Family cycling on the Outer Hebrides

There was a strange murmuring as we entered the bar.‘That’s them.’ It was spoken by lips hidden behind raised pint glasses. Others silently pointed us out with raised eyebrows and secret nods, while those at their table tried to think of a reason to turn and look at us without being obvious.

‘Evening,’ I said with a smile to the barmaid.‘So you must be the nutters who are cycling with the kids then.’ And the whole bar broke into laughter, relieved that she’d said aloud what they’d all been thinking. News travels fast in the Outer Hebrides, even between islands, and our journey against the wind with a three and a one-year-old child on the backs of our bicycles had been moving faster than we’d been managing to pedal. The Outer Hebrides, aka the Western Isles, are a chain of islands stuck out in the Atlantic Ocean off the west coast of Scotland, and are as wild a place as you’ll find and still be able to claim you’re in Britain.



Dolphins, seals, otters and golden eagles live here year round and are joined in the summer by tourists and a mass of migrating birds, including the often heard but rarely seen corncrake (whose call, frankly, sounds a little bit like a chicken being strangled). Stepping off the sleeper train from London into the morning drizzle of Inverness, with some heavy bags, my wife and our two children, I felt relatively relaxed and was glad we’d chosen the green travel option. We could have fl own to the islands via Glasgow, or driven, but as we planned to cycle from one end of the islands to the other, the logistics and lack of need for a car had made the train a good option. A short walk to the bus station, via a café for a full Scottish, saw us take the 1½ hr bus journey to the village of Ullapool, where we boarded the ferry to Stornoway on the Island of Lewis.

I’m not the best at sea, and even though the sea wasn’t rough on the 2¾ hr crossing, I started to feel a little sick and went to get some air, leaving my wife and kids in the boat’s soft play area. As I lent against the handrail feeling much better, with the cold sea breeze and light rain striking my face, I watched guillemots and razorbills take flight or dive below the surface as the ferry approached, and with Stornoway in sight, a pod of dolphins joined us for a 10-minute play in our wake before disappearing back into the depths from which they’d magically sprung. Sometimes feeling sick and needing a little air can work out rather well.

Most people who cycle the Isles start in Barra and head north, so as to exploit the often prevailing south-westerly wind, but we were due to start in the north and head south, something I was going to live to regret. This was because the only company who would rent us bikes with child seats, and allow us to drop them off at the other end of the island chain, 120 miles from where we’d picked them up, was in Stornoway. An avid cyclist will aim to complete the route we’d planned in a few days, but we’d given ourselves 12, sleeping at each stop for a few nights, allowing time to explore the local area and thus only ever having to cycle 20 or so miles between each accommodation.

After an initial day’s ride to see the amazing standing stones of Callanish, seeing a golden eagle en route, and a day heading south through the Isle of Lewis, we came to our fi rst, if not the, main challenge on our route, the hills of Harris. Harris and Lewis are really just one large island, and as you pass the sign saying welcome to Harris you are greeted with the mountainous border that naturally splits this island in two. As I sweated up the seemingly never-ending series of switchback turns my son, obviously bored by our lack of speed, started to push me in the back as if helping me up the hill. I tried to explain that if he fancied getting out of his seat to push it might be a little more helpful, to which he answered with a chorus of ‘Incy Wincy Spider’, which while not too helpful did seem to stop him from digging me in the ribs. Halfway up, whilst we were taking a breather, a couple on high spec touring bikes (without kids on the back), headed down the hill at full speed, passing us with a nod as they sped northwards.



Spurred on by the thought of reaching the summit and zooming downhill towards the town of Tarbert, we continued our climb. As we reached the summit my joy was short lived as the wind we’d been sheltered from, stuck me in the face and turned the child seats into a sort of air anchor. We battled on, at one point on a slight downhill still needing to pedal against the wind to stop from going backwards, until we finally made it to the steep descent into Tarbert, and all four of us screamed with joy as we flew downhill.

We’d planned every aspect of our journey, from transport times to accommodation, with the help of Hebridean Hopscotch, an agency in Stornoway, and where they’d not had availability, I’d booked a few nights independently. The one thing that hadn’t been finalised was how to move our luggage. The bikes we’d rented had child seats and because of their design couldn’t take panniers too, which was actually a relief, as carrying a child on the back is heavy enough, thank you! There is only one main road which runs down the length of the islands and is serviced by a fantastic bus service, a true lifeline for many of the islanders. Mainly the buses are small 12-seaters, and sometimes even the post van, which has room for six people, doubles up as a bus. We’d planned to use the buses to transfer our bags and after initially getting lucky with off ers of help from locals, we found ourselves waiting with the kids strapped into their bike seats at the slipway in Tarbert for the bus south.

‘So you want me to take your luggage to Sorrel Cottage B&B, and you’ll not be coming with it?’
‘No, we’re going to cycle.’
 ‘With the wee bairns?’
 ‘Yes, the kids love it. The youngest spends all day singing or sleeping. So, can you take the bags?’
‘Yes, no problem, I’ll drop them off with the owner, and if she’s not there, I’ll pop them round the back.’

