Round the rugged rocks

There’s a storm coming. Any hope that the weather, and in particular the wind, would have changed overnight disappears as I step out of my motorhome into a brisk breeze that is, somewhat depressingly, coming from the direction of the only road out of Scourie. Setting off the sky is blue, but a few kilometres in and heavy clouds have gathered ominously overhead.

Almost immediately the road starts to climb for a short distance before dipping back down, only to rise again, stunting my speed and setting what will be the pattern for the whole morning. Despite the adverse conditions and undulating terrain I ride with a sense of joy that takes me back to my childhood, an innocent freedom that comes from just being on my bike, wheels rolling and eyes feasting on the world around me.

The road cuts between great slabs of fractured rock before sweeping down to Loch a’ Chàirn Bhàin, where I’m broadsided by crosswinds that threaten to force me off the road. My presence startles a stag hiding in the dense heather that covers much of the land around me as once again the road rears upwards, revealing the sort of view I’d expect to see on a biscuit tin.

In the foreground is Kylesku Bridge curving gracefully