BTBC Scotland trip 1 2003
A week before the Scotland trip I found myself in a bit of a state, my new bike was still in need of some serious TLC not to mention insurance, an MOT, tax and rear tyre. My luggage was still in Ross on Wye where I had dumped it after my Africa got stolen on New Years Eve, I had no tools, no bike spares and was badly in need of some new riding gear. To say I was unprepared would be a massive understatement. Nothing new there then.
Necessity being the greatest of motivators I somehow managed to get the multitude of requisite jobs completed. After fitting a brand spanking new rear Tourance to the bike on the Thursday before the meet I headed up North on the first leg of my annual pilgrimage to the greatest biking roads this side of Bardo. My luggage system consisted of an old worn out karrimor rucksack packed to bursting point and secured to the rack with a couple of old roof rack straps. Sorted.
My plan was to head north on the A1, nip into Chesterfield to show off my new pride and joy before heading off to Rainbow motorcycles to pick up some bike spares before finally heading off to meet up with Carl and crash at his place. The A1 part of the plan went pretty smoothly and I even managed to find the time to call in at the OK Diner. I had ridden past this American style 50's throwback café on many of my northern bound adventures in the past and had always fancied checking it out.
After gorging myself on pancakes and milkshakes, I continued on with my journey. My "new" 1150GS cruised north up the A1 with effortless efficiency, in fact it was so effortless and efficient that I had to keep an eye on the speedo as I kept clocking myself cruising at well over license losing speeds.
I took the A617 into Chesterfield and shortly afterwards I wished that I hadn't. Coming over the crest of a hill I was presented with what appeared to be the scene of an accident. Flashing blue lights were everywhere and I naturally assumed that something very bad had happened. I was directed to pull over to the side of the road and one of the coppers walked over to talk to me. In actual fact there was no accident and this was yet another spot check for bikes. Great. I was sent away with a 7 day wonder and a 14 day vehicle defect form for my new Remus can. I tried to explain to PC plod that I was heading up to Scotland and wasn't planning on being back in my home town of Colchester for another 10 days and as such producing my documents could be a bit tricky. I was told that if I failed to produce my documents in Colchester within the given time scale then I could be liable to a £500 fine and may also be given points on my license. I won't be leaving home without my docs again.
After a quick visit to the Celtic Art tattoo shop in Chesterfield, I headed onto Rainbow BMW motorcycle of Sheffield where I was due to meet up with Carl. A few of the GS's on display were sporting BTBC badges but I didn't recognise the bikes from any of my previous trips. Carl turned up shortly afterwards and we headed over to Clarkie towers for coffee, fags and bike talk.
We spent the evening in the company of the Scott brothers and Jez's wife, Wag. After consuming far too much alcohol, Carl and I stumbled back to his place and passed out shortly afterwards.
I awoke in the morning to an empty house as Carl had gone off to work. The previous day's glorious sunshine had turned into drizzling rain and the heavens really began to open as I loaded the old rucksack onto the back of the GS and headed back over to Chesterfield for the traditional pre Scotland warm up ride with the Dangerous brothers.
I was the first to arrive at Johnny Dangerous's house so we spent a few hours bolting on specially made DB accessories to my bike and generally larking around. John very kindly gave me a home made heated vest. It consisted of an old body warmer with a set of heated gloves glued into the back of the thing. It might have looked like it had been made in the blue peter studios but it was a real lifesaver on the trip and I was extremely grateful to Mr DB#2.
Wild Bill Naismith and Mick Bingham arrived shortly afterwards followed by DB#4, Phil Rennie and DB#3, Andrew Bailey. By this point the rain was really starting to come down and the thought of riding slippery twisty roads on a new bike with new tyres somehow didn't quite excite me too much. Just before we set off Johnny Dangerous offered to lend me a spare all in one rain suit. I declined his kind offer and spent the rest of the trip regretting my decision.
Having had almost no previous riding experience on the 1150, I was finding the going a little tough. The front end of an oilhead BMW is suspended by a fangle device called a telelever. This German uber invention replaces the conventional forks that most modern motorcycles use. The thing practically glues itself to the road and provides amazing road holding but the downside is it gives the inexperienced GS pilot practically no feedback whatsoever. Fortunately for me Johnny Dangerous had noticed that I was having a spot of bother and gave me a few handy words of advice before allowing me to follow in his 1150's tracks. Once I realised that the front wouldn't slide away I soon found my riding rhythm and happily slotted into place with the rest of the pack.
