There’s something thrilling about hitting your first piece of smooth tarmac roads after months of dirt track roads.

It started with the off-ramp; the slow ascent from the darkness of the ferry bay that I had so meticulously reversed onto a mere 90 minutes prior. There was no applause, no sign that said ‘Welcome Back to 40mph!’.

Our first few minutes on the mainland in four months felt like a newborn deer finding its feet – cautious, unsteady, and with a nervousness that I hadn’t quite anticipated. But with an urgency that we’d started an invisible timer, and the seconds were ticking by with every baited breath.

I’m a new driver – just one and a half years under my belt – but I do love the roads. And it turns out that driving is just like riding a bike. Although I haven’t done much of that recently, either.

I’d spend a lot of time on the M8 and the M77 while living in Glasgow; taxiing friends around and finding new places for shopping. No trip was too much, as long as I had radio signal and a travel mug of coffee stuffed in the cup holder. And it’s something I have missed since moving to the Isle of Rum.

My wee Fiesta isn’t up to the task of anything beyond the main village road, and even........

© Herald Scotland