Clan Capo 2016: Homeward Bound

Friday 10th June 2016

This morning all of us were up by eight. I had had a restless night in the end and woke several times due to the heat in the dorm room. And,I had a long way to go today, as I was riding back to my parents in Lincoln. I had tried to book an overnight stop like I had done on the way up, but the hostels all seemed to be fully booked.

Mark and Daz were keen to get going too, so we would ride together for the first part of todays journey. They knew a different route back to Carlisle which avoided the motorway monotony. This sounded like the road for me as I despise motorway travel at the best of times, preferring the road less travelled if one is available.

By 08:30 we were packed up and on the road out of Oban. Riding along the now familiar A85, the morning mist was just burning off as we rode along the shore of Loch Etive. There was not a ripple on the surface of the glassy water. I was going to miss this place. 

With the A85 and A819 passing beneath our wheels we arrived back in Inveraray where we picked up the A83 to Loch Lomond.

Passing the Rest and be Thankful, the views along Glen Douglas and Glen Croe were quite spectacular even with the tops shrouded in their misty duvets. The fast flowing roads were completely free of traffic, making for a great ride.

As we got nearer to Glasgow on the A82 along the shore of Loch Lomond, the traffic increased slightly with the odd bit of automotive opulence for me to lust after.

We arrived in Glasgow just after rush hour. After filling up with fuel on the outskirts of the city, we crossed the Erskine Bridge and followed the M8 anti-clockwise before heading south on the M74. I don't know if Glasgow had a problem with the drains or something, but it was less than a delightful experience for my nostrils as we circumnavigated the city. It wasn't as bad as the air back in the hostel dorm room, but it was a close second. I don't know about Glasgow being a city of culture, more like "Glasgow- The wiffy City".

Once onto the M74 and clear of the city, Mark signaled for us to turn off a few miles later. Here we picked up the B7078 and B7076 south. These deserted, well surface roads runs parallel with the M74 crossing it occasionally, but always running alongside. It was like having our own private route home. Progress was good and we stopped at Happendon services for coffee and cake to break up the journey a little. Then it was onwards towards Carlisle.

At Carlisle, I waved goodbye to Mark and Daz who headed west towards home. I joined the M74 for a couple of juctions with another refuel at Southwaite services. This would give enough fuel to get me to get back to Lincoln. Here I discovered that my Drift camera had run out of memory card space. I couldn't be bothered to change it, so I just rode on. At Penrith I turned onto the A66 which seemed to have turned into a carpark. Luckily I was able to filter passed all the frustrated car drivers, much to my satisfaction.

The weather had been good so far, but as I got near to Scotch Corner a light misty rain started to envelop everything. It wasn't really rain though, more of a heavy cloud. I didn't really want to stop again to put my waterproofs on, so I decided to keep going and see if things got better.

Once onto the A1 the sun came out again, and I settled in to my journey south. The traffic was slow going through a series of road works and at various times the traffic stopped for no apparent reason. I filtered for nearly twenty miles on the motorway section just before York. I was pleased to be on my bike today. I stopped at Thirsk services for a quick drink, a banana, and a leg stretch to keep me going until I got to Lincoln. The services were crazy. Traffic was queueing back to the motorway and the carpark was packed. I filtered passed and found a quiet spot in the coach park for a ten minute break.

Back on the road again, I was making good progress. My arms were starting to feel a little tired, and my backside was starting to protest at having to support me in one position for the last few hours. But, my finish line for today was fast approaching so I pressed on. Things were going great until about twenty miles from Lincoln.

The sky started to look a little dark up ahead, and a light drizzle started to fall. I wasn't going to stop so close to Lincoln, so I didn't take much notice. Then I noticed the brake lights of the cars in front coming on. Within thirty seconds the road was like a river, with torrential rain bouncing off the road as high as my foot pegs. The traffic had all but stopped, such was the difficulty in seeing where you were going. It was even more fun for me through the dark visor of my helmet. I could feel the water creeping through the zips and vents of my jacket like someone pouring a cold glass of water down my back. After a few hundred metres I was soaked to the skin. All I could think of was that this must of been some kind of karma payback for all the Scottish sunshine!

Realising that it was too late for waterproofs, I just got on with the task at hand. Filtering like a crazy drug addict desperate for his next hit, I rode faster than was probably necessary. Much faster. I just wanted this misery to end.

