To Bettyhill

Stage 15: Alness to Bettyhill (76 miles)

It is a bright sunny morning, and after we have had breakfast and packed up we pedal the short distance into town to the CAB office for our 9 a.m. rendezvous. After a brief wait outside, Alison, who is the manager, arrives to open up. We chat on the pavement in the sun as other members of the CAB team arrive. At the same time there is a constant stream of children passing on their way to school. Some of them are intrigued by the tandem propped against the wall and read the sign on the back, others pass with their own little thought bubbles wrapped around them. We are informed that one of the advisors is a cyclist and he is riding in to meet us and be in the publicity photo, so we hold on. Time keeps passing and we are conscious that Bettyhill and the north coast of Scotland still seem to be a long way off, so we do need to get going sometime. Eventually Ewan arrives laid-back on a fully faired banana-yellow recumbent Kingcycle. We all gather together in the morning sunshine outside the CAB front door with both bikes and the banner for the publicity photos.

We say goodbye and set off. The first part of our route takes us back into town and past the B&B out on the road climbing up beside the golf course. Ewan rides along with us for a while and we chat. He is totally committed to recumbents and swears that they have cured all the previous aches and strains he used to suffer from cycling. As well as the Kingcycle he is the owner of a Peer Gynt recumbent trike. We are in fact travelling in the opposite direction to Ewan’s return journey home, so in a short while we part company and he turns off. By now we are above the steep valley side looking down to the River Alness and are expecting to have to lose our gained height in order to drop down to the river and the junction with the A836. It is with some pleasure, therefore, that we find that it is the main road that climbs to meet us instead.

The scenery and sunshine are good as we travel on partly in open countryside and sometimes skirting quite large plantations of trees. We drop down to cross the Strathrory River and clatter over a cattlegrid. While we pause there for a comfort break a fully laden solo touring cyclist passes us heading south. Could he be in the first stages of a John O’Groats to Lands End journey we wonder? From here we are climbing again, at first through dense forest and later above the tree line still gaining height as we are making the crossing to Dornoch Firth. The weather and the scenery are great, and we seem to be climbing without effort – perhaps we really are fit at last!

The tandem develops a mystery rattle from what sounds to be in the vicinity of the rear wheel, so we stop and check everything that might have come lose. I cannot find anything obvious except a rather floppy front lamp bracket, which I tighten gingerly as it is cracked and could end up in two pieces without much provocation. We set off again but in a short while the sound returns. It has a dispiriting metallic sound to it. Mindful of a collapsing freewheel mechanism that wrote off a friends rear wheel on one of our previous trips, we pray that having come so far with no major mechanical glitches we are not about to be similarly struck down. We stop and investigate again. With some relief we discover that the horn, which is held by zip ties under the rear saddle has come loose so that it can rattle against the saddle rails and seat post. I fix it securely back in place. We set off but the “clack clack clack” is still present. We pedal on for a bit trying to work out where it is and then dismount yet again to poke at everything including the various bits of the drive chain from rear mech. to freehub, but with no clear diagnosis. We are not exactly making fast time with all of this stopping and starting so we opt to pedal on again and go in for some serious on board diagnosis – i.e. Sheila leaning over sideways and trying to locate just where this increasingly loud sound is coming from while we are actually travelling. Success at last. She discovers that the rear mudguard has split almost right through at its highest point below and tight against the solid splash plate of the Blackburn rear rack. The two ends are banging against themselves and the rack. Relieved that we have found it at last we stop again and I make a quick temporary fix with some sellotape.

In a short distance we have crossed the highest point and as we begin to drop a spectacular panorama opens up before us, We can see all the way from the sea along the Dornoch Firth to Bonar Bridge and the water of the Kyle of Sutherland beyond. Behind them all is a sweep of highland moorland. The air is clear and in the sunshine Dornoch Firth has an intense blue colour that in a photo would be taken to be rather unrealistically gaudy. Who needs the Mediterranean with this purity of light? We stop to take a photo, and then within less than a quarter of a mile of setting off we turn a corner and find an official viewing spot complete with a plaque describing the view so we stop again. As well as enjoying the view we have a photo taken of the two of us. I also take the opportunity to carry out a more secure repair of the rear mudguard by binding it firmly together with electrician’s tape, which I hope should keep it in place for the rest of the trip.