The plan for the warm up thrash was to do a couple of top local roads and then head north up the M6 to Cumbria where DB#3, Andrew Bailey would lead us around a few of his favourite roads. All was going well until we hit the M6. The most congested motorway in Britain isn't a very nice place to be on a warm summers afternoon and this was certainly no warm summers afternoon, the rain had become even heavier and with no rainsuit I was now totally drenched. The heated vest that DB#2 had donated was a real life saver but my hands were so wet and cold that I could barely control the bike. I signalled to Mick that I needed to stop ASAP and we pulled into the next services.
I really had had enough by this point so I decided to leave the DB's and Bill to their Hardknott pass bashing insanity and headed North to Askham to meet up with John and Sue Gartside for our overnight stay in the Punch Bowl. I sped further north up the M6 and was at the Penrith turn off in no time at all. I had stayed in Askham a few years ago - in fact I had completely passed out in the bar and had to be helped to my room by the bar staff! I hoped that the bar staff wouldn't remember me!
John and Sue had already arrived by the time that I got to the Punch Bowl. Garty is well known for his loathing of BMW's so I was totally gob smacked when he told me that the new bike looked good. The Punch Bowl had a blazing fire in the main bar so I stripped off my gear and covered the fireplace with my soaking wet riding trousers and waterlogged boots much to the annoyance of the land lady! Nick Davies joined us shortly afterwards on his new 1150GS and we spent much of the evening discussing the various merits and peculiarities of GS's and generally driving John and Sue insane. To add insult to injury, Nick and I were approached by a couple of blokes who had seen our GS's and were keen to find out all about them. For some unknown reason Paul Clarke (PC) had moved the traditional Southwaite services meeting point further up the M6\A74. Unfortunately Garty and I only discovered this after we had booked our overnight accommodation in Askham. Realising that we had a bit of a trek in the morning, we all headed off to bed at a very reasonable hour. I slept like a log until I was awoken at the ungodly hour of 06:15 by my mobile phone ringing. It was Garty telling me to get up and get ready for the off.
I loaded up my gear and wondered out to the bikes. I was a little miffed that my bike was the only one in the car park as I had chained it to Garty's Africa the previous night with the mother of all chains. Turns out John had picked the lock and moved his bike to the front of the pub. So much for Thatcham approved security devices then.
Breakfast took longer than expected and by the time we had finished eating we were well behind schedule for the pre 09:00 meet up. We raced up the M6 and onto the A74. Garty then waved me passed which I guessed was a signal to open the big 1150 up and try to get to the meet on time. In retrospect he was probably waving me past to act as a speeding buffer for himself! As I cranked the big GS up to warp factor 10 I happened to notice that my fuel gauge was showing empty and that my fuel warning light was on. As luck would have it there was a petrol station about ¼ mile away so I signalled to John that I was going to fuel up and that I would catch him up. Nick was obviously running low on fuel as he also pulled in.
I had just finished filling the bike up when I turned round to be met by none other than Paul Crossland. I then noticed about 20 big trail bikes parked behind the little chef. Amazingly I had turned off at the right service station by accident!
I did the rounds saying hello to all my old friends and checking out the new bikes. I was particularly interested in the brand spanking new KTM 950 that had joined us. Quite a few old skool Africa riders were now sporting shiny great lumps of Bavarian metal so I spent some time talking to my fellow Africa traitors about their experiences with their new bikes. Paul Atkin AKA as my Dad played the old routine of welcoming home his long lost son which always makes me smile. As I was chatting to "Dad" I heard an almighty great crash. Nick had dropped his new GS. Apparently he mistakenly thought that the side stand was down and had simply lowered the bike onto the ground. Fortunately there wasn't any real damage but the bike was righted before I could get my camera out and capture the moment. Like myself, Harry Nuttall was doing the Scottish trip for the third time and I couldn't wait to hit some twisty roads with him. Robin Dawson and Theresa had also turned up and Robin was sporting a brand new GS Adventure. He later told me that he had walked into the dealers to buy a new tyre for his R1100GS and had walked out with a new bike. Fabulous!
