Outer Hebrides Exploring by Rich & Liz
Day 0, Sunday. No riding today- we met our guides at Balloch and transferred to Mallaig for the ferry to South Uist. On the way we were treated to sight and sound of the Jacobite, a regular steam train service from Fort William to the port. We realised too late that we could have avoided driving up - the timings allow a sleeper service from Euston to Glasgow, which runs to Fort William, change to the Jacobite and then get the ferry. It would have been a cooler start to our adventure to go by the Hogwarts Express!
The sunny ferry ride was calm, arriving in time for a pre-dinner stroll to the beach (white sand, kelp, deserted apart from rabbits and sheep) before overnighting at Lochboisdale.
Day 1, Monday. It appeared summer was over… a damp, grey ride south to the Pollochar Inn and the formal start. In theory we should have crossed to Barra to reach the official Hebridean Way start, but two more ferries for the extra riding was not worth it. We took obligatory group pics by the standing stone and then set off, along the coastal path.
The riding is easy off-road, firm grassy tracks across ‘machair’, the particular sandy, infertile, low lying fields behind coastal dunes. There are three other surfaces, water, rock and peat bog, these often combine to make riding off-road impossible. So a coastal route was sensible and kept us in contact with the sea, accompanied enjoyably by no more than wind in the grassy dunes, shrill cries of oyster catchers and guillemots and a happy but lost dog!
The remains of strip farming, or ‘crofting’, attempts abound, abandoned and with ruins of deserted houses visible at the far end, rusting hand ploughs or vintage tractors slowly sinking into the dunes. The abundance of buttercups apparently signifies a lack of soil nitrogen, so apart from a few valiant attempts to grow wheat, using kelp as fertiliser, we were cycling in a sea of yellow flowers. And the sun had by now reappeared, very picturesque.
We diverted to visit the remains of ‘round houses’. There’s not a lot to see but then they are 3000 years old! Neolithic monuments are scattered along the coast; evidence that a subsistence livelihood has been eked out for many centuries.
Our route took us up the west coast path until a switch to tarmac for the causeway to Benbecula, and that was South Uist complete. Tiny Benbecula was dispatched even more speedily. Sadly we skipped past the only settlement, with a cafe and visitable distillery, but there was another glitzy new still to admire, opening to visitors in 2025, by the road. The radomes and masts of the MoD missile range control (familiar to me as the source of targets in a previous life, but never before seen) were the only other feature of the flat landscape.
Crossing another causeway to North Uist some larger hills came into view, and we wound our way across to the eastern coast. Lochmaddy, once a prosperous herring fishery and now just a small village with a harbour and inter-island ferry, was our destination for the night.
Tourism is vital to the Western Isles economy, so decent hotels and food are almost everywhere, even in villages of under 500 inhabitants. Lochmaddy was no different and my lobster that night for dinner was excellent (and half the price at home). As with many isolated communities, artists seek the solitude and clear light of these islands; almost every hamlet has some form of gallery. At Lochmaddy the arts centre was closed by the time we arrived but a recent installation, over a rickety suspension bridge, of a camera obscura in a replica ‘burial chamber’ made for an interesting bit of tourism. We missed the sea otters shooting tidal currents under the bridge but some of our travelling companions saw them later that evening.
Day 2, Tuesday. If day one was a gentle intro, flattish and easy rolling, day two was looking a bit harder. First up, an early start, down the road to Bernaray for a ferry ride to South Harris. No pressure but it only goes a few times a day… The Celtic gods had presumably been satisfied with our sacrifices - the day dawned cloudless. With little wind it looked like being a warm one (ie above 15 o C!) After an hour at sea, on arrival at Leverburgh on South Harris we realised the
landscape had changed and we were now in the Highlands. Also it was obvious that Harris was a lot more prosperous than the Uists, with many holiday cottages, cafes and a golf course clinging to the hillside above glorious swathes of white sand beaches these islands are famed for. As we struck a route up the west coast road, the sun could not have shone on a better scene with the turquoise crystal clear sea sparkling below as we spun along. A coffee stop near Seilebost beach gave just enough time for Liz to have a short swim. She pronounced it cold! I bravely watched the bikes and our kit, someone had to after all; there must have been at least 18
other people (plus some sheep and a dog) on this mile long curve of sand, and you can never be too careful…
And so the hard work began. We pulled off the road onto a double track, rocky and increasingly steep, known as the Coffin Road. The story behind that name is long, and if it sounds like said track might have something to do with dying, then it does, but not in the way some of our bikes were about to experience. A long, not technical, pull up was rewarded by stunning views back to the beach and the sea, the warm sun bringing box heather out into magenta bloom, the tiny white eye-bright flowers dotted all around, with vetches and yellow bog plants offsetting the
brown peat and there really was no one but our group around. Not even sheep.
