Uncle Phil - Ireland 2010 Day 08

Ireland 2010

Day 08

June 17

Today day I don't have to think about routes, GPSs and such as I will be following Les to meet up with some more of my UK friends at the Green Welly. I always hate to make people wait on me, so I go down early to get the bike ready to go. I can't help but notice that every time a car passes by I think they are coming right through the passageway under the building.

After an unfortunate riding accident that totaled his previous ST, Les has been blessed with a beautiful blue ST1100 with only 6,300 miles on the clock. I am tempted because I love the color and the bike is absolutely spotless. But stealing it just wouldn't be right after all of the kindnesses that he and Miss Mary have already shown me. In the States, you usually got one color per year, and never this color.

When I come back in, Miss Mary has been busy in the fine kitchen of their place cooking up a delightful breakfast.

And once again, Les has prepared me another great pitcher of ice tea. The Brits have excellent tea and when you ice it, it's even better - at least in my opinion.

Miss Mary has prepared a gorgeous breakfast with Scottish sausage. Nothing suits me better than hen fruit and pig meat, and she has done it up right. I just don't know how Les managed to snag such a lovely and wonderful lady unless he just caught her in a moment of weakness.

As I look out the window, the streets of Dunoon are quiet but they will be bustling before long.

Les and I walk down to a neighboring shop to pick up some packing tape for the boxes of Sharyn's stuff. Lots of folks are out walking their dogs. Ever a lover of dogs, we stop and make friends with them as we go.

Once we get the two boxes ready to ship, we head for the local post office to ship them. It's located in an old military exchange building that has been converted to a multiple use facility. There are more dogs leashed outside, so we give them their proper due. They tells us that they don't understand why they can't go inside like normal folks but there's just no solicitor available to plead their case.

When I get to the counter with my boxes, the lady weighs and measures them then gives me the price. It will cost me over $150 dollars in postage to get them to the States. Les with his frugal Scottish heritage showing, looks at me with a quizzical expression. I tell him -

"Well, I reckon it's just the price of admission. It would cost me an extra $100 to check the additional two bags anyway."

When I am on a trip like this, some things just happen and you just can't dwell on it. As my momma says, she ain't never seen an armored car following a hearse so we won't be taking any money with us when we leave this earth. It will save me a lot of hassle not dealing with an extra bag on my return trip and I will enjoy having the extra packing space on the bike. I pay the price and figure that the stuff will beat me home anyway. Little do I know that it will be several weeks after I'm back before it arrives and the tracking numbers that the postal service provide are not 'trackable'. With the deed done, we head back to kit up. Les shows me the sign for his church that meets in the tearoom. Since we host our church in our home, I have a full appreciation for the sacrifice that he and Miss Mary are making. Some people just talk about their faith, but then there are some that put it into action. I can assure you that bringing your church home with you is action in more ways than you can ever imagine - unless you've done it!

We go up to say good-bye to Miss Mary and Sporran comes to see me. He grabbed my trousers leg last night on the way out, and this is the best he can do in the way of an apology. It reminds a bit of an old chicken killing basset hound I used to have. He was always sorry when he got caught. But I tell him -

"Well, I understand you were just protecting your domain. No hard feelings my friend' and I give him a gentle stroke on his head - watching in case there's a relapse.

Miss Daisy asks me if there will be time for another serious session of sitting in my lap and tending to her. But we've got to get on the road, so I have to tell her no and bid her a fond good-bye also.

I finish up and Les does the same. Once again, I have found another home away from home and would love to come back one day with Sharyn.

Les leads us north out of Dunoon via the back way along a road that follows the shoreline.

It's a beautiful day and I am enjoying just chilling and viewing the sights along the way.

Just north of town, we pull into a petrol station so we can start out with a full tank. It's only about 80 miles to Tyndrum, so that should get us there easily.

As we move along smartly, the scenery where the hills come right down to the water reminds me a bit of one of my favorite lakes back in Tennessee.

Les is a great rider and I am enjoying following his carefully chosen lines. It's nice to just to kick back and not have to think about where the next turn is or where I have to be. I can just enjoy the ride, the lovely scenery and the fellowship.

When I see this view, it looks very familiar to me. I know I've been here before but I can't remember the town name.

Once we come to the bridge, my synapses finally synapse and I place it. It is the village of Inveraray where Dave, Moff and I stopped in 2006. I have a hard time remembering names but I seem to have a talent for remembering roads, landmarks, and places - which has served me well in my travels.

When we get on A819, the traffic seems unusually heavy. This is a seldom used back road, and Les and I both wonder what is going on. We find out later that a serious accident has closed the main road and diverted all the traffic along this narrow corridor.

