzled me. Her eyes sparkled as she took my hand and repeated her name, 'Lena, from Rhodesia,' Lena was aware of my discomfort, I had never met a B black person before, let alone a female black person and it must have been pretty obvious. I gave myself a shake, 'I'm sorry, I…' She laughed, it a laugh that seemed to come all the way from the back of her throat, 'I know, I startled you. Hey I've got some tea on the stove. Join me?' We sat and talked. Apparently she worked in London, some kind of Nanny to a big shot family. They were away in America on business and had left her to her own devices for a couple of weeks. She had a little Vespa scooter and had come north exploring to explore, using the staying in hostels like myself. Turned out Lena was about eighteen, an older woman by my standards, but great company. She was heading south the next day so the time we had together was brief, like passing ships. Before she went I heard her asking the warden if there were any jobs she could do to earn some money to pay for petrol. Well the hostel was pretty isolated and although on the main road, it wasn't near any real habitation, so there wasn’t not much chance of work. I gave her a shout and said I could manage to give her about £2; not much more since I still had a while of my own holiday hadn’t finished yet. to go. To say she was grateful was an understatement, I could have If I had given her the moon and it couldn't have been better received (or she couldn’t have been better pleased). We parted friends and she promised to return the money as soon as she got back to London. A few weeks after the end of my holiday I got a postal order arrived in the mail. a An attached note attached said, 'to my gallant lifesaver, thank you'. It was unsigned and there was no return address. My foreign adventure was over.

After Loch Lochy, onwards and upwards. Westward actually, as I took the turning through the head of Glen Garry and past Loch Cluanie heading for Loch Duich and the stop at Sheil Bridge. The rain had started starting again so I stopped and donned the yellow tent. The wind was blowing in my face and with the big cape I was all resistance. The road climbed again and I struggled to keep things moving. Just before the Cluanie Hotel, I sensed rather than heard them coming. Whoosh! Hiss! A large group of cyclists, all French 12 speed gears and professional kit passed me, shouting encouragement and waving for me to catch up. No bloody chance! My morale took a hammering. I was tired, I was fighting wind and rain and the land was open with no shelter for miles. Except for the hotel. I couldn't afford to go in and have something to eat, but I could stop in the lea of the building and have get some relief from the now driving rain. I rode down the a slight slope and swung around to the left. I parked the bike and sat under my cape, pulled pulling my hat low and drew drawing my knees up so until I was well and truly covered. After A few minutes later, a head appeared round the corner, an old lady (well probably about ages with my own mother). She looked at me and said, 'You can't sit there. That is not a shelter for travellers, this is a hotel, you have to come in to the dining room' I started to say that I had not I didn’t have enough money for a place like this, when she fussed, 'Leave your bike there, son, and come in out of the rain, There's tea and cakes left over from this afternoon. You can have them'. It was not the sort of place I had visited, I had never visited a place like this. this It was a real highland hotel, all floral and tartan with pictures of the Monarch of the glen and great big Highland cattle! Reluctantly I followed her in. he hospitality of Those folks hospitality was overwhelming. A delicate afternoon tea followed was served. 'Help yourself to the cakes, they are already paid for. We had some visitors earlier who didn't finish their tea.' A three tiers of silver cakestand cake stand; scones and butter, shortbread, a feast. And, when I was finished, her husband, as I took him to be, came from the kitchen with a bag of sandwiches. He was a wee round man but very smartly dressed, white shirt, tartan bow tie and kilt and with a little black dirk pushed down the side of his long highland socks. a wee round man and He was also the soul of generosity! I couldn't give them any money. If I tried I thought I might insult their hospitality. They seemed content to listen to what I was up to. 'Mad' said the husband, 'a daft boy. Have another cup of tea., and When did you say you left Glasgow?’ He shook his head. One more time He shook his head again when I told him where I was headed! 'On that bike? Och yer nothing if not brave son.' Encouragement! The sun came out and I said it was time I was on the road, 'Aye, no far now, son' I seemed to be gathering mothers as I rolled along. I pushed the bike up the little slope of a driveway, on to the main road. and having The cape packed the cape away, I jumped on the pedals, weaving about as I waved goodbye to my benefactors. Head down, hands on the dropped handlebars and away! There was only about twenty miles to my night’s stay at Sheil Bridge and I made good time as the road started to drop. About five miles on and into the start of as I entered Glensheil I began to feel the mountains swallowing me up again. The road dropped and this time my speed almost unseated me as a sharp left appeared. I got the bike back under control and stopped. I wasn't breathless but the view took my breath away. The Five Sisters of Kintail stood before me rising straight up out of the steep glen I had just ridden down, no mist, no hidden hiding the summits. One after the other with their steep sides and conical tops. I counted them to make sure, one, two, three, four, five, lining the road as if to welcome me into their kingdom. I went meekly at first but as I neared the hostel, the road got steeper and steeper and I let go. Up to that point I had been steadily holding back with pressure on the brakes. The bike gathered speed and I yelled out to no one in particular and to the whole world. 