The descent had been looked forward to but turned into a bit of a nightmare. The single track was narrow, twisty and frequent rock gardens were good technical fun; the sudden front wheel-swallowing bogs were not and the water bars were vicious. It wasn’t long before the first pinch puncture, and just as one was fixed a second was discovered. A long, but warm and sunny, wait ensued. Off we went eventually and then I screwed up a water bar bunny-hop, slammed the back wheel and poof- all the air went very quickly. It looked no worse than a tyre burp but after much pumping and inspecting and wondering why it wouldn’t reseal, it turned out I’d holed the side wall… so a tube needed. But the bike was covered in peat bog, so a filthy job.
Eventually we rolled into lunch, after the first tube failed and a second one had to be fitted, covered in a unique combination of sticky peat-sealant, grumpy, hot-bothered, hungry and late! I was beginning to understand why so much bike kit is brown these days.
The late afternoon saw us back on tarmac for the ‘golden road’, a long sliver of single lane clinging to the eastern, craggier coast. These roads are common and have passing places, but essentially are just tarmac tracks. The traffic was polite as well as minimal. Drivers go slowly and would stop at a passing place at the top of a hill, to let us finish going up without having to stop the climb, even when there was a closer passing place. The other advantage of tarmac was that we didn’t have to worry where our wheels were going for a bit, so could take in the amazing views. Finally, after what felt like a long day, we rolled into Tarbert, hungry for dinner and a much deserved beer; Skye Gold made an excellent ‘isotonic ale’! Plus of course the
after-dinner tyre change, reseal, clothes washing etc and general bike check, clean and sort.
Day 3, Wednesday. A more typically Scottish day was forecast, and a strong, 20knots North Easterly with gusts of 30knots was going to make progress Northwards hard. Plus lowering clouds settled on dark grey hilltops had replaced the sun, and the rugged geology of North Harris was on full display: rock, lots of it. A stiff climb out of Tarbert helped settle breakfast of eggs royale with locally cured salmon (by the way, the food was excellent, in case I didn’t mention it) with a short respite at Bunavoneader before the second steeper part of the ascent took us up a 3 km climb 200m above sea level, the strong headwind all the way making the climb
on stiff legs no easier and the gradient recalling memories of Sa Calobra on the Tour!
A wind blown coffee / snack pitstop (take your own, there is no cafe) later and we swept down past Loch Seaforth to the start of the day’s off-road trail. A decent more enjoyable climb with a tail wind to the Glen Lacasdail, up to a cairn marking the top of the pass, was completed and rewarded with a stunning view both back and forth, down through a perfect glacial valley, all the way to the sea and Scalpay. Time to descend :-)
This time there was more flow. While the initial plummet didn’t last very long, it had nice sweeping bends and enough lips and rocks to pop off to raise a few smiles. After which it settled down into a rolling loch-side singletrack path, which became pedally but fun pedally with a few punchy, rocky climbs. Sadly another puncture in the group slowed us and we spent a while contemplating the view of white horses on Loch Lacasdail, while sheltering from the wind. But soon we were off again, down to meet the road on the east coast having crossed though the group of hills that form North Harris.
A left turn North again and a steady climb took us up, over a headland and into sight of Scalpay, a tiny island that boasts an impressively large access bridge, where the ferry once was. There is a village with a small fishing harbour and few facilities then the road tracks out to the south east tip. Our destination was the Eileen Glas light house, the first one in the Western Isles; although the current building is more modern (1847), it’s still a really impressive sight. There is a café, in theory, though we didn’t test it.
