Progress to date: 6 days, 266 miles

The whole beauty of this trip is that we have no itinerary. For three weeks we can do as we please, planning a day so in advance. Should the weather turn bad, we can stay put and let it rage. Should an opportunity present itself, we can seize the moment. Should we simply change our minds, so be it. And that's just what we have done.

All along we figured we would leave Aberdeen and head North. And so we did. However, once we reach Cromarty and had trouble getting lodgings, Rich became concerned about availability in the less populated far north. He advised that we switch course and head West instead. And just like that, the Outer Hebrides became our new next destination.

This revised route meant that we had to leave our beloved Cycling Network, as there are virtually no cycling routes in the western highlands. It was inevitable, though, and we fearlessly faced the real road traffic on A and B roads to get to Ullapool. Before doing so, however, we attempted a simple short cut to get to the main highway. It seemed a sweet way to avoid cars as long as possible, until we discovered the barbed wire fence that continuously separated us from the road. When a hiking gate presented itself, we took advantage of it.

.

While cycling a main 2-lane highway is not ideal, we had a few advantages. Traffic was relatively light, thanks to being well in advance of the main tourist season. I felt remarkably safe despite the complete lack of shoulders as every car pulled over to go around us. And despite threading our way through the highlands and constantly climbing, the pitches were gradual and manageable.

Rich found us a nice Inn where we stayed in the barren countryside 20 miles outside of Ullapool. The Aultguish Inn was founded in 1800 and still serves travelers in comfortable modern rooms as well as outdoor types in a bunkhouse. We found the food to be excellent, both at dinner and breakfast – a cyclist's delight.

Our route took us close to two sets of beautiful waterfalls, each with easy access from the road and suspension bridges to view the rivers. I think we probably set record, stopping to sightsee twice in two days. The first was called Rogie Falls, and reminded us of Jay Cooke Park.

The second was Corrieshalloch Gorge, which means Ugly Hollow in Gaelic. It is considered a “slit gorge” for the long narrow cavern formed back in the ice age. Far from ugly, it was an impressive sight.

The first lasting rain of our trip came while we were in Ullapool awaiting our ferry. With our cycling done for the day, we made good use of the Gallery Cafe to stay dry and use the wifi while we had a snack. I would like to have seen more of Ullapool which is a pretty port and fishing town, but preferred to stay out of the rain.

Soon we will board the ferry, bound for Stornoway in the Outer Hebrides. These rugged islands are the most westerly in Scotland. When Rich decides to go West, he goes all the way!

We have learned to love that sign. The blue arrow with a bicycle and red #1 has been our guide since arriving in Scotland. We'd be lost without it. Literally.

The National Cycle Network covers the length and breadth of the UK with over 14,000 miles of cycle routes. These are a combination of traffic-free paths and quiet on-road routes that connect to every major town and city. Looking at the map, Scotland has a much lower density of cycling routes – in all likelihood due to its rugged terrain and lower population. But they are serving us well.

Before leaving on our trip, Rich ordered two sets of maps from Sustrans, the non-profit that supports the cycle network. This was a drastic departure from his usual reliance on Google Maps for planning and navigating our routes. But something told him that the highly detailed maps would be useful. That turned out to be an understatement.

The best part is that these routes are so well marked. At nearly every turn we find our little blue sign. As we travel a road, there it is every so often assuring us we are still going the right way. Since they follow myriad little back roads, which are often small and obscure, it saves us from constantly having to check our maps. And we could never have figured out such a route in the first place. We're so grateful that someone has done it all for us.

We learned early on that dirt paths were allowable. Thankful for our touring bikes and more durable wheels, those sections have often been the best of all, taking us places not even cars can access. My absolute favorite so far was the morning we left the hostel in Cullen. The route took us away from the harbor, where we reached a cycle path high above the water. We followed the shoreline across the cliff tops, crossing a high via duct and overlooking the sea from a vantage point available only to cyclists and walkers. I wanted it to go on forever.

Already I have many vivid visual images of traveling down this network of cycling routes:

• Cruising along narrow single track roads with passing places
• Dry stonewall defining the neat farm fields across the landscape
• A patchwork of fresh brown furrows, verdant green fields and the sunshine yellow of rapeseed
• Winds buffeting us along the coast, fresh off the sea
• Craggy cliffs and angry waves
• Following a river, crossing over and back multiple times
• Wild flowers blooming in the moist shade along the path – yellow, white and purple
• Gorse bushes lining the roads and paths with their brilliant gold blossoms
• Entering towns on quiet on streets, making our way through neighborhoods and parks
• Climbing a long hill and rounding a corner to see the ruins of a random fortress
• Traveling the coast to look down and see a town nestled in the next valley, bathed in morning sunlight

Thank you, Sustrans, for this great cycling tour of Scotland. We will most certainly continue to follow that sign!

