Not on the Sabbath

Glasgow - Oban

Having tackled the possibility of a catastrophe that is any dealing with Scotrail - especially if a bicycle is involved and even if you have reserved - we headed north toward Oban. We were expecting more problems after my broken spoke the previous day (resulting in a shady looking pit stop underneath central station) and Chris' forgotten bank card (resulting in not one but two scurries home) but all was well. Our train was one that splits in two which is always quite exciting but the views en-route were much more dramatic - passing slowly as the train pulled itself up and into the highlands.

We decided to check exact ferry times and as we did so were warned us that the ferry was cancelled - a common occurrence in winter but a much more rare event for summer. We hadn't appreciated just how rough the weather had become over the minch but were given an apperitif when we disembarked at the port. We sighed our resignation towards a night in Oban, a town which neither of us particularly are enamoured by, and booked into the grand building that is the waterfront hostel. Fortunately we had time to catch up, try some crabs and oysters and try out most of the pubs in town - including the cellar bar, happy to show the cycling on TV - a result by any account. We battled home in the rain with our chips and settled into a sleep that we hoped would bring fairer weather.

Reading the hostel pamphlet by the rain soaked window the following morning we were heartened to see ferries come and go - the Soltaire still stretched out taut in the garden atop the flagpole. We read that the reception could give us information on the town and that we could leave bags. The receptionist couldn't tell us if the Station had lockers and wasn't warming to our question of leaving bags. I abruptly stopped her and started walking away but she suddenly changed her mind, for some reason thinking we were asking to leave the bags for a week. The hostel cafe was empty and cold and had no visible hot food so we headed into town to kill time.

After my spoke scare we managed to track down a bike shop on Monday in Oban. After queuing patiently it turned out to be too busy for the owner to attend to my request for spare spokes so we had lunch in the Lorne hotel, set back from the front but better than those we had found there. As the week would prove, our 2 hour wait went by in no time and passing by the bike shop again for a final insult and no sale we scurried over to meet our ferry wondering in confusion at the Scottish service industry and if requests for a new wheel might have brought more of a smile to the angry, bald man's face.