‘But what’s the point in going up a stupid mountain in a stupid cable-car?’
‘I bet the views are brilliant from up there. You’d get to see all the mountains and lochs.’
‘We’ve seen nothing but bloody mountains and stupid lochs for the last few days. I think I’ve seen enough of them, to be honest. Also, look at the sky. It’s going to chuck it down soon and we’ll have wasted loads of time pissing about up a stupid mountain.’
‘I thought part of the point of this trip was to do fun things along the way, too?’
‘Yeah, FUN being the operative word. There’s nothing FUN about going up a big hill for no reason.’
‘Why are you in such a bad mood today?’
‘I’m not. I would rather just get cycling. I want to get to John O’Groats.’
I wasn’t that bothered about going up the mountain either, to be honest, but I was enjoying riling Ben, so decided to continue. The ticket office was closed, and a sign with the opening hours showed that we had ten minutes to wait, which made Ben even more furious.
Once it had opened we explained to the lady in the ticket office that we were hoping for a free gondola trip in order to fully appreciate Scotland, and other such bollocks.
We were asked to wait and two very attractive ladies soon approached us and introduced themselves as Katrina and Sarah from the marketing department.
‘We’d love to be able to allow you up the gondola for free, but looking at the state of your bikes I don’t think it would be a good idea to cycle back down the mountain,’ said Katrina.
‘Oh sorry, you misunderstood,’ I choked. ‘These bikes aren’t even good enough to go along roads, let alone a mountain. We just wanted to go up the gondola, have a quick look at the view and then come back down IN the gondola.’
‘Ok. That’s a relief. Absolutely, it’s well worth doing. The scenery at the top is amazing. Especially on a clear day like this,’ said Katrina.
‘We’ve got a couple of these Ski Scotland t-shirts for you, too,’ added Sarah.
‘I bloody LOVE Scotland,’ said Ben as we boarded the gondola. It’s amazing the difference that a free t-shirt and a couple of good looking girls can make.
‘Shit, this thing is fast,’ said Ben sarcastically, as the gondola set off up the mountain. ‘It’s like being on Nemesis at Alton Towers.’
‘It’s a cable-car, not a rollercoaster, you idiot.’
‘Wow! Look at the views! They are like sooooo amazing. Look there’s some grass. And there’s a hill. This is the best day of my life.’
‘Stop being a dick. We’re not at the top yet.’
‘Actually, I admit that this is pretty cool. I’ve never been up a cable car before. It’s much better than I was expecting,’ he said, almost sincerely.
We were the first people up the gondola after it opened, which meant that we had a completely unspoilt view. A patchwork green carpet stretched as far as we could see. That was a metaphor for what the forests and fields looked like from above, by the way, not some Scottish sewing experiment.
The landscape was interrupted only by the many lochs, and the town of Fort William down to our left.
‘Happy you came up here?’ I asked.
‘It’s alright, I suppose. Anything beats cycling.’
We wanted to stay and soak up the views for longer, but we had places to go, and people to meet. Also, it is bloody cold and windy on the top of a mountain in a pair of silky shorts and a t-shirt.
We retraced the road back to the A82 and then followed it uphill to Spean Bridge, where we stopped briefly at the Commando Memorial; a bronze statue to commemorate the elite commando unit who trained in the area during the Second World War. We then descended to the shores of Loch Lochy – surely the most excellently named loch in Scotland.
Like Loch Ness, Loch Lochy also has its own mythical creature living beneath its surface. Her name is Lizzie. There have been many reported sightings over the years, but Lizzie has always been overshadowed by the legend of her big sister Nessie just up the road.
We stopped for a rest at the Bridge of Oich, and I was disappointed to discover that the area wasn’t a hangout for hooded youths, as the name implied. In fact it was a beautiful cantilevered suspension bridge, built in 1854 and designed by James Dredge, don’t you know?
It was 1pm, so we unpacked our lunch. The schoolboy memories came flooding back as we tore open the carrier bag to see what the chef had given us.
