Being married to a scot, who has most of her family still living up there, trips and holidays there are too many to mention. But one of the ones that still stands out was our biking holiday up there with two good friends.
"Whats scotland like?" was the 3 words that started it all, They came from my mate colin. After giving a brief run down of the places i had been too, a plan was hatched. The four of us would venture north on three bikes in two weeks time. Now as we live on the A1M it was decided that we would ride up to scotch corner and take the A66 across to penrith then head north into glasgow, where we had booked the one and only nights stop, the rest of the night stops were done on the fly in the morning over breakfast as we decided where we would like to ride to that day. Apart from the last nights stop which an uncle of the wifes had invited us to stay at his in edinburgh.
We prepared our bikes over the next week and a half. Oil anf filters were changed, tyres kicked in fine tradition, bolts tightened up, colins Fj1200 went in for a service, paul brought a tank bag and a rucksack for his gsxr1100k (yes the window maker) and I had to buy a set of throw overs as the wife was coming with me.
The Morning had arrived. We gather at colins for 6am, had some breakfast good proper english food before we had to eat the vile scottish stuff like square slice, strawberry tarts with REAL strawberrys, ( Why is scottish food so much nicer than the english stuff? But it is so bad for you, all full fat, lard cooked everything, its true all the nice good stuff is bad for you). the bikes started the plans discussed full tanks and we set off on our epic long distance journey of 4.9 miles. By the time we had reached the first junction on the A1 colins bike had died on him, it had splutter to a slow death, as the wife and i were in front we had to ride up to the next junction 3.2 miles away, back on where we had started from and then pulled up behind him. fuses were checked, the bike was probed and push, yes there was petrol in it, it started!!! On again we went, We didnt make the next junction before it died again, Pulled pushed and wiggled bits of bike, struggled to start but it did, it was then decided that we would head back home to some proper tools and see if we could find anything wrong (Must point out here that we did know a fair bit about bike engines etc, as colin was a car mechanic, paul a farmer who repairs most of his vehicles and the farms, and me, a bloke whose bikes were all brought cheap cause they were fecked and i had to work on them to keep them on the road)
After a few more breakdowns we reached colins and set upon his bike, upon removing the petrol tank we saw the problem straight away, the garage that did the service had not got the fuel line routed right so when the tank was put on on it kinked the pipe thus the bike was running out of fuel all the time, A quick wash of the old hands and reload of his bike we were off, 2hrs later than we should of been.
Paul has an old leg injury and what with riding the gsxr he had was suffering a bit on the boring A1, After a couple of stops we made scotch corner and then came the A66 which at this time was single carriageway and a delight after the A1. We pushed onto carlisle where tiredness was creeping in, sore arse and legs were not helping, After a break the pace increased in the hope that we would reach the first b&b in time to relax before hitting the town for a few beers, now we had chosen the b&b because it offered secure parking for bikes. it was just off the city centre near the old hospital in a square, it was straight out of the 1970's all curtains were bright red, the doors were bright red, the carpets were green and red. After colin and paul had awoken the owner, we asked where the parking was, he directed us down a side road to the back of the houses, it was along this alley way that paul and colin had their first experience of glasgow street urchins.
"Nice bike mister, gis urs a go" etc etc the replies of nah sorry mate where answered by "oo yers feckin english!! ore bruvvers and thair pals are gonna nick them laters"
The three bikes were locked together with 4 chains and padlocks park underneath the window of colin and pauls room that night. After getting cleaned up and dressed we decided to visit the scotia bar as the good beer guide gave it a good write up, good beer, good music etc so we started walking there. We walked for what seemed like miles, the further we walked the more houses were becoming boarded up, then there were no streetlights, it was dark, we were english in the middle of glasgow and all we could see was a faint glimmer of light miles down the road. That glimmer of light became our hope. As the light become bigger we started to hear the welcoming noises of a pub, thats the place was said between chattering teeth as three scared stiff english blokes walked on with a scots woman who was pissing herself at our fear.
About 40 ft away from the pub there was a scream so blood curling we all stopped, shitting ourselves and looking at each other with wide open eyes, feck are we really going in there? It was then we hearing running footsteps behind us and they were a few pairs of feet coming towards at speed, fuck! the 40 ft was a blur as the big brave english boys sprinted for the Bar door. As the wife is scottish she was given the money and told to order the drinks, we were crapping that our sarf east (landon init) accents would give us away and we would then receive a beating whilst whimpering for our mummys. The bar keeper was given a strange and puzzled look as when he had given us the drinks his next question was 'what instooment yer want?" seeing our faces he just pointed to the right hand side where we could see 20-30 people playing whatever instrument they had or were given. We parked our arses in the only available seats in the place, it was heaving, to our left were two total drunk, almost to the point of a coma, men. On our right was a group of 10 shall we say "washer women" all dolled up wearing more makeup than boots stock and again well on there way to be launched into a coma. The women were going on about how they all hate their men, all men are fookin useless and see if he werent so good in bed and have a big knob she would of killed him by now, scary ladies in a scary place.
