Saturday 6 July: Arran to Kilmartin
I am woken up by the sound of rain lashing on the windows. It doesn’t just rain in Scotland, it lashes (especially on windows). I am relieved in a way, as there won’t be any chance of paragliding in this weather. I go to breakfast and am served by a man wearing gloves; perhaps I am staying in the Arran centre for hygiene fetishists?
As I set off north following the east coast, the sun comes out. Arran is in the record books as having the least sunshine in the British Isles. Two fine days now, it will have to be careful or it will lose its rather dubious reputation.
A long climb to the top then a glorious downhill run. I hurtle down, bouncing and skidding over the bumpy wet road. I realise that I probably couldn’t stop quickly if I had to; scary and very exhilarating. As I pass by, I am accompanied by the sound of outraged screeching from some peacocks in the fields alongside the road. I am yelling with laughter as the lovely scenery flies by like a speeded-up film. The sun is out, the sea is sparkling away on my right and I speed down to the ferry at Lochranza.
I get there about twenty minutes before the ferry is due to leave. As there is a nice-looking café/tea room just opposite the jetty, I decide coffee and cake would be really welcome. I notice that there is a boat with a ‘For Sale’ sign on it just outside, so when the coffee arrives, I ask the lady who serves me if it is her boat? I discover that not only the boat is for sale but also the café and the house, for £***! and she names a figure that would just about buy a one-room flat in an unfashionable part of the outer London suburbs. She asks me anxiously if I think this is too expensive? As it includes a fully fitted café, a boat and a two-bedroom house, it seems like a very good bargain. She asks if I would be interested in buying it? She and her husband want a quick sale as they have just bought a hotel in Rotorua in the Cook Islands. She says the business here is totally seasonal, eight months a year, and that the locals do all their baking, then the café owners go touring for the rest of the year. The conversation is ended by the arrival of the ferry, and I get onto it feeling that by contrast, I lead a rather dull life in and around London traffic jams. I don’t think running a café would suit me – or would it?
My mood of doubt is soon dispelled. I get off the ferry and have a steep exhilarating ride uphill: Loch Fyne shining on my right, heather and hills on my left with buzzards thermalling above me, with enviable skill. Perhaps they’re looking down thinking ‘look at that poor man stuck to the ground’. A couple of lines from a Spike Milligan poem comes into my head: ‘While man with reason bright as day / Forever treads the earthbound clay’.
Sadly, on an A road (the A83), but it isn’t too busy. I stop for lunch in Tarbet, which is a smashing harbour town. The fishing boats are in and the whole town is full of flags and bunting; it is carnival day. I lock up my bike, buy delicious fish and chips and sit and eat them, watching stalls being set up and little boats cruising the harbour. They even have a bagpiper.
A young American couple dressed in cycling gear appear, and ask me about my route. How many miles am I averaging a day? I say about sixty or so, and they say they can only manage about thirty. As they are both in their twenties and look a lot fitter than me, I find this hard to believe. They show me their bikes and I realise why their mileage is so low: they are carrying everything, including I suspect the kitchen sink. Tents, pots, pans, cooker, gas, sleeping mats, sleeping bags. They have huge panniers on their bikes at the front, the back and on top. I have been paranoid about carrying anything but the minimum of light gear. I ride away with a sense of relief and get some relatively easy miles done.
At about five o’clock, I find a large pleasant-looking house advertising B&B in a village called Kilmartin. They have a vacancy, so I book in. The B&B is run by a man and his wife. We chat and he shows me his immaculately restored Jaguar, then his 26ft sailing boat. I ask what he does for a living? he is the village postman! I find a restaurant next door and have a look at the menu, then compare it to the pub’s food, perhaps that would be cheaper? It isn’t, so I decide to go to the restaurant. As I go in, I notice an American woman and her two teenage daughters – I saw them earlier and said hello. Amazingly, neither of the daughters is wearing tooth braces!
OK meal, then I go to have a look at an ancient churchyard next to the restaurant. It contains a lot of ornately carved gravestones, showing knights in full armour with swords and shields, and some very bizarre-looking wild animals. How did people know about these then? some of the gravestones date back to the thirteenth century.
The pub seems like a real local so I go in for a pint. It is very full of people all enjoying their Saturday night drink and making lots of noise, so after a quick drink, I leave for some peace and quiet.
© Jim Anderson, 2025
Jim Anderson 