Clan Capo 2016: Mull of Kintyre

Tuesday 7th June 2016

I had gone to bed last night feeling quite tired after a long day of riding in the warm weather. As I lay in my bunk trying to relax into some sleep, a few of the others drifted back from the pub and announced their arrival in the dorm in the subtle way that only lightly inebriated men can.

The second wave arrived shortly afterwards, so at least we were all present and correct. Surely I would be able to finally drift off now. No. Not a chance. Within seconds of peaceful silence falling on our dorm as we all settled into our bunks, the snoring started. At first it was just a couple of subtle drones emanating from various regions of the room. Other members of the Male Snore Choir began to join in, each playing their part in a rousing chorus that wouldn't be out of place in an African wildlife documentary.  It may of been sleep depravation, but I am sure I saw Sir David Attenborough and a film crew camped out in the corner.
Be sure to check out the MSC's soon to be released new EP "Sounds of the Serengeti"*

I tried putting my ear plugs in. It made little difference. My next attempt at drowning out the noise involved listening to my MP3 player. This must of helped a little, as the next time I looked at the time it was ten past three. The next few hours consisted of frustrating clock watching. What felt like hours turned out to be only five minutes since the last look! At 6am I could stand it no more. I went for a shower to try and revive myself a little.

Feeling a little more alive I was still unprepared for what awaited back at the dorm. Upon opening the door, the putrid stench of eleven sweaty, flatulent men, trapped in a confined space made me take a step back. Glastonbury festival toilets didn't smell this bad after a whole weekend of use. Not only did it sound like the Serengeti, it smelled like it too. Cautious not to do anything that would cause a spark, I re-entered the dorm.

I got dressed and went for a walk into town. The air outside was fresh and cool. A welcome relief to what I had just experienced. I passed a cash machine so I stopped and obtained some colourful Scottish money. There were not many people about, but those that I did pass said hello. I soon found myself down by the bay, sitting on a bench and watching the ferries being prepared for the day. I began to feel better and less tired than I had felt when I got up. I wandered back to the hostel at seven to get some breakfast.

The MSC was the talk of the breakfast table. We all had a good laugh about things. With some breakfast and coffee inside us, talk then turned to the days ride. Today we were going to explore Kintyre and take a ride to the Mull of Kintyre. 

A few of us were ready to go before the main bunch, and were keen to get going. Mark, Daz and I headed to Tesco's for fuel on the understanding that the rest would be following behind shortly. After fuelling up our bikes we waited a few minutes. With no other bikes appearing in the distance we headed back towards the hostel to see where everyone was. Back at the hostel, there was no sign of any of the others. They had gone without us. Knowing roughly which way they might of gone, the three of us set off in hot pursuit.

We left Oban on the A85 heading for Tyndrum. The very impressive Connel Bridge appeared into view a few miles later.

The A85 was a great way to start the day with its smooth tarmac and nice flowing curves as it hugged the shore of Loch Etive.

The road then turned inland running alongside the River Awe which opened up into Loch Awe. The water was like a mirror with barely a ripple on the surface.

Once past Loch Awe we then turned onto the A819 towards Inveraray. This was another flowing ribbon of tarmac. A local young woman in a modern VW Beetle showed some impressive pace as she led us along the road for the first few miles. Eventually she relinquished her lead to the speed of our mighty steeds, and we were set free on our travels.

At Inveraray, the A83 led us to Lochgilphead. At this point, unbeknown to us, the rest of the group were at a tea shop less that a mile away on a small road alongside the Crinan Canal. We carried on towards Kintyre stopping at Ardrishaig for the swing bridge. Here pleasure cruisers and small sailing boats entered the start of the canal from Loch Gilp.

Mark wanted someone else to lead, so I set the pace as we headed for Tarbert. There were a few hold ups along this stretch of the A83, as the Highways Department was busy cutting back the verges and overgrowing trees. Once the traffic got going though it was a pleasant ride with the road rising and falling a little as it twisted and turned its way along the coast.

