Clan ADV 2018: 300miles in a washing machine

 Saturday 16^th June                                                                                                                  382 Miles

                                                                                                                                                    1665 Total

It was our final morning in Scotland. Today the remaining clansmen would disband and return home. As most of us had a few hundred miles to travel today we had agreed to get up early, get going, and stop for breakfast up the road.

I woke up after a decent sleep for the first time this week at just before 6. I decided I was not going to get up until 6:30. That would mean I would be on my way around 7:30. Leaving any earlier would mean the cafés and fuel stations may not be open.

The others must have been sleeping with one eye open waiting for someone to make the first move. As soon as I got up and headed for the shower room, all the others began to spring from their beds.

We were all packed and on the road by 7:45. The rain had been falling since we woke up. It was alternating from drizzle to light rain as we made our way to Ardgour to catch the Corran ferry. The ferry was just loading up on the far shore as we pulled up, so we only had a few minutes to wait until it was our turn to cross.

While we were waiting Robbie tried Mark’s CRF250 for size. He had been surprised by the abilities of the little bike. Plans for a small cc Clan tour began to permeate in the random void between Robbie's ears.

With the ferry docked we carefully boarded the ferry taking care on the slippery deck. The rain was now a constant light rain. With no shelter available on the ferry, I was pleased to reach the other side so that we could get on our way.

We were heading down the A82 to Tyndrum for fuel and breakfast. Stu and Alison needed fuel before then though, so they stopped at the first fuel available. They would then meet us at the café in Tyndrum.

The ride to Tyndrum was a wet affair. The rain was heavy at times with strong gusts of wind thrown in just to keep us on our toes. As we headed through Glen Coe the strength of the wind increased as the steep cliffs concentrated the wind straight towards us. Tucking behind the tiny screen of my Multistrada made little difference. I could tell it was going to be a long, arduous day on the bike.

My fuel light came on half way across Glen Coe. But, with just under ten miles to go until we reached the salvation of The Green Welly Stop I wasn’t concerned. The Green Welly Stop is a popular stop off point for travellers heading up to the Highlands. There is a fuel station here, as well as a restaurant and shop. Because it is the only fuel for miles, the prices are a little steep though. We fuelled up, and then headed for some breakfast.

But, we didn’t eat at The Green Welly Stop. A few hundred metres up the road is The Real Food Cafe. This is the place to eat for those in the know. We rolled into the car park and quickly headed inside to get out of the rain.

The café was quite full. Lots of hikers, cyclists, and a few families had sought shelter in the cosy café. We found a few table and hung our jackets on the back of the chairs. Pools of water quickly formed around the legs marking our territory. But, we weren’t alone. All of the other customers had left their marks too.

The café offers a vast selection of food including vegetarian and vegan, as well as the full meat feast options. I chose the full vegetarian breakfast with an extra coffee. It was definitely a two coffee morning so far. The food was amazing. Freshly cooked right in front of you, the service was very efficient. I felt much happier with a belly full of food. I had also warmed up and dried out. But, the rain was waiting for us right outside the door.

We started to go our separate ways from the café. Jim and Johnny had a glamping pod booked for the night just up the road on the side of Loch Lomond. Stu and Alison were heading south with us for a bit, then they would travel east towards Edinburgh to pick up the A68. Mark zoomed off on his 250 heading the same direction as Robbie, Colin and I. He would then go west to the Cumbrian coast once we got to Carlisle.

Robbie, Colin and I travelled together. We were heading back to Lockerbie where we would fuel up again before going our separate ways. The rain was constant as we headed for Glasgow. The A82 along the western shore of Loch Lomond was slow going. Lots of traffic combined with flooded roads reduced speeds too little over 35mph. I had over three hundred miles still to go today. This was not what I needed.

Reaching Glasgow the rain appeared to ease a little. And with the traffic now a little lighter we were soon turning onto the M74. And, straight into roadworks! The traffic was backed up for a few miles. Luckily we were able to filter through on our bikes, although it was a little tight for Robbie and Colin at times with their panniers making their bikes much wider than mine.

