A Journey to The Western Isles

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I am definitely not a long-distance cycling superhero. Until this project, a cycling adventure was far from my "to-do" list. In my teens, I cycled more out of necessity than for sport, but since then, my preferred mode of transport has been much more sedate. Forty years have passed, and my cycling experiences have been limited to the annual, cozy acknowledgment of the Tour de France from my armchair. So, what sparked this endeavor? Perhaps a mix of male bravado and a late mid-life crisis, but also a yearning to accomplish something physically significant before it was too late for my weary, rapidly aging body.

Speaking of weary, rapidly aging bodies, let me introduce my partner in this adventure: Chris. For my ego's sake, I couldn't afford to be shown up as a wimp, so I chose a companion of equal or lesser physical fitness. Chris fit the bill perfectly. Though I may have been the (slightly) fitter of the two, as our journey progressed, he proved to be mentally stronger, with an uncomplaining attitude that was hard to miss. Chris's gangly frame and determined smile as he pushed his bike up and down the hills (yes, 'down' too, but more on that later) in the far reaches of bonnie Scotland were a testament to his 'stick-ability,' especially since the weather during our ride was simply dreadful.

Our initial plan was the LEJOG, the Lands' End to John O'Groats cycle route, a classic among touring cyclists. Of course, I only considered myself a touring cyclist at this stage because I owned a touring bike. But as Robbie Burns once said, "The best-laid plans o' mice an' men gang aft agley." Our plan certainly went 'agley'.

The LEJOG route presented logistical nightmares. Lands End is 430 miles from my home in the East Midlands, and upon reaching the long pointy bit of Cornwall, we'd have to turn around and go nearly all the way back to central England before heading north. The easier and gentler option, or so I thought, was to cycle 500 miles through the Outer Hebrides, visiting as many Scottish islands as possible along the way.

In the end, we covered 17 islands, and both of us just about survived the midges!

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'Be Prepared'

Chris, is the most pleasant and unassuming insurance man I know. His days are fully committed to his business and helping run numerous community groups. Unfortunately, this leaves very little time for himself. Just ten weeks before our epic journey was set to begin, he hadn't even acquired the most of crucial piece of equipment - a bike! This oversight led to a bidding frenzy on eBay, where he hastily completed a purchase without considering its true value. This was followed by a long journey to Cheltenham and back to collect the item, which quickly ended up in the local bike shop for an expensive, complete overhaul.

After months of meticulous planning and preparation (all done by me), and thorough equipment testing (also by me), I was packed and ready with days to spare. Chris, on the other hand, had me running around Leicester for equipment. The list included a few minor items—like a lightweight sleeping bag and spare parts for his bike. Even on the day before our departure, I ended up buying him a camping cutlery set for £1.99, which came in a very smart black canvas sleeve. However, it did not last long. Over the next 17 days, this cutlery had an uncanny knack of disappearing, either completely for days or more often, just before a meal.

One thing Chris assured me was all in order was the acquisition of a hiking tent he had purchased earlier that week. I should have asked more questions. What I discovered was that it had not even been out of its bag since purchase. Not like me, 'Mr Know-it-all.' The week before, I had done a dry run (which was far from dry—it rained) to St Neots in Cambridge with my bike fully loaded for a weekend try-out.
This enlightened me to the fact that cooking anything more complicated than a cup of coffee was definitely out, as it required the skills of a circus contortionist to even boil an egg in my tent. On return from St Neot’s out went the Cordon Bleu Campers Cookbook. Items like a shaver crossed out; rewritten and crossed out again, in end I sacrificed streamlining and grew a beard

So it was that in September 2008 - two cycle-touring virgins went like lambs to the slaughter, into the far outback of Scotland, during the wettest summer since....since.... 2007!

The drive up the A1 to Edinburgh was anything but swift. Our 'base camp' was to be my mother's house. Chris spent the evening packing his panniers, as he hadn't even started when I collected him from his house that morning. Much to my horror, he began making an extensive list of missing items he needed to purchase in the morning before we headed out into the great unknown.

Camera Shy

One crucial item he was missing was his new and expensive digital camera, one of the few things he had actually bought the week we were due to leave. It was nowhere to be found amidst the luggage spread over my mother's living room. As he mentally retraced the camera’s short existence, he realized he had taken it to his Sailing Club the day he got it. He was sure it was last seen in his kit bag, from which it was now allegedly stolen. Chris, normally a law-abiding, mild-mannered citizen, was not amused at its loss. His call for retribution on all mankind and, in particular, the members of the Northampton Sailing Club, was worthy of a rampaging zealot.

A major expedition on day one was a visit to the shops in Princess Street.

Tiso's are for Hero's, like us!

Saturday morning came, and we found ourselves dashing around the shops on Princes Street, particularly at Tiso’s. Let me introduce you to Tiso’s—a shop for the heroic adventurer—yes, like Chris and me! If you’re a Munro bagger, you do it in Tiso’s clothes. Skiers, canoeists, and climbers beat a path to their door for the latest outdoor gear, and more importantly, to parade in the hills of Scotland in this season’s fashionable colors.
Unfortunately, the camping section is three flights up, so there we were, gasping for breath at the top of the stairs. We really ought to have been issued with oxygen cylinders, as the effort exhausted us both, much to the amusement of the smug, muscle-bound shop assistant. Our lack of fitness was embarrassingly obvious. When we told him what we were doing, I could see his eyes rolling upwards.
Nevertheless, Chris got busy buying clothes, emergency packs, midge nets, and the compulsory Avon 'Soft and Gentle'. A frighteningly large bag of creams and lotions from Boots next door completed our morning’s expedition.

This afternoon, we were set to leave for the 'wild west nether regions' of Glasgow

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