Thursday 9th June 2016
I think we had all slept well after last nights frivolities in the Tartan Tavern. There were a few boozy heads around the breakfast table as we discussed the plan for today. Unfortunately, we were loosing one of the clan this morning. Eric had to return to work tomorrow. We all said our goodbyes, and he rode off towards home just after breakfast.
Today would be a day away from the bikes. Most of the guys had arranged to visit the Oban whisky distillery for a tasting tour this morning. This would be followed by a sealife and wildlife trip on a RIB around the local coastal waters in the afternoon.
Mark, Daz and I were hoping to hire some bikes from the local cycle hire shop, and explore the area at a slightly slower pace. But, we wouldn't know if there were any cycles available until the shop opened at ten.
We were waiting outside the cycle shop when it opened. It turned out that Daz knew the owner as he used to work at a shop in Kendal, before moving to set up this shop in Oban. The shop was small with what appeared to be very limited stock. Our chances of hiring some bikes looked slim. But, out the back was a lock-up workshop where the hire bikes were kept.
They had mountain bikes for hire. A couple of medium framed Specialized Rockhopper Sport 29er's were found for Mark and I. Daz being a giant of a man, was being harder to accommodate. Apparently a group of exceedingly tall D of E students had hired the bulk of the larger framed bikes. However, as the owner knew Daz, he offered to lend him his own personal beast of a bike.
When Mark had suggested hiring some bikes a few weeks ago, I thought it sounded like a good idea. Little did I know that Mark and Daz would do their best to try and kill me today! The first signs should of been when they produced their own spd pedals and fitted them to the bikes. I had just brought my flat street trainers. With the bikes ready, we were lent a OS map with some suggested routes marked on it. We then went back to the hostel to change into our cycle gear.
I changed into my mountain bike shorts, shirt and my trainers. The other two looked like ready for the Rio Olympic trials by the time they were ready. Daz and Mark then fitted their Garmin cycle computers so that they could upload the ride data to Strava when they get home. I quietly browsed the map fearing the worst. We then set off through the centre of Oban, heading for our first destination, of Kerrera.
Kerrera is a small island just off the coast from Oban. There are no roads on the island, just a few marked trails used by hikers and cyclists, and a small café where you can replenish your energy stores. Getting across to the island involves taking a short ferry ride from a jetty just out of Oban. We followed the road signs for the ferry, choosing to stick to the tarmac for now. As we arrived at the jetty, we had just missed the ferry. At least it would give me a chance to get my breath back.
I usually commute to work covering about 200-250 miles a week on my lightweight road bike, and then ride another 50 miles or so on a Sunday with a few mates. I like to think I have a decent fitness level. But, riding a mountain bike this morning has got me out of breath already. And, we have only ridden two miles.
After a few minutes the ferry is back. We get ourselves and the bikes aboard, and start our 200 metre journey across to the island. The price seems a little steep at £5.50! Chatting to the guy on the ferry, he tells us that it usually takes about two hours to circumnavigate the island. The fast, fit riders can do it in about an hour.
Once off the ferry, we hit the trail and headed off around the island in a clockwise direction. The trail was a mixture of loose gravel, and larger stones. It was fairly easy going to start with a few little jumps and puddles to add to the fun. After about a mile, there was an old abandoned tractor on a beach. Next to the trail, a tourist information sign explained all.
The tractor was a remote control cable installation unit. It was developed to practice cable laying techniques during WW2. The techniques developed here went on to be used for laying communication cables across the seas to Europe and the various islands in the Atlantic.
The trail continued and started to gently climb as we worked our way passed the few hikers that had made the journey over from the mainland. Then as the trial turned inland, we hit the first of the steeper sections. Mark and Daz raced off to the top. I quickly realized that I couldn't match their pace, so I just made my way to the top as best I could. It was hard work, and I was breathing heavily as I crested the summit. It was then a gentle run down to the café at the SW corner of the island.
There were a few people at the café. We carried on as we had only been riding for about twenty minutes. I took a drink of water from my backpack and pressed on after the two pros. The trail became a mixture of steeper up and down hill sections, crossing a few streams with makeshift bridges. Then once to the end of the western section of the island, things got steeper. Much steeper.