PC sent John and Sue a txt telling them to wait for us and shortly afterwards we set off. I made sure that I sat behind the new KTM as I wanted to have a good look at it on the move. I soon became bored though and roared off to the front of the pack for some legs on pots posing with the rest of the GS owners. Garty and Sue were waiting for us a few miles down the road and soon joined us. Being part of the big trail bike precession always raises a smile. It's great to look back in your mirrors and see over 20 bikes stretched out over a mile or so.
On the past 2 Scotland trips we have always trekked right up North on the M74, through Glasgow onto the ferry and then onto the twisty roads. PC had obviously been spending some time scouring the maps over the long dark winter months as this year we turned off the motorway well before usual and hit some great little twisty roads.
All was going well, the roads were amazing, the sun was out and we were generally having a great time when I happened to glance up and catch a glimpse of a helicopter. It appeared that the helicopter was following us and on further inspection it turned out to be a police helicopter. Suddenly the speeds dropped away and the overtakes stopped as we tried to convince pilot plod that we were members of an IAM group out for a gentle ride. It must have done the trick as the chopper soon left us alone and flew off to pester other bikers about small number plates, loud cans and other such capital punishment inducing offences.
I overtook a few more bikes and soon found myself following Garty's huge jacked up Africa. Just as we were starting to pick up the pace a little, two sheep ran across the road in front of us. Unfortunately one of the sheep then decided that it wanted to go back to where it had come from and promptly turned around right in front of Garty's bike. John was left with no option but to hit the thing. The sheep's skull made an almighty great crack as it glanced off John's Motad crash bars and then flipped through the air in front of me. I then swerved around the thing which was now lying feet up in the middle of the road. I thought John and Sue would come off the bike for sure but John did a great job of keeping the bike upright and bringing it to a stop. I guess all that mountain biking that he does probably helped. John and Sue were OK but a little shaken up. The sheep, I presumed, was dead as it was still lying feet up in the road. All the following bikes stopped to help with most of the riders assuming it was me that had hit the thing! Amazingly just as John was gaffer taping the damage up, the sheep got up and stumbled away somewhere. I guess that it must have died later as it had taken a serious clout from John's bars. Dave Edge had thoughtfully gone off to see the local farmer to explain what had happened and as soon as he returned we all headed off again. I was extremely weary of any four legged hazards for the remainder of the trip though.
Disaster struck again within the next couple of miles. The roads had opened up a bit so naturally our speed had increased. As I approached a corner, I went to hit the rear brake, felt loads of resistance and then the brake lever went all limp. I pulled over to have a look at what had happened and a few kind hearted riders stopped to see what was up. I couldn't quite believe what I found. A bungee had pinged lose from my luggage and had lodged itself between the disk and the pads. When I went to brake, the pads couldn't move and as such the rear brake master cylinder had exploded chucking brake fluid all down the side of my bike. Great. Mick Bingham, the master bush mechanic, was soon inspecting the damage and figuring out what could be done. Unfortunately it looked like I had blown the seal and without a suitable replacement the master cylinder was unrepairable. I continued on for a few miles with no rear brake but soon became aware of how much I use the thing. Riding was becoming extremely difficult so something had to be done. After a quick chat with Paul Atkin and Fraz I decided to brake away from the main group and head in to Glasgow in the hope of finding a BM dealer. I announced my departure with a huge 1st gear wheelie and didn't stop grinning for the next couple of miles.
I was soon back on a big fast A road and heading into the centre of Glasgow. I had no idea where I was going, in fact I had no idea if there even was a BM dealer in Glasgow but I do love an adventure. As I queued for a set of traffic lights I noticed a bike instructor with a few pupils sitting at the front of the queue. I pulled up next to him and asked for directions. Fortunately there was indeed a BM dealer fairly nearby and my new found biking brother gave me spot on directions to the dealer including location of all the nasty speed cameras. Top bloke.
