Glasgow to Inverness · one way, about 456 km back to the start
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A one-way ride of 456 km, Glasgow to Inverness - roughly 6 h 15 in the saddle. On the way it passes Loch Lomond, Rannoch Moor, Glencoe and Fort William. A steady touring day rather than a sprint.
Glasgow starts the A82 journey, and it is a city that deserves a look before you leave. The Clyde, which built the city's wealth through shipbuilding, runs through the south, and the cathedral and Necropolis, a Victorian cemetery on a hill, lie to the east.
The ride north starts with an urban crawl and then, quite quickly, the world opens. The A82 follows the western shore of Loch Lomond, a narrow, winding road with bends and rock walls and slow traffic in summer, then climbs to Crianlarich and Tyndrum, crosses the bleak expanse of Rannoch Moor and drops into Glencoe, one of the grandest valleys in Scotland. The surface is mostly good, but wet weather is frequent, and the road can be busy with coaches and caravans. Early starts are the key.
Glasgow itself is a friendly, direct city with a lively music scene and a long industrial past. The Kelvingrove Art Gallery and Museum, a red sandstone building in the west end, is one of the finest collections in Britain, and its free entry makes it a good stop. The city's food has improved greatly, and the old curry houses of the Pollokshields area are famous.
Fuel is no problem in the city, with stations on every major road, and it is wise to fill the tank before leaving, as stations become scarcer north of Loch Lomond. Tarbet, Crianlarich and Tyndrum have fuel and food, but the long section across Rannoch Moor has none.
Have a proper breakfast before setting off. A Glasgow breakfast, with square sausage and tattie scones, is worth the extra time, and the road will wait. Rain is likely at some point on this road, so a dry layer in the top box is better than hope, and Glencoe in mist can be as moving as in sun.
Loch Lomond is the largest lake in Great Britain by surface area, and its character changes sharply from south to north. In the south, around Balloch and Luss, it is wide and dotted with wooded islands; to the north it narrows into a long, steep-sided, Highland fjord overlooked by Ben Lomond. The loch lies inside the Loch Lomond and The Trossachs National Park, Scotland's first, created in 2002. Helensburgh, Balloch and Garelochhead are the nearest towns.
There is a geological point worth knowing. The Highland Boundary Fault crosses the loch here, and the chain of islands such as Inchcailloch follows it, which is why the south feels like Lowland Scotland and the north like the Highlands. The old song about the bonnie, bonnie banks has made the place famous well beyond Scotland, and walkers from Glasgow have been heading up Ben Lomond for generations.
The riding on the west shore is by the A82, and honestly it is a difficult road. It is narrow, twisty and busy, with several stretches where the limit drops and where the loch is hidden behind trees. It is a road to take at a measured pace, enjoying glimpses of water through the oaks rather than pushing for time. Coaches and campervans often slow the traffic, and Friday evenings and sunny Sundays can be congested. Early mornings are far better, with mist on the water and the road to yourself.
The woods here are old oak, birch and hazel, rich in ferns and mosses thanks to the damp Atlantic climate. Red deer and feral goats live on the hills. Luss is a pretty conservation village of stone cottages on the shore, handy for a coffee.
For fuel, Helensburgh and the towns of the Vale of Leven are the safest options, so fill up before you start the long northward run toward Tarbet and Crianlarich. Beyond Tarbet the road climbs toward Glen Falloch and the real Highlands, and fuel stops become much further apart, so plan accordingly.
Rannoch Moor is not a place you ride through so much as a place that lets you pass. The A82 crosses it on a slim shelf of tarmac, with no trees, no walls and no village for tens of kilometres, only peat, pools, boulders and the dark mass of the Black Mount along the western edge. Some forty-odd square miles of bog and lochan sit on a plateau about three hundred metres up, left behind by ice that once lay here a mile thick.