One of the two blokes suddenly raised his head up quickly from the table with a urghhh, its true the dead can rise, his mate then lifted his head up, they stared at each other for a while raised their glasses to their lips and then the first one grunts "see if yee wasnt my pal, i'd feckin glass yer" and they both sunk back down in the warm and welcoming state of a drunken coma. The fields of athenry came from down the end by the loose group of folkies and hippies, so we made our way down to them. The rest of the night was a blur of singing dancing drinking and even colin had a go on the guitar. In all from the fear of the place at first to the drunken laughing mess we left in it was a good and eye opening night.
The bikes were still there the next morning so the urchins brother even could not of climbed the 12ft high fence topped with barbed wire or he was busy shooting up somewhere else. The destination that day was to see Culzean castle something to do with the kennedy clan of which the wifes family had connections with and then make our way up to ardrossan to catch the ferry to Arran as we had decided to spend a night in the catacol bay hotel.
Left glasgow toward east kilbride where she was born and then down to strathaven, muirkirk, new cummock, wallacetown, turnberry, nice roads bit rough in places but a good ride, in to culzean spent a few hours there in the castle and around the gardens, down to the caves on the beach etc. Then we had to get a move on to reach the ferry in time, but didnt want to sit on the main road so, coast road to ayr, troon, through irvine , well around irvine a few times due to wrong turns etc etc, into ardrossan managed to get to the ferry with 30mins to spare. Now the ferry from ardrossan to Brodick is massive, is the size of the channel ones, so bikes strapped and secure, upstairs, beer, chill out a bit and then we landed on one of my favorites places in the whole world. the Isle of arran has everything, hills, beaches, wind, sun, rain, fresh water, its own distillery, wild empty places, but you are never too far from people if you want to find them. Wild raw untamed places with sheep for the welsh readers, such unspoilt beauty, natural landscapes for the painters, photographers then the man made gardens and landscape of the castle and proms. It truly is a magical place for me.
From the ferry we headed north around the coast road towards catacol, the road follows the coast then cuts across into the hills, recall colin nearly took the short way down ie straight on at a right turn, time for a breather and a fag? nope push on to the hotel. Where we were greeted by a long haired ex biker bloke, two very smart rooms and a quick shave shit etc we were downstairs in the small bar, ordering some beamish red, lovely pint after a good days riding. We ordered some food and went outside to enjoy the view of the sea, listen to the waves gently breaking on the beach and listen to the 12-15 locals who were in fine spirits. At 7.15pm on the dot the locals all stood up and moved indoors, We sat there puzzled to hell, the sun was still out the sea was gentle it was warm, the beer was cool, the bikes were in view we were in heaven, what the feck were the words we aimed at the retreating locals. Inside the pub the retreating locals had called upon reinforcements, so now there was about 20-25 locals all staring at us in the garden, all smiling like the red necks from the film wrong turn, laughing with each other staring at us sitting outside. " ah feck, what the feck is going to happen to us?/" more red neck grins, "anybody got there bike keys on them?" "Nope" "feck cant make a run for it" More laughter , more grinning, " borrox , make yer pints last and look for a weapon, cause we are going to get our feckin heads kick in" The time was 7.25pm "ouch fuck!!" "what?" something sharp just stabbed me" "ouch me as well", "fuck and me" "ouch", "fuck!""fuck"" fuck!" louder laughter, big smiling grins , Locals with tears running down their faces. Three english lads trying to look hard whilst shitting themselves and getting biten, "fuck this i have had enough" We stood up and all we could see was thousands of flying things Our heads were in amongst them they were every where, "fuck midges!!" one of us screamed pints were spilt, bodies smashed into each other as we tried to run away from the flying demons, "aaarrrgggghhh!!!"three six foot englishman screaming like girls "arrrggghhh fuckin ell" the sharp pain from one of them bastids was immense. We crashed through the pub door, the wife being smaller had escaped most of the bastids and having not drunk as much as us was able to run faster, the grinning locals were in floods of tears howling with laughter, clapping us on the back whilst utter strange words in thier own version of english. We were still shitting , trying to kill small demons that were in our clothes the locals were not helping matter by howling each time we got bit, in fact typing this now is making my skin crawl again, feckin feckin bastid midges. After a change of clothes salvon cream drowning our bodies we realised that we had been the entertain for the evening. the rest of the night was spent drinking playing pool and just chatting and laughing with the still grinning red necks.