I arrived at my parents house and rang the bell. Standing in their garage shaking from a combination of adrenaline fuelled riding and oncoming hypothermia, I discarded my wet clothes into a  pile and struggled into some dry ones. Everything went into the tumble drier. I even thought about climbing in too. It had been a tiring day, and the rain hadn't helped things. Hopefully the final leg tomorrow will be a nice straightforward blast home.

Saturday 11th June 2016

After yesterdays soaking, I was keen to watch the weather forecast for todays journey home to Essex as I eat my breakfast. There was a chance of more showers after lunch, so if I got going sooner rather than later I would hopefully miss them.

The weather forecast was wrong. Half an hour into my journey south it started to rain. Hard. I pulled my bike over and wrestled myself into my waterproofs as the wind did its best to try and relieve me of them. It rained for the next sixty miles, turning what should of been a blast home into painful drudgery. The sun finally came out with just a few miles to go. I wasn't stopping now, so I cooked in my waterproof suit like a boil in the bag meal for the rest of the way. Arriving home ready to serve I just sat on my back door step for a few minutes until I could summon the energy to start unloading the bike. I was knackered.

The total mileage for the trip had been 1569.4 miles. It was an amazing week riding through some stunning scenery, with some of the best people you are ever likely to meet. I can't wait to go back, so much so that I have already said I will be attending next years Clan meet.

Here is a few of the video clips I filmed during the week.

Clan Capo 2016: "It'll be a bit of fun", they said!

Thursday 9th June 2016

I think we had all slept well after last nights frivolities in the Tartan Tavern. There were a few boozy heads around the breakfast table as we discussed the plan for today. Unfortunately, we were loosing one of the clan this morning. Eric had to return to work tomorrow. We all said our goodbyes, and he rode off towards home just after breakfast.

Today would be a day away from the bikes. Most of the guys had arranged to visit the Oban whisky distillery for a tasting tour this morning. This would be followed by a sealife and wildlife trip on a RIB around the local coastal waters in the afternoon.

Mark, Daz and I were hoping to hire some bikes from the local cycle hire shop, and explore the area at a slightly slower pace. But, we wouldn't know if there were any cycles available until the shop opened at ten.

We were waiting outside the cycle shop when it opened. It turned out that Daz knew the owner as he used to work at a shop in Kendal, before moving to set up this shop in Oban. The shop was small with what appeared to be very limited stock. Our chances of hiring some bikes looked slim. But, out the back was a lock-up workshop where the hire bikes were kept.

They had mountain bikes for hire. A couple of medium framed Specialized Rockhopper Sport 29er's were found for Mark and I. Daz being a giant of a man, was being harder to accommodate. Apparently a group of exceedingly tall D of E students had hired the bulk of the larger framed bikes. However, as the owner knew Daz, he offered to lend him his own personal beast of a bike.

When Mark had suggested hiring some bikes a few weeks ago, I thought it sounded like a good idea. Little did I know that Mark and Daz would do their best to try and kill me today! The first signs should of been when they produced their own spd pedals and fitted them to the bikes. I had just brought my flat street trainers. With the bikes ready, we were lent a OS map with some suggested routes marked on it. We then went back to the hostel to change into our cycle gear.

I changed into my mountain bike shorts, shirt and my trainers. The other two looked like ready for the Rio Olympic trials by the time they were ready. Daz and Mark then fitted their Garmin cycle computers so that they could upload the ride data to Strava when they get home. I quietly browsed the map fearing the worst. We then set off through the centre of Oban, heading for our first destination, of  Kerrera.

 Kerrera is a small island just off the coast from Oban. There are no roads on the island, just a few marked trails used by hikers and cyclists, and a small café where you can replenish your energy stores. Getting across to the island involves taking a short ferry ride from a jetty just out of Oban. We followed the road signs for the ferry, choosing to stick to the tarmac for now. As we arrived at the jetty, we had just missed the ferry. At least it would give me a chance to get my breath back.

I usually commute to work covering about 200-250 miles a week on my lightweight road bike, and then ride another 50 miles or so on a Sunday with a few mates. I like to think I have a decent fitness level. But, riding a mountain bike this morning has got me out of breath already. And, we have only ridden two miles.

After a few minutes the ferry is back. We get ourselves and the bikes aboard, and start our 200 metre journey across to the island. The price seems a little steep at £5.50! Chatting to the guy on the ferry, he tells us that it usually takes about two hours to circumnavigate the island. The fast, fit riders can do it in about an hour.