Les decides that we might as well just settle back and go with the flow, since no matter how many vehicles you overtake, there will just be another one. Which is probably a good thing after I see this sign. Somehow I don't think that the VFR1200 would look good with a serious set of antlers stuck on the front.

The scenery is excellent, the road surface is great, and the weather is nice. I figure there are a lot worse things than being stuck behind cages with those things in our favor.

After we get past a main intersection, the traffic clears up so Les can pick up the pace a bit. Not that he would ever exceed the posted speed limit ...

We arrive ahead of the other folks at the Green Welly and the bike parking lot is empty. I've been here before and I know how quickly the lot can fill up, since it is situated on some of the better motorcycling roads in Scotland.

It is also a tourist spot and I have an interesting conversation with these two young ladies. The lady on my left grew up in Nottingham, the legendary home of Robin Hood. She loves my Tennessee accent and we have quite a time cutting up together.

Soon the other folks we are expecting pull in. Peter just celebrated his 50th birthday and Miss Fiona had asked me to do a short video for a surprise for him. I did it with great relish, so when I see him I give him the same line that I used in the video -

"Well, 50 years ain't old for tree!"

However, he does not seem too amused at this juncture although Miss Fiona finds it quite humorous.

Dave and Moff pull in and since Moff comes in last I ask him -

"Well, did you bring the evening paper?"

Mike has come along on this trip, probably against his better judgment, so it is great to finally meet him in person. Paul also is tagging along on his pretty Gold anniversary ST1100.

Before long, the empty parking lot isn't so empty as bikes of all sorts and types begin pulling in.

But we've got a bit of a long haul to get to tonight's accommodations in Carlisle, so soon we are on the road again. Les decides that he will ride with us part of the way and I am delighted.

Once we are on the motorway, we can clip along at an even better pace. We just have to be mindful of the ever present speed cameras. When we come to heavy traffic, I just follow their lead and we filter right through it. That is one thing that I wish the folks in the States would adopt is filtering or lane splitting as it is called in California. But it requires a certain discipline from all drivers - both motorcycle and automobile - that seems to be lacking back home.

Finally the time comes for Les to head back to his place. He's been a real friend and I tell him so -

"You have been a real blessing to my soul, Les. Thanks for all that you have done for me. I reckon I'll see you later - here, there or in the air!" and I give him a big hug.

Soon we are off to Carlisle and he heads back toward Dunoon, the lovely Miss Mary, and the Lord and Lady of the Manor, Sporran and Miss Daisy.

We arrive at the Travelodge that David has picked out for us pretty early. It's a typical place just like you would find back home on the interstate. This place is nice and well appointed and the lady behind the desk is kind enough and helpful.

It feels good to get off the road early so we all unload our beasts of burden, trying to decide what we need to carry up and what we should just leave on the bikes.

The next obvious topic is one of proper nourishment for this motley crew. The only problem is that there's no restaurant to be seen and we really don't feel like suiting up again and go looking. Moff has a great suggestion -

"Let's just walk over to the store, get some meat and have a barbecue here in the parking lot."

Since they've been camping and have the gear for it, it sure sounds like a plan to me. The only problem is that the little store next door doesn't have anything to cook! So we decide it will be sandwiches and chips since that's about it for the choices. With that matter settled, we walk back over and find a table near the bikes. While we are making short work of our vittles, Paul mentions that he thinks his rear brake is dragging. Since I've had the brakes off my ST1100s more than a few times, we jump in and take a look. It appears that one of his caliper pistons is sticking and there is no joy when we try to push it back in. Since Dave needs a new rear tire, we decide we'll stop by a local Honda dealer tomorrow on the way down to Tewkesbury and he'll get one fitted. Paul decides that he'll pick up some new brake pads then and install them. When I think about it, I make a suggestion -

"If your piston is stuck, then you will have to rebuild your caliper. Rather than put in the new pads and wear them out, why not get the new pads, but ride with the old ones? If the old ones wear out, then install the new ones. If you get home without a problem, then you'll have new pads to put in after the rebuild."

Paul sees my bit of momentary wisdom, and decides that it makes a lot of sense. We put Humpty Dumpty back together again, and then head back upstairs and congregate in Mike's room. Dave and Moff break out the technology to see what is going on the world while the rest of us engage in human interaction - just shooting the breeze.

I figure I'd better get some sleep or else I'll be in trouble tomorrow, so I wish them a pleasant evening and head to my room. Since the motel has wifi, I catch up on my emails and a few other things then shut the computer and myself down for a good night's rest.