Kilter around the Kyles

[Sin_Tiger]

500 miles - about
9 Ferry crossings
4 Days / 3 Nights
2 Bikes
3 Eyes

Taster - more to come 

[Nick Calne]

Three eyes? Intrigued.

[Geoff W]

That's lots of distilleries.

[Spud Murphy]

you little tease 



cheers Spud 

[JayDub]

yeah, you're dragging this one out jock!
bet you're relishing every minute 

[Sin_Tiger]

yeah, you're dragging this one out jock!
bet you're relishing every minute 

you little tease 



cheers Spud 

Yup, I think I've pushed my luck a bit here 

That's lots of distilleries.

Islay is better for that, thankfully not wonderful biking roads so take the tour buses and enjoy 

Three eyes? Intrigued.

Watch this space (pun intended) 

[Sin_Tiger]

Day 1
Departing mid morning into a slightly grey sky and after a brief stop for fuel continued up the coast to the first ferry. Passing Ardrossan where the ferries go to Cambeltown
on the Mull of Kintyre (not going that way today) and the Isle of Arran, often referred to as "Scotland in Minature", we're not doing that either we carried on up the bypass.



Passing through Seamill where the "Route 78" bike shop stocks an eclectic selection of classic bikes, closed but we might get a chance to pop in for a nosey on the way back.



The sun broke through occasionally, usually when we were stuck in traffic in Largs, the departure point of the ferries to the Isle of Great Cumrae, not going there today either.



Instead making our way further up the coast through Skelmorlie (unkindly referred to locally as God's waiting room due to the plethora of retirement homes) to the ferry terminal at Wymess Bay Caledonian MacBrayne in time to be greeted by a fancy dot matrix screen stating that the next ferry was nine hours later "Ach pay no attention tae that, hisnae worked right since they switched it oan". Thankfully the next one was due on time and not restricted by the rather strong winds coming up the Firth of Clyde. The bemused young man operating the ticket machine was a bit shocked at the request for a Hopscotch #4 and a Hopscotch #21 "Ah've never done wan O thaem afore" but brightened up with his success as the long stream of tickets rolled out of the machine, two for each leg (one for the bike and one for the rider, never worked that one out) and a receipt of course. No time to check out the recently restored Victorian Railway Station adjacent to the slipway as the ferry was arriving.





A bit of a bumpy start that steadied off as we rounded the shelter in the lee of the Kyles of Bute. A brief stop in the port of Rothesay for a quick look at the ruined Castle, a scone and coffee to keep body and soul together for the rest of the run until lunch.



Round the east of the island which is not greatly remarkable but bonny and dry on this occasion, to the next short ferry crossing of Loch Riddon from Rhubodach to Colintraive on the east side of the Kyles of Bute.



From there up the head of the Loch towards Tighnabruaich was an enjoyable and dry ride, mostly single track, with a stop at the great vantage point looking down the Kyles and islands into patchy sunshine.





On through Tighnabruaich, twice around the shortest one way system on the planet, and on over the hills to the next ferry at Portavadie on the east side of Lochgilph. Just missing the ferry gave us time to relax and watch the grey skies skudding across Kintyre wondering what the rest of the ride had in store for us. Lunch in Tarbert (one of many Tarberts & Tarbets in Scotland but that's a story for a Viking day) and on up towards Oban across very varied terrain and scenery.



We had hoped to get a look at some of the Megalithic standing stones around Kilmelford but in the end with the observational and navigational skills of a pair of stone age bikers failing in the low cloud and drizzle, we decided to press on to that Mecca for Teuchtars (mainland slang for Islanders) that is Oban. With the wind picking up again we found our digs for the night but not before we muttered concerns about the bikes getting blown over in the free council parking that was very exposed to the Atlantic winds. In the end grumbling stomachs won the day and we headed into town bent against the wind for some much needed grub, thankfully the sweetie shops and ice cream parlours were all closed on the way back and it was a relatively early night in modest boardings.

[Chris Canning]

When a Sweaty Sock  :icon_wink:starts using words like electic I think Jeeze better start paying attention ,glad you cleared Islay up because even I who knows as much about whiskey as flying to the moon has been around both Bowmore and the Jura distillery.

[Sin_Tiger]

words like electic ...............and the Jura distillery.