Once through the roadworks we were back up to motorway speeds again and finally making progress. A small motorcycle was spotted up ahead through the spray and the three of us closed in for a flyby. Mark was cruising along at his 65mph maximum. We beeped our horns and exchanged waved fingers of encouragement as we left him in our wake. I had expected to catch him much earlier. But, the low speeds until we had got to the M74 meant he had maintained his few minutes’ advantage.

I was beginning to get cold as we turned off the M74 at Happendon. My gloves were ringing with water. I could feel the cold wind hitting my chest even though I had a fleece on under my jacket. It was about forty miles to Lockerbie from here. I could wait until we got there before adding more layers. I heard my helmet camera battery die and the camera switch off. I wasn’t going to stop and fit a freshly charged one. What was the point? There was nothing to film but spray! 

The route back to Lockerbie was a reverse of the route the three of us had taken on Monday. That seemed a long time ago right now. Over a thousand miles had passed under our wheels since then. And, right now a lot of standing water was passing too. The B7076 was flooded along the verges forcing us to ride along the crown of the road for much of it. A car coming in the opposite direction gave us all a proper dousing as he drove along in the deeper water at the side of the road. I would like to think he didn’t do it on purpose. But, somehow I believe he did.

The bright lights of Lockerbie came into view and we rolled past the café and into the fuel station where the trip had begun. All three of us fuelled up. Robbie offered us a coffee and a chance to dry out at his home just up the road. But, Colin and I decided to press on. The lady in the box said I still had 280 miles and just less than four and a half hours of riding ahead of me. I needed to get some miles under my belt. I put on a fresh, dry neck tube and gloves, and my other fleece jacket too. Colin did similar. We waved goodbye to Robbie, and I followed Colin towards the motorway once more.  

Once onto the M74 again Colin settled into a cruise just under the speed limit. I wasn’t going to get back to Lincoln very quickly at this rate. Feeling a little guilty at leaving him behind, I waved goodbye to Colin. I set my cruise control at a speed not really suitable for the conditions and put my trust in modern motorcycle and tyre technology. I didn’t care. I just wanted the relentless weather and arduous riding to end. There was very little traffic using the outside lane. It was reserved for idiots on motorcycles. Passing the walls of spray thrown up by the other traffic meant riding completely blind for a brief moment as I passed by. I could think of better journeys on a motorcycle.

Through the gloom and traffic spray I spotted the turn off for the A66. Indicator on, cruise control off, and full faith in the Bosch ABS development team as I braked while filtering for the roundabout at the end of the slip road and caught the white lines. I swore in my helmet and told myself to calm down. I could tell I was getting tired.

After a few miles of the A66 I forced myself to pull over for a break. I found a layby looking out over the Yorkshire Dales. I grabbed a drink and a cereal bar from my top case, and then realized that it had stopped raining. Looking back I could see that I had outrun the rain clouds. And what is that? Blue sky!

I felt better after my little break. I wrestled my hands back into my damp, cold "dry" gloves, put on my MP3 player, and set off on the final push to Lincoln. The rest of the A66 came and went. Turning onto the A1, I set the cruise control to a slightly lower speed than before and joined the Audi/BMW road train hogging the outside lane.

Due to my higher speeds, my fuel light came on just after I reached Doncaster. I would need a splash and dash to get me to Lincoln. I pulled into the next fuel station for my final fill up of the day. The sun was now blazing. My jacket soaked from this morning's deluge began to start steaming as I filled my tank. I chuckled to myself as I tried to comprehend how different the weather could be in just a few hours.

With 21 degrees showing on my dash, I cruised the last thirty or so miles to my parent's house just outside Lincoln. with Rolly their dog, signaling my arrival I climbed off my bike and removed my helmet. All of my gear was still soaked despite the warm sunny weather. I headed for the laundry room. I felt like climbing straight into the tumble drier. After all, I had just spent most of the day riding around in Mother Nature's washing machine.

With a shower and a change of clothes I felt human again. I hung up all my larger pieces of kit on the washing line in the garden, and threw the rest in the tumble drier. I hoped it would be all dry for the final day of riding home to Essex in the morning.

Unsurprisingly, I slept like a log after yesterday’s journey back from Scotland. I was mentally tired from concentrating so hard, as well as physically tired from the beating the weather had given. My arms and neck were sore this morning after the eight hours of motorcycle wrestling yesterday. But, even though I was sore and tired I still had an amazing week with the Clan.