I managed to ride the first third of the next hill. With my heart pounding out of my chest and my lungs fit to burst, I watched Mark and Daz casually pedal off up the mountainous trail like it was barely there. I walked my bike the rest of the way to the top, hoping a paramedic team would be standing by to deal with my impending cardiac arrest. After a brief rest and a drink once at the top, we all carried on.
The next section was more steep hills and gated sections to separate the livestock. I managed to cycle this time, summoning some inner strength so as no to appear as the complete lardass I actually was.
The guy on the ferry was surprised to see us back so soon. The water passing under the ferry looked so inviting and clear. It was now pretty warm and a nice cooling dip would of been very welcome. Once off the ferry we hit the trail back to town which climbed up the cliff overlooking the Loch far below.
After about a kilometer it was clear that this was not the well used trail we were led to believe it was. It had quickly become an overgrown singletrack, used more by the local sheep than the passing tourist. It was unrideable in places and we were forced to fight our way through the grass while pushing the bikes. But, we made it through the worst of it and followed the track back towards the road which was now in sight a hundred metres below us.
Daz led the way as the trail now ran through a narrow tree lined section. It was a combination of bits that were rideable and bits where it was safer to walk. It was riding one of these sections when my front wheel slipped off the edge of the trail, throwing me over the handlebars as it got caught on a tree stump. I landed flat on my front on the only flat piece of ground in the area. If I had landed anywhere else I could of really hurt myself on a tree stump or similar. I got up and brushed myself off to a soundtrack of Mark in fits of laughter. In between the laughter I did eventually hear him ask if I was alright!
With no bones broken, I retrieved my bike from the undergrowth. The bushes had stopped the bike and myself from falling down the cliff edge. A few metres further on I could see just how lucky I had been, as the cliff just fell away. With slightly more caution, we all continued on. Eventually a set of very steep log steps led us back down to the road. Here I gave myself and the bike a proper look over to check for any damage. Apart from a bashed left knee, all seemed good.
We all rode back into town where we decided to take one of the other routes marked on the map. This would take us to Connel where we would try and get some lunch. It was ten miles, on country roads and was part of the National Cycle Route system. It was a nice ride through some lovely countryside. But, the route consisted of lots of hills. There wasn't a flat section along the ten mile route, and I was spent by the time we got to Connel. Mark and Daz had barely broken into a sweat. I stopped at the Post Office shop and raided the fridge of cold sugary drinks to replenish my energy.
The local hotel bar was recommended to us for lunch, which we found at the end of the street. The place was full of ladies from the local WI, having their bi-weekly lunch. We ordered some sandwiches and drinks, and I asked for some ice for my sore knee. The bar lady brought me over a towel full of ice as I was "such a brave little man!" Mark and Daz were equally sympathetic!
With hungers satisfied, it was time to work off our huge lunch by tackling the road we had arrived on in reverse. We took our time as the sun was blazing down. I didn't find the going as hard on the way back, and we arrived back in Oban again at around 2pm. As the bike didn't have to be back until 5, we took the road out of town along the bay, to see where it would take us. It was beautiful along this stretch of road. Sandy beaches, ruined castles, and no traffic. I didn't stop to take any photos. I just soaked up the place into my memory banks.
Eventually the road ended at the beach in Ganavan Bay. I was ready to turn back, but the two pros convinced me to ride with them along the cycle path that started from here and headed out into the countryside. The signs warned of steep hills. " They won't be that steep". Mark would soon eat his words, as three hundred metres into the ride a monster of a slope appeared. Using the lowest gear we all just made it to the top. The path continued as a rollercoaster of smooth tarmac, weaving through the countryside, eventually joining the A85 about five miles out of Oban.
We chose to ride back into town along the main road. Daz and Mark helped me out by pacing our little peleton, and allowing me to sit in their slipstream for a bit. The holiday traffic was steadily building up behind us but we didn't care. The final mile into town was all downhill, and I freewheeled back to the shop never wanting to see a mountain bike again. I'll stick to riding my roadbike on the flat coastal roads of Essex.
After a long, well earned shower and a change of clothes back at the hostel the three of us headed into town for a beer. It was still hot and sunny so we tried to find a pub with outside seating. This led us to "Spoons" where we camped out for a while. There was lots of attractions of all ages on view, which helped the time pass until all the others joined us with tales of their adventures on the high seas.
I got to bed just after eleven and was out like a light as soon as my head hit the pillow. Knackered, bruised, sunburnt, and having survived a near death experience. It had been a brilliant day.
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