Or eclectic even  :icon_wink: You have to be pretty dedicated to make your way to the Jura distillery, I think that's the smallest ferry I've ever had the bike on that didn't have an outboard motor at the back 

Thank you for supporting the export industry 

[Sin_Tiger]

Day 2
The day started a lot less windy if no brighter than previously, the down side was John's better eye that had sustained what was believed to be a late season kamikaze attack from midge's was giving him some trouble, so a call to the local pharmacy was in order before the ferry boarding. That sorted with what we hoped would be a solution to see us through, Captain Slow led the way for Blind Pugh. Being a sheltered crossing from Oban to Craignure (Mull) it was quite comfortable and scenic for what we could see in the passing showers / mists. Once on Mull we made the decision to go South straight away and weather and road conditions dependant, proceed down to Fionnphort and look at the ferry to Iona. Within a few hundred meters of departing the ferry slipway the road reduced to single lane with passing places and that was the last we saw of dual lane until reaching the outskirts of Tobermory. The road down to Fionnphort was fun if quite slow to avoid coming into contact with the local wildlife and the occasional tourist driver who hadn't got the hang of not driving round blind bends faster than they could stop or tailgating on a single track road. Stopping in Bunnesan for coffee and cakes (anybody spotted a pattern yet?) to make a final planning call in the persistant light drizzle gave our eyeballs a break from trying to scan the horizon for tour buses and around corners. Decision made we proceeded down to the end of the line literally.



Even Blind Pugh could spot there was something not quite right here, the lady told us that she turned up to open the hut one morning to find she couldn't as the hut was surrounded by some foreign bikes. The local seafood was excellent though.



We did try to take the bikes over to Iona just for the hell of it but were told only officially sanctioned essential vehicles were allowed, we asked if we could leave our helmets in the warm and dry of the ticket office but were told if we didn't make it back by her closing time we'd have lost them for the night so we decided it wasn't such a good idea, especially since she couldn't guarantee that the ferry a) make over and b) make it back before the strengthening winds called a halt to sailings. We decided to risk it and go, what's the worst that could happen? It was rough during the turn against the swell to get onto the slipway, I've been in a lot worse but not trying to hold a 300kg bike at the same time, the deck was awash with lots of spray coming over the bulwarks.



It was a quicktime march up to the abbey and even quicker march back when we saw the ferry was making it's way back again probably for the last run. I take my hat off to St. Columba for managing what must amount to a minor miracle in getting builders to put anything up in such a remote location and even more so for staying power in the face of ravaging Vikings who kept knocking it down, why would you bother 



After making it back on the last ferry we decided to push our luck and take the West coast route up to our lodgings for the night. Until now we had been in the lee of the hills on the South of the peninsula and we knew it was going to get a bit blowy on the more exposed route. I hadn't thought it was possible for the paved area of the road to get any narrower but it did and how! Thankfully there wasn't any traffic to speak of, one double trailered logging truck was having trouble staying on the tarmac never mind trying to give us enough room to squeeze past and one driver of a huge camper van didn't seem to get the concept of parking places or keeping to the left, a visitor to our shores I guess. We came around one corner to be confronted by enormous bull, as big as a small Transit van and proably heavier, thankfully lying down grazing just off the side of the tarmac. Two choices, a) boot it and hope we can both make it past before he gets to his feet, b) try to turn around on this narrow track and go back before he gets up and decides we're encroaching on his teritory and have a go? Option a) selected, thank you, please enter Max Throttle setting!

Not all the locals were as scary, while stopped to look at the waterfalls coming off the escarpment (and promptly getting blown right back over the top) we chatted to a passing farmer for 15 mins about all manner of things and wondered who would live on the remote small island just off the coast where we could see a large house. A Harley Street Surgeon apparently, we all need a little me time I suppose.







We experienced a great variation of geography / geology and stunning scenery as we progressed around the coast and through the glen towards Salen, complain as we do about the wind and the rain, there is no doubt that the land sea and sky take on completely different characters in less than summer sun and in many ways has a more prowerful and dramatic impact on the observer.





After finally finding our lodgings for the night, how hard can it be with so few roads and all single track you ask  , we made best use of the provided drying room. I can only describe the Arle Lodge as a posh bunkhouse, sort of designed for ramblers using Volvos. With the weather and the roads we were both a lot more knackered than we had expected to be for the actual distance we had covered, so a tea and a few biscuits was all we had rather than face kitting up and going into Tobermory for proper food.