'Ya beauty!!' My exhilaration echoed and followed me down the hill, this tinny voice following me all the way. I swerved, cutting the corners, leaning over like a madman, first left, then right, a wild dash which felt like a hundred miles an hour! I hit the village at Sheil Bridge like an express train, I looked for the little triangle which would indicate the hostel. My map had indicated it on the shore of Loch Duich about a half a mile past the village. I swung left and at speed hit a steep rise at speed, the momentum of my descent carried carrying me a long way before I felt the need to start pedalling, or was able to catch up with the speed of the wheels! The drive got harder As the hill rose and rose, away above the loch side the drive got harder and harder until at last I got took a break in the trees. I swung off the bike because it was getting really hard and I remembered my promise to myself. Walk if it gets too steep! It was getting really hard so, remembering my promise to myself, I swung off the bike. After all I was on holiday! Walk if it gets too steep! I was about two miles beyond the village and realised something was amiss. The Hostel should have been visible by now, my Youth hostel map showed the damn thing just on the loch side. Hell, the loch side, and here I was was I about 2 miles up a hillside looking down hundreds of feet to the loch! No choice but to turn around and head back down and with another exhilarating ride back the way I came. I saw the sign as I neared the bottom, on the left, a small turning into a forest track. Hostel this way I said in my head! Daft bugger! I swung left, nearly taking a header into a large gatepost. I rolled up to the door and noticed. no, nearly fell over a large number of bikes parked around the walls. There would be must have been about a dozen. This was worrying as it was only a small hostel. I could be in trouble for accommodation. I walked in and there was the crowd that had passed me earlier that day, the Professionals! I was startled as I stepped across the doorway,(stepped across the threshold OR entered the doorway) They all cheered and whooped, slapping my back in a mock kind of congratulations. Turned out one of their number had spied me accelerate past the entrance. and They had been taking bets on how long it would take me to realise my mistake and return, if ever! It was all great fun and I enjoyed the joke at my expense, all the more so when I found out that indeed the hostel was indeed full with no spare beds, and one of the older guys offered me his bed. ‘Hey, I'll sleep on the floor son. You have the bed. You worked hard for it today!’ The talk that night was of trips and 'runs' and I listened fascinated. Most of the cyclists here belonged to a Glasgow cycle club who (which OR whose members) thought nothing of pushing a hundred miles a day! Then one of them came in from outside, 'Hey, come and look at the bike this little sod's trying to go to Ullapool on' They trooped outside. 'A freewheeler, one gear!' Christ (Dave, I have a problem with the name of Christ being used as a swearword.) I'm surprised you got this far!' exclaimed one. All of their bikes without exception were fitted out with the latest in 'French' gears, up to about 10 or twelve speed and they were it was hard to convince them that I was determined to push on all the way. They were heading back towards Fort William and before we turned in for the night, all each of them solemnly shook my hand and wished me luck.. I thought I was being wound up and took part in the ceremony as solemnly as they did! In the morning they were gone. The warden said they had taken off early to meet make some kind of record run back to Fort William. I went to the small kitchen and where I found a pile of food, a pair of socks, and a cool looking cap and a pair of cycling gloves! No note, nothing! 'They left that lot for you' the warden said, 'think you need it more than them!' When I left that morning, I looked back up Glensheil in the direction they would have gone. No sign of them. I felt strangely lonely as I made plans for the next port of call