‘Yeahhhh,’ said Ben. ‘Good ‘ol chef. This is a proper packed lunch. Ham and cheese sandwiches, a yoghurt, an apple, fun-size Mars Bar, Dairylea Triangle and a carton of fruit juice. Perfect.’
We borrowed a tin opener from a nearby café and then supplemented our lunch with the cold baked beans that we had been given in Patna.
We stopped at a pub near Fort Augustus to fill our water bottles, and Ben went to dispose of our lunch wrappings in a nearby wheelie bin.
‘There’s a whole bunch of bananas and an unused loaf of bread in that bin,’ said Ben when he returned.
‘Really? Do they look ok?’
‘Yeah, they look perfectly fine. Shall I go and take them?’
‘Definitely. Perhaps you should ask in that shop, just in case, as the window looks out onto the bins. It might be a bit weird if they saw you scrounging through their dustbin.’ Ben skipped back across the road and entered the shop. He emerged a few minutes later with four yoghurts.
‘Those ladies were well lovely,’ he shouted from across the road. ‘They said we could have these yoghurts as they go off today.’ He reached into the bin to retrieve the bread and bananas, and skipped back across the road.
The bananas were slightly bruised but otherwise fine, and the bread had only just reached its best before date. We ate a banana and yoghurt sandwich there and then (try one, before you judge me) and kept the rest for later.
Loch Ness had promised to be another highlight of our trip. Unfortunately, it didn’t quite live up to our expectations.
The A82 (yes, still that same bloody road), sits fairly high up the hillside and not along the shores of the loch as we had expected. The views are also fairly restricted because of a barrier of vegetation, wall, fence or field. It was slightly underwhelming
Just then, we saw a disturbance of the surface and out rose a giant serpent like creature. Its huge body rippled out of the water behind it, as it glided effortlessly through the loch. It must have been about 30 feet long, and I’m fairly certain it smiled just before it submerged again into the deeps.
I may have made that last paragraph up. Such is the fame and legend of the Loch Ness Monster, though, that every visit to Loch Ness is likely to be a disappointment. Even for the most sceptical unbeliever, there must still be that small element of excitement on seeing the Loch for the first time, that maybe, just maybe, a mysterious creature might poke its head out of the murky water right in front of your eyes. Then the realisation hits you that there is no monster, and it’s just a lake. And a fairly unremarkable lake at that.
The one exception along its shores is the magnificent Urquhart Castle. The splendid ruins sit on a rocky outcrop by Loch Ness. Despite its ruinous state, it remains an impressive sight and the castle has had a fascinating history. It is not known exactly when it was built, but records show a castle on the site from 1230, with a fort previously occupying the spot from as early as the 6th century.
The castle became an important stronghold in many battles and has changed hands several times, as the Scots battled for independence. It is now owned by Historic Scotland, and the only things that are fought over these days are the postcards in the gift shop.
We had a stroll around the site and another look for Nessie, from one of the viewing areas, before rejoining our beloved friend the A82, which we had been following for over 130 miserable miles.
The pretty village of Drumnadrochit - which I still don’t know how to pronounce - sits two-thirds of the way along the loch, at the point where we finally left
the A82 and headed north.
Drumnadrochit is the most popular tourist centre for Loch Ness and boasts a couple of rival Loch Ness museums. One of them – Loch Ness 2000 – has a giant fibreglass Nessie in the car park. We had to stop. With a name like Loch Ness 2000 it promised to be a museum of the future.
The gift shop was manned by a silver-haired lady, but was otherwise empty. Absolutely everything for sale was Nessie shaped, had ‘Nessie’ written all over it or was tartan. Some were all three. The lady didn’t really understand the concept of our bike ride, but agreed to let us have a look around the exhibition free of charge.
It really was one of the strangest museums I have ever been to. And this is coming from someone who has visited The Pencil Museum in Keswick. Although seemingly a permanent exhibition, all of the ‘Entrance’, ‘Exit’ and ‘Toilet’ signs were written on bits of paper, in pen, and sellotaped to the doors as though they had been made the day before. Perhaps this is how the museums of the future will look.