[Chris Canning]

Or eclectic even  :icon_wink: You have to be pretty dedicated to make your way to the Jura distillery, I think that's the smallest ferry I've ever had the bike on that didn't have an outboard motor at the back 

Thank you for supporting the export industry 

Lucky I never posted electric!! But yea that's the place I had a gun with me at the time!! A real one but that's another story.

[JayDub]

Itch, Itch!  keep it coming 

[Sin_Tiger]

Day 3
The started dryer, a bit brighter but no less windy than yesterday, unfortunately the sticky gunk supplied by the Oban Alchemist wasn't cutting the mustard and we had to find another local Apothecary with quality potions for sale. We managed to survive the breakfast free for all (quite literally) scrum and get our fair share of Frosties, yoghurt, toast and some brown powder that passed for coffee in an alternative universe by being the grumpy bikers in the corner. At least the gear had dried off, I'd had my doubts about the drying cupboard the night before when the "dehumidifier" had failed to produce any water in it's tray after three hours even with the aid of a heater in the corner, even though water was clearly dripping from sleeve ends. Off we went to downtown Tobermory while the diesel driven ramblers were still setting their bobble hats at a jaunty angle. I have a great love of these small towns that have resisted the onslaught of modern commercialism, where you can still find a store that has no other branches or franchises anywhere else in the world and has no problem proudly proclaiming itself as a "Haberdashery and Purveyor of Gentlemans Outer Clothing". Such is "Island crafts" right on the harbour front street, unpretentiously online as www.stickmaker.com, I had to suppress a gleeful chuckle and fortunately they were closed so I was unable to purchase that cows horn spurtle I'd always wanted or stock up on my stick making consumable supplies (I kid you not). Blind Pugh on the other hand had emerged from the drug dealer with another glistening liquid that was sure to resolve the problem and immediately pronounced it efficatious, "better than a poke in the eye with a sharp stick then?" I suggested pointing at the shop window I had been perusing.





The unfullfilling breakfast had us craving coffee and cakes naturally, so once we had parked up on the ferry slipway we adjourned to the lovely "Pier Cafe" where the lovely ladies treated us to marvelous home made baking with really good expresso and tea, the menu looked so appetising I wished we could stay for lunch. The ferry appeared in the window so we made our way out to the slip in readiness, the weather seemed quite benign but we were in for a rude awakening. The Skipper descended to the main deck as we boarded and advised us that it was seriously rough out in the channel, particularly during his turn to line up the slipway at Kilchoan, he could give no guarantee that he would be able to manage it with the winds rising and the tide against him but promised to bring us back if it wasn't on, jolly decent of him under the circumstances I thought. I elected to give it a try but said we'd stay with the bikes since they couldn't be lashed down on that deck as they would be exposed to the waves coming over the ramp end of the deck. "What did he say?", "He says it's a bit rough and we should stay with the bikes, it'll be fine". I've not figured out if the hybrid gnome was a shrine to little garden people or a talisman to ward off the evil cone monkeys.



Sure enough it was rough, even bracing the bikes side stand against the skuff rail, leaning on one foot peg, bracing with the other leg and holding on the the vessel bulkhead with a hand, the bikes still tried to get vertical with every heavy roll. But somehow he managed it and we were very grateful, my arms were getting tired and the thought of the return journey was not appealing. In consideration of the weather we decided that a trip out to the most westerly mainland lighthouse on the Ardnamurchan point was best saved for another day. The ride along the peninsula was spectacular again, with surprises around every headland, the western part of Scotland must be a great playground for geologists. Evidence of volcanoes, glacial activity, tectonic shifts and even a large meteor impact as I've been recently educated by Bixxer, all clear to see when pointed out. The road, single track of course, is largely well surfaced although the odd patch of weather blown or tractor piled gravel can catch you out, by turns sweeping over the hill sides and then knarly tight bits in glens and around coves, a feast for the senses.







Stopping for a welcome lunch at a little visitor centre just west of Glenborrodale we filled our stomachs with some great home made soup and spectacular freshly made bread. Turned out the owners daughter had just started a placement from her college where she was doing an engineering degree into the Hinkley No.1 factory and was loving it. the road just kept on being fun although never fast, the only bit of dual lane we found just out of Salen lasted all of 400 metres. Post box in the middle of nowhere still advertising regular collections.