The three of us parked up in Tarbert next to the harbor. Realizing we were not going to catch the rest of the pack this morning. we took a break and had a spot of lunch. Tarbert was a busy little place with lots of brightly coloured buildings scattered amongst the plain white painted ones.

After satisfying our hunger, we continued towards Campbeltown and the general direction the Mull of Kintyre. We had to bump into the others somewhere along here. I took the lead again with the Multistada twins following behind.

At Kennacraig there was a turning for the B842. Mark suspected that this may be the route Robbie and the others would take. But, I was unaware of this and zoomed by on the main road. Mark was going to catch me up and make us turn around, but we continued as we were. The A83 runs down the west coast of Kintyre. The B842 which Robbie and the others had actually taken, runs down the east coast. They both end up in Campbeltown. But, the B842 is a much narrower and therefor slower road. It was somewhere along this part of our route that we overtook the rest of the guys as well all travelled south.

About ten miles from Campbeltown it started to rain. I put up with it for a few minutes, then decided to pull over and wrestle my waterproof jacket on. Once under way again, the rain stopped and the sun came out almost immediately! You have to love Mother Nature.

With a brief scare cresting a rise in the road involving cow muck right across the road, the three of us reached Campbeltown without  further incident. We fuelled up and then stopped for a break, parking next to the harbor just off the main through route.

With still no sign of the others Mark phoned Stu who has his intercom linked to his phone. They were about forty minutes away, and reading between the lines, riding at a slightly slower pace that Stu would prefer.

We decided to wait for them to arrive. It was a nice sunny day, so we chilled out on a bench for a while. We were sat there chatting away, when two old ladies in a car attempted to park in the road behind the bench. I caught sight of them just before they came into contact with the bench as the car mounted the curb. The lady in the passenger seat apologised for her friends driving skill, claiming that she did have a valid license. They didn't want to knock our bikes over and were concentrating on giving them a wide birth. We had a good laugh with them in the end.

After a few more attempts at parking ( in a space big enough for three cars ), they gave up and parked in another space a few yards down the road. 

Soon, the familiar sound of a Caponord 1200 exhaust could be heard over the peaceful sounds of the harbor. Stu, was shortly followed by the others. We were all together again, at last. After a bit of a catch up on the days events so far, we all set off together through the town towards the Mull of Kintyre.

The B842 was quite fast and flowing as it crossed lush green farmland towards Machrihanish. It then  branched off for the run down to the south coast.

The road to the lighthouse began as a single track lane with a few farms either side. The surface soon became a little rougher with potholes caused by the heavier farm traffic.

We encountered some of this at a narrow section a few miles from the main road. The farmer in his large tractor and trailer managed to skillfully manoeuver onto the verge for us so that we had enough room to squeeze past.

The lane got a little narrower and eventually led to a gate. Mark parked up, and opened the gate for us all to get through. It was three miles to the lighthouse from here on a track that was rough in places with gravel washed down from the surrounding hillside. But, for the most part it was a fantastic little ride. The views down to the coast and then across the moorland were well worth the effort.

The track ended at a car parking area near the end of the peninsula. The track to the lighthouse continued through a locked gate, down a series of steep hairpin bends to the lighthouse. It would of been a bit of a trek in full bike gear, so we walked over towards the cliff top for a view of the lighthouse below.

As we stood on the cliff admiring the view below, The Waverley was cruising past just off shore. The Waverley is the worlds last ocean going paddle steamer. We could just make out its distinctive sound as it drifted by. But, we were not the only ones enjoying the sights. A couple of the locals were too.

As we walked back to our bikes, Stu and Robbie began talking about a gravel track that was a few hundred metres further back the way we had come. Robbie had suggested taking a gravel road during our journey over to Oban on Monday. The general consensus that day had been not to bother and stick to the tarmac. Stu still fancied a bit of gravel action, and was not to be denied.

Stu roared off with the determination only a true demon of the dirt could muster. By the time I got there he was about half the way to the top. It doesn't look that steep in the photos. But, it certainly was. The surface was also very loose, covered in the kind of ballast used to seat rail tracks.