Pedalling As I pedalled along the shore of Loch Duich, I knew I had to stop and take pictures of Eillan Donan Castle. Well, a one picture. I had a black photograph album back home. given to me The previous Christmas, by my brother Bobby and his wife Anna had given it to me .and I was determined to fill it. The My camera was a Kodak brownie, which took small black and white pictures, but they were mine. and I could always get them enlarged if they were good! I stood on the spot where a thousand cameramen had stood before me and probably as many since. It Eilan Donan is one of the most picturesque views in Scotland. But it the photo would also prove that proved I had been there! I moved on. My intention (plan?) to take the Strome ferry across (to cross?) the narrows of Loch Carron actually worked out and so I was pleased with myself. The short crossing felt like a sea voyage. The ferry ran in, ramp first. me I was the only passenger, feeling and felt like royalty as the Ferryman waved me away up the ramp. and I swung up away to meet the A896 at Lochcarron. Turning left I headed up the single track road avoiding the wandering sheep. I wondered what would happen if one of those the big rams took umbrage at this trespasser disturbing their highway (cyclist trespassing on their highway?). Why do sheep prefer to eat the grass at the side of the road? About five miles along the rising road, something caught my eye about five miles over this high road. There! Over that hill! On the skyline! An Eagle! It was an eagle! There was no one to tell, no one to share the moment with. no one to say to' look at that!' So, as the great bird flew closer, I said it to myself: ‘LOOK AT THAT!’ as this great bird flew closer, I could make out the shape of the wings, and the size. Definitely not a buzzard! Before I had left home I had seen pictures in our Encyclopaedia. Arthur Mee's Children's Encyclopaedia. The old man had bought it in a set of twelve volumes a few years previously previous by the old man and a collection of twelve volumes. I had treasured them. I had also seen an Eagle once before on one holiday with Ma and Da. The old man had proudly pointed it out and had made sure I knew the difference distinguishing marks. 'Would ye look at that! Ya beauty! Look at the wings!' and Just As if to confirm my thoughts it, the bird turned and it caught the sun, 'A golden eagle! Nobody answered me, nobody needed to. I was elated. but it My elation was short lived. I passed through Ben Sheildaig forest, well baby trees tree nursery. One day it would be a forest but it didn't merit the that description then. I came to upon Sheildaig. Now the map had shown that a new road was being driven from Sheildaig to Torridon .’'To be completed in 1961' said the little indicator. This was midsummer of 1961, mid summer and the road was far from complete! Stretched Stretching before me was a line, a bed of rocks, some the size of a fist and many a bit much bigger. I had a choice. I might just be able just to ride the bike if I could find a smooth enough route. No chance! The first few yards of bumping and banging, I could hear my saddlebag could be heard bouncing off the rear mudguard and every screw on the bike seemed to rattle. That was no use then. Nothing for it but to walk. Seven miles. If I could have kept to the sides, maybe, but the bulldozers had churned up the land and it felt was knee deep in mud. What was I thinking of? Before the road was built, there had been a ferry between the two points before the road. Surely it would still be there since the road wasn't open yet? I trudged back to Sheildaig village. A crofter was sitting outside his cottage was a crofter. A Kilmarnock bunnet, a pipe and his grey moustache brown with pipe smoke. 'I've been waiting for you' he said in a highland lilt, 'I saw you passing earlier and wondered if the sun had got to you. Thinking of walking were you? Would be better to take the ferry'. 'Aye, a'right, where do I get it?' 'Och right by the jetty, the wee boat at the end of the pier' I walked along to where 'the wee boat' was tied up. No one in sight! I turned and went back to where the crofter was sitting. 'And where do I find the ferryman' I asked. 'Och, you city folk are gey impatient' he lilted. Sit and have a chat while we wait for the crossing time' We sat and talked for about half an hour, he seemed very interested in my travels. 'We don't get many city folk up this length' He paused: 'Probably because the road runs out here, and the ferry can only take people, no wheeled transport. You see. the boat, she is far too small for that' I started to panic, 'But it will take a bike surely?’ ‘Ah well, you will just have to ask the ferryman’ ‘When can I see him?' I asked, worried about the seven mile hike. 'Well let's just go to the pier now. It's about time that boat was on her way'. We made our way to the boat. I looked around for the ferryman. No one to be seen! I turned back and the old sod was untying the boat! 'Well are ye going to Torridon today, or what?’ My crofter turned ferryman had been having a laugh at my expense. He pulled on the rope and started the old outboard motor, 'Come on, I've got a timetable to keep'. We sailed up the loch, turned through the narrows from Loch Torridon into Upper Loch Torridon and headed past huge slabs of granite mountain. The scenery was changing and changing dramatically. Few trees, lots of rock! My captain for the day chatted away in his highland brogue, pointing out where to see otters, the occasional seal, and away in the high crags the places where the eagles nested. I was spellbound! When we reached the jetty at Torridon, I didn't want to leave when we reached the jetty at Torridon, but a good dinner waited in my bag and I had worked up a hunger, I could have eaten eat the proverbial 'scabbie dug'! To top it all, when I went to pay the man, he refused. 'Och I had to take a parcel to the post office anyway, let the government pay your fare this time' I was sad to leave him behind As I walked with my bike the short distance to the sign marked 'Torridon Youth hostel', I felt sadness to be leaving him behind.