Day 8: The Northern Road to Stornoway

As I sit on board the ferry bound for Stornoway, Isle of Lewis, I thought now as ever was a good time to reflect... I am now 7 Days (1,500 miles) from home, the adventure proper. In general the week has had its ups (the landscape) and its downs (the rain – when it comes). Yet the ups have definitely outweighed the downs.
(Nobody else seems to have noticed, but there was a huge bang a moment ago and it felt like something hit the underside of the ferry. Not nervous at all.)
I walked to the point this morning where I finally looked across the North Sea to the Orkney’s. I admit a lump rose in my throat, but there was nobody there to share it with. Not even the passing stranger. It is a bizarre place, but then the sun came out...
As I packed my bags I had some mixed feelings. It’s peaceful here. It’s beautiful (when you can actually see what you’re looking at.), and then I thought... I’ll be glad to leave. Scotland has always had a reputation for heavy drinkers and here you can see why. Breakfast just confirmed the same thinking as I walked into the dining-room and the same spotty kid asked me (in some crabby slur) if I wanted a cup of tea. I thanked him as I remembered him and his mates falling out of the bar last night as I sat making final preparations for today’s trip. Here (John O’Groats) is the place where children first learned to say ‘I’m bored, there’s nothing to do.’ and they’re bloody right.
There are some things that I wanted to do whilst on this journey and one was to ride the Northern road. Many said I was mad, others just laughed. But when you think of Britain as a green and pleasant land there is nowhere that epitomises it more so than here. The road I had to ride led me through 183 miles of twists and turns. I have ridden through valleys, over mountains and even through them. I stopped to look at the birth place of a Loch; I have raced the wind along the coast of the Loch. I watched Gulls rise on the draft and dive as they fed and hunted – the way they should be and not preying on the bins that humans allow to over-flow. I have seen beaches of lush golden sands and walked amongst fallen rocks dividing the waters from the hills into a thousand different streams. This could never be seen from any motorway or highway winding its way, straight as an arrow, from ‘A’ to ‘B’. (Still it would have saved me three or four hours in the saddle.) All told, I think the roads I have ridden today have been the one’s I have loved more than any other. (Good, another loud bang and the guy on the table next to me said ‘Shit!’ under his breath. I’m not going mad.)
Finally, I pulled into Ullapool. I have seen more bikes here in the short time I have been here than I have seen on the road in the past three or four days. I don’t know where they have all come from or where they are going to, but I had the chance to talk to one of the guys. Simon. Like me Simon is on the road, a trip he does every year. He picks his place, takes the time out and rides. So we sat and talked and swapped stories for an hour or so, before he started his trip home and I moved on to Stornoway. The ferry has been a joy to behold... But as we pull into the dock and the last green face crawls from the toilets, I'm smiling. This is as far from home as I can get. There is no more. To the West - the Americas. To the north - the Pole. That's it then half way.