Saturday, Duirinish

We arrived bright and early at Inverness station and unloaded and unfolded our bicycles. While we were attaching our panniers, the other cyclists on the train furrowed their brows at our choice of bike – folding bicycles for touring, really? This was something that we'd encounter throughout our week. We'd rather have taken our big bikes, but there were no spaces for bicycles on the sleeper (or any other train) on the return journey. The folding bikes fit in our cabins. We have now found out that the guard's van on the sleeper is mostly full of fish for restaurants.

Folding bikes loaded, we boarded the train to Kyle of Lochalsh (the other cyclists headed to John O'Groats). I was delighted to see that the two-carriage train had a tea trolley. Whoop! This generated more tea opportunities than even I could deal with. The Inverness to Kyle trip is a wonderful journey alongside lochs – beautiful. We alighted early at Plockton to cycle to Kyle. On the station platform, The Doors blared out from accommodation there. About an nth of a mile cycling later, we were happily scoffing wonderful seafood at the Plockton Shores restaurant to The Eagle's Hotel California. Start as you mean to go on, I say.

Sated, we cycled the few miles to Kyle, via some Highland cows. The sun was setting as we boarded the ferry and we spent most of the journey glued to the changing light on the approaching islands. I almost posted this gannet blip. When I see gannets, I know that I'm nearing the Hebrides. I love these birds.

We had only an hour of dwindling light from docking at Tarbert on Harris to finding a campsite. As usual, we hadn't pre-booked anything except our sleeper train to Inverness and back. We had an idea of where we wanted to go, but in the end, the first campsite got the gig. The road south was gloriously up and down through a moonscape of gneiss. Twilight glinted off lochans by the side of the road, luring us towards them from the dark tarmac. I thought of the kelpie myth, the fairy that lures people into water. I can see how it came to be.

At Minch View, it was completely dark. Groups of people in their cosy, well-lit caravans and camper vans watched the spectacle of us pacing around a bit of a boggy site (bonus of a soft bed) looking for the best tent spot. A couple took pity on us and switched on their car's headlights to illuminate the ground. We didn't feel self-conscious at all! Apart from Fred and the chap in the tent at the opposite end of the campsite having a cough-off all night, a good night's sleep was had.