The pessimist complains about the wind; the optimist expects it to change; the realist adjusts the sails.

60 miles in 2 hours and 6 minutes; I had never ridden my bike so fast for so long and I probably never will again. It was also in pre-Strava times, so I can’t actually prove the veracity of this story.
I must admit that I was under the influence of WPE (Wind Power Enhancement), that meteorological movement of air that usually is my enemy as it hits me head-on during most of my rides. On this occasion however it was a gift from the Norwegian Sea as northerly, gale-force winds were to aid me on my ride from north to south. I was staying on the small island of Berneray in the Sound of Harris and my goal was to get to the Parliament Bar of “Whisky Galore” fame on Eriskay 60 miles to the south, where my family would be waiting to meet me for lunch, having driven there in the car.

I stuffed my jersey pockets with a multi-tool, spare inner-tube and a banana and filled the water bottle on my bike. At 9 am I set off aiming to meet everyone at the bar for lunch at 1pm. It is usual for anyone riding on these Hebridean islands to ride from south to north to take advantage of the prevailing winds. On this occasion I was to be the subject of envy as I sailed past touring cyclists heading north and into the ferocious headwind. As soon as I got on my bike and turned south it felt like it had been equipped with a nitrous-oxide injection system. The wind on my back was so strong I was struggling to keep the thoroughbred underneath me under control. It wasn’t really that I could describe my start as “pedalling off”; it was more of a “take-off”. I found that, such was my speed, I was riding in behind cars on the small, single-track roads and when the opportunity of a passing place arose I was overtaking them and accelerating away. It was exhilarating. Don’t get me wrong, it wasn’t all without effort. Although I was greatly assisted by the strong winds I was still exerting a fair bit of effort to maintain a high average speed. The biggest efforts came when I crossed the many causeways that are scattered over these water-logged islands. Many are tidal and as such are battered with waves, which now, with the force of the wind, were either covering me in ice-cold salt water, or leaving a salty and slimy residue on the smooth tarmac that, on more than one occasion, saw my back wheel “fish-tail” out on the slick surface. Two notable occasions where I had to use all my effort to keep the bike upright were on the causeways that link Benbecula to North and South Uist. Shadowed by the ominous, dark presence of Hecla and Beinn Mhor to my left I continued down through South Uist. My legs and body were starting to complain at the cold and effort I was asking of them, but my mind was elated with the experience.

I arrived on Eriskay at 11:06am and eased off on the short climb to the end of the road above Coilleag. From there I could look over the dark and stormy sound of Barra and as I stopped to take in the view and a shiver ran through my body I realised it was still going to be two hours before my family arrived on Eriskay. I made a quick phone call to them to check and see if they were on their way, but they hadn’t even left yet. I rolled back down the hill with my fingers crossed hoping the Parliamentary Bar would be open and fortunately it was. I hadn’t thought to take any money with me, but the woman behind the bar took pity on my “drowned-rat” appearance and offered me a mug of tea. My epic ride ended rather ingloriously as I stood in the “Gents” trying to warm myself up and dry some of my kit off under the electric hand-dryer until my wife arrived with dry clothes. Despite my shivering I had a big grin on my face as I remembered the ride I had just done and looked forward to telling everyone about it.