When we eventually reached the shores of Loch Linnhe just north of Inversanda we were a bit shell shocked after nearly two days of constant single track roads, reaching 50 mph felt quite fast and a period of recalibrating the brain was required to accomodate speeds above teh 20mph average we'd got used to and use of the other three gears. On to the Corran Ferry, run by the local council only vehicles are charged for, foot passengers and bicycles go free but it was still packed tight to avoid the lengthy detour around the lochs. The tidal race across the narrows that the ferry negotiates between Ardgour and Nether Lochaber are quite ferocious as Loch Linnhe transforms into Loch Eil with the ferry having to head in a direction that seems improbable that it will make the opposite slipway just to make headway.



The section of the A82 between North Ballachulish and Fort William that we emerge onto is not one of my favourite sections of road, it should be as it has some great sections and bends but being the only real road in this part of the country it is heavily trafficed by coaches, HGV's and evry caravan and camper ever made, add to that the majority of it is double white lines, it's to be endured unless you come upon it with no traffic. Going south we decide to take a detour up the north shore of Loch Leven and back down the south side on the B863. Don't be fooled by the B designation, it's a decent width most of the time and is well surfaced and signed, the north side swoops along the loch side with great views, after passing through Kinlochleven the road climbs up the hillside and runs back to Glencoe village at a higher level still with great views. What German POWs were doing building bridges in the Scottish Highlands a year after the Great War ended I have yet to discover.





My companion decided it was a great idea to do a sudden detour just as it was starting to get dark and the rain come down quite heavily to visit the site of the memorial to the Glencoe Massacre, as I sat there getting wet I seriously contemplated another massacre.



When we eventually found our lodgings for the night they turned out to be a real Godsend, a proper drying room with real heaters and plenty of space and directly across the road from a great pub restuarant with really good food next to an open log fire. This time we went to bed still knackered but well fed and satisfied with another great day of riding, I'd fogiven him for the soggy detour by this time.

[Sin_Tiger]

Day 4
The day of the last leg started better with less wind if still overcast and a bit drizzly but forecasting the occasional sunny interlude. After a real good breakfast shared with some very pleasant French visitors, we kitted up to head off sharing a few jokes all done in outrrrragoos French accents, that was to set the tone for the rest of the day. The ride around the northern edge of the Appin Forest was pleasant if a little damp but thankfully not heavily trafficked and brought us over a headland to the first coffee stop of the day at Stalker View Coffee Shop. It is what it says on the tin, with a slightly soggy view on this occasion and is a great eatery with homemade cakes of huge proportions and the best scones I have ever tasted (I've eaten more than my fair share), evidenced by my mate appearing with a slice of apple pie of such size that it would have scared the living daylights out of William Tell and that's before the cream was heaped on top!

A group of assorted sports cars arrived on their tour of the highlands as we were leaving, among them an Audi R8 V10, a TVR Cerbera, an MGC and a Defender TD5  . With the day started in a French theme (some of you will have figured out where this is going already) it continued with the following gratuitous selfie which I've entitled "Ancient Ruins and a Scottish Castle".

Ancient Ruins and a Scottish Castle


The castle in question is known as "Castle Stalker" and has featured in a few movies unsurprisingly, probably best known from "Monty Python and the Holy Grail" as "The Castle of Aaaaarrrrrrggghhh", I was an extra in the closing crowd scenes during my college days, though I can't remember much of the details (that's not age, I couldn't remember much the next day). The same location without the HiViz.



We continued on down the coast, the suspension was struggling a bit after the coffee stop so a smooth pace over and around the headlands fitted well with the sun that desperately trying to force through as we passed over Connel Bridge and the Falls of Lora at the entrance to Loch Etive.



We couldn't help but notice the nutter in the cabin cruiser trying to navigate the tidal race below, why in this country with such a vast coastline we seem unable to harness tidal power is beyond me, we have some of the largest rises and falls of tide anywhere in the world, huge inland water masses in deep lochs, it happens every day twice a day and we know exactly when, too many self interests is my only guess, which brings us neatly onto the next short stop at Cruachan Visitor Centre. The sun was winning the battle, at least temporarily, as we continued on that lovely section of the A85 alongside the river Awe leading to the mid part of Loch Awe. You'd be forgiven for thinking we'd fallen through a worm hole into sunshine with bright skies and a mirror calm loch.





