Saw this government drone while biking through Isle of Skye, Scotland in December #BirdsArentReal. 

Our Scotland biking tour was one of the hardest things Max and I did this semester, as we were biking through sleet and rain in sub 30F temps at some points for several hours, leading to a close call where we almost got hypothermia. All in all though it was a great experience and northern Scotland is beautiful. Unfortunately because of the conditions I only got a little footage.

After the adventure of our second day biking I decided to type up that days events for my own record. The story is very long but I thought I’d add it here in case anyone is extremely bored and wants to read what stupid decisions look like.

Day 2: Portree -Storr - Atholl House (35 miles)

We started the day around 8am and made breakfast, oatmeal packets I had packed in, with.. you guessed it… a big scoop of PB&J. 

After breakfast I set to re-engineer my bike for maximum comfort. I would not endure the misery of the day prior. The ass & back pain were the direct cause of my 40lb pack. Instead I took my camera gear and strapped it to the handlebars and tied my clothing bag to the seat. This greatly elevated my packs weight which now felt so light and alas there was no pain as I sat my ass on my throne of clothes. Within 3 minutes however the clothing bag had slipped to the side of the bike and I was once again on the seat of misery. Removing all the weight from my pack seemed to do the trick however, as now I was truly enjoying the ride weight and semi-pain free. 

From Portree we biked about 7 miles to Old Man Storr on a smaller less trafficked road. After an initial climb we were able to mostly coast towards Storr. The sun peaked above the clouds making for a beautiful backdrop and I felt electric as I blasted music coasting towards Storr. At Storr we sought shelter from the brisk wind in a small bus stop where we ate some PB&Js. Fire. After filming with the drone we left Storr around 12PM and made our way back to Portree. The last part of the ride was all down hill which definitely lifted our spirits. 

In Portree we stopped at a cafe and got cupcakes, hot chocolate, and coffee. During our 30 min break we debated leaving the bikes and hitch hiking to Atholl house. Perhaps it was this last downhill stretch into Portree that filled us with a false confidence, but we ultimately decided to bike to Atholl (and then back the next day) and get a bus from Portree to Kyle the next day. This would cut our last day down to 20 miles from 47. 

And so we set off towards Atholl house on a small one lane road in high spirits. We took the route that cut through the highland rather than following the coast which saved 2 miles. The first 7 miles was mostly uphill through the highlands and past christmas tree farms. Energy wise we were fine, Max and I powered through the hills despite wanting to walk and we quickly made it to the peak. 

We told ourselves “it’s all downhill from here” and proceeded to descend down on the coast. Here’s where the cold really did a number on us. First the wind along the coast was stronger and colder, but also the sleet was more wet and we were quickly soaked from head to toe. It was in fact not “all downhill” and we immediately had a hill coming out from the descent. We stopped at the top of the hill, now about 9 miles out, and put on our rain covers, a bit late as my bag was drenched and we both looked like we had just jumped in a pool. 

Nonetheless we continued onward braving through the onslaught of sleet and rain as temps dropped below 30F and a severe weather advisory went into effect. About 6 miles out and we hit another big hill. I had no will power, no energy to stand up in my seat and pedal onwards. The cold was numbing and the wind chill just made it worse. At the turn off we decided to eat something and so each had a bar and a half. My wet joggers clang to my skin and all hopes of getting warm were now in the hostel that awaited us 5.8 cold miles away. The instant we had stopped, the cold really started to sink in everywhere so the only option was to keep moving… onward. 

As we biked my energy diminished making biking even the flats and slight downhills difficult. I began to notice just how much my bike was weighed down by my gear as my bike quickly lost momentum the second I stopped pedaling. At this point my hands begin to burn. I know if I don’t wiggle my fingers and get blood to them I honestly might lose them. As we bike I’ve got my forearms on the handlebars and am making fists with my hands over and over again. My left hand is pretty numb and cold but I can still wiggle all my fingers. My right hand however is burning. It feels like it’s on fire and each time I ball my fist it burns more. I want to take off my wet gloves, but I know it’ll make it worse if they’re exposed. 

Up ahead I see Max hitting another hill and the desperation sets in. I try to stand up and pedal, but I’m not functioning, I have no will and no strength so I get off and walk. My right foot is completely numb and feels like a rock. I can barely put weight on it and so I begin to stumble. I tried to keep my bike upright with the handlebars weighted with 30lbs of gear, but the effort required both hands on the handlebar. A requirement that went against every urge in my body to remove my hands from the cold handlebar and jam them in my pockets. At this point I’m scared, more scared than I’ve ever been in my life. More scared than I was on Barrhorn. Scared of dying and scared of losing a hand to the cold. At the top of the hill Max and I stop and check the distance. 5 miles out. It felt like forever and we had only moved less than a mile. Max says that it’s about 25 min left but in my head I’m doing the math and know we’re moving at a 6MPH pace at this point and that it’s more like 50-60min, a thought I didn’t vocalize. I didn’t see how we could possibly survive another hour out here and so I began to consider the alternatives. I’m considering ditching the bikes and hitch hiking to the hostel or to go knocking on the next farmhouse and plead to be let in. I look at the sheep unconcerned by our eminent peril and visions of Luke Skywalker’s method of keeping warm with a Tauntaun on Hoth fill my mind. At this stop I jam my hands into my pockets and after a few minutes the burning sensation ceases in my right hand and feeling returns to all my fingers, but my thumbs which still feel numb and burn slightly. The only way out is forward. So once more Max and I mount our bikes and continue onward, our survival depends on this right here, what it takes in these last moments. 

After a few more slight hills we begin to descend and hope fills me with energy as I see lights in the distance. I know now we’re going to make it. A thought occurs to me that this isn’t the town the hostel is in but it’s the next one over. But I push that thought away, convincing myself this is it. I must believe it.

Pulling up alongside Max we scan every building as we enter the town. “That’s it!” Max shouts and we pull into the most glorious sight ever. A cozy hostel. Warmth. My tire deflates as I pull into the driveway but I don’t care. We truly made it. I look over at Max trying to put his bike next to mine and he is shivering convulsively, a sign of hypothermia. I tell him to get inside while I lock the bikes. I would not die tonight, I would not lose a limb, my triumph gave me warmth and I knew I could survive a few more minutes out there. 

Max came out of the Hostel a few moments later followed by the hostel worker, who instantly took to mothering us. She brought us to the shed in the back to store our bikes, exclaiming how cold we must be and how crazy we were to be biking through the storm. Once inside she offered us some hot mulled wine and to throw our clothes in the dryer after we got a hot shower. Max and I went up to our room and Max got in the shower while I took off my wet clothes and set the kettle on for some hot chocolate. 

 After a shower and some dry clothes Max and I made our way downstairs and enjoyed our hot chocolates and mulled wine by the fire in this very cozy hostel. All was well in the world. The lady came in to show us the dinner menu. The thought of putting my feet in my soaking cold boots and going back outside to find some cheap dinner was not a thought I was going to entertain. No, I would be spending £25 on this dinner here, where I was warm and dry.

Dinner was solid. Warm. I got the soup and lasagna and Max got the hummus & crackers with the enchilada. As we drank some spiced rum one of the cooks came out of the kitchen and asked us if we were the “crazy young lads” who had biked there that night. Yep, that would be us. Crazy. Stupid. But still alive. After dinner we went back to the room and enjoyed our snickers while we watched Better Call Saul. Today was a good day. 

Story & Photography by: Matthew Kirven