This was as far as he got. He had run out of momentum and traction. He was stuck. An expectant crowd of onlookers had gathered at the foot of the hill, wondering what Stu was planning to do next. Jim suggested someone should walk up and help him. I was too busy laughing, Colin was too busy taking photos of his heroic efforts, so Jim started the long walk towards the stricken Stu and his bike.

Meanwhile, Stu was attempting to carry out a "hillside recovery turn" which is a tricky manoeuver on a lightweight dirt bike, let alone an adventure touring bike complete with top box!

A few nail biting minutes later, Stu had managed to turn his bike around on the narrow track without dropping it, and was thundering his way back down the hill. Jim managed to take avoiding action by stepping back onto the verge as the mighty Caponord slewed its way past. I was the next in the line of fire, so I made my escape and set off down the tarmac track towards the main road.

The ride back along the track was even  more stunning than the ride up. Beautiful empty beaches came into view as I peered over the dry stone walls.

We bumped into the farmer again on our return to the main road. He managed to impress us once again with his driving skills, by reversing back down the hill and into a very tight gate. Show off!

Once back through the gate and onto the lane we passed a large farm. There was a Border Collie snoozing on the grass verge. I had spotted it on the way up, and it didn't appear to have moved. I imagine that it is where the dog spends the day, every day, just watching the world go by.

The ride back to the hostel was the usual brisk paced affair back the way Mark, Daz and I had come this morning. There was no sign of the rain that had fallen this morning, and the sun was beaming down. The road was empty all of the way back to Tarbert, with only a few bits of traffic from there back to Oban on the A816.

Back at the hostel, John, Chris and Robbie had managed to secure a smaller dorm for the three of them just across the hall. They hoped it would be a little cooler and more comfortable for them in there.

After a quick shower and a change of clothes, we all headed to Wetherspoons at the far side of the harbor for an evening of cheap beer and decent food. It had been another great day of riding even though we did get split up this morning. Tomorrow promises to be even better.

* Not available on ITunes. And, for the sake of all human kind not available anywhere else either.

Clan Capo 2016: Heading for Oban

Monday 6th June 2016

Shap to Oban

I was woken from a restless nights sleep by the sunlight streaming through the window and hitting me right in the face. I glance over at my phone. 04:10am. Great! So much for a relaxing start to the week.

The bird song coming in through from outside is on full 5.1 surround sound with the volume wound up all the way to 11. I put my earplugs in and try and get a couple more hours rest. This lasts until just after 6am. It is getting warm in the dorm room. I can feel last nights beer and chips combo wishing to be free from my digestive regions, so that is my first task of the morning. This does ruin the ambiance in the bathroom area somewhat. I have a shower, get changed, pack my things, and make sure I have left the dorm nice and tidy.

It is getting warm by the time I am ready to go. So, I take off my lightweight fleece. It can ride in the top box for a while. Shap is deserted at 7am on a Monday morning. The village where I live back in Essex is a similar size. But, by now it would be filled with a constant stream of commuters heading for London. My only hold up heading for the M6 is a set of temporary road works at the far end of the village.

I hit an empty M6, and head north towards Dumfries where I will hopefully meet the others. The sky is blue and there are great views across the valleys either side of the road. My bike feels a little sluggish as I spot signs for Gretna. It then occurs to me that the road has been climbing steadily for the last ten miles. That may have something to do with it.

Just past Gretna, I took the turn off for Dumfries on the A75. I had been this way before a few times, when I used to attend Aprilia Technical training at their headquarters in Dunragit, near Stranraer. It was normally in the winter though. The road looked familiar. But, the views were certainly more spectacular in the bright morning sunshine.

The run into Dumfries was a great way to start the day apart from a slight moment on a roundabout where there was a large diesel spill. I found the meeting point which was a large Tesco Extra supermarket on the north side of the town, just before eight. I fueled up and parked in front of the store. I was a little early as the others would not arrive until about nine.