Once off the ferry, we hit the trail and headed off around the island in a clockwise direction. The trail was a mixture of loose gravel, and larger stones. It was fairly easy going to start with a few little jumps and puddles to add to the fun. After about a mile, there was an old abandoned tractor on a beach. Next to the trail, a tourist information sign explained all.

The tractor was a remote control cable installation unit. It was developed to practice cable laying techniques during WW2. The techniques developed here went on to be used for laying communication cables across the seas to Europe and the various islands in the Atlantic.

The trail continued and started to gently climb as we worked our way passed the few hikers that had made the journey over from the mainland. Then as the trial turned inland, we hit the first of the steeper sections. Mark and Daz raced off to the top. I quickly realized that I couldn't match their pace, so I just made my way to the top as best I could. It was hard work, and I was breathing heavily as I crested the summit. It was then a gentle run down to the café at the SW corner of the island.

There were a few people at the café. We carried on as we had only been riding for about twenty minutes. I took a drink of water from my backpack and pressed on after the two pros. The trail became a mixture of steeper up and down hill sections, crossing a few streams with makeshift bridges. Then once to the end of the western section of the island, things got steeper. Much steeper.

I managed to ride the first third of the next hill. With my heart pounding out of my chest and my lungs fit to burst, I watched Mark and Daz casually pedal off up the mountainous trail like it was barely there. I walked my bike the rest of the way to the top, hoping a paramedic team would be standing by to deal with my impending cardiac arrest. After a brief rest and a drink once at the top, we all carried on.

The next section was  more steep hills and gated sections to separate the livestock. I managed to cycle this time, summoning some inner strength so as no to appear as the complete lardass I actually was. 

Then all of a sudden we arrived back at the ferry. We couldn't be here already. Had we missed a bit somewhere? Turns out we had ridden the complete circuit of the island. In 58 minutes! No wonder I was knackered. As we waited for the ferry to arrive from the other side of the Loch, I checked the map to see where the other suggested routes were. There was an off road trail back into town marked on the map. We could see the trail heading away from the jetty on the other side, so that would be our route from here.

The guy on the ferry was surprised to see us back so soon. The water passing under the ferry looked so inviting and clear. It was now pretty warm and a nice cooling dip would of been very welcome. Once off the ferry we hit the trail back to town which climbed up the cliff overlooking the Loch far below.

After about a kilometer it was clear that this was not the well used trail we were led to believe it was. It had quickly become an overgrown singletrack, used more by the local sheep than the passing tourist. It was unrideable in places and we were forced to fight our way through the grass while pushing the bikes. But, we made it through the worst of it and followed the track back towards the road which was now in sight a hundred metres below us.

Daz led the way as the trail now ran through a narrow tree lined section. It was a combination of bits that were rideable and bits where it was safer to walk. It was riding one of these sections when my front wheel slipped off the edge of the trail, throwing me over the handlebars as it got caught on a tree stump. I landed flat on my front on the only flat piece of ground in the area. If I had landed anywhere else I could of really hurt myself on a tree stump or similar. I got up and brushed myself off to a soundtrack of Mark in fits of laughter. In between the laughter I did eventually hear him ask if I was alright!

With no bones broken, I retrieved my bike from the undergrowth. The bushes had stopped the bike and myself from falling down the cliff edge. A few metres further on I could see just how lucky I had been, as the cliff just fell away. With slightly more caution, we all continued on. Eventually a set of very steep log steps led us back down to the road. Here I gave myself and the bike a proper look over to check for any damage. Apart from a bashed left knee, all seemed good.

We all rode back into town where we decided to take one of the other routes marked on the map. This would take us to Connel where we would try and get some lunch. It was ten miles, on  country roads and was part of the National Cycle Route system. It was a nice ride through some lovely countryside. But, the route consisted of lots of hills. There wasn't a flat section along the ten mile route, and I was spent by the time we got to Connel. Mark and Daz had barely broken into a sweat. I stopped at the Post Office shop and raided the fridge of cold sugary drinks to replenish my energy.

The local hotel bar was recommended to us for lunch, which we found at the end of the street. The place was full of ladies from the local WI, having their bi-weekly lunch. We ordered some sandwiches and drinks, and I asked for some ice for my sore knee. The bar lady brought me over a towel full of ice as I was "such a brave little man!" Mark and Daz were equally sympathetic!

