Mull

A wet crossing from Oban to Craignure and I am (not surprisingly) the only bike on the ferry. No fighting for outside seats, which have been carefully designed to collect puddles of rainwater.

Ten miles in the rain up to Salen, and then just enough brightness in the west to tempt me the long way round the west coast to Dervaig, a 37 mile day “with some steep bits”.

About half way, my bike objects to my breaking the “never change parts within 14 days prior to a trip” and the new rear tyre pops out of the wheel rim. After a bit of experimenting – switching the front and back tyres/tubes keeps the problem at the rear so it is a tyre-wheel combination issue – I continue with relatively low tyre pressure and make it to Dervaig

North of Ulva, something big passes over without the roar of a RAF jet. Unmistakable wings and white flash in the tail, first one and then two sea eagles circle over Loch Tuath before heading inland. Very impressive, although I would have liked to see them fishing.

It is getting dark when I get to the bunkhouse, attached to a new village hall built with Millennium funding. As a new build, it is not a character-filled log-fire sort of place but functional, and (not surprisingly) I have it to myself.

And it is 200m from the oldest inn on the island, which is serving Avalanche, a rather nice highland beer from Fyne Ales