I just knew I wanted to go to Cromarty. From what I read in the guidebooks, the Black Isle north of Inverness is a beautiful area and the gem is the picturesque fishing village at its tip. It was even on the cycling route, and fit our general plan to head further north. Sold.

Progress to date: 4 days, 200 miles

There was just one rub. Yesterday I discovered that the short ferry required to make the connection to the continuation of our route was out of service. It seems the ferry berth in Cromarty has been condemned, and won't be replaced for quite some time. That makes Cromarty a dead end, requiring us to circle back down the peninsula. But by this time I was dead set on going there. I could tell Rich wasn't enthused with the idea. But he knew better than to try and convince me otherwise.

The day started pleasantly enough. We made a short side trip to Cawdor Castle, arriving long before it opened. We couldn't see much more than the top of the castle, but the grounds were so very peaceful that we enjoyed lingering there. Tall trees full of while blossoms arched over the roadway, catching the early morning sun.

En route to Inverness, we came upon the Nairn Via Duct. We could see it in the distance as we approached, hoping we might get to cycle over it. Instead, we zoomed down, down, down to get to its base and passed under its massive arches. It was mighty impressive even from below.

Making our way through Inverness, trying to decipher the signs for our route, we noticed the Velocity Cafe and Bicycle Workshop on the corner. We were both ready for some refreshments, and it seemed the opportune place to stop. In fact, we judged it well. Not only was the food fresh and wholesome (and the cakes decadent) but their mission is to promote cycling and make it accessible to all. In the back is a workshop where cyclists can work on their bikes or learn about maintenance and repairs. We spent a thoroughly enjoyable hour there chatting with the staff and other patrons while relishing their food.

Although Rich would love to have stopped for the day and stay in Inverness, he gallantly pressed on to satisfy my obsession with getting to Cromarty. The bike route took us across the Firth of Moray and onto the peninsula. As elsewhere, it took us on narrow back roads which wound through farmland and rural enclaves too small to even be villages. Such lanes unfailingly follow the natural contours of the land, which meant we were going up and down, up and down. While I relished that remote route, I knew I was earning no favors with Rich. To be perfectly honest, even I had to admit that the scenery was nice but no more special than anything we'd been seeing for the previous three days. Light showers pestered us off and on and the miles began to drag. I fervently hoped that Cromarty was a pure gem at the end of this very long road.

As we neared the end, we rode through the country lane high on the hillside and the sea came into view. On the other side verdant fields rose above the water. It was a rewarding sight, as was the lengthy glide down to the shore and into Cromarty. Entering town, I could see it was neat and attractive with well kept buildings and an air of prosperity. What I hadn't expected (and the guidebooks neglected to mention) were the numerous enormous oil rigs just off shore! Their metal superstructures reaching high into the sky, they were impossible to miss. What an odd juxtaposition to the fishing boats bobbing nearby.

To add to this boondoggle, our usual search for simple accommodation uncovered no vacancies. So when the Royal Hotel had an exhorbitant room available, we snatched it up. But I have to admit that it has a fabulous view. Here I sit with my feet up, and right out our windows are the water, the fishing boats and snow capped mountains. And an oil rig. I love it. I knew I wanted to come here.

The guesthouse in Cullen looked like a great choice. A stately old home made of stone behind an iron gate. It had been a long and chilly day of cycling, and we were eager to settle in for the night. The gentleman who came to the door looked a big disheveled for the role of host. No wonder. “We retired from the B&B a year ago,” he informed us. However, he did refer us to the hostel down on the harbor. We didn't even know it was there, and would never have found it on our own.

We said we wanted to use hostels on this trip, so we decided to give it a try. Sure enough, it was right on the water and the grounds were littered with sports gear laying out to dry from the college kids there for surfing and kayaking. We definitely felt like oldsters but persisted. At least our bicycles and arriving under our own steam lent us a degree of credibility.

Hostels aren't what they were back in our days of traveling Europe on a rail pass. But that was 40 years ago. Our hostel features a Family Room, which we promptly took. Not only do we have a room to ourselves, but we have our own “en-suite” bathroom. Heat seems to be somewhat lacking but the shower is good and hot. It's clean and simple, and there are plenty of blankets. Especially since we swiped those off the two extra beds. The sleep sheets bring back ancient memories, but this time we didn't have to supply our own. We even have wifi – some of the time.

Still a bit chilled, we sought a warm meal. Stepping into The Three Kings pub, we knew we'd found the right place. Small with a low beamed ceiling, nearly all the seats were already occupied by locals. However two prime spots on a love seat with a tiny table directly opposite the peat fire were available. Just the thing for two tired cyclists. Ordering off the chalkboard menu for our bar meal and sipping our ciders, the exertion of the day began to melt away. It was enough to sit and take in the people and surroundings, reading the funky signs on the wall, listening to the local accents. The arrival of steaming plates brimming with venison casserole and crispy potatoes completed the evening's perfection.

