Fat Lad Rides Again

Waaay north……. I hate work. Really, really, really, (have I mentioned really?) hate it. Not the people, not the role, and believe it or not, not even those above me. What I actually hate is the predictability and mundanity of it all. I’m definitely a work to live kind of guy. So with a week off Mrs. Fat Lad and I drove ourselves to the north of Scotland and into the highlands. A little place called Scourie, a lovely crofters cottage by the sea was our destination. Absolute Bliss. Not looking forward to the long drive home though…

MONDAY
All settled in and after a good nights sleep we decided to follow the advice from the guest book in the cottage and head to a secluded spot called Oldshoremore beach. The beach there is stunning and words cannot adequately describe its beauty. We sauntered along there for a while watching the sea and its awe inspiring waves.
From there we made our way further up the coast to Durness where we saw off all things a truck from Skipton (Mrs. Fat Lads old stomping ground) there to pick up sheep for the dales. We ate in a restaurant where the passage of time has seemingly ceased, the décor stuck in 1970’s truck stop chic but the sandwiches were surprisingly good.
Even further north we stopped at the site of Britain’s most northerly church at Balnakeil. It’s actually a ruin and on the Rough Guides suggestion we gawped at the grave of the local history’s highwayman’s half in/half out gravestone embedded in the chapel’s wall.
Back at base Mrs. Fat Lad made a steak meal that was beyond compare. (XC whippets beware there’s plenty of food talk to come so you might want to go grill a lean chicken breast and drink some mineral water or something…)

TUESDAY
From the cottage we made our way south to Ullapool. Mrs. Fat Lad and I camped here one September many moons ago after we had only been “courting” for a few weeks. A long weekend under canvas in the Scottish highland autumn is the sure fire way to make or break a potential relationship early on, thankfully Mrs. (should be “soon to be Mrs. Fat Lad” really but it doesn’t quite have that ring to it) Fat lad hasn’t quite figured out how much of a muppet I actually am yet so we’re still going on strong. Ullapool is still a working fishing town and has plenty of little shops ranging from genuinely nice gear to the tourist tat you see everywhere else in the rest of Scotland. We had a quick look round, reminisced a little and made our way to the car heading for Lochinver.
In Lochinver there is a pie shop called the Lochinver Larder an undiscovered gem that deserves to be world famous making gorgeous home made pies. We purchased a few, (it would have been rude not to) and rolled onto the singletrack (in the tarmac sense of the word) road to Stoer. At Stoer we made our way up to the lighthouse, ditching the car and taking the time and effort to walk up to the building itself. The strength of the wind was quite literally breathtaking and I held on to Mrs. Fat Lad’s jacket while she snapped away at the sea from the cliffs to stop her blowing away. We wandered into the grounds of the lighthouse and read the usual plaques and tourist information eventually making our way back down to the car. We had to sigh about the number of cars we had seen drive up, nobody get out and drive away again. They don’t know the beauty they missed on those cliff tops.
We also got a picture especially for you Cyclenaut

Back on the road we took the coastal route from Lochinver to Kylesku. I don’t think I have been as scared in a very long time. The road is akin to something you’d find on the Mediterranean mountain-tops. Singletracked all the way, heartstoppingly winding and with genuinely blind summits. Those twenty file miles felt like two hundred and fifty.
At the Kylesku hotel I had the most beautiful meal I can honestly say I have ever had. This place specializes in seafood, sourcing as many ingredients as possible locally. I had local salmon to start and it was mind-blowingly good and followed it up with mussels in white wine, garlic and cream sauce that were beyond comprehension to taste. Mrs. Fat Lad’s Mushrooms with blue cheese, and grilled langoustines were by all accounts equally amazing.
Awesome day all round.

