Left at a T junction, back up the eastern side of a loch we'd already travelled down, and onto the larger, busier A835. Ullapool, the lunch stop, was sheltered from the wind, and warm in the sun. We basked, shopped for postcards and ate chips.
The wind came back with a vengeance as we climbed into the hills, so we had to fight it around the corners. Dark skies threatened mist and rain, and I was keen to stay ahead of it. But as I followed Dave and John past a small loch, a Tornado suddenly streaked low over the water, followed by another.
Dave has known me long enough to work out why I suddenly dropped back. I pulled up at the side of the road, only for another of the fighters to roar magnificently overhead. I waved frantically, and got out my camera in hope of more action. Another couple of passes, then the thunder died away and I moved on.
At the petrol station in Lochinver, I was reunited with Howard, Dave and John. We went in search of afternoon tea, and I had my second cake of the day in a cafe with its own small herd of deer.
From here it was just fourteen miles to our hotel in Drumbeg. They were perhaps the prettiest fourteen miles of the holiday: a single track road that climbed above white sandy beaches and Caribbean-blue sea, with little traffic bar an occasional caravan or sheep to skirt around.
There was no wifi for guests and no phone signal, so everyone sat in the lounge before dinner reading the hotel's collection of tatty paperbacks, then went to bed at nine. It was nice.