Scotland, May 2006
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The first "away-weekend" of the year saw the beginnings of the new name for the club. Gone will be Eastern Riders and in will be Extreme Rain Riders, or ERR. Grr was more like it as we all rowed (sic) over to Swaffham for our rendezvous for breakfast at the Farm Cafe. Don't you just love getting all that wet gear on and off?
Unfortunately, the constant rain and high winds meant that the trip to Bainbridge was more of an endurance feat rather than a great photo shoot opportunity. The weather did get out once we had passed Northallerton, Carl, ever eager to press on asking why people kept needing to stop for toilet breaks and Mel teasing him about the "outrageous" toilet stops that even men were having to make.
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Arriving at the Rose & Crown, wet and cold, we were greeted with the news that there was a power cut. Some showers worked, some didn't. Some toilets worked, some didn't, Luckily, the bar worked and my new found friend, Lurch from our previous stays there, informed us that we could still eat there later but as there was no electricity he couldn't do mashed or boiled potatoes, only chips; we never did work out how that was going to work and the chips were anaemic to say the least. When I asked for a glass of wine at dinner, Lurch brought me over a glass, full to the brim, saying " I've filled it up especially for you Paul". Perhaps I'd pulled, but I really didn't want to!
Power was reinstated at about 10 pm and we had a very enjoyable pool tournament in the bar. We adjourned to the lounge and it was then, for the first time, I realised that there actually is someone who is as argumentative, stubborn and competitive as me in the world! You know who you are; if only we'd stopped in Gretna, but enough of that......
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Saturday morning saw a drier start, if quite chilly and windy. Off across the Buttertubs pass and on over to Tan Hill, the highest public house in England. A couple of 1 in 4 right angle turns to negotiate, the sort where you just have to hope that there's no gravel in the centre of the turn because you are committed and couldn't put a foot down to hold the bike. We crossed the M6 and decided to take the road through Dumfries and Kilmarnock up to Glasgow, rather than the M74 |
To say that it was windy would be an understatement. Passing miles of rolling road block, spearheaded by the inevitable caravans, we passed into Glasgow where I was looking for signs for the Erskine Bridge, which I never saw and then managed to get us lost in the city centre; Carl took over at the front (at least he can see the map when riding - my contact lenses make nearsight difficult). We were stuck in the centre somewhere. Eventually we stopped at a petrol station and some chap in a car was going that way, so we all followed him most of the way, until Carl decided, at the last minute, to shoot off down a side road, thinking that we'd already crossed the bridge. Ho hum, but eventually we got over the Erskine Bridge and on to the A82 as planned. There are no pictures of the majestic mountain scenery around Glencoe. If you want to know what it was like riding through there, if you take your bike into the nearest carwash and run it for two hours, you may be getting close.
Arriving at Fort William, we were pleased that in fact they had heat and power and also an airing cupboard, at least in the room Carl and I briefly decided to share (more of which later) to dry our sodden gear. As there was a Mountain Biking festival that weekend, the town was packed and a booking for 7 at the Everest Indian restaurant turned into an interesting eating experience with chair shortages and very poor service, although all the waiters were running round like headless chickens.
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Half way down the A838 (which is in fact single track with passing places) we encountered a lorry with a mobile home on board which had slipped and was hanging off at an angle. Despite being cold and wet, and also because we could have squeezed through on the bikes, we stopped to help the driver, who was trying to push the caravan back on. Traffic was building by this time and we bounced the caravan a few times, but were never going to be able to get it back on. Just then the driver decided to do what every Health and Safety film would show not to do in the circumstances and use a big piece of wood as a lever, standing on the trailer. The wood broke and he fell about 6 feet on his back the other side the trailer; I thought he would be dead but was very badly winded and Carl's fireman training again came to the fore. Mel also had her helmet off and was comforting the poor man. When we left he was standing, police and ambulance having been called. We had to go as we had another 150 miles to go and most didn't have that much petrol. The words of Fraser in Dad's Army were in my mind - "we're doomed". The driver was standing by the time we left, otherwise those of us who saw his Korbut style back somersault wouldn't have allowed ourselves a smile later - the look on his face as the wood broke and he plummeted backwards was priceless.
