clairedavieswriter

At the risk of repeating myself, it was another beautiful day to be out on a bike. And I picked up an extra shadow: Mark is back – this time for longer than an hour: in fact till John O’Groats.

Kessock Bridge marks the boundary between the Beauly and Moray Firths, and offered fantastic views of both, to the soundtrack of throaty exhausts, as a stream of car lovers swept by en route to achieve that bucket list essential: driving the North Coast 500 in a vintage two seater.

Fortunately, unlike on the Slochd Pass, the only wind was behind us. And did I mention the sun?

We quickly bagged another county – and a Shipping Forecast stalwart.

As ever in the Highlands, there was a promise of hills to come.

But the theme of the day was a firth under a beautiful sky. After Beauly and Moray, we crossed the Black Isle and followed the north bank of Cromarty Firth:

Before heading north over Easter Ross into the open moors:

And swooping down to Dornoch Firth:

By which time we were in another county:

My brotherly domestique earned his keep with a spot of portage down the steep steps at the Oykel Viaduct:

From where there was a good view of Carbisdale Castle, aka the Castle of Spite, home to the widowed Countess of Sutherland after an unseemly row over her late husband’s will. His son, the 4th Duke, insisted that she move off his land, so she had the castle built in Ross-shire but directly overlooking Sutherland and the train line regularly used by the Duke. Apparently his staff used to close the blinds to save him having to look at it as he steamed past.

For the last 7 miles today, we climbed gently through mixed woodland, where lichen-draped trees testified to the purity of the air.

Beside us, in the peaty River Shin, we saw salmon – or very large trout – break the surface at these small rapids as they fought their way upstream.

Incongruous sight of the day: the 5 star accommodation for ducks at our destination for tonight. Either it’s an expenses scandal story I never heard about, or the apparently no-nonsense folk of Lairg have a surprising soft spot for waterfowl.

Tomorrow is another big day: we’re due to reach the north coast, at Tongue.