I followed the directions given to me and in no time at all I was sitting outside one of only 3 BM dealers in Scotland! I walked straight into the workshop and up to a guy who looked like he had walked straight off the set of brave heart - wild ginger hair and a big ginger beard. This guy turned out to be a real life saver. The rear master cylinder on an 1150 is a sealed unit and as such the entire thing needed to be replaced. Unfortunately they didn't have the part in stock but my luck was in as a guy had taken their 1150GS demonstrator out for a test ride a few days beforehand and had written it off. The dealer manager had to call BM to make sure it was OK to salvage the required part from the crash damaged GS and luckily BM agreed. The parts were swapped in record time and the bike was even given a good clean up whilst I had a coffee and checked out the latest BMW clothing. I was extremely grateful to the dealer and if I ever have enough money to buy a new BMW know where I'll be heading to.
I now had a bit of a mission on my hands. I had to try and catch the group up and I didn't have a clue where they had gone. Paul had given everyone a sheet with directions and instructions at the beginning of the meet but I had somehow managed to lose mine. Fraz had told me to head for a place called Hunters Key which after much map scouring turned out to be Hunters Quay. So off to Hunters Quay I went - again at warp factor 10. A ferry was about to leave as I rolled into the Quay but fortunately the deck hands held the departure to enable me to squeeze the bike onboard. I phoned Garty whilst we crossed the bay and arranged to meet up with the group at the lunch RV.
Everyone was sitting outside scoffing sandwiches and the like as I pulled into the gravel car park attached to the little cafe so I announced the rejuvenation of my back brake with a little skid. Luckily I kept it upright otherwise it might have been quite embarrassing! I was pretty pleased with myself having managed to get the entire thing sorted out in just over an hour.
I managed to cram in a couple of chocolate bars and catch up on the mornings "offs" before the "2 minutes" were called and we all headed out for more roads. We were now heading over to the B836 and the gravelliest roads known to man and it had started to rain. Oh great.
I was determined to take it steady on the 836 as I really didn't fancy getting the big GS out of shape. As it turned out we had no option but to take it steady as the entire worlds population of MG owners had also decided to do the 836 but from the other direction. Wave after wave of grumpy faced MG owners littered the road and made blind crest and corners a little more exciting than usual.
We stopped briefly at the Otter ferry pub. Johnny Dangerous had to leave his 1150 running as he was having problems with the immobiliser and feared that he'd never be able to start the thing again if he turned it off. Then we headed around Loch Striven on some more wet gravel strewn roads. Wild Bill and I popped a few little wheelies off the crests and bumps which was great fun but a bit dodgy in the treacherous conditions. The GS was proving to be a real hooligan weapon and quite dangerous in my incapable hands!
By this time the rain had started to come down really hard. Most riders had had enough and the few pillions on the trip were obviously fed up with getting drenched whilst clinging on for dear life. Quite how the pillions do these trips, I will never know. I think I have more respect for them than I do for any hardcore rider in the club.
At the final petrol station of the day we were met by Scott from Falkirk and his GS Adventure. He had been trying to track us down all day and had only just caught up. I'm always amazed by the diversity of riders that are attracted to the GS. GS owners seem to come from a myriad of biking backgrounds. My own biking background is obviously big trail bikes so with 85bhp as opposed to the 60bhp of an Africa, the GS seems fast to me. By contrast Scott's biking background was more sportsbike orientated with his last bike being a Fireblade. As such the GS seems slow to him but he told me that after 11 months of riding the thing, he still finds the handling amazing.
Thinking that we were going to be off an another long ride for the last leg of the day, I donned extra layers, plugged my heated vest in, spent ages sorting out my neck warmers and gloves and even devoured a few energy boosting cereal bars before finally hitting the road. The hotel appeared about ¼ mile later!
The new Hotel in Ardrishaig (or Hardshag as it became known) has to be one of the finest hotels that the BTBC have ever stayed in. The rooms were spacious, the food was great and the hotel staff had even arranged two huge tables so that we could all eat together. I was room sharing with Rob Scott and Harry. I was very pleasantly surprised as I had been told that I would be sharing with Carl for the entire trip! Our room soon became a huge drying area with wet gear strewn out all over the place so I vacated down to the lounge room where I enjoyed a particularly fine locally brewed beer with Carl and a few other early drinkers.