The exhibition itself consisted of an eclectic mix of framed photos of OFFICIAL sightings, documentation that PROVED Nessie’s existence and a half hour video featuring EXPERTS confirming that Nessie did UNDOUBTEDLY exist. Various scientists also gave scientific PROOF that the monster was genuine. I was more of a believer in the Loch Ness Monster before I visited the museum, than I was afterwards.
We ate another banana sandwich as we perched on the wall in the car park. It was 6.30pm and we debated calling it a night, but we (I) decided to try and reach the slightly larger town of Beauly before dark.
We left Drumnadrochit on the A831 before turning off onto the A833. The next three miles were some of the toughest of the entire trip. The road climbed very steeply and The Falcon’s lack of low gears caused problems. Even in its lowest gear it required a huge amount of force to complete one rotation of the pedals. I was determined not to be beaten by the hill, so persevered. Ben, on the other hand, with his endless number of gears, decided to dismount as soon as he caught sight of the hill.
‘Bollocks to this. I can’t be bothered to cycle up,’ he said.
‘You loser,’ I panted. ‘I... will... not... be... beaten... by... a... hill.’ I made it all the way to the top without stopping, but Ben had beaten me by several minutes and he had walked the entire way.
‘You’re such a stubborn idiot,’ he said. ‘Well done. What have you proved by doing that? You were slower than me and you’ll be ten times more knackered.’
‘It’s a... it’s a... good... sense... of... achievement,’ I said, collapsing onto the verge to try and ease the pain in my thighs.
‘Do you have a sense of achievement?’
‘None whatsoever. Just pain.’
We were rewarded with an easy nine mile descent, past fields of inquisitive Highland cattle, down into Beauly. On the outskirts of town we called into Lovat Bridge Camping and Caravan site, but the lady who ran the place – despite being very pleasant – was unable to help us out.
It was almost dark by the time we reached Beauly, and we received two rejections from B&Bs on the main street in quick succession.
The impressive looking Lovat Arms Hotel dominates the main street, and we knew we were pushing our luck when we entered. After a long chat with the friendly manager, he informed us that they had no rooms available, but if we were able to find somewhere else in town to stay, we could come back for a free meal that night. This was almost a better reward than somewhere to sleep.
We chatted to a coach driver who was parked up outside the front of the hotel. He was staying in Beauly overnight as part of a coach tour and was checking on the bus before dinner with his group of oldies.
‘Any chance we could sleep on the coach tonight?’ Ben suggested. ‘We wouldn’t dirty the seats or anything. We’d just sleep in the aisle.’
‘Are you serious?’ he asked. ‘You’re that desperate you would sleep on the bus?’
‘Completely.’
He thought for a moment.
‘Well, I suppose you could. I can’t see a problem with that. I’ve just got to pop into the hotel to get the keys. Back in a minute.’
‘Nice one,’ I said to Ben. ‘You’ve blagged us a bus.’
‘It’ll be like we’re the Famous Five or something. Only there’s just the two of us, and we don’t have a dog.’
‘Errr, yeah, and I don’t think the Famous Five ever slept on a bus, either. Otherwise it’s just like that.’
‘I’m really sorry, guys,’ said the coach driver when he returned. ‘I’ve had a think about it and I’m not going to be able to let you sleep on the coach, I’m afraid.’
‘Oh, ok,’ I said dejectedly. ‘Can I ask why you changed your mind?’
‘It’s for insurance reasons, I’m afraid. I remembered that I’m not covered for people staying on the bus overnight. If it was to catch fire or something I would be held responsible.’
‘We promise not to start any fires,’ said Ben.
‘It’s still a no, I’m afraid. I’m really sorry that I can’t help you out.’
We tried at another B&B just off the main street, but were politely refused. Further down the main street we reached the Caledonian Hotel; a slightly shabby looking hotel/pub. The lights were off, but the stairwell was lit and we could hear the noise of a television from upstairs. Assuming that the reception was upstairs, we made our way up and opened the door. A dog began barking frantically and a lady, who was sat on the sofa in the dark, shouted at it to be quiet.