WEDNESDAY
Fat Lad Rides The Sandwood Squelcher

There is a place called Sandwood beach. We were told that is quite simply one of most beautiful places in the UK. One of the reasons (and a key attraction) for this unspoiled beauty is that you have a four mile path to get there. No access by car in any way shape or form is possible. Fantastic.
So with the bike rack on and all our gear in the car we drove up to Blairmore to the start of the track. Out of the car, kit ready we were off.
The night before I had uploaded the intended route to the GPS and even with a fairly bloody obvious path we kept a close eye on it the whole way. The terrain to start with was open highland moor and Mrs. Fat Lad and I had fun splashing through the puddles on the wide track.
It wasn’t long before the trail got technical and I was in my element crashing down the path bounding from rock to rock clinging on for dear life. Mrs. Fat Lad wasn’t too far behind and onwards we went.
The next section was hideous. Flat Scottish moorland plus typical Scottish weather equals very boggy ground. My feet got a little wet. Well they got a lot wet really. I’m sure if it wasn’t so secluded, I would have horrified the locals with the not so pleasant site of a chunky luridly dressed fella hopping from vaguely dry bit to vaguely dry bit with a bike over his shoulder.
Clearing the bog we watched a red and white attired XC whippet fly down the summit to meet us. We stopped and had a brief chat with him telling us it was definitely worth it. This guy either rode for Specialized or at least had a fetish for the gear…..
The rest of the ride was spent climbing to the summit and the view over the crest was worth so much more than the effort. It was hard work descending to the sea in the deep sand and I can say with a hearfelt conviction that cycling shoes plus fine sand do not equal comfort!
By the sea it was incredibly windy and Mrs. Fat Lad was in her element snapping all the scenery. (check out the gallery). After deciding not to eat our lunch in the midst of a sandstorm we made our way back of the beach struggling up the deep, fine sanded dunes all the way. We descended back to the bog and paddled through the shore of the loch rather than attempt the bog again. I think it was actually drier that way.
Steady away we passed a couple making their way to the beach. It amazes me the level of stupidity some people can demonstrate some times. While they were both terribly fashionable they were monumentally unprepared for the terrain. No backpack, waterproofs or even decent footwear. If only Darwin had been completely correct…
Back on the moorland we stopped to play in the puddles and take some piccies.

Once at the car we got changed into normal clothes (nearly naked in an autumn highland wind is not for the faint hearted I promise you) and ate our well earned feed….

THURSDAY
With a lie in blissfully taken we headed back to Kylesku Hotel for lunch to sample yet more of their seafood delights. After the fishy feast we headed to Drumbeg to “The Little Tea Room” for earl grey and cake. This tiny cottage in quite literally the middle of nowhere is run by an ex-fire service guy from Hull and I’m glad for all who visit he made the change. Taking the frightening singletrack road to get there was even more terrifying the other way round but was well worth the fear for the reward.
Back on the road again we headed out to Ullapool aiming for the Ferryboat Inn. When we first found this place years ago we stumbled upon it on the live music night. A gathering of local musicians assembled and played folk music for the sheer joy of playing. We had hoped for the same again this night, but when we got there the atmosphere was bloody awful and we felt genuinely uncomfortable. Now before I get comments calling me a pansy or similar I’ve drank in far more “colourful” pubs and have not been intimidated away from my pint yet. The locals, as always, were welcoming but the tourists were unbearable and we couldn’t stand the thought of being there for many hours with them. I finished my pint and we wandered off a little disappointed.
Almost as if to redress the cosmic balance, on the dark roads back to Scourie we were treated to loads of deer and the truly regal site of a proud stag. Sometimes life can be varied indeed. (Or as Mrs. Fat lad put it: “Deer, deer, deer, stag!”)

FRIDAY
With another late-ish morning under the belt we headed for Ullapool once more to buy gifts for family and to get lunch. At the local Fish and Chip restaurant we got “twice” (two fish suppers as they say up here) and went to dangle our legs on the sea front and eat our fill. I’ve got to say they were incredibly nice and definitely deserving of the radio 4 “best takeaway award” 2004. Before we could finish our grub the weather had changed in the blink of an eye with the sea becoming increasingly rough and the wind howling up to speed.
In a shop on the front I bought an awesome kite and after discovering it had no string to fly with I made a quick dash to the local hardware shop for some twine.
For the second time this week we headed to Oldshoremore beach. Kite assembled, twine attached and wrapped round an old 20mm thru-axle from my toolbox we flew it with varying degrees of success deciding that the twine really was too heavy for kite flying purposes. After marveling in the beauty of this stunning scenery once more we made our back to the cottage.

SATURDAY

So with the final day ahead of us we made our way back up to Lochinver to purchase some more pies for us and the family. Popping into the paper shop next door I was chuffed to bits to find some fishing line for the kite.
Driving back to the cottage we saw an absolutely massive bird of prey. I’d love to say it was an eagle but my bird knowledge is pretty much pants.
Back in the cottage I cut the old twine from the kite and unwound the fishing line from its reel to check if it was fixed to it. It wasn’t. However in unwinding the damn cord I created knots of Gordian proportions. So with an hour and a half wasted trying to untangle it I let Mrs. Fat Lad sort it.
So with my ineptitude corrected we sauntered down to Scourie beach and launched the kite. All I can say is that my inner child was satisfied.

Fat Lad