With hungers satisfied, it was time to work off our huge lunch by tackling the road we had arrived on in reverse. We took our time as the sun was blazing down. I didn't find the going as hard on the way back, and we arrived back in Oban again at around 2pm. As the bike didn't have to be back until 5, we took the road out of town along the bay, to see where it would take us. It was beautiful along this stretch of road. Sandy beaches, ruined castles, and no traffic. I didn't stop to take any photos. I just soaked up the place into my memory banks.

Eventually the road ended at the beach in Ganavan Bay. I was ready to turn back, but the two pros convinced me to ride with them along the cycle path that started from here and headed out into the countryside. The signs warned of steep hills. " They won't be that steep". Mark would soon eat his words, as three hundred metres into the ride a monster of a slope appeared. Using the lowest gear we all just made it to the top. The path continued as a rollercoaster of smooth tarmac, weaving through the countryside, eventually joining the A85 about five miles out of Oban.

We chose to ride back into town along the main road. Daz and Mark helped me out by pacing our little peleton, and allowing me to sit in their slipstream for a bit. The holiday traffic was steadily building up behind us but we didn't care. The final mile into town was all downhill, and I freewheeled back to the shop never wanting to see a mountain bike again. I'll stick to riding my roadbike on the flat coastal roads of Essex.

After a long, well earned shower and a change of clothes back at the hostel the three of us headed into town for a beer. It was still hot and sunny so we tried to find a pub with outside seating. This led us to "Spoons" where we camped out for a while. There was lots of attractions of all ages on view, which helped the time pass until all the others joined us with tales of their adventures on the high seas.

I got to bed just after eleven and was out like a light as soon as my head hit the pillow. Knackered, bruised, sunburnt, and having survived a near death experience. It had been a brilliant day.

Clan Capo 2016: The Three Glens

Wednesday 8th June 2016

Glen Coe, Glen Etive, and Glen Nevis

After suffering from sleep depravation over the last few days, it was a welcome relief to wake from a few hours of proper rest. The large whisky I was poured on arrival back at the hostel last night may of helped. But, whatever it was, I had made it through the night without being serenaded by the MSC.

It was already quite warm by the time I climbed the stairs up to the lounge and kitchen area for some breakfast. A few of the others were already there. Looking around at their faces it was easy to see who had slept well and who had obviously not. Robbie, John and Chris seemed to have coped a bit better in their cosy dorm for three, claiming that is was cool enough for them to actually sleep.

As the breakfast options at the hostel consisted of toast and cereal etc, a few of the more rugged adventurers in our group suggested a cooked breakfast instead. So, a plan was hatched to ride to Tesco for fuel and breakfast before setting off on the ride this morning. Unlike yesterday, the plan worked this time and we were all together and ready to go by ten, full of square sausage and other meat based rarities for the brave ones among us.

We left Oban on the now familiar A85 towards Tyndrum. Today was going to be a big scenery day visiting Glen Coe and its nearby neighbours. Once past the shores of Loch Awe and through Glen Orchy, the mountains began to come into view. A couple of classic touring cars were also enjoying the magnificent weather, cruising along with their tops down.

From Tyndrum the ride continued onto the A82 towards the Bridge of Orchy. I can now see why this is such a popular route for motorcyclists in this area. Twisty, undulating, grippy, smooth tarmac cutting its way through stunning mountainous scenery with no traffic. It was a cracking way to begin the day. There was still a little of the morning mist and clouds clinging on to the mountain peaks. But, by the time we arrived at a scenic viewpoint overlooking Loch Tulla, it had all but burnt off.

There were a couple of cars and bikes parked in the viewpoint layby as we pulled in. Robbie spotted a fellow Super Tenere owner, and went over for a chat. The rest of us took a few photos and soaked up the view. "Panarama Mark" got busy with his IPhone as usual, performing his trademark circular shuffle.

After a few minutes the layby was descended upon by a fleet of tourist coaches. What seemed like the population of a small country spilled out on to the tarmac, all keen to get a photo before they were herded back on board again. Some of them were more interested in the bikes, with Eric posing for a few snaps with a little boy and his parents.

We all thought it best to get going before we became stuck behind the coaches on the next stretch of road. Stu sounded his departure in his usual fashion much to the pleasure of the tourist crowd. Not wanting to disappoint, I took off in hot pursuit opting to use just the rear wheel on this occasion!