We eventually found a hotel that sold petrol - its on the map as a village but its a hotel. I'm not sure of the price, but I think it was about 1.07 a litre. We all topped up and rode back to Inverness, topped up again an then back to Fort William to end a 407 mile day. Sunday night saw the "delights" of the local Chinese and a few drinks.
I must explain my previous comment about the room Carl and I shared. All was well until he started kicking me from his bed when I didn't even think I'd been to sleep, yet alone snored, something I only usually do after smoking and drinking. After the fourth of fifth kick, I was wondering if next time I would awake to a pair of hands around my neck as I didn't know what sort of temper the has. I thought that on the grounds of both of us getting some sleep and me remaining alive, that I would take my duvet and pillow to the next door TV lounge and sleep on one of the leather sofa, which proved quite comfy and I would creep back into the room at about 5.30am when the owners started unlocking downstairs. That's the arrangement we kept for the three nights.
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Monday saw us off the "magical" Isle of Skye. Why magical? Well, Carl asked one of the locals if it ever stopped raining there, to which she replied "one minute it rains, then the sun shines, then it might snow. That's what makes it so magical" I think Carl said that it Norfolk we called it ****ing wet. There was a glorious stretch of road up to Portee, but the surfaces, as with all the roads, could be very dodgy and you were never quite sure what was underneath. The Scottish tar overbanding seems particularly slippery too. That said, we were all quite progressive and given the surfaces and weather, I think we all acquitted ourselves very well. Stopping for coffee in Porter, Lynette and Mel wanted to do a sightseeing trip which reluctantly Carl agreed to, for at least 5 miles, after which he, Tony and Gary headed off and Lynette, Mel, Chris and myself decided to bimble for the afternoon, stopping for pictures and afternoon tea. |
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When we in the "girly biker group" got back to Fort William, we found that the
macho male biker brigade had in fact gone home early as they were cold and wet.
There are girly bikers and girly bikers then. On the last leg of the trip back
to the hotel Chris and I had gunned it a bit and on inspecting my rapidly
disappearing rear tyre, I realised that I wouldn't get home on it as it was
virtually through in the middle. The last night together saw us in the Crofters Bar. Gary and I had a steak, served on the sizzler - a plate would have been nice too, as would some green vegetables, but this is the land of the deep fried Mars bar after all.
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Mel and Lynette were off to see relatives the next day. Carl, Chris, Tony and Gary left at 8 am and I started to phone round for a tyre. How difficult could it be to get a 160/60 ZR 17 in a place where there are hundreds of bikes passing through each day? Impossible. No bike dealers for 40 miles and National Tyres didn't do bike tyres. I could order one for 2 p.m. the next day from Oban, 40 miles away and not en route, but that wasn't particularly appealing!
To cut a long story short, I located one at the Yamaha dealers in Edinburgh, some 130 miles distant. The RAC agreed to take me there if that was the nearest place and so, on the first sunny and warmer day, I sat in a Transit van looking at the now visible mountains around Glencoe. 4 p.m. saw the TDM reshod - the mechanic said I'd had my money's worth from the old tyre as apparently the Metzeler Z6 is good for 7,500 miles. It was on the bike when I bought it last month and I should have checked it out before I left. I can never take the rise from Tim about tyres now, which is an avenue of pleasure denied to me.
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I have a friend who lives in Edinburgh, so I crashed the night there. Here's a picture of my friend's little girl on the TDM. I left at 9 the next morning, taking the A68 all the way to Darlington - great road after you pass the numerous speed cameras on the Scottish side and a route I would recommend if taking the bike up there again. Filled up at Darlington and didn't need to fill up again till I was back home - some change from the FireStorm, although I miss the power the TDM is absolutely ace at touring and handles very well, especially once I'd scrubbed the rear tyre in. Home at 4 pm, bath, put washing on etc. Stayed dry all the way home. |
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Carl had texted me on the Tuesday to tell me they had arrived safe and sound at 6 pm. I texted Mel as her rear (tyre) was a bit suspect too and had a message from her on Thursday to say that she and Lynette had arrived home safely too.
So, all back in one piece, which is the main thing. About 1800 miles, but I think that, for that input, some better probabilities of sunny weather are required, so maybe next year it will be Going to the South of France in Search of Heat Riders. Next, mind you, is the annual pilgrimage to Wales!
Great trip, fantastic company - thanks everyone, it was a good long weekend despite the weather.
The pictures are located in the albums section