Every time we needed to move the bags the bus drivers would happily take them, often going out of their way to be helpful, placing them in the unmanned ferry waiting rooms or rendezvousing with B&B owners to transfer luggage into their cars, and almost always refusing payment. Can you imagine asking someone in London to take your bags to a public waiting room? If you were lucky enough to get someone to agree, by the time you arrived they’d either have been stolen or blown up by the police.

Shortly after climbing out of Tarbert, we turned off the main route south, and took the longer Golden Road, which was one of the trip’s highlights. It’s a stunning road of rolling twists and turns through sleepy fishing communities, which, before the road was built in 1897, were only accessible by sea. The landscape is mainly smooth grey bare rock, part-covered with lichens, and interwoven with patches of bog grass and heather and the occasional brilliant purple of wild orchids: it reminded me of southern Greenland.

Before crossing the Sound of Harris to North Uist we spent a day on the huge and deserted bone white sand beaches on the west of Harris. Over time the Atlantic has thrown ashore a vast quantity of lime-rich sand, made of seashells, which has nullifi ed the otherwise acidic peaty soil, making an almost unique environment for wild flowers, known locally as machair. The carpet of colour against the backdrop of the white beach and crystal-clear turquoise sea should entice coach after coach load of tourists, but thankfully due to its isolation, we spent the day alone in our very own idyllic paradise.



Not to be missed on North Uist is the RSPB reserve at Balranld, which offers possibly the best place to see the elusive corncrake. We didn’t manage to see one, but we heard several, and on our way there we followed a short-eared owl as it swooped across the fields. North and South Uist are connected by causeways with
the small island of Benbecula between them. The Uists are supposed to be the flattest part of the ride and while yes, there aren’t any large hills to climb, I challenge anyone to find a truly flat bit of road more than a few feet long. They’re also often battered by winds and it made for tough going on the bikes, as the south westerlies still hadn’t eased, a fact which almost made me weep when, on one wet night, the only place to serve dinner in the village where we had our B&B said they were only open to residents that evening.

‘Ok, right, so where is the nearest place we can get something to eat?’ ‘Six miles south.’ Six miles may not sound far, but a 12-mile round trip on bikes in the rain and wind with two young children after an already long day in the saddle made me think ‘I wish I had a car’. So after booking a table for the following night I went to leave, explaining to my three year old that in fact we weren’t going to eat just yet and we were going for another adventure on the bikes, at which point his screams of horror brought the proprietor running out with, ‘So you’re the
couple with the kids and bikes, I’m sure we can fit you in somewhere. Can I get you a beer?’ You’ve just got to love the way news travels on the islands.

Our last stop was the small but near-perfect island of Barra, which has a little of what’s great on all the islands in one spot. The Barra Beach Hotel is a great place to fi nish with its amazing 70s shabby-chic style and great food. It’s easy to cycle the island’s 13 miles long loop road which makes for a great ride in itself; a worthwhile detour is to cycle out towards the island’s airport, where the runway is literally the beach (the flight schedule is dictated by low tide) and sit and watch a plane land and take off – the amazing silver beach on the opposite side of the sand dune spit is the perfect place to sit and wait for one to appear!

However it was on Vatersay, a tiny island joined to Barra by a causeway, on the day before our ferry back to Oban and the mainland, that my trip was made complete. The four of us sat on the machair, looking out to sea eating a picnic and watched as an otter swam towards the shore carrying a large crab, before vanishing amongst the rocks. I crept with my son, Jacob, to near where we’d last seen it and we sat silent. Whilst unable to see it, we listened as it crunched its way through the crab’s shell.

‘Wow.’ said Jacob, and I really didn’t feel I needed to add anything else.

Follow Pete’s travel adventures @pcsnowboard


FOOTNOTES...
Outer Hebrides


GETTING THERE
Stornoway, Benbecula and Barra can be reached via Inverness and Glasgow (Barra-Glasgow from £55 single.)

AIRLINES www.Flybe.com

RAIL SERVICES Caledonian sleeper London-Inverness, Oban-London (www.scotrail.co.uk). Seat from £19 single; bed from £117 single.

FERRY (www.calmac.co.uk) Hebridian Hopscotch ticket #8 £32.50 /adult bicycles free; £138/car

BUS Inverness-Ullapool (www.ullapool.co.uk)

When to go

CLIMATE
Often wet and windy, but can change very quickly.

SEASONAL INFO
April to September, but June best for the flowers.

WHERE TO STAY
Caladh Inn Stornaway B+B double room from £95 (www.caladhinn.co.uk).
Harris Hotel B+B double room from £98 (www.harrishotel.com).
Sorrel Cottage Leverburgh
Bonnieview B+B North Uist (a working croft)
Barra Beach Hotel B+B double room from £96 (www.isleofbarrahotel.co.uk).

TOUR OPERATORS
Hebridean Hopscotch (www.hebrideanhopscotch.com)

USEFUL CONTACTS
www.visithebrides.com
www.visitscotland.com

AT TOP TIPS
You can camp for free anywhere, so take a tent. Take full waterproofs for the kids and a waterproof poncho that goes over them and the whole child bike seat.

MUST DO
Stay at the Isle of Bara Beach Hotel, visit west coast beaches on Harris, take the Golden Road and, if time, go sea kayaking