Gloomy winter weather looms on the horizon, so let’s look back at a sunny bikepacking adventure aboard Jack and Laura’s tandem
Though I’m loathe to admit it, winter is just around the corner. With that, thoughts of holidaying aboard my beloved tandem with my partner, Laura, are truly in the rearview mirror.
So, with gloomy skies closing in around BikeRadar’s home in Bristol, what better time to look back fondly on this spring’s tour – one of our finest to date.
This year’s trip took us from Edinburgh to the west coast of Scotland, hopping to Islay and back before rumbling north to Oban and on to Mull.
Besides finishing with an enforced ride from Birmingham to Bristol and bickering with train conductors, the tour was essentially unimprovable – no rain, mechanicals nor even midges marred our truly restful 800km trip.
Read on and dream of adventure anew with us. I hope you enjoy it.
Day 0 – Bristol to Edinburgh via London
Good friend and devilish enabler, Tom Penslar, made our whole trip possible, graciously offering to ferry this pair of idiot non-drivers in his fabulously practical Citroën Berlingo passion wagon from Bristol to London.
Why London? Only LNER and Avanti West Coast permit tandems onboard their trains, demanding a trip to Birmingham or London if we want to head home to Scotland on a bike made for two.
After a painless journey, we quickly reassembled the tandem in the basement of Hammersmith Tesco.
Riding through central London onboard a fully loaded tandem is an experience I would rather not repeat – never have I felt like more of a vulnerable Highland teuchter than riding that bike by parliament.
We arrived a full two hours early for the train, but still had the usual argument about getting the tandem onboard with the conductor. What is it about wee men in high-vis jackets?
However, my passively aggressively pre-printed copy of LNER’s bike policy was just the ticket to continue northward.
Besides repairing a derailleur hanger snapped in the heat of bickering and shoving the bike into the cycle locker, our trundle to east Edinburgh and a warm bed was completed without incident.
Day 1 – Edinburgh to Glasgow
Our first proper day began with a dog-leg to the Honest Toun, where born and bred honest lass Laura paid her respects to Musselburgh’s namesake.
We lingered in civilisation a wee bit longer in Leith Links, enjoying a pastry and bumping into an old pal.
After a few more errands and a chance encounter with another pal (Edinburgh truly is a village), we eventually joined the Water of Leith bike path just after lunch.
We were horrified to discover this has been resurfaced in what feels like playground rubber – not the optimal surface for an exceptionally heavy idiot bus.
Our treacly pull up the path to Balerno was rewarded with a headwind and confusing new-build estates around East Calder.
The NCN 75 west of Livingston delivers junk miles by the bucket load – even the most avid fly-tipping enthusiast will find intriguing delights here.
The path from Bathgate onward is – hand on heart – tremendously good. It’s wide, pleasingly bleak in a post-industrial way and always empty. Only the enforced portage around glass-strewn gullies near Airdrie soured the experience.
We narrowly avoided accidentally joining the M8 at Drumpellier then took the rolling A8 into town. Despite Laura nearly bonking at Carntyne, our faces were aflush with a satisfied wind-whipped glow as we sat down for a bowl of daal in my brother’s flat just before midnight.
Day 2 – Glasgow to Arran
Without wishing unkindness upon the good folk of Renfrewshire and Ayrshire, the prospect of a very early start to smash west to catch our rescheduled ferry to Arran from Troon did not appeal.
While I’m sure fine roads can be found in those airts, the direct route from the Southside would likely skip all of them.
No matter as, after a leisurely breakfast, we took full advantage of ScotRail’s enlightened bikes policy, which permits tandems (without pre-booking!) on many Central Belt routes.
40 stress-free minutes later and we were in Troon. It baffles the mind why it is not this simple everywhere, but I digress.
The faff balance was restored when our ferry was delayed for 2.5 hours.
Unwilling to risk leaving the ferry terminal, we were sustained by only handfuls of dry granola until boarding.
Once aboard, we relished our first CalMac and Cheese of the trip. Laura relished hers again as the choppy crossing took its toll on her delicate sea legs.
Upon landing on Arran, we sweated up the tough pull out of Brodick into Lamlash and replenished lost calories with muffins and custard – classic school-dinner inspired fare on our trips.
Day 3 – Lamlash to Lochranza
We left Lamlash under a heavy grey sky, convinced we’d spend the day ensconced in a clammy waterproof embrace.
However, parting clouds and a hot climb approximately 30 seconds into our ride had us stripping breeks to let our perky peely-wally pins breathe once more.
