Part 8: You guys sure do drink some strong pop

So here we were we'd reached mainland Scotland again, we'd also reached a fairly laid back state of mind. We were on our way home and were just killing time until we could get there - no rush - no worry. There'd been some loose talk about camping here but I think that's all it was - loose talk, all of us fancied a bed for the night.

The Tourist Information office couldn't be found so we'd have to locate our own accommodation. Wandering out of town didn't turn anything up but on our way back we noticed a sign by the roadside pointing to a row of cottages "B&B £12'. A sweet old lady came to the door and showed us a closet that just about held a double bed. When we pointed out that there were three of us she even offered to move out the dressing table so that one of us could sleep on the floor.

Our wavering must have been visible because she then tried to find her next door neighbour who, she thought, might be able to put one of us up. The neighbour couldn't be found and our erstwhile landlady was clearly disappointed when we said we'd have another look round and come back to her. She was desperate to let her room to three ruffians, amazing when you think of opening up your home and security all for £36.

Accommodation was not now our only problem. Cash had disappeared, for some of us it had disappeared days ago, but now it was a common problem. I'd used practically all of mine on the bus fares from Uig which at £21 each had made a big hole in my emergency supply. Now I/we were down to £16 total and the banks were shut and the hole in the wall didn't want our plastic.

Our options were simple; camp, find a cheap B&B or find somewhere to take plastic. The little old lady was cheap but £12 was a lot to sleep on the floor. We'd passed the Lochalsh Arms earlier, this took plastic and offered en-suite rooms with TV and tea making for £20 a head. An hour later we were showered, shaved and changed into the best gear we had left.

Feeling fresh and on top of the world we found a cafe that didn't serve scotch Pies and a pub with pool tables - this cleaned us out of cash. No choice but to go back to the hotel. The bartender flapped as I asked for our drinks to be put on my room bill. He asked the manager, I signed a bit of paper and we were off.

Our bartender friend warmed to us when we bought him a scotch and told us tales of six-mile tailbacks for the ferry and the whole town brought to a standstill for days in the summer months. He relished his frightening tales of gridlock and we relished his bottom shelf of malt whiskeys, he had a whole row of them and a sample of each (to hell with the plastic total) was felt to be in order.

Geoff found a spiced rum that was more to his taste and passed on most of the malts. Despite our best persuasive efforts our bartender friend refused another malt and shut the bar more or less on time. This was probably as well for us for, with unlimited drinking time we may well have blown my credit card rating. With few options left but to go to bed - we did.

At nearly double the price of that we'd paid in Oban our breakfast was poorer. The trouble with hotels is that you pay a lot of money for the privilege of not having to leave your room for a pee.

Our three hours bus ride to Fort William was tedious with even the grandeur of Scotland's scenery becoming mundane after a while. Arriving at twelve, we had a couple of hours to kill before our next bus left for Oban.

We ate in McTavishes Kitchen and a walk down the main street turned up a friendly whole in the wall - we were solvent again. Cash rich - shopping was in order. It was Pat's (my wife) birthday on Saturday but Fort William had nothing I thought she'd like - which is normal for me, I'm hopeless at buying presents.

Geoff fared better, eventually he returned with a cuddly Loch Ness Monster and a whistling mirror.

Having finished with shopping we went back to the bus station, which was lucky because the bus left early. I think it goes when it's full and to hell with the timetable. The highlight of this journey was that when we arrived, Dave's car was not only where we'd left it but was also in one piece and, as a bonus, didn't have a parking ticket on it.

Yet another attempt at shopping, this one more successful than the last. Dave and me settled for clothes for our better halves and whiskey for ourselves - then into the car and on our way home.

This return journey was the same as most from a holiday, sorry your holiday's finished but glad to be going home. Six hours for the run including a food stop where a distraught Dave couldn't believe we'd finally passed the Scotch Pie border; he had to make do with a hamburger.

Our de-briefing discussion on the way back had a philosophical note to it. The Hebrides had been an interesting experience. In some respects the islands had fallen short of our expectations and in others had exceeded them. In theory we'd had a rough idea of what to expect but the reality had surprised us.

