Page 24 of A Summer of New Beginnings
12
Day two began with a bacon sandwich from a little van on the campsite. It was almost the best thing she had ever eaten. And on realising that she chastised herself.Of all the places you’ve been and all the exotic fare you’ve eaten this simply cannot be the best thing you’ve tasted. Come on, Zara, get a bloody grip.
Once washed and dressed she tried to pack up the tent. She fought with itfor around five minutes trying to remember how the hell it fitted into the tiny pouch but in the end stuffed it in as best she could. It didn’t resemble, in any way, the package she had purchased and she hoped it didn’t make life difficult at tonight’s stop. She logged onto her tablet and typed up notes on her first day’s experiences whilst they were still fresh in her mind, and then eventually shewas ready to embark upon another day of cycling.
After checking her itinerary and map she loaded up the Silver Dickhead, straddled it and left the campsite. Today would be over sixty miles and she would encounter some very steep climbs. One of which was the notorious Bealach na Bà, or Pass of the Cattle, which was apparently a gazillion miles above sea level – well, just over two thousand feetin reality but it might as well have been a gazillion miles. And as per the instructions on her itinerary she stopped at the village shop and stocked up on water and food.It’s a good excuse to eat chocolate. The calories are blooming necessary!
The tarmac before her meandered away like a curly line drawn by a child and disappeared round mountainous corners painted grey by the igneous rock itwas composed of. Round every turn another view presented itself proudly, as if trying to convince her that it was the best yet. She hadn’t wanted to be impressed but was failing to remain ambivalent about her surroundings. Suddenly all the things that Josh had said about the outdoors made a little more sense.
As she cycled she sang in her head to take her mind off the aching in her muscles. Songof choice for this leg was ‘I’m Gonna Be (500 Miles)’ by The Proclaimers. It seemed apt and it was catchy enough to help her keep up a good cycling rhythm. Although after ten minutes of cycling uphill some of the lyrics had changed to swear words and there had been several unkind references to Silver Dickhead.
‘Why can’t you be motorised, eh, SD? Why can’t you make this easier for me? But moreto the point, why the hell do I keep talking to you? Ugh!’
She inhaled deeply and, instead of exhaust fumes and cigarette smoke, cool, fresh, clean air filled her lungs. The sky above was blue but there was just enough cloud to cover the sun’s rays.Better for cycling,she surmised. Every so often she was passed by vehicles with bikes strapped to the roof. And she’d expected to envy the peoplein their safe, little, fast-moving, metal boxes; but what surprised her was a little dash of sympathy that she felt for them. Okay, they had air conditioning and would get to their destinations faster but they couldn’t enjoy the fragrance of the trees and the slight salty tang to the air.Poor people.
The feeling was short-lived.
The road climbed higher and higher and her heart pounded, notonly with the exertion but the fact that the road fell away steeply to her left, rather unnervingly so. She had to make several stops and at one point got off to push.
‘Come on, Bailey,’ she said aloud, past caring who might hear. And with a wobbly voice she sang, ‘I will not cry for five hundred miles,’ as her legs throbbed and nausea overtook her. ‘And you, you dickhead of a bike, I want youto know I hate you. There. Now you know.’
By the time she reached the Bealach na Bà viewpoint her legs were painfully tight and aching, she was sweating profusely and she was breathing heavily. ‘How the hell did I think cycling round bloody Peckham Rye Common would prepare me forthis?’
One of the cars that had passed her was there, its occupants now standing in the fresh air, snapping photographsof the vista that lay before them. Although she was absolutely shattered she took out her phone and snapped some of her own. A strange feeling of euphoria at her achievement made tears well in her eyes and she had to wipe them away. The view really was spectacular.There’s that word again.The sky was clearer now and you could see all the way to Skye in the distance and even further beyond. Shepaused and just stood, silently taking it all in.Breathtaking… absolutely breathtaking. Every person at the viewpoint in that moment was evidently feeling the same. A contented silence fell over the strangers.
She glanced to her left through the fog of tears and a man with a strong German accent informed her, ‘I come to Scotland many times. This view. It gets me at my heart every single occasion.’He patted his chest and Zara thought she could see tears glinting in his eyes too. She nodded and smiled, unable to form words.Wow, so it isn’t just me feeling emotional, then.
