The long haul
The morning arrives with the ashen skies that are becoming a hallmark of my time in Scotland. At least today the air is calm so I shouldn’t have to deal with the headwinds that have punished me for the past three days.
An eerie silence fills the glen as I turn my back on Eilean Donan Castle and reluctantly begin pedalling, accepting that it isn’t a matter of if it will rain but when. The steely waters of Loch Duich are strangely still, disturbed only by the occasional breaching fish sending ripples dancing across the surface.
I notice a lone fishing boat anchored a little way from the shore, tired-looking with teal blue paint flaking from its hull and old tattered nets hanging over the side. Aside from the occasional car headlight shining through the gloaming, the morning is lifeless and grey as I skirt around the loch. A volley of rain does little to help the sombre mood, its intensity sending sheets of water cascading across the road. Not for the first time I regret not packing shoe
