I think alot of places lend themselves to a particular soundtrack. Cycling the wide open planes of Lewis with the wind at your back is Josh Homme's Desert Sessions. There are small villages on the edges of the island, which are handfuls of austere concrete houses that look like they belong in a Grant Wood painting. Other houses are missing windows, roofs, and are left unrepaired. Scottish Gothic, perhaps.
I am sure the residents would beg to differ. We would not necessarily understand them, however. In parts, English is a second language, with Gaelic still spoken. One old boy we talk to explains that it is because Gaelic is closest to Hebrew. We are a little dubious about this, but he is convinced. Religion, too, seems paramount. The island shuts on a Sunday. Completely shuts. And we are told to bring our washing in because it's improper to be doing work on the sabbath. This closure does mean that we have the roads to ourselves, with nothing but highland cows for company. It feels a little like we are doing the wrong thing, out riding while the rest of the population are in church. We decide the heeland coos are on side since their horns raised in a permanent heavy metal salute.
With no access to human contact, we instead go wildlife watching at the Butt of Lewis, the most northerly point of the island. It is cold and windswept - there is nothing between us and Canada. We do, however spot basking sharks, a golden eagle, and two fat seals, one of which spends his time watching us watching him watching us...
After all the cycling we have been doing, Matt decides to challenge me to a 'thigh-off'. The last time we did this was at Christmas up at Falls Creek, where inspired by photographs of Robert Forstermann, ( http://www.telegraph.co.uk/sport/olympics/9440391/London-2012-Olympics-Cyclists-Andre-Greipel-and-Robert-Forstermann-compare-monster-thighs-and-picture-goes-viral.html) we decided to measure our own. At that time, Matt was winning by about half a centimetre. I have mixed feelings about engaging in this competition again, pointing out that while he clearly has the advantage in terms of muscle strength going up hills, I have a genetic advantage - Scottish scones with jam will also get me results... But it's a competition! I have to join in. The tape measure is out, and the results are incontrevertible. I now have two centimetres on him. Great... glad I won that one...
The following day, we do a more historical tour. It is slow going, into a headwind that feels like riding into a solid brick wall. We stop off at an old blackhouse village and breathe in the smell of peat fires. We visit an iron age broch, and walk among the standing stones of Callanish, dating back to 2900 BC. Matt seems enthralled. I find it a bit harder to feel a connection. The Hebrides are dotted with ancient rings of stones, and it is hard to imagine what they were really used for.
Back to the mainland today, to make our way of to Thurso and out to Orkney.
