Day 14- Tobermoray / Salen / Craignure / Ferry Oban / Burnt Porridge Bay

Goodbye Tobermoray

After an excellent night's rest, I was grateful for the sleep—especially considering the miles that awaited before the next opportunity for rest. Our B & B host had breakfast waiting: a bowl of porridge, naturally, and a hearty fry-up. At only £15 each, the value was remarkable, even compared to what we would have paid at the Youth Hostel.

....and the road goes on

We set off into another grey day, leaving Tobermory behind. As expected, the hill out of town grew steeper halfway up. The plan for the day was ambitious: we would head north and west over the top of Mull, and we were not disappointed. The countryside west of Tobermory, beyond the freshwaters of the Mishnish lochs, was gently undulating, offering some of the island's most enchanting scenery. The only sizable village we passed was Dervaig, situated beside Loch Chumhainn. The roads were quiet, scenic, and well-kept, though some of the hills were particularly unforgiving. The B8073 provided especially dramatic landscapes, complete with challenging switchbacks. Eventually, the road led us cross-country to Calgary Bay, where a stunning beach awaited. Wild campers were clearly in their element here, some even spending the whole season on the sands.

The weather played a central role throughout the day—never truly drying up, but at least remaining warm. We paused at hilltops to enjoy the views and refuel with snacks, and stopped at sea level to admire the beach and other points of interest, such as waterfalls. Gradually, we made our way southwards.

Eventually, we came off the mountains and back to civilisation, onto the main road south to Salen. Despite it being signposted for miles, the small village of Salen is easily missed. All roads on Mull lead to it as it is at the narrowest part of Mull. The village was the birthplace of the ‘Father of Australia’, the splendidly named Lachlan MacQuarrie. The sun came out after reaching Salen. We intended to stop for the night here, but as we were well ahead of schedule and after a quick discussion we decided to carry on to Oban and cover more distance while we could.

...and the road stills goes on

We continued south towards the Craignure ferry and back to Oban. Even though it was after 5 p.m., we decided to keep riding, aiming to camp somewhere outside Oban. We believed we had another two hours of daylight left to cycle. However, no campsites appeared over the next ten miles—the only one on the map had been replaced by timeshare log cabins. So we pushed further, finally pulling off the road well after 8 o’clock when we found a spot beside a loch. I christened this location ‘Burnt Porridge Bay.’ Surprisingly, despite camping near water and in long grass, we were not troubled by midges at all.

I had a comfortable night’s sleep, especially after the day’s 53-mile journey. I was occasionally conscious of traffic passing by, but it didn't bother me. In the morning, however, I heard movement outside the tent. Peering out, I was amazed to see Chris fully dressed for the road, with his tent packed away and his bike ready to go. I was convinced something was wrong. This was just unreal. It turned out that it was the sound of the traffic that was the trouble.

I left Chris with the usual gallon of porridge to make. While loading my bike, I became conscious of a strong burning smell - the porridge was burnt! In his keenness to get away the gas had been turned up full and his lack of stirring then led to this culinary disaster. Surely, he had had enough porridge making practice over the last few weeks! We did not know where the place was that we had stopped at, but I now call it 'Burnt Porridge Bay'. By the way, burnt porridge tastes horrible; it is absolutely vile, well perhaps not that vile, cause you-know-who, still ate it all!