Inverness to Foyers
We arrived at Inverness train station after ‘the most boring train journey ever’. As we ticked off the stations approaching Inverness (Elgin, Nairn, Forres), we saw grey clouds and treetops bending. In Aberdeen it had been a fine blue day. We walked out laden bikes through Inverness to the castle where a signpost marks the beginning of NCN78. ‘There are a lot of cyclists in Inverness!’ We put our feet on our pedals at a bus stop just across from the castle, waited for a gap in the cars, and swung onto the road. The very first stretch is a wonderful downhill but we could already feel the headwind pushing against us.
Inverness, like Aberdeen, is plagued with suburban housing developments and the transition from the road along the loch in the city to the suburbs (yes, there’s a Tesco squatting vastly on the approach to Inverness) involves a small uphill onto a minor road that quickly becomes a quiet and remarkably rural lane. We ate our lunch on a gate and pulled on rain trousers.
Down the lane, and back onto the B862. The bike route was well marked and often ran along separated paths. Another detour onto a lane and we were now cycling through the country. Where the lane was not protected by trees, the wind found us. We saw yellowhammers on the fences, and geese in the fields. We also began to see very, very fast cyclists. We two are modest in our ambitions: we intend to arrive. Eventually. Eleanor’s bicycle is a miracle of child-friendly bicycle design: it is light and friendly—but it is not a 24-gear touring special—and no matter now bravely she attacks the hills we will sometimes have to walk. Yet the blurs that shot past us (with a Doppler-shifted ‘hiya’) were more serious cyclists than one ever sees in Aberdeen. It was only when we got to Foyers and saw a poster for the Loch Ness Etape on 23 April that we understood that we had chosen to puddle along, well-laden, on a high speed training route.
Down to Dores. We stopped for fig-and-cashew breaks every so often now, and the terrain changed. General Wades’s infamous road began to undulate with little rises and falls. The flats were two gears harder, at least, for the headwind (unlike the blurs, we presented ample wind resistance). ‘Did they build the road to look like Nessie?’
Uphill from the road it was old birch and pine woods now, and there were primroses everywhere. On the loch there were whitecaps and the boats were struggling along. The road began to rise a bit more, and we came to Inverfarigaig: one more push and we would be at Foyers. When we did arrive we found ourselves looking down across a remarkably vertical community, with a network of paths and roads that Google Maps did not represent helpfully. Down a few steep paths and we arrived, tired, but arrived, at Foyers Bay House.
After a comfortable dinner at the Craigdalloch. Eleanor revived and comfortably beat me in a sprint back to the hotel. Foyers was the site of the fist hydroelectric plant in Scotland (a honour it shares with Pharping, our home in Nepal). The hydro plant powered an early bauxite smelting plant, and Foyers Bay House was the manager’s home. Molly, the dignified Great Dane who live there, is entirely suited to the role!