United Kingdom 2006
  
 

Day 08

August 26

  
 

Keith and I know that if we are going to get any riding in today, we'd better get to the shop in Oban and get our tires sorted out. Dave has graciously decided to go with us, and has Miss Ellen as pillion since Keith's back tire is in such bad shape. The rest of the group is headed for the ferry that will take them to the Isle Of Mull. If all goes as planned, we will catch a ferry from Oban to the Isle and meet them there. There's a fine rain falling as we pull out, making it even more interesting riding with back tires in bad shape.

 
 
 
 

Fortunately for all of us, it is an uneventful ride and we make it all the way to Stoddart's, the Honda shop that has come to our rescue. The owner is there and he tells us -

"I usually do not have a technician in on Saturdays, but I called him earlier and he agreed to come in."

He also has a front tire and a back tire, so counting the rear one that I brought with me, we are in good shape. My front tire is badly cupped and is making the ST handling very difficult. It might have enough tread to make it back to London, but at this point I do not want to take any chances. If you lose a front tire, it can be very difficult to keep a bike up and not crash - I've learned that from experience.

 
 
 
  Since the mechanic has not arrived, we leave STs in their capable hands and decide to walk further into town to get a bite of breakfast. Oban overflows on several hills in the area and I notice perched upon one of them is what looks to be the remains of a Roman Coliseum. As it turns out, it is not the real deal but merely imitation of the coliseum in Rome. A local businessman, John Stuart McCaig, tried to reduce unemployment among stonemasons during the off season as well as glorify his family by starting it. But he died in 1902 before building of the tower got further than the outside walls and it became known as McCaigs Folly.

 
 
 
  As we stroll up the hill, we see a restaurant and wander in to check it out. It looks pretty good so we find a place to sit and place our orders. The breakfast is quite good and it is nice to have a hot meal and hot tea after the dampness of the morning. By the time we get back to the shop, the technician is in the middle of changing tires on the bikes. It is nice to see someone at work who actually knows what a ST is and how to change the tires. We wander in their crowded showroom and Dave eyes his next replacement for the ST - a splendid red scooter.  
 
 
  I see one a bit more to my liking - the Deauville. It has an electric windshield, drive shaft and different lids for the panniers - regular for in town travel, and larger ones for on the road. I can see it as a great bike to have around. Unfortunately, Mother Honda does not see the need to bring it to the States.  
 
 
  Soon we are back on the road with fresh tires mounted and we beat a hasty retreat to the Oban ferry that stops on the Isle of Mull. As we arrive at the toll booth, the ferry is just starting to pull out - we're 5 minutes too late. But the gentleman at the booth also lets us know that they were fully booked anyway. Thankfully, Dave is with us and knows Scotland well, so the day is not lost. He knows where the rest of the group will be coming back to the mainland, so he puts together an outstanding day of riding so that we don't have to suffer too much. He leads up A828 north of Oban which plays hide and seek with Loch Linnhe. And he manages to throw in the ferry at Corran along the way just we don't feel we've been slighted in the ferry department.  
 
 
  Soon he has us back on single tracks where the roads and the views just knock my eyes out. The ocean appears, then hides behind the hilltops only to reappear around the next bend.  
 
 
  Quite often on these windswept hills, you will a solitary tree standing against all odds of the winds and the storms - bent and perhaps a bit bowed but standing nevertheless.  
 
 
 

It is such a pleasure to follow Dave along this twisting single tracks and whatever speed feels comfortable and makes good sense. Once again, there's no body out here but us and the sense of riding freedom is unsurpassed.

  
 

 
 
When we come to the village of Strontian, we see a fine place to pull over for a bit of refreshment. Inside they have something they call a 'toasty', but it looks all the world to me like apple pie. With a cup of hot tea to sip on, I help myself to some and boy is it ever tasty. In fact, it is so good that the next time we come back through here, we stop again to get some more!
  
 

 
 
After that wonderful break, Dave takes back to some more single tracks that hug the shores of the ocean lochs. It is difficult to focus on the task of staying on the narrow road with such scenery in constant view.
 
 
 
 
Dave's sense of timing is excellent, for about the time we get to the ferry dock at Kilchoan, the ferry arrives and the rest of the group rides off to meet us. As we make our way out to Ardnamurchan Point, I see a small herd of highland cattle, enjoying their grazing on their windswept perch.
  
 
 
 
Ardnamurchan Point is the western most point in all of Great Britain. There is a long winding road that makes it's way to the top where the lighthouse and foghorn are located. It is so narrow, that you must wait until the traffic light permits you to proceed, because there is not room enough to pass nor a place to turn around should you meet someone on the way in an automobile.
  
 
 
 
There's a quite interesting museum next to the lighthouse about the history of the point and the general area. The lighthouse was built in 1849 by the Stevenson family and has been in service ever since. It claims to be the only lighthouse in the world built in an Egyptian style and it is a bit of an unusual design compared to the lighthouses that I have seen. Once manned, it is now automated and only the passing birds live there.
 
 
 
 

After a bit of exploration of the grounds and museum, we mount up and make our way back down the twisty narrow road - after the traffic signal gives us the go ahead. It's more delightful single tracks for us until we get back to the Corran ferry. From the ferry, it's a short ride on B863 around Loch Leven to Kinlochleven and the MacDonald Hotel where the wigwams are located.

At supper, as I look over the menu, I see the oft maligned menu item called Haggis. Bob keeps us in stitches as he describes all the lore surrounding it's 'hunting and preparation'. I tell him -

"Well, it sounds just like what we call chittlin's back home except it's made from sheep guts instead of pig guts."

I order it anyway, since it is a Scottish delicacy (at least some consider it to be) and I just want to try it. Once you get over the idea about it being cooked in a sheep's stomach and consisting of mainly organ meat, it's actually quite good - sort of a like a spicy meat hash. Since this is the last evening the entire group will be together, I pass out the assortment of slightly smashed GooGoos for desert that I have been toting all over the UK. It makes a nice finish to a great meal and a great day.

It's time for Moff to have to head back to his house, so I give him a big hug and tell him -

"Ride safe my friend until we can ride together again!"

Then I tell Dave and Gareth with a wink -

"Well, at least we should be able to get some sleep now since he won't be snoring."

As we walk back to the wigwam, I realize what a day I've had - over 200 miles of riding in some of the prettiest and challenging places I've ever seen. But the physical toll has been taken and I drift off to sleep pretty soon after my head hits the pillow.