Possibly the hardest day of the whole pilgrimage.
I started my day with a very tasty chocolate and sour cherry porridge from TentMeals. My first time with this one, and it was really tasty. Its warmth was welcome too, as in contrast to the hot an sunny Sunday, Monday dawned damp and chilly, with atmospheric low cloud hiding most of the heights of the hills above the shores of Loch Ness.
The climb up out of Foyers was not as difficult or as long as I had feared. Mind you, compared to the previous day, there was nothing on the map for the rest of the pilgrimage that should hold any fear for me. The problem was my legs.
Despite taking ibuprofen and doing my best to cool down, rest, and warm up the next morning, my knees and the lower parts of my thigh muscles were very painful. Anything beyond a roll downhill or a gentle cycle along the flat would quickly tire and then hurt my legs, and I could consistently only manage about three miles between breaks.
I had some encouraging conversations with fellow cyclists, a number of whom were quite concerned about me - I must have looked a bit of a sight! Gradually I made my way along the Loch shore, from rest stop to parking place to village. The road undulated gently, through beautiful forest with good views that the northern shore route reputedly misses out on.
Some of the stops were genuinely tempting for wild camping spots. There’s clear signage when this isn’t allowed, and plenty of spaces where there is no such injunction (the default law in Scotland (at least for now) is that wild camping is permitted).
After about my third stop, when it was clear I was struggling, I had a couple of conversations with family and friends who reiterated the advice of the priest the previous morning. Listen to my body and to God, be kind to myself if I need to stop sooner, and yet don’t just give up. It’s a pilgrimage, not just an endurance event - even though it can be challenging, it should be prayerful, not painful.
I decided to balance my needs by opting for a hotel at Inverness instead of my planned campsite, and to take an additional day there for recovery for my legs. Clearly I had pushed too hard the previous day and needed to be gentle with myself.
I booked a room for two nights at the Royal Highland Hotel, at Inverness railway station. It is a clean and fairly well appointed hotel, but also one of the cheapest in the city (especially if you’re willing to take a little twin room in the attic). I did attempt a little sop to my pain, by messaging the hotel to ask if they knew a taxi firm who could pick me up if I wasn’t able to make it. Typically, from the moment I sent that message, I lost all mobile data signal.
The end of Loch Ness is one of those strange ones where it ends quite suddenly and almost invisibly, at least from the south shore. One minute I was cycling along, with views of the water stretching away both east and west, apparently without end. Then after some misty forest I was passing through Dores, joining the main road, and the Loch had ended. Instead, the Glen was opening out into a wider, gentler land.
As the road increased in busyness, the cycle path began to deviate from it more frequently; on tracks, beside fields, and onto minor roads (with a higher preponderance of potholes). For the last stretch down to Inverness, the road was a mile shorter than the cycle path, but the road was busy with some quite heavy traffic. On consulting the Google maps cycling directions, which quite helpfully includes an elevation chart, it was clear that both routes were almost entirely downhill, so that that extra mile could be undertaken without any additional physical cost. I therefore made the sensible decision, and chose the safer route.
From well-constructed rural roads, the cycle route quickly became suburban and then urban estates, gently descending into more and more city-like landscapes. Soon I was amidst completely typical city-centre roadworks, and before I knew it was moving onto pedestrian/cycle zones of the city centre, and making my way across the road to the square in front of the railway station.
Immediately on arrival, a member of staff appeared at the door, took one look at me, and said, “you made it, then!” She was very glad I hadn’t had to call a cab, and congratulated me effusively. It was her opinion (and I think she was right) that even if it was difficult at the time, I’d later appreciate having completed the Way.
We had a lovely conversation, talking about sabbaticals and camping and pilgrimage in these not-quite-post-Covid times; although not a person of faith, she remarked about the opportunity after so long that she had taken to camp at Dornoch. It was a holiday where she was surrounded simply by space and calm and the natural world, and she said she now understood the concept of a retreat for the first time.
We packed the trike away into the hotel luggage room, and I made my way up (by lift!) to the third floor (the fourth floor for my friends from the USA). My little room had two single beds, a low camsile, and a desk. It also had an en-suite shower with fantastic pressure. It also had the first bilingual English and Gaelic doorknob sign I’ve come across. This probably shouldn’t have surprised me, as Inverness does style itself ‘the Capital of the Highlands’ and it was at the hospital chapel here that I first attended a bilingual English/Gaelic church service.
The room may have been a little stuffy, and the corridors and staircases smelled of railway stations, but to me it was luxury.
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