Day 6

After last night's thunder, today dawned still overcast and with a breeze insistently flapping the bivvy bag. Although I was warm enough in my sleeping bag, outside it was chilly and like some cold-blooded creature I was slow to get going. But eventually I had moved to the shelter of another dune, cooked breakfast, packed up and was ready to set off.

Moving out of the shelter of the dunes the full force of the wind really struck. Blowing from almost due south it made my progress back to the main road distinctly wobbly and hard work. I was relieved to stop at the junction to peer into the Coop again, but they hadn't yet had the day's papers and I had no need of anything else. So I grimly put my head down and pedalled away into the buffeting wind. I had not realised what a high proportion of the resistance to a cycle's progress is attributable to wind resistance. Cycling in a vacuum would be an easy experience I thought, as for a blissful couple of miles the road turned northwest and suddenly, provided I kept moving, I was coasting with no wind resistance at all! The landscape here was eerily empty, just moorland with a dead straight road running up and down through it almost to the horizon. I was diverted to suddenly notice a large, light brown speckled bird drift past silently just 10 or do yards away. A bird of prey of some sort, I'm still not sure exactly what. A fine view, nonetheless.

Gradually the road turned back to the direction I was aiming for, south, and I dropped to the low gears and slogged on. There was the enjoyment of the open, empty landscape, and the elemental grim pleasure of the battle against the wind, but this was a very different sort of day from those hot, still days in the beautiful scenery of Harris, and I longed for a restaurant or tearoom to appear over the horizon. None did, but instead I was able to buy a more adventurous picnic than my standby oatcakes and cheese from a store in Ceann a Bhaigh (Head of the Bay). I ate it a little further on, where an elevated section of road provided shelter from the wind at its side, and had an enjoyable meal, reading "A Passage to India" and glad just to be out of the wind.

After lunch I resumed my struggle against the wind, and a little later reached the lovely named Clachan na Luib (village round a church on a bend). Here I diverted from my route to see the neolithic chambered tomb at Beinn Langais. Bowling along to the northeast, I was there in no time, and it was a diversion worth making. Basically now just a large pile of stones, it is still possible to crawl inside and to the burial chamber within - which I did with caution, having now a healthy respect for loose boulders, even those which have apparently been unmoved for several thousand years! It was curious to try & imagine what life had been like when it was built. The islands would have been wooded, and probably extended considerably further west. Nonetheless, they were still relatively small islands. There must, presumeably, have been some trade with the mainland, but with what sort of boats? How large was the population, and how well developed, that it was able to spare members on such unproductive work as burial chambers? There are no answers, but it was fascinating to sit in the middle of the cairn and imagine.

I cycled back to Clachan na Luib, and there at last found both a newspaper and a tea shop, an odd place being run by a girl in the village hall. It was the sort of place that when asked "White or wholemeal bread for your toasted sandwich?" I could only dare reply "Wholemeal", and look admiringly at the range of herbal teas for sale! But it was an excellent sandwich and a welcome cup of tea while I digested the paper and rested from the wind. Today's forecast in the paper commented on the "slack south-easterly airstream" over the British isles, which made me wish the writer was compelled to cycle 20 miles against it!

On leaving, I was soon leaving North Uist as well, and crossing the causeway over the islet speckled, many channeled sands to Benbecula, or Beinn na faodhla. Unfortunately, the elegant mountain seen dimly through the haze to one side of the causeway was Eaval on South Uist and not, as I had hoped, the romantic sounding Mountain of the Fords itself. It was still windy, and the clouds promised rain, so I felt something more substantial than a sleeping bag on the sands was called for. I started looking for Bed and Breakfasts as soon as I came out of the dispiriting, out of character military town of Balivanich. The first three I tried were all full, and so on arriving at the Dark Isle Hotel I was happy to check in for a night of luxury, ignoring their quite high prices. After a thoroughly enjoyable dinner, I soaked in the bath reading "A Passage to India", before watching a film from my bed. Wholly decadent!