I decided to do a little shopping while I was waiting, and so stocked up on a few essentials. With a top box now full of Irn-Bru, blue face paint, and a haggis trap, I visited the café on the stores first floor for some breakfast. I decided against buying one of those "Skirts for Real Men" as they are not the most practical items of attire for motorcycling. The cooling breeze on my lower regions would of been quite welcome though as the temperature seemed to be rising by the minute.

With breakfast and some excellent coffee consumed, I got talking to an old chap with his wife on a nearby table about my helmet camera. He was asking lots of technical questions, and we discussed the pros and cons of Drift and Go-Pro products. He didn't seem like an extreme sports enthusiast, but he was looking for a camera to use on his sea kayak, and his microlight aircraft. Good on ya Granddad!

It was baking in the carpark, so I waited for the others in the shade near the fuel station. Mark and Daz were the first to arrive on their matching pair of red Ducati Multistrada's. I waited on a bench outside the store as they went in for breakfast. Over the next hour and a half, all of the others arrived and devoured the offerings on the breakfast menu. Mark, Daz and I baked in the sun while we waited for the others to get organized. Their was no shade to be found now that the sun was high in the sky. So, we were quite pleased to eventually get going just after 10.  

After leaving Dumfries on the A76, Robbie led us onto the B729 across the Kerr Hills and towards the Galloway Forest Park. The roads were empty with just a little farm traffic going about their duties.

Their was some welcome shade from the trees as we approached Moiaive. I couldn't believe the weather. Scotland is meant to be shrouded in drizzle when it is not actually raining, isn't it?

The B729 to Knowehead was beautiful. This single track road across the low land fells was a twisty ribbon of freshly laid smooth tarmac with stunning views on either side. If this was just a taster of things to come, it was going to be a worth while trip.

At the end of this fantastic road just before we joined the A713 to Ayr, an inquisitive field of lovely Highland cattle gave us all the once over as we passed by.

As our convoy entered Ayrshire on the A713 I was pleased that our speed has increased a little so that I could get some air through the vents in my jacket. The road towards Ayr and Prestwick was nice and  flowing and it was a great morning, just riding along in a group on empty roads at sensible speeds.

Traffic got a little heavier on the A77 as we skirted around the outskirts of Prestwick, where we stopped at the services just past the airport for some welcome refreshments.

Our route would now follow the A78 along the coast and north towards the Firth of Clyde. The sea was flat and calm, and the ozone laden air filled my lungs as I took some long, deep breaths. It was just the thing to perk me up, as the heat and my early start was starting to have an effect on me.

Arriving in the seaside town of Largs, it looked like the whole of Glasgow had taken a sick day and headed for the beach. It was a tropical paradise with clean sandy beaches, palm trees gentle swaying in the breeze, and a large bronze statue of a Viking warrior next to a bouncy castle! Vikings and the Battle of Largs in 1263 is big business in these parts.

Turning off the A78 onto the A770, we headed to Gourock. Here we would catch a ferry over to Dunoon and meet another member of our party, Eric. He had been waiting for us for a while due to our late kick-off. But, he seemed pleased to see us. He was another Clan Capo virgin.

As we approached the ferry, we were directed to jump the queue and form an orderly line at the front. I liked this idea in Norway, and it makes sense as it speeds up the loading and unloading processes. Unfortunately, unlike Norway we were parked up in a space along the side of the ferry, and then boxed in with cars, and a very homemade looking motorhome conversion I had spotted in the queue. We might of been first to board, but we would definitely be the last to disembark.

The ferry ride gave us all a chance to stretch our legs and catch up on a bit of banter about the day so far. Mark and Daz needed some fuel as like most Italian beauties their bikes liked a drink. This led to a little bit of confusion in the group. Mark, Daz and I headed for fuel as we got off the ferry, planning to meet the others back at the ferry terminal. But, they decided to go to a different fuel station just up the road to where they assumed we had gone.

Anyway, we found each other after a few minutes of confusion, apart from Mark who had gone A.W.O.L. Daz set off to the ferry terminal to find him, and they would catch us up.