‘Excuse me, we’re really sorry to disturb you,’ I said hesitantly.
‘Och jesus christ ye scared th' life out ay me. Ah didne hear ye come in. Ah wondered whit Rufus was barkin' at.’
Ben and I both had a sudden rush of panic that we had walked into someone’s living room. The lady was sitting on a big sofa in the dark, watching TV with a dog on her lap. It’s not the usual set up for a hotel reception.
‘I’m really sorry,’ I said, ‘we didn’t mean to scare you. Is this the reception for the hotel?’
‘Och aye, ye could say 'at. Are ye lookin' fur a room?’
‘Yes, well sort of.’
‘IAIN!’ she yelled. ‘Will ye come out here please. We've got customers.’
Iain emerged from another bar at the back of the room drying a pint glass with a tea towel. He was a giant of a man; at least six foot tall, with a pub landlord’s body. He was in his sixties, had a white moustache and patches of curly white hair on the sides of his head.
‘What can I do for you two gentlemen?’ he asked, in a voice far more gentle than his appearance suggested. He smiled as we explained our challenge.
‘I’m sure we can sort you out with a room. We’re not too busy tonight. In fact, you’re the only people here. I’ll get Cathy to show you to a room.’
The room was absolutely fascinating. It would have looked very posh ‘back in the day’ - perhaps the early 1970s. Everything from the floral print wallpaper to the bed covers, the carpet to the radio/alarm clock looked like it was unchanged in many decades. I loved it. It felt like we were staying in a museum.
After a quick shower and change into our new Sunday Best – the Ski Scotland t-shirts – we walked back up to the Lovat Arms Hotel. The manager seemed a little surprised to see us back, but was happy to honour his word and found us a seat in the restaurant – tucked away in the corner hidden from the eyes of the respectable paying guests.
It was an amazing meal; steak pie with delicious chunks of beef, thick gravy, a light puff pastry lid and chunky chips. But the highlight for me was the vegetables. Carrots and peas have never tasted so good. Not that they were particularly special carrots and peas; just that vegetables of any sort had been almost absent from our diets since we started.
If a nutritionist had analysed what we ate during the bike ride, I think they probably would have concluded that we should not be alive, let alone fit enough to cycle. I read somewhere that beige food is bad for you. Almost everything we ate was a shade of b
eige; bread, pasta bakes, chips, pasties and bananas. Anyway, all I’m saying is that peas and carrots taste unbelievable if you only eat beige food for 17 days beforehand. Give it a try.
The Caledonian Hotel was buzzin’ when we returned. By that I mean, that there was another person in the bar. She seemed to be a regular as she was sat on a bar stool and deep in conversation with Cathy and Iain.
‘Thanks again for letting us stay,’ I said as we passed the bar on our way to our room.
‘Aren’t you going to stay and join us for a drink?’ asked Iain.
‘But we…’
‘Ah don’t worry about that, I’ll get you both a beer,’ he said.
Two hours, four pints and two ‘nightcaps’ later, we were still at the bar. The lady – Susan, I think her name was, as my memory of that night is slightly hazy – was a permanent tenant of the campsite we had called at earlier. Since her marriage ended, she rented a mobile home at the site, worked in a factory during the day and drank in the Caledonian in the evening. They were all great company, and Ben and I were made to feel very welcome.
I looked up the Caledonian Hotel on the internet after our trip, and was staggered to read the reviews. Out of 18 reviews, 12 of them rated it ‘terrible’. Here is one such review:
‘This hotel is without question the worst hotel in the world. It smells of stale beer and cigarettes as soon as you walk in the door. The staff are rude and equally as smelly. Avoid this hell hole at all costs. You would honestly be better sleeping in your car!’
The Caledonian was, without a doubt, one of the friendliest and most unique hotels I have ever stayed in. If you want a modern, featureless hotel, then the Caledonian is certainly not for you. If, however, you fancy a slightly different experience, where usual hotel policies don’t apply, then I would wholeheartedly recommend it.
Free Country: A Penniless Adventure the Length of Britain Page 28