From here it is downhill all the way back to sea level and Bonar Bridge in a few miles. On the way we stop at the sign that says, “Welcome to the County of Sutherland”. For me Sutherland has always conjured up an image of the large empty landscape and coast of north Scotland so we add it to our County boundary photo collection. Before crossing the new bridge into Bonar Bridge we stop at the visitor centre. There is a well laid out park and picnic area beside the river, together with a display of large lumps of rock illustrating all of the geological variety of Scotland. This is a good place for elevenses so we enjoy the sunshine while we munch our snacks, take some more photos and take the opportunity to use the facilities on offer.

Feeling good we cross the bridge into town and then head out along the banks of the Kyle of Sutherland. We follow the water as far as Invershin Station where we leave the main road and in a short distance turn onto the B864. This small road takes us along through woods on the west bank of the River Shin. We are planning to stop at the Falls of Shin that are rated highly in the guidebooks, and there is no missing the spot. The small and quiet road suddenly opens up into a large car park designed to absorb ranks of coaches. It is completed by a similarly unsubtle café come “Shin Falls Centre”. Clearly we are at a site that features regularly on all of the standard coach trips hereabouts. “At 3 p.m. the coach will stop for 15 minutes for tea at the Falls of Shin Centre – viewing the falls optional” Naively I had thought we might struggle to find the best spot to leave the tandem by the roadside while we scrambled down to the falls. Anyway we used the steps provided. The river and falls are quite pleasant, although not spectacularly different to many similar scenes that anyone who walks in the mountains will encounter. I take a photo of Sheila together with water in the background trying to pay some heed to her instructions of, “Don’t include my chubby legs in the picture”. Cycling shorts make cycling much more comfortable but at our ages they do not do a lot for the figure! Much later after we have returned home I notice in the CTC route notes the phrase “small tea-room at falls quite scenic” I fear mass tourism has arrived since the first CTC intrepid travellers came this way.

From the Falls of Shin our route continues through charming scenery on the B864 until we reach Lairg. On the way to Lairg we pass a very elderly couple with large rucsacs walking south on the road. Later today at the Crask Inn we discover that they are walking from John O’Groats to Lands End carrying full camping gear on their backs. Hardy souls like these, who have probably been drawing a pension for a decade or more, make me feel quite puny. Lairg promises to be the last outpost of civilisation for some time so it is a place for stocking up with supplies. We decide to stop at the Lairg visitor centre for lunch and eat our sandwiches in sunshine at a picnic table surrounded by daffodils.

Our afternoon journey from Lairg will take us through an empty landscape for the next 21 miles to Altnaharra (and that is none too big a place either). We will be climbing all the way to the Crask Inn, but in fact there is not much of a gradient, and in relative terms it is fairly flat as we follow the banks of Loch Shin and then turn to follow the water of Strath Tirry upstream. The wind has freshened a bit however and is blowing towards us from the north-east. We are on a single-track road and use the passing places to allow the few cars and lorries we encounter to pass or overtake us. With the exception of one van they are all very patient and wave in greeting as they pass. The only van that insists on passing at speed throws up a rock that hits the tandem but not us with a clang. Several miles down the road Sheila discover that we are carrying this as extra ballast because it has been caught by an empty bottle cage. We decide that we do not require it as a souvenir and so jettison it overboard. Further along the road we overtake a walker and wave cheerily. He is, however, concentrating on his serious walking style that has the genuine heel and toe and swaying hips gait of the racing walker. He must be on his way to John O’Groats. There cannot be any other reason for his being out here in this lonely spot.

At length we spot the solitary building of the Crask Inn beside the road ahead. Today we are blessed with fine weather but we can both imagine what a welcome place this would be on a wet, cold and windswept day. It must be snowed in for months on end in severe weather. We stop and enter for a drink. We chat to the landlord. A large proportion of his business must be from End to End travellers. There is also a group of South African tourists in the Inn. One of them asks the landlord why it is that in Scotland there are never any bar stools only tables and chairs. Now I know I am short sighted and I might be a bit travel weary, but I am sure that if some foreigner asked me to name the object with long legs and no arms on which Sheila is sitting so that her elbows reach the top of the bar, I would reply a “bar stool”. Anyway they are a friendly bunch who insist on taking a photo of us together with the tandem to add to their holiday in Britain snaps before they leave.

Outside the Inn there is a Sustrans Route 1 sign that proclaims “John O’Groats 80 miles” so we have our photo taken standing beside it. The landlord informs us that it was installed just two weeks previously. We also take a photo including the tandem, hotel and inn sign before we leave so as to record our visit to this famous landmark on the End to End journey.