After a cooling descent, we enjoyed keeking at the big houses in Whiting Bay and pondered how Arran can possibly have a better bus service than Bristol.
Twisty climbs around the southern tip of the island were rewarded with views of cute lambs, Aisla crag and, as we turned northward at Kilmory, an almighty taily – woof!
We momentarily requisitioned a shelter by a farm track to guzzle a croissant and continued on to Blackwaterfoot.
Shunted along by the tremendous southerly, we enjoyed nosing left across the Kilbran Sound to Kintyre and right to the caves that line this beautiful road. Although I protested, I was forbidden from indulging in any unplanned subterranean jollies.
The wind blowing down Glen Catacol was whipping the water in the small bay at its foot into an impressive frenzy, but it calmed as we turned the corner into Lochranza.
Overlooked by the great big lump of Meall Mòr, our excellent campsite was shared with only two quiet Dutch backpackers and a nosey lamb.
Day 4 – Lamlash to Islay
We awoke in Lamlash to calm dry weather and leisurely rolled the kilometre from our campsite to the harbour for the ferry to the Kintyre peninsula.
Dolphins spotted en route to Claonaig smoothed out any remaining bumps on our brains.
As we left the ferry, we crossed paths with the only other tandem team spotted on our trip They were going in the opposite direction and riding a green bike – Lack and Jaura?
The humid climb over the bealach to Kennacraig was rewarded with a drum-brake sizzling descent.
Distracted by the entertaining comings and goings of this busy harbour, the small delay to our ferry to Islay barely registered. A smooth crossing ensured our second CalMac and Cheese of the trip passed (or rather, didn’t) without drama.
For a west-coast island, the section out of Port Askaig to the head of Loch Indaal was unusually agrarian, afforested and rolling.
Things opened out nicely into characteristic Hebridean machair and moor after collecting our messages in Bridgend. We scoffed excellent pasta for tea on a lovely pitch right by the water.
Day 5 – Nosing around Islay
This was to be a rest day of sorts, taking a lap around the head of Loch Indaal to Bowmore – now forever known as ‘Bow-wow’ for the sole reason that it made us laugh – and over to the Strand.
Adding to the holiday vibes, the jetstream looked kindly on our weary heads, blowing warm winds (17ºc! On Islay! In May!) across the dun moorland around our campsite from dusk till dawn.
The blustery headwind tested our now weary legs, but vigour was restored with an excellent beige lunch in Bowmore – sorry, Bow-wow.
Dominated by the distillery, this funny wee toun is surprisingly stark. Not unpleasant by any means, just unusually industrial and suburban.
Arriving at the Strand, the increasingly wild easterly whipped up the dunes into an exfoliating storm and coated our apples in a crunchy layer of sand. Said easterly had us ripping along at 40km/h while soft-pedalling on the return leg to the campsite. Reeking bib shorts cleaned, we slept like logs.
Day 6 – Islay to Knapdale
Paying homage to the popular Scottish Islay-based cycling blog, The Washing Machine Post, we started our day scoffing a flat white and a breakfast roll at Debbie’s in Bruichladdich.
Gentle climes and climbs over the High Road into Port Ellen ferry port passed quickly.
The crossing back to the mainland was gentle – the stressful stretch up the A83 to Tarbert was not. A roadside hut just off the main road packed full of amazing homebaked snacks lightened our spirits though.
The lumpy road down West Loch Tarbert had a couple of tough pitches but was pretty damn great, with tremendous views over to the Paps of Jura.
The campsite was packed with fun Glasgow toonies, the highlight being the young lads who’d brought a tripod-mounted dartboard to play on the beach. What a vibe.
Day 7 – Knapdale to Loch Awe
Jura was happed in mist as we started our day trundling along the road by Loch Caolisport.
A trio of banana’d seals wished us well at the foot of the pass to Lochgilphead. We chanced the A83 over the windy bike path and saw but one car.
The Argyll Cafe comes highly recommended for hungry cyclists – the warm atmosphere and giant portion of macaroni cheese (the third of the trip for those counting) made me feel almost emotional.
Full to the brim, we rejoined the Crinan Canal and rode as far as Bellanoch, where we crossed Mòine Mhòr. This expansive bog is packed with cool ancient monuments and long roads to neb at.
We briefly considered chipping up the main road to Oban, but decided to go along Loch Awe as planned.
A landslide at Kilmaha, which had half-buried a cottage by the shore, forced some brief portage, but we found a great wild camp spot under a mighty birch canopy a wee bit further along.