After a relaxing breakfast I changed into my nice dry and warm riding kit, rolled my bike out of the garage, and set off for the last few hours of riding back to Essex. 

It was warm but not hot this morning. Just right for the ride home. I was not in a rush this morning. I took my usual route back through Norfolk and Suffolk stopping in Thetford Forest for a midway break. The miles flew by as I relaxed and contemplated on what a week I had just had. Even though the weather was against us, it was still a stunning part of the world to visit. There are places I wish to revisit at some point, probably in my campervan if I can find the time. My fellow Clan members made it a trip to remember. Despite the conditions everyone remained upbeat and hungry for more. I can’t wait for next year.

Here is the vlog of the rainy end to the tour. 

Clan ADV 2018: What's the story in.......Tobermory

We were heading for Tobermory. After back tracking a little, we turned off on to the B8035 scenic coast road.

Mark now leading on his mighty 250, with Johnny and I in hot pursuit. The others were following along picking their way through the ferry traffic. The coastal road was indeed very scenic. It ran right along the far shore of Loch Scridian, with just a strip of grass and a few sea irises between the road and the sea. The air was fresh and salty in my lungs.

The road was bumpy and very narrow. Mark had daylight under his wheels in a few places even though we were only travelling at 30-40mph. A few camper vans and motorhomes had braved the tiny road. Luckily, we met them where there were convenient passing places and were able to squeeze past.

After a few miles where the road turned inland, we were soon back out onto the coast at Balnahard. This was the mouth of Loch na Keal. The road followed the shore around the Loch for the next seven miles. Mark, Johnny, and I pulled over at the foot of some impressive cliffs for the others to catch up. There were a couple of eagles soaring overhead. It appeared there was a nesting site up in the cliffs somewhere.

Robbie spotted the eagles and went into full David Attenborough mode. He was a little bit obsessed with seeing a Sea Eagle. But, as yet they had proved elusive. While we were having a leg stretch a couple in a campervan pulled up and started telling Robbie about the nest further along the loch. We set off hoping to spot the place they had described.

The road continued on hugging a narrow ledge at the foot of the huge cliff faces with just a low wall to keep you from plunging into the sea. Then a few hundred metres later the scenery was flat and green. Little streams flowing from the mountains were crossed by little hump back bridges which became a series of jumps for me and the big Duke.

As we reached the spot where the Sea Eagle were supposed to be we could spot nothing but a couple of gulls. Robbie and most of the other stopped for a look anyway. Mark, Johnny and I continued on round the corner. The eagles were soaring away in the sky, catching the thermals from the surrounding hills. I pulled out my camera. But, while I was changing over to my long lens the camera shy eagles returned to their nest. Of course, because I failed to get the proof Robbie didn’t believe we had seen his beloved Sea Eagles at all.

The road continued along the north west coast of the isle. Here the scenery was more cultivated. Crops and animals filled the fields with gorgeous views out over the sea. The road was very narrow and twisty on places. Stu and Alison were struggling a little on such a big bike, and waved the rest of us passed. They would only be a few minutes behind us whenever we stopped, so it was not worth them being pressured to keep up. But, they were not the only ones struggling with the road. Some interesting driving from tourists in rental cars entertained us at times. At one point the road became blocked by indecisive drivers. Robbie offered them some vocal encouragement, and eventually the traffic was moving again.

Needing to reduce his blood pressure a little after this latest altercation, he led us to Calgary Bay. White sandy beaches and turquoise water greeted us as we rolled into the picnic area. It was so peaceful and calm. Another biker was setting up his tent for a nights wild camping.  A VW T5 camper was also parked up enjoying the views. It was clearly a popular spot with a few pitches marked out by the local council. As long as you took your rubbish home and left the place tidy, camping was encouraged.

It was getting close to tea and cake o'clock. Colin and I were both itching for a fix. 

Tobermory was just over ten miles from here so we would have to survive another twenty minutes of cold turkey until we got there.

A few hundred metres from Calgary we encountered a disabled cyclist on a hand bike. He was flying along reaching 30-35mph at some points. I would of struggled on my own road racing bike on the hilly terrain, yet alone using only my arms. He got some big respect from me. 

