UK05: The Highlands

Cycling the Lands End to John o’Groats, Days 11-13

Since arriving in Gretna, Scotland has been threatening us with rain. Dark clouds hang ever-present on the horizon, curtains of rain drench the next valley over, but the skies above us have been kind, (either that or we’ve been very lucky with the timings of our lunch and coffee stops). The clouds never seem to break over us, not yet at least (I realise I’ve probably jinxed it by writing this paragraph). It’s been 13 days riding across the UK, and I’ve only been seriously wet and cold once. Madness.

Day 11: Gretna Green to Hamilton, 124km

We had a very pleasant stay in the imaginatively decorated Kirkcroft Guesthouse in Gretna Green, run by Kris and Tony. Tony’s main job is a food tester for M&S and we learned a lot more about the inside of sausages than we bargained for over breakfast.

Gretna Green used to be the Vegas of the UK. When marriage laws were made stricter in England in the 1750s (no marrying under-12s, booo), couples would elope to Gretna, about 500 meters into Scotland, where the laws were laxer (nonexistent?). The town remains popular for above-board marriages, and they have a whole tourist centre built around the house of the wily old blacksmith who made his fortune marrying teens in the 1700s.

Our route was uninspiring, tracing the M74 that runs between Carlisle and Glasgow. There’s a largely disused B-road that runs besides it almost the entire way, so we spent 120 kilometres following that. There were a couple of sections where the route got more interesting, as the road travelled up through the Southern Uplands, but the main variation of the day seemed to be whether we were on the left side of the motorway or the right. We found a great farmers market in the town of Moffat for lunch, and a cave in which Robert the Bruce once hid from the English in the 1300s. Decent progress made north, but a good day to see the back of.

We finished in Hamilton, just south of Glasgow, and weren’t expecting much from it. Enter Pad T’Aye, stage left, a genuinely brilliant Thai restaurant run by a Scotsman named Liam. I’m not sure if anyone reading this will ever visit Hamilton, but if you do, Pad T’Aye is the place to eat.

Day 12: Hamilton to Crianlarich, 115km

Things are getting exciting. The Highlands are upcoming, and with them some of the best landscapes the UK has to offer. We started early with a quick run into Glasgow along the banks of the River Clyde. In Glasgow, we had breakfast at Outlier: great flat whites, enormous pains au chocolat (recommended). And then back on the Clyde to leave the city behind.

Next stop Loch Lomond, via an excellent and largely segregated cycle lane that follows the Forth & Clyde Canal and an old railway line out of Glasgow. Pretty is an understatement for this part of the world, every turn had me wanting to take photos and more video for the doc (much to Richard‘s well-mannered frustration). The loch is enormous, one of the largest freshwater lakes in the UK, and surrounded on all sides by rolling hills and mountain, including the snowcapped Ben Lomond.

A fairly decent cycle path runs around the loch, though for the final section to Crianlarich ducked back onto the only road going, trafficky with Easter tourists and enormous logging trucks. Still, we made it in one piece to our hotel for the night, the Best Western Crianlarich. This trip seems to be cursed by fire alarms; this was the second place I’ve stayed where the electrics controlling the fire alarms shorted in the middle of the night and set off the fire alarms at 3:55 in the morning. Rude.

Day 13: Crianlarich to Fort William, 86km

Since I began imagining this trip last summer, I knew this day — Day 13 — had the most potential. The most potential to go right, and the most potential to go wrong. 86km crossing the Highlands proper, right through the mountainous heart of the Scotland. In good weather, this is one of the most gorgeous places on Earth, sculpted over millions of years by glaciers, wind and rain. In bad weather, it can be a brutal mess of freezing rain, the landscape lost to the elements. So when we woke up to heavy rain and temperatures of 2°C, I was prepared for the worst.

We left the hotel fully kitted in wet weather gear, including the washing up gloves I’d bought in Japan a year ago for exactly this purpose, and set out for the mountains. We made it about 8km before finding a breakfast cafe — where I had my 57th fry up of the trip —and by the time we were fed and watered, the clouds were starting to part. Another 10 minutes and the sun came out, and the damp landscape started to exhale mist. High above us the mountains removed their clouded cloaks, revealing snowcapped peaks. I could sit and stare at these stone giants for hours, as the light ripples across their granite faces, motionless but ever changing.

It was the perfect crossing. Richard and I exchanged whoops and yells as we bombed through the landscape, accompanied by a gentle tailwind for most of the way. In an earlier blog I was left undecided between the scenery of Wales vs the Lake District. This portion of the trip wins hands down.

We made it to Fort William surprisingly early, a short day in terms of distance, the best in terms of riding. Richard is currently enjoying a read in the bath, I am writing this marvelling at how far we’ve come from Cornwall. I’ve never been further north in the UK than Fort William, tomorrow we step into uncharted (for me) territory.

Wish us luck.