The road itself is open and rolling, good for a relaxed pace but not for racing. The surface can be patched, the bends are gentle and the views are huge, and because there are no trees the wind has a free run at you. In a westerly gale a loaded bike can feel like a sail. The weather can change in minutes, and a day that starts in sunshine can end with horizontal rain, so a waterproof layer should live in the top box. In clear, still light, especially in the evening in late summer, the pools turn into mirrors and the whole moor glows.
A railway was built across the moor in the 1890s, floated on a raft of tree roots, brushwood and thousands of tonnes of earth because the peat swallowed ordinary foundations. The West Highland Line still runs this way, with a lonely station at Rannoch that has become a minor cult destination among walkers. The old drove roads and the West Highland Way also cross the moor, and you will often see walkers with huge packs trudging beside the A82.
Practical points matter here. Cafes are few, and in the colder months can be closed, so carry water and something to eat. Midges are a summer plague in still, damp weather, so leave the helmet visor shut when you stop. In winter, ice and snow can close or slow the road quickly, and the A82 across the moor is one of the first to feel it.
Glencoe wears its history heavily, and it is hard to ride into the glen without feeling it. In February 1692 soldiers who had been billeted with the MacDonald clan for nearly two weeks turned on their hosts in the early hours and killed nearly forty of them, on orders issued in the name of the crown. The massacre has been argued over ever since, but the glen carries the memory, and the monument and the visitor centre at the lower end are worth a quiet few minutes.
The landscape is the other half of the story. Glencoe is the remnant of an ancient volcano, collapsed into itself, then carved by glaciers into a steep, U-shaped valley with walls that rise more than nine hundred metres on either side. The Three Sisters of Bidean nam Bian hang over the road on one side, and the jagged knife-edge of the Aonach Eagach ridge runs along the other. Light changes constantly: grey and menacing when the cloud sits low, golden on a clear evening, bruised purple in autumn when the bracken has turned.
The road through the glen, the A82, is wide for a Highland road, with a smooth surface and long, flowing bends that suit a steady pace. But it is also one of the busiest roads in Scotland, with coaches, caravans and camper vans clogging it in summer, and you will need patience on a July afternoon. Go at dawn or in the evening if you want the glen to yourself. Pull in only at the proper lay-bys, because the verges are soft and the traffic is heavy, and keep an eye on the weather, since a wet road in a narrow glen is a different challenge.
Fuel is the thing to plan. The nearest reliable supply is in Fort William, about fifteen kilometres from here, so make sure you have enough before heading up the glen from the south. The small village of Glencoe at the lower end has a few places for coffee and a bite, and the hillwalkers who gather there will always be glad to talk about the weather. The midges in still, humid weather are fierce, and the rain is frequent, so waterproofs are as important as sunglasses.
Fort William is a working town with a mountain behind it, and the mountain is Ben Nevis. At 1,345 metres, it is the highest summit in the British Isles, and from the streets of the town you may or may not see it, depending on the cloud, which hides the top for most of the year. The town itself is not beautiful, a long, practical line of shops, hotels and outdoor stores along the shore of Loch Linnhe, but it sits in an extraordinary landscape of lochs, glens and peaks, and it is a good base for exploring the western Highlands.
The name comes from the fort built here in the 1650s by General Monck's army to control the Highlands, rebuilt in the 1690s and named for King William III. The fortress is long gone, but its role as a garrison town in a rebellious land shaped the place. Later came the Caledonian Canal, completed in the early nineteenth century, which uses a flight of eight locks at Banavie, called Neptune's Staircase, to lift boats toward the Great Glen. The West Highland Way, the long-distance walking route from Glasgow, ends here, and the West Highland Railway, one of the most scenic in Britain, arrives from the south. Just west along the coast, the Glenfinnan viaduct is famous from the Harry Potter films, and a steam train crosses it in summer.
