The clock struck midday and I was still sitting by the warmth of the fire in the pub. A storm had hit and showed no signs of letting up. Roads turned to rivers and the wind picked up significantly. It was, of course, a headwind. After much deliberation, I plucked up the courage and set off. Within seconds I was drenched. The ‘waterproof’ shell I was wearing was about as effective as a fishnet vest (thanks, Charlie)

I soldiered on regardless, fuelled by the landscapes around me. I don’t even know how to begin to paint a picture for you. Endless mountains layered one after the other, fading and hazing away with distance. Jagged rocks reaching for what seemed like miles into the sky, the highest of which strewn with snow. Each of the mountains could be stared at for hours discovering new features, waterfalls and colours. Complementing these ancient 400 million year old rocks lie beautifully aligned armies of pine, juniper, birch and willow standing to attention in perfect geometry. The vibrant green of the trees and the soft, puffy look to the leaves a welcome contrast to the sharp greys surrounding them. Streams and waterfalls flow in every direction, carving their own path through the earth and feeding the lochs dotted around. I have never seen so many streams and falls in one place. It made for the most wonderful of soundtracks. If only I could hear it over the howling wind! I wanted to ditch my bike, climb one of the more dramatic peaks and explore until I could explore no more.

A deer runs across the road as birds swoop for cover from the rain and I pull off the road for a break from the whiplash of turning my head from the road in front of me, to the myriad of beauty surrounding me, and back. Hills are one thing I have always despised on a cycle trip, and for the same reason as any sane person. They’re painful and tiring. Don’t get me wrong, I love the challenge and feeling of accomplishment when reaching the top of a climb, but they still suck. However, I found myself loving the hill climbs of west coast Scotland (and there’s certainly no shortage) simply because it meant slower travel which in turn allowed me more time to look up, rather than look forward.

I only managed 40kms on the second day as a result of the demoralising weather. I stopped at Kyle of Localsh, the entry point for the Isle of Skye, and was led to a community shower and tumble dryer by a viking descendant, or so he claimed from his facial features and extra hard hands (something to do with the rowing). Argyle — I don’t know if that was his name, but it’s the first Scottish name I thought of — kept me out in the cold for a good 30 minutes while we chatted adventure and viking history. He could talk for as long as I could cycle (which isn’t actually that long apparently..). Argyle told me all about his life of adventure and the history of Skye. Just when we got to book recommendations, I had to cut him off and get to the not-so-warm showers.

Clothes tumble dried, toes warmed up and hot tea brewing, I began to re-think my entire journey and even consider ways to get home at minimal cost. The weather and weight of my gear was having a harsh effect on my morale. I checked trains, buses, rental cars and local hostels, but at the end of it all I realised that I would regret pulling the plug, and end up sitting at home thinking of the adventures I could be having. So I put away all digital devices and decided to find a camp spot for the night. I’d rethink in the morning. Had I discovered that I don’t like cycle touring? Or were my pains, the weather, and maybe even my current mindset plaguing the journey?

Just as I was about to leave the cafe, a knock on the window revealed Argyle from before. He had gone home to collect a book he had recommended earlier, and brought it back in the hopes that I was still floating around. It was Life Cycles by Julian Sayarer who broke the world record for cycling around the world in 169 days. Argyle sat me down and began to tell me the tales from the book and show me some of the pictures of Julian after many days on the bike, non-stop. He was talking about tough guys, and what it takes to be tough — apparently soggy feet after 40 hours in the saddle will get you there. Argyle believed that everyone should follow their dreams and stop at nothing to accomplish their goals. His personal motto was “If you don’t, you won’t”. Inspired by Ernest Hemingway’s shortest short ever — “For sale. Baby shoes, Never worn.”

Argyle and I sat at the cafe for another hour as he drew a map of Scotland and Skye in my journal and began to detail every walking route, cycling route and places of natural beauty from memory. This was exactly what I had needed to inspire and motivate me to push on through the struggles. In the grand scheme of things, my small week long tour was minuscule compared to the epic journey’s we had spoken about, and I had been reading about for the past 10 years. But this helped to reinforce just how much I needed the challenge.

It’s wonderful how moments like these can pop up at the most crucial of times. And this was one of many, as we’ll soon find out in days to come.