After a fantastic meal with Dave Edge and the rest of the cruisers I went back to the lounge room where Fraz and a few others were playing some kind of music trivia quiz. Not being particularly knowledgeable about music I soon become bored and went outside to check the bikes with Paul and Carl. One of the locals told us that a pub down the road was having a ceilidh night. I had no idea what a ceilidh is but it couldn't be any worse than the all nighter music quiz that was still going on in the lounge. John, Sue, Robin D, Theresa and myself all went in search of the ceilidh pub but unfortunately walked into the wrong pub where a huge pub brawl was about to go off. By this point I was too incapacitated to realise what was happening so Robin and John quickly ushered me out of the pub and back to the hotel. The music quiz was still going on so I went to bed and starred at maps that seemed to spin round on their own for a while.
I seem to have developed a nasty habit of consistently missing breakfast when out with the BTBC and the following morning proved to be no exception. Garty, knowing what I complete mechanical idiot I am, always used to help me out with the servicing and maintenance on my old Africa. I didn't think he'd help me out at all with the new BM but he proved me wrong. John had got up early and had checked the oil level of my bike for me. I was aware that the big GS's do use some oil but mine seemed to have developed a bit of an addiction to the stuff and had drunk most of it leaving barely a trace in the sight window. Fortunately I managed to borrow some oil from someone and by the time I had filled the bike up and tightened a few other bits and bobs the "2 minutes" were called and we were off again.
By now I was starting to get the hang of riding the big GS so I was really looking forward to one of my all time favourite super fast biking roads, the Kyle of Lochalsh road AKA the A87. However the 87 would have to wait until later in the day as the morning was taken up with riding the tighter twisty stuff including a couple of great wheelie popping roads. Johnny Dangerous lead me and Scott on the first of the days twisties and set a fast but silky smooth pace. I simply copied his lines and the road was over in a blur of tight corners and blind crests. Next up was the Loch Awe road.
Traditionally we have always stopped halfway along this narrow twisty little lane at a scenic picnic spot that overlooks the entire loch. It just so happens that the final crest before the picnic spot is the perfect launch ramp for would be wheelie hooligans. As we were all calming down and chilling out from the mornings activities Fraz took it upon himself to give us all a display of his wheelie talents. He must have wheelied over the crest a good 10 times and each time his wheelie got a little better but it always sounded like he was in too high a gear to pull a cracker. PC, famed for his wheelies, then took it upon himself to show us all how it was supposed to be done. First up was a monster wheelie which was captured by half the club on their cameras. Not satisfied with this Paul then went back for more. Next time round he pulled out all the stops and pulled the biggest wheelie I have ever seen. I think the front came up a little more than he expected and at one point I really did think that the bike was going to flip. He landed it OK though but that was the last one! I was too scared to try it myself. Maybe next year?
The wheelie fun wasn't over yet though as the next road that we hit is famed for its wheelie bumps, jumps and crests and according to Fraz is his favourite road of all time. This time I sat right at the back of the pack, just behind Fraz and waved all the fast riders through. Fraz and I then proceeded to ride the entire road in 2nd and 3rd gear pulling our little wheelies over every single bump or jump. Great fun and probably safer than charging around those gravel strewn roads at full speed. I'm looking forward to pulling a great big wheelie through a nice slippery ford soonJ!
When I first joined the BTBC, I didn't have a clue where I was going. I would simply follow the bloke in front and ride until we got to wherever it was that we were going. Over the years though my navigational skills have improved to a certain degree and I now find it quite enjoyable to study the map the night before and then keep track of where we're going. This came in quite handy for the lunch stop. I remembered the lunch stop from last year's trip and as the pub in Salen got closer I started to work my way through the pack. If the last few years with the BTBC have taught me one thing, it's that you do not want to be last at a food stop! Fortunately my cunning plan worked and I was soon enjoying a nice fatty ham and mouth burning mustard baguette by the fire.
