Road trip

When a global pandemic makes reaching destinations by air less than appealing, what’s the obvious answer? That’s right - the road trip. Nick Dalton reached for the road atlas and set a course due north…

Any other year, we’d probably be drawn to somewhere Mediterranean, and be looking forward to a ‘leisurely’ balance of deliberate inactivity and inevitable over-consumption. It’s a time-proven recipe for getting away from things and sufficiently agreeable to be repeated annually, with perhaps the most significant concern being ‘which language do you fancy stumbling over this time?’

Recent world events had something to say on this topic, obviously. The sole ‘Plan B’ in either of our minds was to dust off an idea we’d discounted frequently in the past for being ‘a bit difficult’; Yes, the extremities of the British isles are as awash with natural beauty as many exotic destinations, but was it really worth driving all the way to them? The forced hand of 2020 would help us arrive at a definitive answer.

‘Plan B’, in truth, was barely more formed than ‘head north’ - although at its core lay a romantic notion of wilderness and isolation, perhaps at odds with mainland tours such as the NC500. No, this isolation would need to be real, tangible - Hebridean perhaps. The ultimate aim was set - and a string of highland waypoints would take us there.

Skirting the shores of Loch Lomond in bright September morning sun, the dream started becoming real. Even at a gentle cruise, spirits grew with the landscape as it rose taller by the mile, eyes widening to take it all in. By Glencoe, each corner rounded gave rise to incredulous guffaws, neither of us being quite able to process the grandeur unfolding through the windscreen.

Unsurprisingly, said grandeur hasn’t escaped others - making a number of locations used in feature films within spitting distance of a main road. Ticking off Bond (Glen Etive), Harry Potter (Glenfinnan) and Highlander (Loch Shiel & Eilean Donan) within a single day is easily done, although be prepared for the 007 fantasy to come with a dose of realism. The single track road is the wrong type of driving challenge, and on arrival, you’ll most likely be in a queue for that layby - because everybody else has used the same google maps coordinates. Nevermind, the photographs need capture only the sheer chutzpah of standing in Dench and Craig’s footprints. After such a whistle stop tour through the highlands, the chance to set up base for a few nights - on Skye. Like a sharper-toothed lake district dropped into the Altantic, it could be argued that this ‘inner Hebride’ has it all; sweeping vista peppered with whitewashed cottages, craggy ranges offering world class mountaineering, white and turquoise shorelines frequented by all manner of wildlife - and as it turns out, a mean line in haute cuisine. From its charming centre Portree, the island divides neatly into ‘West’ and ‘North’ loops chock full of stunning viewpoints; although it’s on its northern loop, that its roadtrip pinup lies. The Quiraing, a still-moving landslip overlooking Staffin Bay (with its real dino-footprints) hosts an insta-friendly strip of tarmac looking every inch the rally stage, and though a jaunt up it proves more ‘car preservation’ than ‘time attack’, it’s an opportunity not to miss. The views are incredible - whether you choose to include your wheels or not...

It takes a couple of days to take in the major sights of Skye, but rather less

to fall in love with it. Making plans to return before we’d even left, it was already time to move on.

After two hours at sea, the difference between inner and outer Hebrides should come as little surprise, but arriving in

Harris, the sense of wilderness was immediately palpable - the prettiness of Skye making way for a more hardheaded landscape. Attacking the C79 coastal route to Rodel, a joyous ribbon undulating through barren outcrops, tiny homesteads and rocky shorelines proved the perfect introduction to the island - as well as providing a memorable lunch (served from an old caravan, natch).

The western coast of Harris is much less rocky, but hosts several beaches which received wisdom would say have no business being that far north, Luskentyre is perhaps the most famous, and deservedly so - the layers of thick cloud, dusky mountains, bright aqua sea and shocking white sand an extraordinary combination. Worth staying for as long as the weather will let you…

Heading further north still, through North Harris and into Lewis (it’s all one island, go figure) via a spectacular blast up the A859, our ultimate destination lay in wait. While Stornaway takes credit for planting the seed, it’s the west coast which embodied the vision perfectly. At one end of a half hour dead-end, devoid of signal, and at the full mercy of the Atlantic, Mangersta proved to be the real deal. Wild. Huge. Remote. Raw. Ancient. Beautiful. The ‘Hebridean isolation’ dream we’d had made real. A few days to take things slowly (away from the roads, at least) proved perfect ahead of the long return leg, via Ullapool and Pitlochry, planning the next tour as we went.

So, why the TT? Even in run-outspecial ‘QS’ form it’s neither the most luxurious nor most focussed of devices, and though reasonably practical, still demanded that we pack lightly. Yet its ability to dispatch lengthy transit sections, entertain with pace and poise wherever the going grew twistier and hold its own as a photographic subject makes for a superb road trip companion. The only regret was not having pointed it north sooner.