We returned to the quayside for lunch and found the cleanest public toilets ever-complete with tap-and-go, Apple-pay friendly access (50p a pee).
Returning along our route to North Harris, it was then just a short road leg back to Tarbert in time for a visit to the distillery (Harris Gin or Harris Malt as you prefer), cocktails in the cafe (yum!) shopping at the Harris Tweed and gift shop (very Twee-d) an ice cream and sitting in the sun until dinner. Again, the sea food at the Hotel Hebrides was wonderful.
Day 4, Thursday. Three rides in one day and the promise of more off-road passes made this a potential highlight day. Indeed some groups lose out to weather because the three rides are interspersed by two fast boat transfers across the sea lochs that enable access to the main pass and trails. The gods were still smiling, transfers were go…
We departed Tarbert the same way but peeled west past an old (failed) Norwegian whaling factory and out along a peninsular to Huisinis.
Enroute we rode though the grounds of a stately home once owned by Lord Leverhulme, a mildly eccentric owner of a fortune who blew it on, among other things, trying to build a canal from Tarbert to the west coast of South Harris and a road up the East coast of Lewis. His Bridge to Nowhere still stands and bizarrely floods at high tide, the road was never built.
His salmon fishing garden was more successful though and we saw two large salmon attempting the leap from one rocky pool to the next. How they got up the preceding waterfall from the sea I couldn’t work out but that’s what they do. At Huisinis there was a deserted, lovely looking beach with hot shower facilities for surfers and swimmers but (sorry Liz) we had a date with a speedboat.
Aboard the Rib with our bikes and suitably wrapped up we took a fast 30 minute transfer to Tamnabhaigh. On the way we watched a flight of three heron pass overhead and high above us a sea-eagle wheeled in the grey sky. Offloading onto a rocky jetty by a single very isolated house, now a holiday home, we contemplated the climb ahead. It wasn’t the length (tho it was quite long) or the height (quite high at 263m) but the surface that was focussing. Someone had
thoughtfully covered it with loose gravel and bigger stones. Not an issue for their Land Rover - more of a challenge for us. We scrabbled and clawed our way up in low gear and yet again were rewarded with a big view, both rearward and ahead. This descent was controlled, no one trusting the sketchy surface to provide grip on the corners and, anyway, the view deserved
attention.
A short road link past a statue marking the spot where the famous Lewis Chessmen were discovered took us to Uig beach for picnic lunch, then a crossing of the estuary sands, the distinction between North Harris and Lewis is very faint, a bit more machair where I lost my front light (grr) and on road through a steep-sided, canyon like valley, all the way to our next Rib at Miavaig.
Boat transfer two was warmer with two seals, multiple guilimots, shags and oystercatchers spotted. It dropped us at Callanish, where we visited the standing stone circle and burial ground. Somewhere between 4000 and 5000 years old, we were lucky to be there late in the afternoon without hoards of tourists. It felt suitably remote, desolate and vaguely mystical. Smaller than Stonehenge or Avebury, it’s still an impressive sight, helped by the rugged ancient backdrop of sea lochs and hills.
A final leg took us up and along the main Lewis road (there are only really three) to
Doune Braes - our next overnight stop.
Day 5, Friday Oh dear- what did we do? Probably failed to sacrifice a rabbit or something at the
standing stones… summer has been banished, the Gods are not pleased. Rain, heavy rain. Oh, and a North wind. So a headwind into driving rain for our final day. All 60km of which bar a tiny section was to be on tarmac. Oh well… pump up the tyres, head down, plug on…
Luckily we didn’t have far to go until the first distraction. A partly standing Broch, a sort of round Martello tower like structure but Neolithic not Napoleonic! Thought to be a fortified farmhouse for those with higher status in a tribe, they had double skin stone walls to keep the weather out and heat in, but 4000 years ago. Onwards… to weather distraction two. The blackhouse village at Carloway is a collection of the old traditional style of thatched roof single story Croft cottages. We huddled inside near the softly burning peat fire, steaming slightly and listened to the description of the use of the loom. Harris tweed is a cottage industry, literally, all the weaving is done by individuals in their cottages or outhouses. The museum house is set up as it was when the owners left, in 1964, amazing as its really not that long ago.