Once again the rain had decided to join us for the afternoon so Paul decided to cut out some of the small stuff and head straight for the fast roads to Applecross. I couldn't wait. I quite happily sat behind Bill and Paul Atkin on some early fast roads. By now the roads were really wet and I didn't want to push too hard as I still wasn't 100% sure of the limits of the GS in the wet. I was soon to find out though! Just before the A82 we arrived at some road works that were controlled by traffic lights. At the front of the queue sat some of the faster riders in the club. I cheekily snuck up to the front of the queue and just as I was doing so the lights changed. I pulled in front of the entire pack with Dave Edge sitting right behind mine. Now Mr Edge knows a thing or two about how to ride a motorcycle and I knew that he'd be watching my every move on these wet and slippery roads. I put on my best display of safe riding whilst making rapid progress but after about half a mile the pressure got too great and I waved him past. I then proceeded to follow Dave along some of the finest biking roads in the UK. About 50 miles later we pulled into a petrol station on the A87. It had been one of the most exhilarating rides I have ever had - I scared myself silly but at least I know now what a GS can do in the wet!
Everyone was now soaking wet again and I think we were all looking forward to getting to Applecross as soon as possible. After the break on the A87 the pace substantially increased as people raced to get over Bealach na Ba as soon as possible. I'm always surprised at just how far it is from the A87 turn off to Applecross. I always seem to think that it's much closer than it actually is. The roads connecting the 87 with Bealach na Ba are absolute crackers in their own right but when your on a mission to get warm and dry ASAP you just want to get them over with as quickly as possible. At this point I was getting a little tired and I was starting to loss my concentration bit. A more experienced rider would have realised this and slowed down. Not me. On one road alone I made three of the biggest biking cock ups that I have ever made. All of them involved overtaking bikes just before a right hand corner and all of them ended up with me ploughing into the right handed corners blind. If anything had been coming the other way I would have been in serious trouble. Luckily the road was clear. I calmed down bit after that and started to think more about my riding rather than the food and drink and hot showers that were waiting for us at Applecross.
Bealach na Ba is the highest pass in the UK and according to the spiel in the Applecross Inn is the only true Alpine pass in the UK. I'm not quite sure what constitutes an Alpine pass - I would have thought that it would have to be in the Alps to be "alpine" but there you go. This narrow nadgery little road wiggles and winds its way up to a summit of almost 800 meters before plummeting back down to sea level on the other side and entering Applecross village. I've probably ridden the pass a good 10 times in the last couple of years so I knew what to expect. At least I thought I knew what to expect. On my two previous Scotland trips the weather had been extremely kind to us. It had always been amazing sunshine every single day and the pass of the cattle (BnB) had always been great fun. In the slashing rain and howling wind it somehow losses some of its appeal and you just want to get it over and done with.
I caught up with Paul Atkin just before the pass and got something of a surprise. My old Dad shot off up the pass like a Jack Russell down a rabbit hole. It was all I could do to keep him in sight. No matter how hard I tried, Paul was pushing just that little bit harder and eventually I had to concede to the fact that my old Dad and his Africa are a superior team over the pass of the cattle than me and my new GS. Good one Dad.
Applecross is a truly magical place and even the appalling weather couldn't dampen my enthusiasm for the village. As an added bonus I had somehow been given a room in the Applecross Inn which was a first for me. Turns out that one of the rooms in the Inn had a spare bed and seeing as I was riding on my own rather than in a group, I got it. It was the first time I had been to Applecross and stayed in Applecross. I was sharing with Paul Atkin and Bill so once again our room became a makeshift drying room with wet gear strewn over every available surface as we all retired to the bar.
Apparently the Applecross Inn is one of the finest seafood restaurants in the UK. I had heard people praising the food on previous visits but never realised quite how special it actually is. The Inn's brochure lists loads of awards and accolades that the Inn has been awarded over the last decade or so. Very impressive if you like seafood but seeing as I don't, I made do with a venison burger which was very tasty indeed. Even though the weather wasn't great, Applecross still treated us to one of its special sunsets. As the sun set behind the Isles of Skye and Raasay the bay of Inner Sound was lit up with the most fantastic shades of deep red and burning orange. It really is a special place.
Scott had broken off from the main group the previous day claiming that he was going home to change his front tyre and would meet us all at Applecross in the morning. We all thought he was kidding but sure enough at 08:00 the following morning I looked out of the window to see Scott and his Adventure parking up outside the Inn. He had ridden well over 200 miles before most of us were awake.