Halfway to Tobermory we entered the tiny village of Dervaig. I had heard that there was a series of hairpin bends on the outskirts of the village much renowned by local bikers. And, sure enough a mile out of the village the Scottish Stelvio presented itself. My satnav showed it went on for a few miles as a series of squiggly lines decorated the screen like someone had tested a ballpoint pen all across it. Up and down the glen we went. Hairpin after hairpin. The tarmac was good in places and dire in others. But, on the whole it was great fun.

Then just as we were all enjoying ourselves the town signs for Tobermory appeared.

We managed to find a nice big roadside parking spot big enough for all our bikes outside the bright pink Tobermory Hotel. Tobermory is famous for its brightly coloured buildings along the harbor front. After taking a few photos, it was time to find the caffeine. Robbie, Colin, Mark and I went hunting while the others did their own thing.

The Tobermory Bakery looked like the place. We relaxed at a table in the small, busy shop overlooking the display of ruinous cakes and pastries. A large millionaires shortbread for me please! The scent of coffee beans being ground in the sugary air got my nostrils twitching. I was freaking out like a street junky. I needed my fix……now!

As that first sip of dark elixir was enjoyed, Colin and I let out a synchronized sigh. An air of Arabica induced calmness filled the room. I was in complete caffeine utopia for the next twenty minutes or so. Robbie ordered a hot chocolate with marshmallow and cream topping. A spoon was required as the first few attempts to drink it resulted in a most of it ending up on his face.

With bellies full it was back to the bikes collecting the others as we did so. We headed back to Fishnish to catch the return ferry to the mainland. Here we would say goodbye to Finn. He was continuing on with his own adventure and heading to the Isle of Arran for a couple of nights, before returning home to Denmark.

The ferry trip back over to Lochaline was as efficient as it had been this morning. The midges were out in force though, so I kept my helmet on for the twenty minute crossing. It was spitting with rain as we landed back on the mainland. A few heavier showers made their appearance on the way back to Strontian. But, they were brief and left on the breeze as quickly as they arrived.

Robbie had suggested that we tried the pub in the village for our meal this evening after a few discussions on the ferry. Unfortunately they were fully booked. So, we headed back to the hostel for some more of the excellent home cooked food. It was another great evening after dinner in the communal kitchen. It was the end of a great day, and unfortunately our last of the trip. Tomorrow we head home after another epic week in the west of Scotland.

Here is the vlog from todays adventures.

Clan ADV 2018: Let's Mull it over

Friday 15^th June                                                                                                                          165 Miles

                                                                                                                                    1283 Total

There were a few sore heads around the breakfast table this morning. It was not surprising after seeing all the empty and half empty bottles scattered around the dorm room. I was awake most of the night listening to the sound of the fire alarm fault buzzer beeping every five seconds. Earplugs didn’t help, as the beep was at a frequency that seemed to drill right into my skull……every five seconds!           Still it distracted me for the normal farting, belching, and snoring that usually accompanied me during the moonlit hours.

We had been asked if we required breakfast by the staff after our meal last night. We wanted an earlyish start if possible. So, at 7:30 we were all tucking in to bacon rolls, orange juice, and copious amounts of fresh tea and coffee.

The reason for our early start was that we wanted to catch one of the first ferries over to the Isle of Mull, so that we had a full day to explore. Discussing the route to Lochaline with the staff during breakfast, it was decided that we needed to allow an hour to cover the twenty mile journey.  It should take about half an hour. But, if you met ferry traffic coming the other way on the narrow road it could take considerably longer.      

We set off just after 8:30. Our ferry was due to depart at 9:40. The ride over to Lochaline on the A884 was a nice steady affair. I set off after Mark. Mark, knowing we would be riding at slower speeds on Mull, had chosen to bring his Honda CRF250L. I couldn’t believe it yesterday when he said he had ridden all the way from the Cumbrian coast on his little 250. Yet, here he was leading me on my 160BHP tyre shredding hyper touring beast with consummate ease.

