Day 14

Route: Drumnadrochit to the Crask Inn

Distance: 72 miles

Time: 5hrs 05min

The head rattling, bone shaking effects of Jerry’s snoring has become part of our nocturnal routine at this stage of the trip. Initial attempts to drown out the ‘heavy breathing’ consisted of ipods firmly shoved into ear sockets (Jack Johnson the anti-snore soundtrack of choice)or regular sharp jabs into the side of the White Van Man are no longer needed by us hardened cyclists. The same cannot be said of the poor German Couple who had the unfortunate luck of landing beds in room 4 of the Loch Ness Backpackers on the night of August the 19^th. Consequently our morning bowls of porridge were eaten under the steely glare of the bleary eyed hill walkers, whose sleep has been much disturbed by the rouge White Van Man.  Udder cream applied, bikes checked (tyres not pumped, as previous attempts by Jerry have resulted in flatter, in fact flattened, tyres) we set off, warned to expect a ‘hilly’ to start the day by one of Joss’s friends who lives locally. It was quite a steep hill in fact and a bit of a shock to the thighs and calves after a day of gently rolling loch side terrain. We arranged to meet Jerry in Bonar Bridge to refuel at lunch, fifty miles from Drumnadrochit, an easy feat for our now Tour de France style physiques. We were treated to some stunning views as we sped down to the gleaming White Van Man, calor gas lit and tea at the ready. Camillo ate, and provided a tasty lunch time treat for the resident Bonar Bridge midge clan. The lads took a post lunch snooze whilst Katy hit the road, impatient as ever,  to be quickly overtaken by the boys who left a good 20 minutes later. The roads got steadily quieter, narrower, and bumpier as we headed towards our one and only night of B and B luxury of the trip –the Crask Inn, twelve miles from Lairg on the road to Altnaharra. It happens to be the only thing on this road too. Jerry, who has visited this popular stalker spot previously, described it as fairly quaint and eccentric. As we walked into the bar with its roaring log fire, the sounds of an accordion blasting from the tartan bedecked living room and navigated our way around the twenty five strong local accordion society on their annual hurrah throwing back sherry and tenants in the bar, it became quickly apparent Jerry was spot on with his description.  The support crew (Mum and Lilly) arrived in time for afternoon tea accompanied by Looby (Jerry’s sister).