At least we did this right in the 60's with Ben Cruachan aka "The Hollow Mountain" pumped hydro electric power station. You have to ask, where has all the immagination and commitment to long term sustainability gone since then, has the wildlife all run away or died and the fisheries collapsed, apparently not if the sales of Loch Awe fish and sea food is anything to go by. Oh I know, it's gone to a French company with Chinese backing to build a technically dubious nuclear plant which won't come on line for a decade and the consumers will pay for in the decades to come 



We carried on along the north shores of Loch Awe past the delightful St. Conans Kirk as it's nearly always jammed full of tour buses or wedding parties.



Instead I sought out a small, unmarked and easily unnoticed opening at the edge of the road near the head of the loch just past the railway bridge. This leads to a smal rough parking area with a tiny cast sign on a rock next to a worn footpath that simply states "To the Castle". You follow the path through the bushes, crouching under the railway bridge foundations and hoping the loch is low enough that you won't get your feet wet, through a livestock gate and over some marshy gound following the worn path and there as you round the bend past the bushes it appears, Kilchurn Castle.



It's not easy to see from the north side road, only in winter when the trees are bare and from the south side road to Inverarry, you could be forgiven for thinking it's not accesible by foot. Thankfully the path was relatively dry this day so we went for a closer look, look away now if you are of a sensitive nature gratuitous Monty Python references follow.

We are the Knights who go NI!




I want a nice Shrubbery!


Calling time on our ramblings around the ruins we skipped of back to our trusty mounts knocking our coconut shells together, anybody mentioning the air speed of an African Swallow now is going even more OT than I dare.

Onward down the A819 over the Claddich towards Inverarry, lovely well surfaced road with enjoyable bends once the locals in top end BMW's who know every bend get past. Brief stop at Inverarry for a splash of fuel while it's dry, we'll skip the touristy bits as we'd both seen them before. "There's at least one tourist coach just around the corner" - "How do you know?" - "I can hear bagpipes being played badly"

Off we go north on the A83 along the shores of Loch Fynne, if you're fond of oysters the Loch Fynne Oyster bar is worth a visit. Turning off to the A815 rather than continuing over the "Rest and be Thankfull", we head for Dunoon through the forest park and along the shores of Loch Etive and the Holy Loch to the last ferry slipway just in time to grab tickets and board. The Firth of Clyde crossing can be a bit wild at the best of times but the prevailing wind had gone around to the sout during the day and the crossing was pleasant if a bit grey. We head west to try to find a road over the hills through the Muirshiel Park on the curiously named Brisbane Glen Road going into Largs on the high road but getting bogged down in a labyrinth of back streets we head back to the main road. Passing the Cloch Lighthouse, originally used as a marker for one end of the measured marine mile for vessels doing sea trails in the heydays of Clyde shipbuilding, still a navigational aid but now automated, the old keepers cottage is now owned by an old work colleague of mine who was born in Gourock.



Getting back into Largs we're getting hungry and stop for a sarnie, the local bikers hangout is unusually empty and we have the place to ourselves. Over food it's apparent my mates eyelid has gotten redder and puffier over the day and the decision is taken to visit the A&E nearest base camp. Surprisingly he got taken much quicker than we expected and I wandered out to watch the sun set over the Isle of Arran in the distance and two young deer take a shortcut through the now empty hospital carpark, nice way to end the day. The red knight appeared some time later clutching a fist full of the NHS finest drugs and the pronoucement that he was fit to continue after a nights rest. I confess to being a bit dissaponted, I'd been relishing the idea of taking him the last 10 miles to base as my Trophy Bitch.

Well it was a very interesting and varied few days, didn't cost and arm and a leg, about £250 including ferries, fuel, accomodation and incidental grub from our SW Scotland base. Did we get wet, yes, did we get blown about, yes, did we get bounced about in stormy waters, yes, did we do motorway, none, did we see sunshine, yes, did we see some spectacular scenery, absolutely 

[John Stenhouse]

And was it an ace trip bloody right, eye still not completely healed but good enough for surgery on the other and come Christmas I may be able to see with both eyes. Can't wait.

I have said that my compatriot ought to market this trip as the best of Scotland, no doubts in my mind it is.