The A884 to Lochaline had been recently surface dressed. There were patches of gravel swept by the four wheeled traffic waiting to catch us out on some of the corners. I had one or two squeaky bum moments when my tyres caught a soft patch of gravel and momentarily lost traction. But, I soon switched on to how best to negotiate the single track road as it weaved its way across the mountainous Glens. 

We encountered a bit of local traffic on the way to catch the ferry. It seemed to be mums taking their kids to school, and a few tipper lorries working on the roads. One group of about ten cars, which we assumed was a full ferry load, was very happy to see us all. We got cheery waves from each of the cars as we patiently waited in a passing place for them to get by.

As we reached Lochaline a large tractor was struggling to pull its load up the hill out of the village. It was dripping a trail of diesel on to the road as it chugged along in a low gear. The diesel leak quickly spread itself out across the damp road surface turning it into an oily rainbow. Luckily there was not enough diesel to ruin our fun, and we soon arrived at the ferry terminal just a few hundred metres away.

We were twenty minutes early for the ferry. So we chatted in the sun, and enjoyed the peaceful surroundings. At 9:40 the ferry arrived at the slip way. After it had deposited its passengers and cars from Mull we were waved aboard. We were informed it was a twenty minute crossing by the very pleasant young lady ticket collector, as she sorted out our fares. Right on schedule the ferry docked at Fishnish on the Isle of Mull. We were waved off first, free to explore the isle as light rain began to fall.  

There are not a vast amount of roads on the Isle of Mull. There is the main A849 which runs from Tobermory down the east coast, and then across to Fionnphort on the south western tip of the isle. Then there is the smaller B8035 and B8073 which run up the west coast and back across to Tobermory. Other than a couple of unclassified roads this is the circular route we would be taking today.

From Fishnish we headed south to Craignure. There was a shop with a couple of fuel pumps next door. The plan was to fuel up here. That would then get us round the island and also the 40 miles to Tyndrum on our way home tomorrow. That was unless you were Mark on a 250 with a 7.7 litre fuel tank!

The fuel was a serviced pump. Jim wandered into the shop to ask for assistance. Soon we were joined by the lovely shop assistant who would fill up our tanks. She unlocked the unleaded pump, but insisted we filled our bikes as she didn’t want to damage anything.

The rain was now quite steady and the midges were out in force. Our lady friend was covered in midge repellent so she wasn’t bothered by them. We had a laugh together when I suggested that I should huddle close to her to stay protected. She said I was just like the midges….only interested in her body!

With the clan fueled up it was time to explore. Our first port of call was Fionnphort, the westernmost point on the isle. The road was mostly single track with the very occasional section where it went to two lanes. The road started out hugging the coast before turning inland across Glen More.

Robbie managed to upset a couple of old ladies who were catching up on the morning chat. Yes, they were blocking the road while doing so, but they didn’t seem too impressed by Robbie giving them a blast of his super-loud horn.

 

The scenery across Glen More was beautiful. The rain had stopped and everything looked fresh and green with its fresh coat of dew. We were taking our time and soaking up the views. Low cloud hanging over the very peeks of the mountains hinted at further rain showers. But, they held off. And, as we neared the coast again at Loch Scridain blue sky appeared for the first time.

Robbie was keen to make friends again. This time a couple in a SUV pulling a caravan received the full horn treatment. But, they were not keen to yield their position. Robbie danced in their mirrors flashing his lights and beeping his horn for the best part of a mile. Then a car coming in the opposite direction forced the caravan driver to pull into a passing place. He then failed to see Robbie attempting to overtake thinking he would be allowed to pass. The caravan did eventually spot him, and stopped where it was to allow us all to pass before carrying on with their journey.

But, the clan had a new member tagging along. Obviously from the Robbie school of driving, a white van man was flashing his lights and beeping his horn at the back of our train of bikes. Picking us off one by one, it was clear he was in a hurry. As he came up behind me with his right indicator flashing, I pulled out of the way at the first passing place joined by Jim and Colin. I was not sure if any of the wheels were in contact with the road as the van blasted past seeking out its next victim.

At the end of the Loch was the tiny village of Bunessan. It was like a tiny Tobermory with brightly painted cottages hugging the roadside. Outside the village shop, white van man was unloading his cargo of fresh produce. Scrambled eggs and milkshakes, anyone?

