Dreicher than driech

The rain was coming, but Fred was out first thing with the stove making scrambled eggs with the fresh eggs we'd bought from a nearby house last night. They were delicious. As we ate our meal, we spotted a white-tailed eagle fly far overhead and a hen harrier hovering above a field nearby.

We were soaked to the skin by the time we'd ridden the short distance to Salen. We took shelter in a cafe by the fire and chatted to an Australian ranger and a Glaswegian ex-bomb disposal soldier who's now a bus driver. They were having a lunch stop before heading north. We shared our adventures on the island. All too soon it was time to head out into the wet again. As we cycled south, we passed this cheery house. It's so nice to see such colour on a dreich day.

On the road down to Fishnish we were haled by a cycle tourer travelling north. He cycled over to us and we discussed waterproof clothing and bicycles. The tourer was a well-travelled cycle tourer who was Canadian but now lived in Yorkshire. He takes his bicycle all around the world, packing it up for air travel and re-assembling his kit on the other side. After a while, his companian puffed into view. He wasn't a well-travelled cycle tourer, but was giving it his best shot. I was pleased to see a fellow side-mirrored bicycle user. Within moments of his companion's arrival, the Canadian-Yorkshire rider was back in the saddle, with fellow rider in shock that he wasn't permitted a rest. Oh dear.

We had two options for ferries - Fishnish or Craignure. We thought we'd try some new ground and cycled down to Fishnish to catch the ferry to Morvern. Landing in Lochaline, and after a long climb, we took the turning down to Ardtornish. There we met a gentleman who suggested that it wasn't worth sticking around to view the house. After a quick nosey around the outside, we duly headed back to the main road.

We were buffeted by the wind, absolutely soaked through despite expensive waterproofs. There's only so much water a waterproof can cope with. Our shoes were like swamps. My bike light died (forever). Nearing Strontian, at the head of Loch Sunart, we gave up cycling - the wind was too strong and we weren't getting anywhere. (Later, we were told that lorries were overturning on higher ground.)

At Strontian, we entered, dripping, into The Strontian Hotel, but they were fully booked. We almost cried. We were told to try the Ben View Hotel a mile down the road - a mile, a whole mile. We were that shattered that a mile seemed impossible. However, we donned our soaking gloves (why did we bother?) and squelched our way down the road as fast as the gale would allow us. Apologetically, we dripped in the foyer of the Ben View, while the concierge raised his eyebrows and said the the welcome words, "Yes, there's availability - would you like to use the drying room, too?" Phew. We filled the drying room, enjoyed a hot shower and flopped into the restaurant to enjoy a meal and a pint while the storm whistled all around the hotel. For dessert, there was crème brûlée with flaming Drambuie. The waiter saw that I was keen to take a photo of the flames and gave Fred a double alcoholic serving to make those flames last.

All the photos from the day are here.