We knew, for instance, that you could camp anywhere that wasn't fenced off, but we didn't know that the ground would be too waterlogged or exposed to pitch the tent. We also knew that it could be very wet and very windy (and had been lucky to miss most of the rain) but didn't realise how the winds' steady pressure could wear you down.

Expecting a desolate wilderness we'd been disappointed by the rubbish strewn flatness. We'd also managed to avoid any serious disagreements and return as least as good a set of friends as when we set off. This was no mean achievement - but I do wonder what would have been the outcome if we hadn't found the Hostels?

So - the great expedition was over - well not quite.

By Wednesday, still telling tales of our adventures to anyone who'd listen. I received a phone call. It was from Mike. I'd left a note for him on the table as we left the Baleshare Hostel with my phone number and a reminder to stay in touch. I'd not really expected we'd hear from him so soon, if ever, and here he was phoning from Glasgow. He had a flight home to catch from Heathrow and said it would prove difficult to travel and catch in the same day - so was there any chance we could put him up for a night.

I arranged to pick him up at 5.30 on Thursday and then phoned Dave and Geoff to let them know. A Hebridean re-union was planned - in other words, a night out in Bollington. I arrived at Macclesfield station to find Mike sitting on the wall admiring the view. I took him home and Pat fed us a sterling mixed grill. Mike digested this in the back garden with a bird manual and binoculars. Our walk down the hill to the Queens Arms pub further aided digestion and here we met Dave, Geoff and families. We also introduced Mike to some of the pub's locals who thoroughly confused him with conflicting advice about changing terminals at Heathrow.

We also introduced him to everybody's friend - Robinson's best bitter. In retrospect I think it may have been wiser to have warned Mike about Robinson's. American beer tends to be on the weak side and Robinson's can get to you pretty quickly. Post closing time found us in Dave and Lisa's house drinking Glencoe whisky. Dave couldn't be persuaded not to get out the dreaded guitar and Mike picked it up and gave a fuddled rendition of a song about being his own grandpa. He could play and had a decent voice but his choice of an admittedly complicated lyric, coupled with the beer made him fizzle out half way through.

Eventually we decided it was time to go home. And Mike decided to go to sleep on the pavement outside Dave's house.

I couldn't believe it. Again!

The combination of whisky and beer seems to inevitably turn people into sacks of wet potatoes. Unfortunately there was one significant difference between Geoff, a week earlier, and Mike tonight. Mike was a damned sight heavier than Geoff and had longer legs.

His legs were the problem, they wouldn't bend and one or other of them kept sticking out of the car door as we tried to fold him into the back seat. With Geoff and Pat assisting (Geoff now being experienced in this common problem) we did manage to get him back home, up the steps and even up the stairs to the bedroom. We let him flop onto the bed, took off his shoes, threw a cover over him and left him for the night.

As seems usual with these beer attacks, Mike seemed none the worse for wear the next morning, in fact he seemed quite cheerful. After breakfast I drove him to the station and on the way we exchanged addresses, Mike seemed a nice gentle sort of guy and I thought it would be nice to stay in touch.

Mike's parting remark as we unloaded his kit from the boot was "You guys sure do drink some strong pop".

Perhaps he was right but I think it was more than the beer that got to him. Mikes visit had rounded of our Journey. It cancelled out the anti-climax you feel when returning from something that's been planned for a long time. It also provided the perfect postscript for this story and made Geoff feel a whole lot better about his collapse in Dunollie Castle. It's a pity there wasn't an open fire in Dave's House for then the smoke from the fire could truly be said to have affected our American friend.

This journey to the Outer Hebrides was my first island jaunt and inexperience led us to make a number of mistakes.

Firstly - we travelled in late March - big mistake, and secondly we travelled in the wrong direction - even bigger mistake.

I have been back - later in the year and travelled down not up the island chain. This later journey totally changed my opinion of the Outer Hebridees - they are amongst the most beautiful of the Scottish Islands. They may lack charm but this is more than countered by the wildness of the scenery and the abundance of flora and fauna little seen elsewhere. I'd recommend them to all - and I'd also recommend they're visited in May - and that you travel from Loch Maddy down to Loch Boisdale - and if the Black Houses are still there - try one, you might still find our entries in the Log Books.

See some Pictures from Keith's Trip