For a rider, the interest is the A82, which runs south through Glencoe and across Rannoch Moor, and north-east along the Great Glen toward Loch Ness. The road south from Fort William, by the shores of Loch Linnhe and into Glen Coe, is one of the most dramatic in Scotland, with long bends and soaring slopes, though traffic can be heavy and slow-moving in summer. The surface is generally good but has its patches. In rain, which is frequent, visibility drops and the road can become slick, so it pays to ride within your limits.
Fort William has all the services you need, including fuel, supermarkets, cafes and pubs, and it is a good place to stock up before the more remote roads to the west and north. The nearest distillery, Ben Nevis, offers tours, and the pubs serve decent venison and haggis after a wet day. Midges are a nuisance in summer, and the best months for riding are May, June and September, when the days are long and the crowds are thinner.
There is nothing more mythical in Scotland than the great dark stretch of water at the end of this ride, and nothing quite so crowded in summer. Loch Ness fills the Great Glen, the geological fault line that slices Scotland in two from Fort William to Inverness, and it runs for about thirty-six kilometres. It is deep, cold and peaty brown, and holds more fresh water than all the lakes in England and Wales put together.
The monster story goes back at least as far as the sixth century, when Saint Columba is said to have faced down a beast in the River Ness. Whatever you believe, the loch itself needs no monster to be impressive. Nearby Urquhart Castle, a ruin on a headland above the water, has been fought over for centuries and gives you the classic view down the glen.
The road is the A82, and it is busy. Coach parties, campervans and lorries share it, and the stretch along the north shore is winding and narrow in places, with plenty of blind bends and short overtaking opportunities. Treat it as a road for steady cruising, not racing. Weather matters here, as low cloud and drizzle can blot out the hills, though when the sun does break through the loch is dazzling and the birch woods along the shore turn bright gold in October.
Midges will find you from late spring to early autumn if you stop near the water on a still evening, so keep moving or wear a net. The bigger town of Inverness is about twenty-one kilometres to the north-east and has plenty of fuel, while Drumnadrochit has a pump or two on the main road if you are in a hurry.
Finishing here after a day from Rannoch Moor and Glencoe feels right: the landscape softens, the hills drop away and the great glen opens like a long final chord.
Inverness is where the North Coast 500 starts and ends, the circuit that has turned the top of Scotland into a bucket-list road, and the sensible traveller treats the city as a place to arrive, wash, shop and sleep before heading out. It sits where the River Ness meets the Moray Firth, and for centuries it was the capital of the Highlands in practice, a market town at the junction of roads running north, west and south. The population of about forty-seven thousand makes it by far the largest settlement for a hundred miles in any direction, and that means all the fuel, tyres, spares and supermarkets you could want.
Before you leave, the city is worth a walk along the river, where the Ness Islands carry Victorian footbridges and tall trees, and the castle, a nineteenth-century building, looks over the water. Inverness is not ancient in appearance, because most of the old town was lost to fires and war, but it has a lively centre, a cathedral on the river bank and a big market. Culloden Moor, where the Jacobite army was destroyed in 1746, lies about ten minutes east, and it is a moving and quiet place; the visitor centre is a good short stop. Loch Ness, nearly twenty-three miles long, begins just to the south-west, and the Caledonian Canal that links it to the sea passes through the city.
The road north crosses the Kessock Bridge onto the Black Isle, and from the top you can often see dolphins in the firth below, which is a good omen. The A9 is fast and busy for the first stretch, but once you leave it the roads narrow, and the single-track sections in the north and west need patience, passing places and a willingness to wave at campervans. Summer brings heavy traffic, midges and long light, with dusk past eleven in June, so book accommodation well ahead. Spring and September are quieter and often dry on the east side.
On the morning you set off, top up the tank and think about the distances, because the next large supply is some way on, and many stations in the north close early or on Sundays. Buy midge repellent, check your tyres and carry waterproofs, as Highland weather changes between two bends. Cullen skink or a fish supper makes a respectable first dinner, and the smoked salmon here is good.
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