I can hear the wind blowing and the waves pounding outside. I'm plenty warm wearing a few extra layers. And the college kids are all bunking in another building, leaving ours perfectly quiet. Not bad for a hostel. And it sure beats a tent.

Not every touring cyclist gets a personal local guide to start their trip. But we did. Matt from Aberdeen had already reached out to us when he learned about our planned bike tour. And this morning he met us at our hotel and escorted us around the airport, through the construction zone and to the start of a bike trail. What a great way to begin not only the day but three weeks of cycling!

Knowing we'd still be a bit jet lagged and unaccustomed to riding on the left side of the road, it seemed fortuitous that we could spend our first day of cycling on a bike path. With the sun shining down and the temperatures warming well above normal temperatures, it was an idyllic day. Not having to worry about traffic, we cycled through the countryside with ease. Spring was well on its way, with numerous varieties of wild flowers blooming, and trees ranging from nascent buds to full green.

The first “purple cow” of the trip presented itself along the way. Prominently placed trailside was a wicker manikin, compete with a laced bodice down the back. She looked decidedly pregnant to me, and definitely worth a photo stop.

The scenery en route was mostly rural farmland and pastures dotted by cattle or sheep, including adorable baby lambs. The scent of fresh manure lingered as we rode. Sometimes the trail was low between high banks of yellow flowering bushes. Other times it was high above, and we could see down into the back gardens behind homes. Our progress was frequently punctuated by gates. At first we were able to sail through them, but soon the openings were narrowed by bars that lent credence to the “Cyclists Dismount” signs.

We were following the railbed of the old Formartine and Buchan railway, last used for trains in 1979. What started out as a paved trail soon morphed into crush rock. From there it varied from a rough two-track dirt road to a packed dirt trail with rock impediments. It was pleasant but slow going, and required constant attention to the surface conditions.

Following a rest stop and soup in the newly re-opened hotel bar in Maud, we decided to leave the bike trail and take our chances on the road. Cycling on smooth pavement was a treat, and our speed dramatically increased. We soon learned that once cycling on the left side of the road, it was easy to stay there. “Keep left, look right” became our mantra. I'm still trying to perfect the technique of using my rear view mirror on the right hand side, but presumably that will come with practice. We found the local drivers to be very courteous, which was fortunate as the road was narrow with no shoulders.

Peterhead was our destination, a moderate 41 miles for Day 1. Once installed in a guest house, we took a walk to the harbor and sought some dinner. With limited dining choices, Rich indulged my desire to try the Nazma Tandoori restaurant, which turned out to have wonderful food. Even Rich admitted as much.

There has been universal agreement among all the locals we've met that this weather is unseasonably warm and sunny. So we accept it as a wonderful send-off gift, and are thankful for today's Scottish sunshine and trails.

It's a beautiful evening in Aberdeen. The sun is still high in the sky and I am drawn by the invitation to go out and and enjoy it. But my eyelids are drooping, and Rich has already succumbed to jet lag and the long hours of travel.

So far we haven't seen much more than the environs of our hotel. But it has been a productive day. Upon our arrival we were greatly relieved when we spotted our bike boxes in the airport. Only a bit battered from the rigors of baggage handling and bearing the evidence of an inspection by Homeland Security. Two trips in the hotel van were necessary to transport the large boxes and ourselves to our lodgings. Rich did well to select a hotel so close to the airport.

The afternoon was spend reassembling the bikes. Admittedly that is Rich's forte, I am just his humble assistant. But we were both very invested in the task. This was a crucial point. Any issues we encountered could derail our plans. It was when we were in the final phase that we hit a serious stumbling block. My bike was successfully completed, but reinstating Rich's handlebars was not going well. We tried the pieces in all possible combinations and still it wasn't right. It began to look like we had a broken or missing part. Without speaking, I know we were both concerned, and I'd even done a quick search on bike shops. Checking the box one final time and giving it a good shake, I dislodged the errant part. Whew! That's all it took. The bike was ready for action.

We took a short shake-down ride in the parking lot, and ventured briefly onto a side street. The busy area was not all that inviting, so at just over a mile we completed our ride for the day, our mission accomplished. Our transport was ready.

Once we transferred our great to the panniers, and were assured everything would fit, we rewarded ourselves with a tall glass of cider and dinner in the hotel restaurant. I found it gratifying that my salmon filet was the same price as Rich's hamburger.

Tomorrow we will finally cycle away into the countryside. It's time to see the real Scotland, up close, mile by mile.