I was up on Eigg for Lost Map’s Howlin’ Fling festival – you can read my review of it up on the Morning Star website [1]. This blog post is about what happened after I left, covered in midge bites and having enjoyed all the island’s many tourist activities (amazing music festival, rocky outcrop walk, massacre cave etc).

Last time I left the island, I headed north, for Skye and beyond, This time, I took the low road, making my way across the Ardnamurchan peninsula, then across the Sound of Mull to Tobermory and then home.

After saying goodbye to my friends, who were taking the sleeper back to “London”, I cycled off, tired and slightly sad but also happy to be alone. It’s a funny thing. I love people, and talking to them and finding out about them and marvelling at them.

I also struggle to be around people for too long, and need to be on my own for a few hours to recharge and process and just be strange and isolated. But the latter is always bittersweet.

Fortunately I had hills to distract me. Nothing too serious, as my road followed (and, occasionally, went under) the West Highland Line and afforded me occasional views of the island I had left, framed by the hills of Rum, Eigg’s more whimsical sister, poking up behind.

I turned off the main road just before Lochailort station, and cycled around the south side of the Loch, passing multiple camper vans as I went. They all seemed set up for the night already, each lay-by and plot of loch-side grass taken up with vehicles with tents and sleeping spaces erupting out of them like plastic midge bites.

I kept going, through a light summer shower, wondering if I’d be able to find somewhere far enough away from other humans to sleep soundly.

Until, just outside Glenuig, I sighted the perfect spot from the road: a rocky outcrop, the kind you could imagine Captain Kirk fighting an alien lizard creature underneath, fronted by a perfect, raised platform of grass facing the open sea.

I quickly set up camp, facing my tent towards the sea. Two English walkers appeared from nowhere, and warned me about tics, before disappearing off along the road.

From my tent, I could look back towards the island I had left, and it slowly merged into the horizon in the setting sun.

With tent set up, I had a frugal dinner of cheese and oatcake, before cycling the five minutes to the village pub, the Glenuig Inn, where I was greeted warmly by the local barflys, who explained the Covid vaccine was a scam.

Next morning I took my time getting ready, trying to make the most of the beautiful spot I had stumbled upon. But I was low on water and the sun came up hotter than usual, so I set off for the breeze and to avoid entropy.

The next hour or so was a lovely if tiring ride, up from Glenuig and deeper into the Moidart peninsula, crossing the river at Ardmolich and starting to wonder when the next shop would come, for my water supplies were low. This being western Scotland, not the Sahara, death wasn’t imminent. But water is still a nice thing to have, from a continuing existence perspective.

The answer to the “where is the next shop” conundrum turned out to be the buzzing metropolis of Acharacle, a gaggle of shops and houses on the south bank of Loch Shiel.

I bought a pie, a Diet Coke, and a mint magnum ice cream from the Spar, and pushed on, up the steepest hill of the day, and then back down to Salen, turning right at the pub for the road all the way to Kilchoan and the ferry to Tobermory.

This was the most beautiful stretch of the whole journey. To begin with, the narrow road hugged the coast, beautiful and wooded after the desolation of the Moidart.

I stopped for a rest on a rock overlooking Loch Sunart and a young woman walked up and said hello. It turned out she worked at the local Glenborrodale nature reserve as a ranger.

We talked about wildlife, and Eigg, and community buy-outs, and nature, and walking, and home. She’d been working there since March but this was the first time she’d walked the perimeter. I sat on my rock a bit longer, and then pushed on.

From here the road gradually made its way up the hill, away from the shore, after passing Glenmore Bay. The view opened up for a beautiful view of the Bay of the Pledges – what a name – and then followed the ridge up, up towards the higher land in the middle of the peninsula.

The landscape turned wild and open once again, and I was grateful for the multiple passing points on this narrow road, so I could stop, have a rest, and let faster vehicles pass me.

The afternoon was pushing on, and I belatedly gave up on making the last ferry to Mull, which departed at 4:45pm. I wish I had made this decision sooner – I wasted an hour on pointless indecision. Sometimes you just have to let the your body decide for you.

Finally, I reached the highest point, and was rewarded with views back north, towards the land I had already covered and, in the distance, Eigg, Rum, and the hyperactive mountains of Skye.

I realised this was going to be my last view of Eigg on this trip, so I stopped a while and took it all in.

The road down to Kilchoan was just reward for all that climbing. Swinging around the peak, I saw a ferry out in the sound, though whether it was the one I had missed of one of the many heading to the outlying islands, I will never know.

I booked myself in for dinner at the pub, then rushed to the campsite, as the coast here didn’t look as tempting for wild camping as the night before.

The campsite was lovely, but a bit of a culture shock: my plot was hemmed in on both sides by enormous tents, families, and SUVs. It was like camping in a car park, and after the beauty and isolation of the previous two days, it felt like too much.

The midges didn’t help.

I was up early the following morning to get the first ferry to Tobermory, which boarded at 7:55am. I cycled down to the bay to see it on its way in, and the family from the tent next to me ahead of me by the gate. They were off for a day of whale and bird watching.

I felt bad for silently resenting their noise and massive car: they were very friendly, and the dad was clearly a full-on bird nerd.

I am always happy on ferries. I can’t explain why.

Tobermory was still half asleep when I arrived. It’s most famous for a children’s television program I have never seen, and pretty enough, though predictably clogged with tourists. I took a short walk, had a square sausage bap and my first coffee in a week, and moved on.

My ferry back to the mainland was in three hours or so, and I planned to take it slow, tired from the previous day’s exertions. Plus I had no idea what kind of road it was: slow or fast, hilly or reasonable.

Fortunately, the steep ascent out of Tobermory was the hardest climb of the day. From there, the road largely hugged the coastline, and I was so early for the ferry I was bumped up to the previous departure — unheard of. I exchanged pleasantries with two fellow tourers – though their bikes had motors – while we waited to board.

One was a Welsh train driver based in Scotland, part retired, and cold from choosing a sleeping bag that was too thin for the wind. The other was a Japanese lady from north London, who was touring the whole of England and had just got back from doing the same across Switzerland. One of them referred to my bike as a “push bike”, which I love.

The train driver was a former road cyclist who had to give it up after hip surgery. As always, I am amazed by the people I meet when out on these adventures, and their stories and their lives. Every time I talk to someone, I suspect this isn’t all a holodeck simulation.

But Oban was the end of the road for me. I was tired, and needed to sleep in a bed, and found one that night, in Glasgow, via the train, with Anna and little Emmy.

Less than two days later, I find myself in Bristol with a cat, writing this all up and missing the simple pleasure of the open air, beautiful landscape, and having somewhere to travel to and legs just about up for the challenge.

[1] My editor has published a picture of me and Miki from Lush at the top of the article, which I find a bit embarrassing. I sent so many lovely photos of the actual bands!