I made brisk ablutions in the nud in the Loch’s waters and we slept the sleep of the damned.
Day 8 – Loch Awe to Mull
We left our birch cocoon to find the weather fair murky as we grunted up the steep climbs along the Loch Awe shore road. The few twisty descents weren’t just rewards for our aching bums either.
Kilchrenan Inn didn’t open until 1pm so, sadly without macaroni cheese, we ate humous in a huff.
Waterproofs then went on and off in the space of a short climb before we blasted down Glen Nant to Taynuilt.
We didn’t realise it at the time, but this atmospheric old-growth woodland is part of the Caledonian Forest Reserve – a very cool spot indeed.
Pancakes procured at a funny wee shop in Taynuilt (“big enough to get stuck on the ceiling”, so said the shopkeeper), we turned westward to take Glen Lonan through to Oban.
The Highland coos lining this road were as unaware of our presence as we were the advancing hour – the greatest haste of our trip came in Oban Lidl, where I did a mad supermarket sweep, just catching the ferry after getting lost in town. Idiots.
Famed for its wildlife, upon landing in Mull, Laura immediately began her role as chief sea otter spotter, though day one on this beautiful island didn’t deliver the goods.
Day 9 – Nosing around Mull
After a well-earned fester in our tent, we rode the fairly busy main drag to Tobermory, albeit on a lightly laden bike.
A generous lunch was taken between looking around shops. I resisted buying a handsome penknife I didn’t need in the tackle shop and we said hello to a nice ginger cat of some repute.
We were lashing with sweat as we ground up the steep braes out of the harbour and onto the windy road to Dervaig.
The drop to the marshy head of Loch a’ Chumhainn was fantastic with wide open corners and excellent visibility. We couldn’t face the extended lap up to Calgary, so cut straight across to Torloisk.
The fierce switchback climb heading south was seriously tough on the tandem but – good grief – that descent!
This was incredible, with wide views down Loch Tuath to Lunga and an amazing dwarf oak forest at the bottom – a real all-timer.
The nice rolling road heading back east didn’t deliver otters, but a favourable wind helped soften the blow to morale.
Day 10 – south Mull
What a ride.
We left the campsite and quickly joined the road along the south shore of Loch na Keal. Passing beneath towering crags, this road is simply astonishing. I dreamed of climbing the chossy gullies above us as hovering crows dreamed of stealing the doughnuts we were eating.
The gentle climb over the pass to Loch Scridain wasn’t terribly taxing, but I still enjoyed a wee snooze in the sun by the shore. A fleeting glimpse of a sea otter rounded out our wildlife spotting for the trip.
A self-imposed time trial to catch an earlier ferry after the incredible pass through Glen More, where my red kip sizzled, was successful.
My dad collected us back in Oban and ferried us home to Crieff, where we rested weary butts before the journey to Birmingham and on to Bristol.
Days 11 and 12 – Birmingham to Bristol
As mentioned, our tandem tour itineraries are dictated largely by which train operating companies permit idiot buses onboard.
Thus, our journey from Glasgow back home required us to ride from Birmingham to Bristol.
Avanti West Coast has faults, but its bike policy is not one of them – our journey from Central to Brum was completely without incident.
Our good luck ended when I led us out of the wrong exit at New Street and into the Bull Ring. This is not an experience I would like to repeat.
Our ride out of town along unfamiliar paths was stress-free. Despite 10 days of sunny riding in Scotland, our pale bonces still crisped in the delightful tropical southern hazy afternoon sun.
I had planned a more scenic route via Stratford to our campsite near Winchcombe, but sair bums demanded a more direct route, avoiding a climb into the Cotswolds.
We were ready to start our day mashing through the baking hot Cotswold horse tundra after a good sleep and an even better breakfast at Hayles Fruit Farm (the Turkish eggs come highly recommended).
Other than a few spicy descents, we don’t have much to report about this part of the world – beyond nice quiet roads and lots of handsome dry stone walling, posh houses and fields dominated proceedings until Tetbury.
Here, we bought two ridiculous stuffed seals from a charity shop – a completely normal thing to do on a cycle tour.
Unwilling to look more daft than we already did, I forced Laura to hide the newly-christened Wanda and Baby in a jacket.
The Fosse Way was as fun as ever and the Bath to Bristol bikepath dispatched without incident.
Caked in grime and with our new pals in tow, we were delighted to be home after a terrific holiday. Here’s to the next jolly.