Amazingly I actually made it to the dining room in time for breakfast. So whilst scoffing one of Judith's delicious bacon butties I asked the various groups what they were planning on doing. PC was leading a small group over to the East; others were heading for Cape Wrath whilst further sub groups were heading to Skye. The DB's and a few others including Paul A and Bill were going trail riding on hired bikes. The previous day I had been talking to Scott about the prospect of riding in the Outer Hebrides (now known as the Western Isles). Scott had ridden them before and said that they offer some of the finest riding in Scotland. That was it then, I had to see these roads. I asked Scott if he fancied doing it and he was well up for the mission. Fraz was also hanging around so I asked if he'd like to come along too but he said that he'd rather have an easy day on Skye but would do the BnB down to the A87 with us. I pulled a first gear wheelie out of Applecross and roared off to face BnB again.
Scott and I charged over the BnB in the gale force winds. The big GS's were getting blown about all over the place making riding very difficult indeed. At one point it actually felt like the front tyre had a puncture but is soon became apparent that this was just the effect of the wind. At the top of the pass we passed a rider on what looked like a Honda C90 cub loaded up with touring gear. The moped rider must have been having an absolute nightmare in the winds. The GS weighs close to 250kg and if I was getting blown about god only knows that it must have been like on the C90.
We waited for ages at the bottom of the pass for Fraz to catch us up. It's quite a horrible feeling when the rider behind you fails to turn up. The longer they take the more your mind starts wondering as to what could have happened. Just as we were thinking about turning around and going back to look for him, Fraz appeared. Apparently he had been convinced that he really did have a front puncture and had stopped at the top to have a good look.
Fraz was taking the slow Ferry across Caolas an Lamhachaidh to Skye and we had planned to follow the A87 to the Kyle bridge so we left Fraz to his own devices and charged off. The previous days riding with Dave Edge had given me some much needed confidence on the bike and we absolutely roared along the A87 taking turns at leading. When we got to Kyle we discovered that only one ferry a day goes from Uig in Skye to the Western Isles and that ferry had left at 05:30 in the morning! I was a bit disappointed but we decided to head over to Skye and do the big figure of 8 loop instead. We bombed back along the A87 hoping to catch the small ferry that Fraz had caught but at the ferry turn off a sign informed us the ferry was closed due to it being bank holiday Monday. The road to the ferry looked pretty good so we rode it anyway and had a great time on the twisty mountainous roads. Once we got to the closed ferry terminal, we turned around and rode back the way we had come, back onto the A87 and back to Kyle. We had ridden the A87 three times that morning and I still loved the road.
We took the mega expensive toll bridge over to Skye and then headed towards Portree on the main roads. The rain had come back with a vengeance and the roads were very slippery indeed. Scott was in the lead and I was following closely behind. We both charged into a left hand corner and I was horrified to see Scott's front end slip and lose contact with the tarmac. Amazingly he kicked down and booted the bike back into shape. If it had been me, I think I would have been off. The same thing happened again a few miles later so shortly afterwards we stopped for a lunch break in order to calm both of our nerves. Apparently the front tyre fitted to Scott's Adventure was a bit dodgy and certainly didn't offer the same level of traction that the tourance's fitted to my bike offered. God only knows how fast he'd ride if he had a good set of tyres! Interestingly Scott later commented that if the same thing had happened on a sportsbike than the rider would almost certainly have been off.
After we had finished eating lunch in a nice country pub we donned our ridding gear and walked back out into the torrential rain. I enjoyed some of the looks that we got from the other customers in the pub - they clearly thought we were insane!
Bill had ridden the Skye figure of 8 the previous year and had told me that it was like a little TT circuit. I have to say that I totally agree with him. Some of the open mountain roads are flat out sportsbike roads but still great fun on the GS. There's also a little loop around the North of Skye that's much tighter and slower and generally more BTB orientated. I very nearly ran out of fuel in the middle of nowhere but fortunately just made it to Uig before the petrol station closed. A couple of local kids wondered up to us and asked us few questions about the bikes. After chatting to them for a while we rode off and both pulled huge wheelies down the road. I even got the bike into 2nd whilst the front was off the ground. Hooligan that I am!