After munching on a chocolate bar as she enjoyed the scenery, she climbed back on the bike ready to make the descent to Applecross. The name alone sounded idyllic and she found her stomach fluttering in excited anticipationof her arrival. The fact that it was downhill all the way pleased her even more.
‘Come on, Silver Dickhead, we’ve got this bit!’ she yelled as she set off, freewheeling. But within seconds she was wide-eyed and screaming like a lunatic, trying to get her feet back on the pedals. ‘O-o-o-oh, my Go-o-o-o-o-o-o-od! I’m going to di-i-i-i-i-i-i-i-i-ie!’ Silver Dickhead clearly was getting its own backfor her verbal abuse as she hurtled down the road towards death and the little village in the distance. ‘I want my mu-u-u-u-u-u-u-um!’ she shouted, thankful that no one was around to witness the terror ride she was now unable to disembark. There was a reason she never went on scary rides at the fair.
Thankfully she managed to find the pedals again and pulled over to catch her breath and givethe bike a swift kick before climbing on once more and finishing the descent at a more appropriate speed. A row of white cottages lined Shore Street, which faced the inner sound; their views over to Raasay must have been a wonderful sight to wake up to every morning. Once again Zara was taken aback by the clarity of the water and was so tempted to take off her shoes and dip her toes in.
She noticedone of the cottages had a To Let sign in the window. It was a double-fronted building with two dormer windows creating an upstairs space. She wandered over and read the poster that showed images of the inside. She could imagine sitting by the front window on her laptop, finishing the novel she had always wanted to complete but never had the time. These days the incomplete story was confinedto the memory stick that accompanied her everywhere,just in case.
Being an author had always been a dream of hers. But she knew it was something that would likely only happen when she perhaps retired. There were not enough hours in the day in her current life, let alone hours she could set aside to write for pleasure.Maybe one day…
*
Another hilly road took her along the stunning coastlineand she made a couple of stops to take pictures and make notes and then continued along the peninsula round to another picturesque village called Shieldaig. By this time she was craving coffee and so she stopped off at a coffee shop that faced Loch Torridon. It was called The Coffee Shack but in no way did it look shacklike. It was a very modern building with large windows that made the most ofthe view. An old wooden door was attached to the side of the building with the name painted on it. She made her way inside and ordered a coffee to take out. The man behind the counter was very welcoming and friendly. He wore a badge with the name Jim.
‘Let me guess, you’re doing the North Coast 500,’ he said as he made her drink.
She smiled. ‘Under duress, yes.’
‘Oh? That’s not usually theresponse I get.’
‘Yes, well, I work for a magazine in London and I’m here writing an article on the route because the original journalist left, meaning it was down to me.’ She rolled her eyes but kept her smile in place.
Jim smiled in return and raised his eyebrows. ‘Oh, right. I’m familiar with London. Lived there for a while when I was first married. But I guess the pull of home was too strong.I couldn’t stay away.’
‘So you and your wife relocated?’
He nodded. ‘Aye, eventually. This place… well, the Highlands in general… it gets under your skin.’
She was still a little bewildered at the prospect of anyone leaving the convenience of London, but couldn’t deny she was warming to the Highlands. ‘I bet it’s a great place to bring up children,’ she said, noticing a photo of the man anda blonde woman with two children behind the counter.
He turned and glanced at the point her gaze had fallen and grinned. ‘Oh, that it is. My wee ones love the beach.’
‘Can I ask a question?’
‘Fire away,’ Jim said as he placed her coffee before her on the counter.
‘Why is it called the coffeeshackwhen it’s not exactly a shack?’
He chuckled. ‘Before you leave, nip through to the little hallwaywhere the toilets are. You’ll see the photos that show the old building. Believe me; the word shack definitely fitted its original form. We bought it as the shack and ran it as a business for a while but we’ve expanded it quite a bit, as you’ll see.’
Wow, so people do choose to make lives for themselves here, regardless of the remote location,she mused. She paid for her coffee and, as suggested,she went to look at the photos. The little shed-like building that had stood on the spot years before bore no resemblance to the current one, but it was incredibly cute. The door that was fixed to the side of the modern exterior was the original old door and she thought how sweet that they had kept it. She could see immediately why the man had bought it, even at the small size it had been. Hehad clearly made a wonderful life for himself and his young family. It intrigued her and she made a mental note to write something about it in her article; even if it was only to point future north coasters to The Coffee Shack for refreshments and a warm welcome.