We rolled into Fionnphort and parked up outside the small village shop. There was a huge amount of parking spaces along the harbor wall. Here tourists catch the ferry over to Iona to visit the abbey and nunnery. It is not possible to take vehicles across without special permission. Hence the need for all the parking.

We stopped here for a leg stretch. A few of the others walked down to the ferry dock, while I enjoyed an ice cream from the shop and took a few photos.

The light rain started to fall again. And, with a few tourist coaches arriving signaling a ferry was due; we took that as our opportunity to leave. 

Clan ADV 2018: Blue Skye makes an appearance

After the mornings weather shenanigans, it was a pleasant surprise to arrive in a calm, sunny Uig. Once again the ever efficient CalMac staff did an excellent job of getting the bikes unloaded and on our way before the slower traffic. But, they needn’t have bothered on this occasion as our first stop was to be the fuel station on the dockside next to the terminal building.

After Finn’s little whisky hunt yesterday afternoon he was now running low. The rest of us had over half a tank left, and so would wait until we reached Broadford later on. With Finn topped up we headed out of Uig on the A855 which runs around the northern coast of Skye.

The road climbed quickly as it twisted its way up the hills surrounding the village and ferry dock below. The road surface was very poor in places making negotiating the hairpin bends interesting at times. Add in a smattering of tourist traffic looking at the scenery rather than the road to the mix, and it was very much a case of survival of the fittest.

At the top of the climb we turned inland and headed for The Quiraing. This rocky outcrop on the edge of the Trotternish range has become a popular stopping point for tourists and photographers from all over the world. The road across the moors to get there is a narrow single track with passing places. But, a few drivers seemed to think that passing places were not required if it was only a group of motorcycles coming the other way. One older gentleman tried to squeeze through by driving with half of his car on the verge. He didn’t slow down much either as his car was thrown around by the rocky roadside greenery.

But, the traffic quickly cleared as we made our way across the moor. Light rain began to fall as we got to higher ground. It was difficult to tell if it was rain or if we had ridden into low cloud. But, in the distance I could just make out the familiar shape of The Quiraing through my misty visor. 

Robbie pulled over at a new section of parking just prior to the viewpoint, as it can get very busy right at the summit. Just as he parked up and removed his helmet, the storm was switched back on for a couple of minutes. Hail stones could be seen to ricochet off his bald head, as he regaled a brief history of our surrounding while trying to remain standing in the blustery winds. It was a real job to keep my bike upright as I struggled to keep a good footing on the now slippery hard standing. We quickly decided to move on and get off the open moor. 
  

After fifty metres we crested the summit, and started our decent down the winding road through The Quiraing. Within an instant the storm was switched off again. It was now calm again with the sun even trying to make reappearance. It was quite bazaar. The scenery had also completely changed. From open moorland we had descended into the set from The Lord of the Rings. But, instead of rampaging Warlocks, it was just a clan of middle-aged motorcyclists battling their way through.

Magnificent rocky escarpments and moss covered boulders surrounded us. The landscape apparently formed by a landslip thousands of years ago, is still on the move today. Large boulders littered the road having been dislodged by a combination of land slip and the raging storms. Colin was unlucky enough to clobber one of these rocks with his sump guard. Luckily the aluminium plate had done its job. And apart from now sporting a large dent, it had protected the more vital components underneath.

Colin had clipped the rock when he became distracted by a tourist in a hire car who was ignoring the passing places, and heading straight for him. Colin had nowhere to go and so just stopped in the middle of the road. As it was a steep decline, he didn't have the option of reversing his heavy motorcycle. So, the young woman was forced to reverse back to the passing place where she should of waited in the first place. She looked less than comfortable doing so, and seemed to be struggling to drive such a large vehicle as her BMW 1 series!

I was just coming down the hill when I saw all this happening a few hundred metres below. I stopped next to a passing place, and once Colin had got passed her signaled for the BMW to make her way up the hill. She was causing a bit of a tailback, and I wanted to get things moving. As soon as she reached where I and a few of the others behind me were waiting, we quickly got going before things got heated.

It was  a trouble free run to Staffin where we picked up the A855 again heading south along the coast in the direction of Portree.