So back underway, and now with Eric along for the ride, we took the A815 from Dunoon before turning onto the B836 "Argyll Secret Coast" route. This was another single track road that rose and fell as it twisted its way through forests and finally widening as it crossed some open moorland.

The B836 merged onto the A886 and the A8003 as it followed the coast of Loch Riddon which flows into the Kyles of Bute. The road began to rise as it followed the mountainous shore, eventually depositing us at the Tighnabruaich National Trust viewpoint.

Now this was a view that firmly smacked me right round the chops! It was like being back in South West Norway but with a Scottish accent. Mark had caught up with us again and was busy taking his infamous panoramic shots on his IPhone!

The road got narrower as we headed back down to sea level. The few bits of local traffic that we came across were quickly and politely dispatched with a friendly wave from both parties.

At Otter Ferry the coast road really did become just that. Right on the edge of the water, this single track road was a little slow going in places, but it was a great ride. It would of been a little more challenging in a car or a camper van, with some of the blind corners and crests a bit easier to negotiate sat higher up on our adventure steeds.

Once back on to the faster A819 and A83, Mark and Daz zoomed past and headed for Inveraray. They know this road well, and so went on having a little play. The rest of us upped the pace a little too, and had a great time on this fast, sweeping road.

At Inverary Stu and Chris were waiting for us. They had been there for a couple of hours, as our progress had been a little slower than Robbie had estimated. They seemed in good spirits as we rolled up though. It might of been a different story if the sun wasn't blazing down on the harbor.

After a break, a drink and a few photos it was time for the final leg of the day which would take us to our hostel in Oban. Stu led the way along the coast road with his usual gusto. His Aprilia Caponord 1200 barking loudly with every less than subtle throttle application. Daz and I followed, and Mark caught the three of us up a few miles further on. The four of us enjoyed a spirited ride with the others somewhere further behind. There was only one road, the A816, so it wasn't like you could get lost!

Daz and I got split up from Mark and Stu after getting stuck behind a car on a particularly twisty section of road. But, as we arrived at the hostel Mark and Stu were just unpacking their bikes. We signed in at the hostel, which was a converted church and found our room. It was a dorm room with twelve bunk bed named after girls from the James Bond films. I chose Tiffany Case, the red head from Diamonds are for Ever, purely because it was closest to the window.

After a quick shower and a change of clothes, it was time to find a pub for a well earned cool pint of whatever. Peter the proprietor recommended a pub just up the road, which also offered discount to the hostel guests.

The pub overlooked the bay, and we all had a great evening of banter, food and refreshing hop based beverages ( some more than others! ). I went to bed well and truly knackered. It had been a great introduction to Scotland, but a long day for me.

Clan Capo 2016: Heading in a Northerly direction

Saturday 4th June 2016

Essex to Lincoln

The day of departure had crept up on me. It wasn't until a couple of days ago that it struck me that  I really should think about packing a bag ready for the trip. I had been  pre-occupied with various work and private life events recently, and these had taken my mind off the fact I was about to embark on another adventure into the unknown. The weather had also descended back into the depths of winter down in the south of England, with heavy rain and cooler temperatures for the last week or so. Potentially spending a week riding around Scotland in similar conditions was not something I was relishing.

But, after checking the weather forecast for the week ahead, it looked like while the south was having a cold snap, Scotland was enjoying the complete opposite. I packed my waterproofs within easy reach, just in case. It was Scotland after all.

The bike was ready to go having not really being used since the trip to Wales earlier in the year. I have begun to have thoughts of changing the Tiger for something else, after falling out of love with it as a everyday ride. Maybe this trip would rekindle our relationship.

With the bike loaded, I set off north towards Lincoln at just after 09:30. The weather was a little strange. It wasn't raining, but it felt like it would at any moment. It was also warmer than it had been for the last few days. I decided not to take the direct route using the M11 and A1 as I would be doing enough of that kind of riding tomorrow. So, I headed up through Suffolk, Norfolk and Lincolnshire on the just as fast, but almost empty A roads.

