The Road to Uig

The giant Angus MacAskill

Was deemed a bit of a rascal 

Why a museum that small

For a man so tall

With the strength to lift an anvil?

We pedal away in scotch mist

Viewpoints not top of our list

At our scenic siding

We just keep riding

I doubt there was much that we missed

Finding coffee here is a lottery 

But we divert to Edinbane Pottery

We draw a blank

And to be quite frank 

Google’s intel is just a mockery 

Highland Motor’s is our next hope

Without caffeine I don’t think I’ll cope

“A Space-Age Machine”

Nowhere to be seen

And I leave feeling quite the dope

Eventually the mist starts to lift

Clear vision feels like a gift

The pedals are whirring 

The bicycles purring 

Though Den’s mudguard’s again come adrift 

Our spirits rally, when we spot the Galley

Only one mile from the end

Delayed gratification, till talk of castration

More details are sure to offend.

While we’re munching it starts raining again

But the cowshed is just round the bend

They let us in

With a kindly grin

Simple pleasures are hard to transcend.

Portree