A few miles along the road Robbie led us to another popular view point at The Kilt Rock.

But, there was more drama happening at the junction where the entrance to the car park was. A young Chinese woman in a Mercedes E Class was completely blocking the road. It appeared that she had missed the turn off. And, after attempting a partial three point turn which had led to her now blocking the road, she was now trying to drive past the line of traffic exiting the carpark on the right hand side. The other traffic was having none of it though, and looked as shocked as we all were at what they were seeing.

We left them to it and entered the carpark looking for somewhere to park. The place was very busy. But, we found a spot for the bikes out of the way at the side of the road. I grabbed my camera bag and headed for the cliff top viewing area.

The Kilt Rock is a huge basalt cliff made up of vertical columns said to resemble the pleats in a kilt. It was an impressive sight that looked almost man made. There is also a waterfall that flows over the Kilt Rock into the sea. The water from The Mealt Falls often never reaches the sea below as it is carried away by the strong winds found in this area. Today the water was forming a nice arch as it was catching the wind but then gravity was taking over and carrying the weight of the water crashing down to the sea below.

I took a few photographs while fighting with the other tourists for the best vantage points. Other travelers had left stickers on the tourist sign post at the viewing point, so I added one of mine to the collection. It was a nice spot to relax away from the bikes for a few minutes. But, we had a schedule to keep to, so it was soon time to get going again.  
 

Robbie in his finest diplomatic style nominated for me to lead the clan on the next leg. We were heading for Armadale to catch a ferry over to Mallaig, and then on to our hostel this evening in Strontian.

I set off at a very leisurely pace as we had plenty of time. As the road twisted and turned its way south, light showers began to alternate with periods of sunshine on the way to Portree. Soon another familiar landmark showed itself on the horizon. The Old Man of Storr, popular with hikers, photographers, and mountain climbers, for its stunning 360 degree views, stood tall looking out over The Sound of Raasay.

The carpark next to the road was packed with cars and motorhomes. Lots of people were making their way up the well-worn trail leading to the top. I would love to return here in my campervan and take a trip to the summit myself, one day.

At Portree we turned onto the A87. This was now the reverse of the way we had come on Monday. Knowing there was only one road between here and our next planned stop for fuel in Broadford, I decided to up the pace a little and enjoy the flowing road across The Cuillin Hills.

The road was quiet with tourist traffic and I got into a nice rhythm as the ribbon of tarmac twisted between the hilly peaks and along the shores of the sea Lochs.

As the sign for Broadford came into view I slowed to allow the others to catch up. We pulled in to the large Coop filling station and supermarket to fuel up. This would easily get us to our destination in Strontian without having to stop again.

I grabbed a quick coffee from the machine while the clan was filling their tanks. Stu phoned CalMac to confirm that our ferry to Malliag was running. Apart from a few minutes delay on the remaining sailings of the day everything else was as normal.

Talking to Finn on the pavement outside the supermarket, I had to grab him by the shoulders and escort him out of the path of a German tourist coach trying to squeeze its way out of the forecourt. The driver and front passengers thought it was highly amusing, as unable to get Finn’s attention to the impending incident I had to physically move him out of the way! Crisis avoided we began to mount up for the run to the ferry. Stu and Alison set off while the rest of us faffed about getting our helmets and gloves on.

The A851 to Mallaig is a fast road. So fast we had great fun getting past the tourist coaches that were travelling at motorway speed as we all raced for the ferry. As we arrived at the shore of the Sound of Sleat, the ferry could be spotted making its way across the sea. We would be arriving with plenty of time to spare.

Then a few miles from Armadale, Stu and Alison appeared coming the other way beckoning for us to turn around. We all pulled over in the next layby. Robbie got on the phone to CalMac to find out was the situation was.

It turned out that the ferry was still running. But, because a motorcycle has fallen of its stand and got damaged earlier in the day, they were no longer accepting bikes on the remaining sailings of the day. The cynic in me took the view that there was now a backlog of cars waiting to cross. As the cars pay double the fare compared to a motorcycle, it was better business sense to take the cars instead of the bikes!