Once again I was totally soaked and as it was getting late we decided to head back to Applecross. On the way through Portree I noticed a GS Adventure and a "Netto" badged yellow GS parked up at a petrol station. We joined Fraz, Robin and Theresa for a quick coffee before blasting back to Applecross in the slashing rain.
I could barely get off the bike when I arrived back in Applecross. Luckily Mick noticed I was struggling and very kindly held the bike as I extracted myself out of the saddle. Sue had also noticed how shattered I looked and had very kindly started to run me a bath. By the time I got all my gear off the bath was ready. What a great bunch of friends I have in the BTBC.
I was so tired by my days 110% riding that I fell asleep after the bath and only woke up at about 22:00 when Paul Atkin came up to check on me. They had stopped serving food in the bar by the time I made it down so I had to "snack" on lager for the remainder of the night!
I was amazed that I actually managed to make breakfast the next day. Two days on the trot is a BTBC record for me. Once again most people were heading off and doing their own thing. PC had decided to take it upon himself to do an early morning timed lap of the loop of madness and BnB. Dave Edge and co. were heading off to Cape Wrath, John, Sue, George and Barbara Gordon and Harry were having a trip to Skye and a few others were doing their own thing. Garty asked me if I'd like to join their party but having done Skye the day before I politely declined. After speaking with Dave Edge I decided that I'd wait for PC whilst the Edge party headed North and then once Paul had arrived we'd try and catch up Dave Edge and co. Sounded like a good plan at the time. God only knows what happened to Paul but he took ages to come back, so long in fact that I became bored of waiting and left Fraz to pass on the message. I left Applecross at 10:00 and rode North on my own as fast as I could. I never did catch up the Edge party (as if!) but I ended up riding over 400 miles of amazing roads and even rode a good 60 miles of the North coast road before hitting Cape Wrath and turning for home. Amazingly the rain stayed away until about 16:00 when it slashed down again and drenched me for the 5th day in a row. Quite way I didn't accept Johnny Dangerous's offer of that waterproof suit is beyond me!
For the final night in the Applecross Inn I decided to treat myself to a proper meal. I had venison sausage and mash followed by rich chocolate fudge cake and ice cream. I could barely move by the end of it but it certainly was delicious. The evenings conversation soon turned to talk of the long sprint home. Everyone bar Scott was dreading it. Garty had hatched a plan to hit the road as early as possible and lead a southern contingent home. Paul and the Sheffield bunch were taking a more leisurely route home and I didn't have a clue what to do. I didn't have to be back at work for a good few days longer but I did have to be back in Colchester in 48hrs to hand in my documents to the local police station. I half considered staying up in Applecross or Skye for another day but when the forecast showed even more rain I decided to head south. Tarka had offered to let me stay at his place on the way back so I called him up and accepted his kind offer.
Paul A, Bill and myself stayed up well into the night talking about all manor of things. Eventually Dad pulled rank and ordered us to turn the lights off so we could at least get some sleep. The following morning I actually managed to get up early and said a quick goodbye to the Southern lot, scoffed another bacon buttie and then saddled up and hit the road myself. I rode with Dave Edge, Paul Crossland and Dave B until we hit Glasgow and my fuel light came on. I turned off the motorway and ended up in the dodgiest looking housing estate I have ever seen. A local biker pointed me in the right direction of a petrol station and once fuelled up I joined the motorway and went like a loony to try and catch the others up. I guess everyone else must have been nailing it because I didn't see any other BTBCers until I rolled up on Tarka's doorstep many many hours later.
Thanks as always to PC for making the trip happen. To Garty and Sue for always looking out for me, to the Dangerous Brothers for the pre Scotland warm up ride, to DB#2 for the heated vest, to Dad and Bill for the wise words of caution and the laughs, to Dave Edge for the riding lessons, to Dave B, Mick I and Tigerman II for not being too hard on me after those mistakes, to Harry for his continual enthusiasm and inspiration, to Mick and Andy for being a laugh, to Scott for being a fellow hooligan, to Robin and Theresa for being fabulous and to everyone else for making the trip yet another cracker.
Surely it can't rain again next time can it?
See you on a run soon.
Adam