Head down… plug on. A huge arch looms ahead…in a garden…what? Turns out to be the jaw bone of an 80 foot long blue whale that washed up with a harpoon in its head over a century ago. After no one claimed it, the crofters harvested it; the barrels of oil and meat a very welcome gift in a subsistance farming community. The whale’s lower jawbone, weight 4 tonnes, was dragged up to the village and mounted as an arch in the local leaders garden. It’s still there with the fiercesome harpoon hanging from the tip. A very welcome respite at a community centre cafe followed - just enough time to steam dry a little. Good cakes- nom. Hot chocolate fail - ‘ thar wa non a the boot, ee hadden had nee for weeks noo, thars island life fer ye’ - which I think translates to ‘out of stock’. Great coffee though. Back outside…head down … plug on… through a deserted, barren and not lovely landscape, peat bog stretching as far as can be seen in all directions and nothing but the road in it. Amazing how the simple absence of sunlight can turn starkly beautiful into grimly desolate.
Head down… plug on, to the next landmark - the 20 foot standing stone (allegedly the largest in Scotland) at Ballantrushal. I can confirm it’s big. We speculated what it was for: Hmmm … overlooking a bay, near a settlement… I guessed a navigation mark for early fishermen, only to be denounced as not being nearly mystical enough. Oh well- if you want mystical don’t ask an engineer…
Brief rain distraction five: a detour down to the beach and along a final section of machair, a small nav faff, a bridge crossing with hand rails designed for people and bikes before 800mm bars were a thing, and a bit more sand, a lone fisherman and his dog (as friendly as they all have been) and back onto the road again… via a herd of the biggest cows I’ve seen. Luckily more intent on keeping their patches of grass dry than worrying about plastic clad idiots on bikes in their midst.
Head down… plug on. By now thoroughly soaked though (Mr Gore your jacket is NOT 20000mm waterproof) and the lunch stop appeared. We were at the top end of Lewis nearly, in the last inhabited part, Ness. But bizarrely more inhabited than anything we had seen in the preceding 350km. Why!?! It’s the least attractive area we had been. No shortage of peat for the fire, but otherwise no explanation for choosing this bit to live in.
The community centre here fed us hot soup and a plate of sarnies, even offered marshmallows for the hot choc. Hurrah. The attached museum was interesting, the WW1 Centenary commission of a series of portraits of islanders who didn’t return was a little haunting. Especially the compilation portrait of locals who perished in the Iolaire disaster, where every family on Lewis lost a member among 205 casualties of the ship sinking while carrying returning servicemen on New Years day 1919. They drowned 20 metres from land, and less than a mile from their homes, having survived 4 years in the trenches. The weather seemed fitting.
Time to complete this ride then. A final push for 7km and we reached the lighthouse
at the Butt of Lewis.
356km done, over 4000m of climbing. Over half of it was easy single lane road rolling, if mostly into wind and with plenty of undulations. The off road sections were interesting relief and provided some challenge but not amazing trails from a MTBer’s perspective. And for anyone thinking of it, no, they are NOT gravel bike friendly. Though as an on-road bike touring/packing destination, the Hebrides are a dream; we saw plenty of people doing just that.
Anyway, trail centre thrills were not what we came for, we came to explore and see at cycling pace, with the option to leave tarmac and go into the interior, and to become acquainted with this wild extremity of Britain. The Hebrides is a place where everything human is familiar yet the environment is alien. Where on a sunny day it looks like the Caribbean and on a wet day it looks like the moon. Where almost no one lives, yet those who do survive in an environment so unlikely to support human settlement it’s genuinely incredible to think it’s been settled since the stone ages. There are other places in the UK that count as wilderness, but whether they feel this remote is debatable and there even fewer places you can ride from one end of to the
other and be so welcomed, well fed, so surrounded by wildlife, yet completely alone, and - importantly- safe on a bike. And, rainy gloomy days aside, it’s a genuinely beautiful place to ride.
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