After a day of rest, my legs felt hugely better. I had had a bit of a lie in, then wandered the city and did my laundry. In the evening, I’d eaten a very nice curry from Sam’s Indian Cuisine in the city centre, then gone for a walk up the river and through the lovely Ness Islands.
On my way back downstream, I had seen games of Iomain (shinty) and football being played at Bught Park, very near where I would have been camping if not for the hotel stay.
The River Ness is surprisingly wide, shallow, and fast-flowing as it passes through the city, and I pictured and filmed some of the rapids. I found myself wondering whether any of the water now flowing past me had been in the Lochs the river flows out from as I had passed them over the last few days.
A second good night’s sleep, and I was again on my trike, heading north. Getting out of the centre of the city was easy enough: the cycle routes in Inverness are good and clear. What was less good was that, on reaching the Kessock Bridge, I found the cycle and footpath on both sides of the bridge closed with a sign saying ‘diversion.’
Unfortunately, there was no indication of what the diversion may have been: the Beauly Firth must be crossed to go north, and the Kessock Bridge is the only crossing east of Lovat Bridge, 13 miles upstream. I felt like complaining that a diversion isn’t really a diversion if there is no actual diversion route to follow, but I reluctantly decided to just get on with it. Somewhat against my better judgement, therefore, and taking my life into my hands, I joined the dual carriageway across the Kessock Bridge (50 mph limit).
Having crossed the bridge undamaged (but rather high on adrenaline) I was very thankful to rejoin the off-road cycle way, where I met two cyclists heading south from John o’ Groats, one of whom was heading for Lands End.
The route paralleled the A9 for a couple of miles before splitting at Redfield. The main “Route 1” heads north to Dingwall and along the north shore of the Cromarty Firth. I decided long ago that I’d far rather head northeast across the Black Isle (not really an island but a large peninsula between the Cromarty and Beauly Firths) to Cromarty itself, where there is a tiny seasonal ferry service to Nigg on the Tarbat peninsula.
As I cycled along this very beautiful “Isle,” I was amazed to find I was making great time. The plan had been to stop for the night at Rosemarkie, about half-way up the peninsula, but despite only leaving Inverness about 10.30, I was at the junction above there by lunchtime. So I pressed on to Cromarty, reasoning that every mile cycled today would make tomorrow easier.
I’d originally allowed for three days to get to Dornoch, and with this progress it was looking more like two days, which was great as I had of course ‘lost’ a day with my resting at Inverness.
I reached Cromarty at 3 o’clock, and chatted to Sarah as I waited for the tiny ferry (capacity for one car plus foot passengers and cycles) which runs from 8am to 6pm in the summer months, taking 15 minutes each way. As we spoke, Sarah planted the idea that I might be able to reach Dornoch, although I was concerned that that would make for a very long cycle - something close to 50 miles rather than the 20+ I had managed each day between Fort William and Inverness.
As I sailed across the narrow mouth of the Cromarty Firth, I was struck by the contrast that is always present there: surrounded by beautiful wild nature and the gentle rolling fields of the Black Isle is the maintenance of the giant machines of the North Sea oil industry. There must have been eight platforms moored in the Firth for work that day, along with the massive construction and maintenance ship, the enQuest Producer.
Arriving at Nigg, we all disembarked and I cycled along the industrial roads, happily with relatively few HGVs passing me along the way. The National Cycle Network route 1 quickly leaves the industrial road, so I didn’t have long to worry about my decreased visibility, caused by the top portion of my flagpole (together with flag) having come off unseen at some point on the Black Isle. To replace it, I’d tied my hi-vis vest to the remainder of my pole.
NCN route 1 doesn’t go to Portmahomak, which is right on the far tip of the Tarbat peninsula. My desire to go there is because it is a less well known very early Christian site, dating back to the eighth century. It adds about ten or fifteen miles to the route to Dornoch, and suddenly I found myself weighing the visiting of Portmahomak by cycle versus seeing Sarah tonight.
It wasn’t a long or difficult debate.
Instead of heading off northeast, I followed NCN route 1 as it continued north and turned west to Tain. There I stopped, having cycled 37 miles since Inverness, and had what tasted like the best ever scampi supper from SilverTide fish & chips.
With just 9 miles left to reach Dornoch (according to the road signs) I left Tain, and more or lest coasted along the coast to the Dornoch Bridge. The Dornoch Bridge, opened in 1991, has radically changed the journey north into Sutherland, bypassing miles and miles of the Dornoch Firth via Ardgay and Bonar Bridge. It’s great for travellers, and has been great for both Tain and Dornoch and the links between them, bringing them a good thirty miles closer together. It’s not been so good for Bonar Bridge, once a thriving service town for travellers, both business and leisure, heading for the far north.
I crossed the Dornoch Bridge, which has a nice wide edge beyond the carriageway, unlike the Kessock Bridge, and was also considerably quieter. A couple of miles beyond the end of the bridge, the road has junctions to the Meikle Ferry road, which used to run a passenger and cycle service between Dornoch and Tain until 1957. I took the road east towards Dornoch, avoiding the main car route into Dornoch. It’s a very pleasant, single-track road with passing places, and a lovely surface for cycling on.
Along that road, as well as multiple new housing estates as Dornoch is growing, I passed the Dornoch Lochans fisheries, where I learned to fly fish, and which is now up for sale. The wonderful Malcolm, who established and owned it, and taught many of my family and Sarah to fish, died recently. I hope and pray an equally friendly, kind, and welcoming person buys and operates it. It’s been a fantastic addition to the life of Dornoch, and will be a sad loss if it doesn’t remain.
A few short minutes later, I arrived at the holiday house (Oatfield, 3 Poles Road) where Sarah is staying. Many hugs (and licks from Charlie) later, and it was time to retire, very satisfied, from my longest and yet strangely easiest day of the pilgrimage so far.
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