So, without the ferry to take us back to the mainland we had no option but to turn around. Are only choice was to ride back to Fort William via the Skye Bridge (if it was open), and then on to Strontian. Our only hope of salvation was that the Corran to Ardgour ferry across Loch Linnhe would help us out by eliminating a longer ride around the shore of the loch. It was still going to be a long afternoon.

I set off leading the clan back to the A87. As we turned towards The Kyle of Lochalsh, a matrix sign at the side of the road warned of strong winds. 

If the bridge was closed we would have to find somewhere to stay on the Isle of Skye for the night.

With the bridge in sight there seemed little in the way of a breeze let alone strong winds. The crossing was much calmer that the one we had made on Monday afternoon. Was this a sign things were finally going our way?

It was 85 miles to Fort William. 65 was the magic number once again. If I rode any faster I would start to lose sight of the others in my mirrors. Luckily the traffic was light and we were making good progress. Soon we turned onto the A82 at Invergarry for the run into Fort William. Robbie pulled alongside me at the junction. He wanted to make sure the Corran ferry was still running, so I pulled in at the next layby big enough to accommodate the whole of the clan. The ferry was running until 10Pm so we were going to be fine as it was only just approaching 6.

As we reached the centre of Fort William, I spotted Stu and Alison going back the way we had come. I and some of the other tried to wave them down. We were unsuccessful. It looked like they had chosen to take the road around the loch rather than head for the ferry with the rest of us.

It was a ten minute ride along the A82 to Corran. The ferry was just leaving the other side of the Loch as we arrived at the slipway. Within fifteen minutes we had been loaded and were arriving on the other side ourselves. It was well worth the three pound fare to avoid the extra hour of riding.

I settled into following a couple of local cars along the A861 for the final leg to Strontian.

But, our pace slightly below the speed limit was not fast enough for some. I could see in my mirrors, a white Nissan Nevara pickup truck was slowly picking the clan members off one at a time. Soon his blazing headlights were right on my tail. On the next short straight he powered passed me and the two cars in front of me. Clearly he was in a bit of a hurry.

Seeing him roar off into the distance, and it being the end of the day, I decided to give chase. The Nissan took a bit of catching, as he seemed to know the road well. But, I was soon filling his mirrors with my Ducati as we fired our way across Glen Tarbert to Strontian. Our duel for the next few miles had well and truly begun.  At the “Welcome to Strontian” sign we both reduced our speed to 30mph, and cruised through the sleepy village like the law abiding pair we obviously were!

At the far side of the village I indicated to turn off for the road leading to the hostel. The Nissan driving gave me thumbs up out of the window and a beep-beep of his horn. It seems he’d enjoyed himself too.

I waited for the other to catch up at the junction before we headed along the forest road to the hostel. The Ariundle Centre consisted of a restaurant and reception building, with a large accommodation building next door. It was a pleasant surprise to end what had been a long day in the saddle.

But, we had another surprise in store. As we pulled up outside the reception, regular clan member Mark came out to greet us all. Mark was not able to come on this year’s tour due to work commitments. However, after a last minute shift change here he was. Mark is one of those people who always bring a sense of fun to proceedings. It looked like the last couple of days of this year’s tour were going to be good ones.

We all headed inside to book in. The Ariundle Centre is a lovely spot. Run by an elderly couple and a few helpers, it operates as an arts and crafts school during the day. It then opens up to travelers as a restaurant in the evenings. The large accommodation building next door has two large dorm rooms upstairs and a series of smaller rooms downstairs next to a communal kitchen area.

 We were told to take our luggage to our room and then help ourselves to a beer from the bar area. The staff then went to prepare our beds for us. We were quite happy to fend for ourselves but, they were insisted on fussing over us. It was nice. A bit like staying at your Gran’s house.

After a few drinks we were treated to huge plates of home cooked food in the restaurant. It was delicious and very welcome. The ladies fussed over us making sure we wanted for nothing. Barely able to move after our feast we retired to the communal kitchen area. The whisky began to flow as did the conversation. At just after midnight we all retired to our dorm room with smiling faces, and empty bottles. It had been a good evening.

Tomorrow should be a nice relaxing day with the plan being to head over to The Isle of Mull to explore what it has to offer.

Here is the vlog of what happened today.