With Glen Coe in the distance, the ride across Rannoch Moor was instantly recognizable. I had seen it in travel books, blogs and ride reports many times. Now I was here actually riding it.

What traffic we encountered was quickly dispatched leaving the road before us deserted. For such a busy tourist route the amount of other road users was minimal. I imagine it gets a little busier at weekends.

Robbie had told me to look out for our next turning, which would be just past the large, white painted King's House Hotel. I slowed for the turn. Stu and Daz who were if front of me, sped off into the distance. I waited for the others to catch up, and to make sure it was the correct road. Stu and Daz soon turned around after realizing nobody was following them, and caught back up with the group again.

Robbie signaled that this was the right road, and for us to ride on. This was the road through Glen Etive. It was a single track, dead end road that ended at the shore of the Loch itself. This was to be the outstanding ride of the whole trip for me. Today, in the sunshine, there was nowhere else I wanted to be. It was a simply jaw dropping place to ride a motorcycle.

The road and the views got better the further along we rode. It is no wonder the Glen was used for filming various scenes in the recent James Bond film "Skyfall". We tried to find the spot where the filming had been carried out, but it could of been numerous places. The whole place had the feel of a  Hollywood set. But, I was happy travelling on my Triumph. I certainly didn't need an Aston Martin to enjoy it.

A small rocky carpark waited for us at the end of the road. Just a couple of other cars had took the road less traveled to reach the tranquility of the Loch. It was pleasing to know that while being so close to the well worn tourist trail, few people bothered to come to this epic spot.

We took a break for a while to enjoy our surroundings. It was warm in the bright sunshine, but there was some shade to be found if needed. I couldn't wait to get out of my helmet and riding jacket. We got chatting with a few of the other people that were here, including a couple who had parked their car near the main road and cycled the Glen road. The young woman was keen to swap her pedal bike for one of our powered ones, as she was not looking forward to the hills on the way back.

I met them about a mile into the return ride, and shouted some friendly words of encouragement as I passed.

The ride back along Glen Etive was just as stunning as the ride up. With a different perspective, I spotted a few waterfalls I hadn't seen previously. They looked very inviting. A cooling dip would of been welcome now I was ensconced in my riding kit again.

I arrived back at the A82 junction, and took a few photos of my surroundings while I waited. I felt very insignificant beneath the towering mountains all around me.

Eventually, the others had wobbled back along the glen and we were all together for the run through Glen Coe. I got waved on by Robbie, so I set off not really knowing where I am going. Luckily, Mark seemed to know where he was going. Or, I assume he did as he passed me and took the lead.

The idea that Mark knew where he was going soon backfires though. He pointed as we rode past a junction, but kept going on the A82 towards Fort William. After another few miles he pulled over at a bus stop followed by me and a couple of the others. He tells me that he thinks that is where we were supposed to turn off. We wait for a few minutes. As no other bikes appear on the horizon, we take it as a sign that the rest have turned off at the junction so we turn around and make our way there.

On our way back to the Loch Leven junction, a woman in a mobility scooter is cruising along causing traffic chaos. She seems oblivious to the trucks, coaches and other traffic trying to squeeze past at fifty miles per hour.

We find the others at a pub called The Clachaig Inn, just along the B863 to Kinlochleven. We all stop here for a cool drink and a spot of lunch for the hungry among us. I get talking to an old gentleman in traditional local dress while I am waiting my turn at the bar. He asks if we are a bunch of Hells Angels, and if we are going to start any trouble. I reassure him that we are all too old, unfit, and hot and bothered to start throwing tables about!

It was a great spot for a relaxing bite to eat.

Suitably refreshed, we got back on our bikes and continued on the twisty B863 around the shore of Loch Leven. It was one of those roads where one corner led into the next with hardly any straight bits for the whole sixteen miles.

At North Ballachulish we turned back onto the A82 for the run into Fort William and towards our third glen of the day, Glen Nevis. The traffic along this section was the busiest of the whole trip, with lots of caravans and motorhomes slowing things up for us.

Thoughtfully, a slow moving Bedford Rascal Bambi motorhome pulled over and let the other traffic past.

Once in Fort William, we made a quick fuel stop before moving on.