As I joined the A17 "Fruit and Veg Superhighway" at Kings Lynn, a low lying mist had descended, which made picking my way passed the slower moving caravans and HGV's an interesting extreme sport. Particularly when the oncoming traffic was running without any headlights!

Just after Long Sutton, the A17 was closed due to over-running overnight resurfacing work. The resulting diversion route took the traffic down the narrow fenland roads which form a maze running alongside the main A roads. HGV's were struggling to pass each other in places and progress of all traffic slowed to a crawl. Being on a bike, I filtered my way to the front, free from the width limitations of travelling with panniers due to needing to bring less stuff on this trip.

Once passed the last of the trucks and free to increase my pace a little, things started to get back on track . The diversion route signs were sparse, so knowing which towns were in the direction I needed, I fired the Triumph down the mud covered lanes hoping I would soon spot somewhere I recognized. All this free-styling upset Ms Garmin, and she went into complete mental trauma. I only travel with her on mute these days as I can no longer stand her bossy " I told you so!" attitude which came to the fore in Scandinavia. After forty minutes of exploring all that the Lincolnshire Fens had to offer, my inner compass had me back on the A17 about three miles from where the diversion had begun!

The rest of the ride to Lincoln was virtually trouble free apart from a few patches of deeply laid surface dressing covering the smaller country roads on the approach to the city. It was like riding on the beach in places. I arrived in Lincoln at lunchtime just as the shopping traffic was at its peak. A flurry of slightly aggressive filtering moves had me through the worst of the pre-occupied bargain hunters in no time. Ten minutes later I was turning into the driveway of my parents house just as the sun started to beam down.

It was great to see them again. I spent the rest of the day relaxing, catching up with Mum and Dad, and making a fuss of their dog, Rolly. He loves a visitor. Particularly one who will rub his belly and tickle him under his chin!

Sunday 5th June 2016

Lincoln to the Lake District

As I wouldn't be leaving until the early afternoon I had a lazy morning after sleeping in until nearly nine. I always sleep well at my parents house. It is so peaceful compared to the busy road on which I live. I could feel the stress from back home had floated away during the night. I was beginning to relax into holiday mode.

After a nice lunch, I left Lincoln and started the ride to Shap. The satnav said it would take just over three hours. The sun was shining and it was nice and warm. So, I wacked on some tunes and settled in for the ride.

There was a little bit of the usual congestion in places on the A1. The worst of which was a stretch of roadworks controlled by average speed cameras on the approach to Scotch Corner. Again this was not a problem for me on my bike and I breezed through. Once on to the A66 towards Penrith, the traffic disappeared and I started to enjoy the scenery.

                         Everything was green as far as the eye could see. Even the other traffic!

At Brough I turned onto the A685. This was a twisting rollercoaster of a road though some nice little towns. The sky became a little bruised and was threatening to dampen things up a little, as the lake land fells came into view. I hoped I would make it the last few miles to the hostel without getting wet.

I nearly made it. But, as I approached the M6 motorway at Tebay, the rain just started to fall. It was only a shower. I pulled into the services just after junction 38 to fuel up. This would mean I would be able to ride up to Dumfries tomorrow morning without any hassle.

By the time I had fuelled up, the shower had passed. I had one junction to go on the M6 before turning off for the short ride into Shap.

The hostel was well sign posted from the junction and I found it situated at the far end of the village. A warm, friendly greeting from my lovely hostess was just the ticket. As I had made my booking online and the dorms had been filling up fast during my search ( it was fully booked for my return journey),  I was surprised to be told that I would be her only guest tonight. I had my pick of the dorms, choosing a nice bed at the front so I could keep an eye on my bike. There were some other travelers camping in the well manicured grounds at the year of the lodge, though. They were hiking along the coast to coast trail that runs through the village. I met them latter in the pub.

The dorms were basic, but had everything I needed. There was also a kitchen and bathroom just up the hall. After putting various gadgets on charge, I had a shower ( which were excellent and very clean), got changed, and took a exploratory walk into the village.