From the Crask Inn we continue to climb gently for a short time until we pass the Crask itself, which is a small conical hill. It should be downhill from here to Altnaharra as we follow the river of Strath Vagastie, but in fact the gentle gradient is largely offset by the head wind. Nonetheless we make good time as we pedal on enjoying the moorland panorama with mountains flecked with snow in the distance. The river feeds into the western end of Loch Naver, and our road heads briefly to the west through Altnaharra – that has all of ten buildings – before crossing the River Mudale and turning eastwards to follow the north bank of the loch.

The water in the Loch is a deep and vivid blue in the sunshine, but the wind is now a strong north-easterly and it is hard work to pedal into it. The road hugs the edge of the shore closely all the way with hilly land rising to our left and sizeable mountains leading to Ben Klibreck to the south of the loch. For a while the weather becomes overcast and we wonder if we might be in for a rain squall, but it stays dry with clear skies ahead of us. There is, however a dramatic and heavy rainstorm in the distance to the south-east. It is quite concentrated but from the black and yellow appearance of the sky someone is getting very wet. When we reach the end of the loch we turn northwards into the valley beside Strath Naver, which is the river flowing out from the loch to the sea.

Any hope we had that the wind might reduce when we left the shores of the lake was a false one because the valley sides very effectively funnel the wind straight at us. The river and valley are super even if we are beginning to feel quite tired from cycling into so unrelenting a wind. Strath Naver is clearly a very important river for fishing. As well as passing some parked cars complete with racks for a multitude of rods, there are frequent notices about private fishing and from time to time we pass rustic suspension bridges over the river for the use of authorised fishermen only. We pause to take a photo of the river and one of them. A short way further on we pass a sign that is only in German, presumably something to do with a fishing consortium. When we reach Syre we stop for a rest. Syre is a small settlement of just a handful of scattered house, but it boasts a tiny plain tin-roofed church that looks to be a well tended tabernacle. We sit on the grass and treat ourselves to Smarties from our emergency food store. While we are there the school bus pulls up and one solitary small child gets off and heads up the track to a farm. Goodness knows how far away secondary school will be when he is older.

We face up to another push into the wind on the last leg to Bettyhill. On the way Sheila and I have a long debate as to whether we can see the sea ahead or is it just sky with a band of cloud that looks like a horizon. At first Sheila insists it is sky but then decides it is sea and finally so as not to be wrong says that it is both or either.

Eventually we reach some outlying houses leading to Bettyhill and there with no doubt at all is golden sand, sunshine and sea. We have made it from coast to coast at least. It has been another absolutely great cycling day with a magnificent range of scenery set off in sunshine. We have also managed to find plenty of excuses to stop and eat as we go. Near perfect cycle touring. Surprisingly we find that we have maintained an average speed of 14.1mph over the day. This has been our fastest day of the whole trip, so it is no wonder we felt tired after all that pedalling into a strong head wind when we flopped on the grass at Syre for a break. Needless to say about an hour after we arrive the wind completely dies away for the evening.

We follow the road around heading east into the centre of Bettyhill. What centre? There is not a lot to Bettyhill. The pub come hotel, which was our other possible place to stay, looks decidedly shabby and run down. It has a “for sale or lease” sign, but we wonder whether demolition might come sooner than an interested purchaser. There is a single shop complete with some non-working petrol pumps. In short and not to be too rude Bettyhill might have a beautiful beach but as a resort it is a rather shabby non-place. Unfortunately our B&B is in keeping with the town and is the only poor selection of the whole trip. The owners are friendly enough but the towels are meagre, there is an atmosphere of damp and it is none too clean. It is manageable for one night however. We stow the bike in a fuel shed complete with stacks of peat on the opposite side of the road. Our landlady locks the shed door but a reckon I could get through the hole in the door with not too much of a problem.

When we have washed and changed we ask our landlady where we might eat. She recommends a café (the only café). Unfortunately it does not look too good and in any case is firmly closed. I study the map and see that there is an Inn at Strathy about ten miles away. The phone in the call box is working so I phone directory enquiries for the number. A voice with a delightful accent says, “Would that be the Strathy Inn at Strathy?” I phone the Strathy Inn. Yes they do food, but foiled again, the pub is not open at all yet. It is too early in the year! There is only one thing for it and that is to try the Bettyhill Hotel. The interior décor matches the buildings exterior appearance, but we get fed – I try not to think how long the food has been in a deep freeze – and we chat to a couple of locals. As a precursor to visiting the Orkneys I try the “Dark Island” beer. It looks like Guinness, but if tasted blindfold it tastes like, well, rather ordinary bitter. A couple of months later in a pub in York I am surprised to see on a blackboard that the guest beer is “Dark Island” I don’t bother to renew the acquaintance.

Bettyhill to John O'Groats