A couple of roundabouts later we reached the turn off for Glen Nevis. A bunch of hikers were having their photos taken in front of the Ben Nevis sign, having hiked to the top and back. We passed loads of other hikers along the road at various stages of the trail.

The Glen Nevis road started off fairly sedately with some nice views of Ben Nevis in the distance. Things then got very twisty with nice little crests that lifted the front wheel, turning the ride into a series of short wheelies between the turns. It's was brilliant fun.

The final part of the road up to the visitors carpark was narrow with passing places in case you met anything coming the other way. It was at one of these passing places where Robbie encountered an inconsiderate driver who decided to stop just passed the passing place. Robbie gave the driver a verbal critique of his driving skill while giving the international hand gesture of inviting him for a freshly ground cup of Nescafe! The drivers wife in the passenger seat was very apologetic.

The carpark was full of cars, with people starting the hike up to the summit of the mountain. We decide not to complete the hike in full biking gear, and chose to just take a break instead. I slapped a sticker on an appropriate signpost that marked the start of the trail to the top.

As we were not going for a hike, and with the temperature still rising, Mark, Daz and I decided to get going and head back to Oban. The others wouldn't be too far behind.

Once back in Fort William, I spotted the future Mrs Crasher walking along the shore of Loch Linnhe.

The ride back along the A82 to South Ballachulish was the usual brisk affair enjoying the lovely empty, smooth roads. I could see headlights of Stu's Aprilia in the distance behind, gaining fast. It was a nice ride, and we seemed to be able to pick off any traffic at the right time. Stu was less fortunate, and every time he caught Mark and I up he would get stuck behind a slow car.

There was one left hand bend that caught Mark and I out. All the corners look the same all over Scotland on the main roads. Constant radius, and can easily be taken at the speed limit. This particular left hander, started off looking like all the others, and then quickly tightened up on corner entry.

Just as we got to the tight bit, Mark started breaking hard. And using a combination of the ABS and  superbike sized rubber adorning his Italian hyperbeast headed for the corner exit raising his hand to apologise. In the meantime I was slamming on the brakes and hoping the mountain bike tyre in the front of my Tiger would man up and accept the task of getting us round the corner. With a wedgie of seat cover and barely a flicker of the traction control light, I too was round and off after Mark again.

The next few miles were a little more sedate ( I wonder why?), taking us over a great looking girder bridge as we crossed the mouth of Loch Leven.

Here we seemed to sit at set of temporary traffic lights for hours. The lights had just changed to red as we arrived and we saw Daz just disappearing up the road in the distance. Once the lights did eventually change, we turned onto the A828 back to Oban.

The A828 spiraled under the bridge we had just crossed, and continued to wind its way along the shoreline of Loch Linnhe towards the Forth of Lorne.

There were several little sea forts just off the shore at various points along this part of the route. Most of them looked to be in a bad state of repair, and had just been left to fall into the sea.

It was along this section where we caught up with a group of three other bikers on a variety of sports bikes. They were a little hesitant to pass other traffic, so we got held up behind them for a while. We eventually passed them in traffic queueing on the approach to Connel Bridge.

From Connel Bridge it was a quick blast back to the hostel. I overtook a van with Stu right behind me. I kept the throttle open on the next straight, but Stu demonstrated his extra horsepower as he blasted past about an inch from my right elbow. I'm sure I suffered substantial hearing loss as he did so. But, Tigger was not to be denied a small victory, and we managed to reverse the situation in the last mile into Oban.

Back at the hostel, it was the usual shower/ change/ pub routine. Over a cold beer, a group decision of Indian food led us to the Taj Mahal restaurant, just across the road from the hostel. With a warm welcome from the staff, Cobra beer, and some tasty food including some amazing homemade pickles, it was a great evening. As I was the most responsible adult available, I got the task of sorting out the bill! While I was talking to a couple of the staff and paying, it turned out one of our waiters was from Harlow in Essex. He was helping out in Oban during the busy holiday season. It's a small world.

It was still early after the meal, so for some of us a pub was in order for a final drink.....or two. Just across the road from the Indian restaurant was the Tartan Tavern. Mark had wanted to try this pub all week, so tonight he would get his wish. It turned out to be the smallest pub I have ever been to. There were a few locals sat at on table and two more at the bar. By the time our group of eight entered the bar, it was full to bursting!  We spent the next hour or so talking about the days events and what a fantastic time it had been. It was a  great end to another fine day.