Shap is a village consisting of various grey stone building scattered along a long straight road. There is a small Tata steel works at one end, a hotel/bar, a pub, and an award winning fish and chip shop. What could be described as a one horse town. Unfortunately that horse went lame, and someone should of called a vet years ago. The scenery beyond the high street is very nice though with lots of rolling fells and green fields. It was pleasant enough. Just not the bustling metropolis I am used to back home.

After sampling some fish and chips I made my way to the pub to sample a local beverage. The pub was very warm inside, so I took my pint of amber ale outside. A few of the locals were assembled in the corner and had obviously been enjoying the great weather all afternoon. They began to be a little loud, and a few minutes later a karaoke machine was cranked up blasting out a variety of 1980's soft rock classics. For the sake of my sanity I chose to move on and wandered up to the hotel bar.

Here I tried a different ale that was not as good and I chose not to finish it. At least there was a nice quiet garden out the back. After coming to the conclusion that a decent beer was not on offer anywhere, I walked to the far end of the village and then returned to the hostel. I chatted with my hostess in the bar for a while, as it was still fairly early. The bottled amber ale here was much better than the draft on offer at the pub. I called it a day as I anticipated that tomorrow would be a long one, and eventually I retired to my bed anticipating what was to come in the morning.

Crasher goes North: Clan Capo 2016

Sometime in May 2016

For the last couple of  years, as well as the usual Aprilia Caponord meets in Wales that I attend, there has been a group of like minded individuals who have organised a Scottish meet for those in the northern parts of the UK.

I have always wanted to visit Scotland on my bike. I had spent a holiday there as a child, and visited various parts for work. But, I had not really been back for a proper exploratory trip since. During the Norway trip my friend Mark had suggested that I should try and visit at some point. It got talking to him again earlier this year at the most recent Welsh meet, and decided that 2016 would be the year.

I had plenty of annual leave to use from work. So, I booked the time off and started to make plans.

Clan Capo 2016 as the meet was to be called, was being organized by ex-Aprilia owner and Scottish resident, Robbie. I contacted him about various details of the suggested accommodation that needed booking, and what the general plan for the week was. Previous Clan Capo meets had consisted of touring around and camping at a different site each night. This years trip was planned to be a little different.

Rather than camping, Robbie had organised for us to stay at a hostel in Oban for the week. We would base ourselves there, and then take day trips to explore the Argyll and Bute region of Scotland. This would mean having to take less stuff with us, and give us a warm ( as it turned out very warm!), bed to return to each night after a good days ride. It sounded like a great plan. So, with that I rang the hostel and got my place confirmed. Now all I had to do is get myself and my trusty motorized companion to the meeting point in Dumfries for 9am, on the morning of  Monday 6th June.

Being a semi-educated man, I am well aware of where Scotland is. I also had a fair idea of where Oban was. But, it wasn't until I looked at my well thumbed AA road atlas, that it really hit home quite how far away from my home in rural Essex it was. Various route planning websites confirmed this with an average travelling time door to door of around nine and a half hours! Ahh. This would be why I hadn't been to Scotland on my bike before.

Not to be put off at the first hurdle I booked a nights B&B with my parents in Lincolnshire, who were more than happy to oblige. Recalculating the route planner gave a revised travel time of just over five hours. Oh well. A second overnight stop it will be then.

Robbie had kindly offered to let me pitch a tent in his garden if it would help. He had a couple of guest beds at his home, but a couple of the other guys had already called dibs. Wanting to avoid taking a tent and all the associated paraphernalia, I looked at alternative accommodation for the Sunday night that would get me within reach of the meeting point in Dumfries.

I liked the idea of another hostel stay and spending the evening with travelers from different places. Not being the most social of people, I must of been feeling adventurous in my more mature years. I started an internet search for hostels in the Lake District, within easy access of the M6 motorway. The one that stood out in all the reviews was The New Ing Lodge, in Shap. So, I booked a bed in one of the dorm rooms for the Sunday night. This now meant that my journey from Essex was broken up into two relaxing days, with a final short dash on the Monday morning from Shap to Dumfries.

Sorted. Now all I had to do was count off the days until departure.