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Travel StoriesUllapool 2012 - By Ren Withnell
Ullapool 2012 - UIlapool To Callander
I don't want to go home. Yeah, I know we're not going home today but we are heading back South as part of our journey home. I don't want to leave Ullapool, I've fallen for the place all over again. I don't want to go back where there may be lots of midges. There's been midges here but they've been a minor annoyance not a major trauma. I don't want to go back to traffic. I don't want to go back to the rain. The forecast looks dismal for today, the Silverstone Formula One practice had to be called off due to severe rain and now that same band of rain is due to meet us when we arrive in Stirling. I also don't want to load the bike up again.
The weather this morning isn't the best. It's grey and overcast, much like my mood, but there's a few clear patches and it's dry right now. I leave the gf in the tent in a state of semi consciousness after she promises to rise. I brush my teeth then start with the packing. I can only go so far, the gf's still doing whatever gf's do in a tent in the morning and I want to get on with packing the sleeping bags, airbed and tent. Everything else is in it's bags now. She emerges and wanders off to the toilet block and I squeeze, compress and compact everything back into their various bags and compartments.
We're all ready and with a note of sadness the gf says goodbye to Ullapool, but we're not done yet. First stop, the outdoor shop so the gf can purchase a waterproof overjacket. £25 was more than she wanted to spend but it's a Regatta jacket so it should be a good one and it's a close fit over her bike jacket so it won't flap in the wind. She seems happy enough. Next stop Tesco for croissants and sweets, not exactly a healthy breakfast. Next it's the petrol station for a fill up then finally we get going, what a lot of messing around!
The gf taking a drink for breakfast. There is actually a bike under that lot.
With the bike fully loaded I don't even try to hit the same speeds we managed yesterday down the Inverness road . I focus on adjusting to the weight and forcing the scenery into my mind as I know this will be the last time I'll see it for a while. The distance to Inverness gradually reduces on the signs and with each mile the road becomes that little bit flatter, that little less curvy and that little more busy. A few miles before we reach Inverness we pull in to a cafe come shop with a large dusty car park. We have another brew and visit the midge infested toilets. I can't speak for the others but I'm starting to feel normality closing in again.
The cafe / shop at Tarvie. The sun's come out now.
Normality comes crashing down in the form of traffic, roundabouts, lights and multiple lanes as we get closer to the centre of Inverness. We only clip the edge of the city as we move off the Ullapool road and onto the Fort William road. It's been almost 3 days since we saw a traffic light or a hectic junction and I've sure not missed them. It's not too painful though and the signs soon have us back out into the countryside and running down the side of Loch Ness. More miles roll by yet the beauty of Loch Ness seems somehow overshadowed by what we've seen further North and the traffic is busy.
We roll into Fort Augustus, a place IW and I are both very familiar with from previous trips and we park in the car park and go over to the cafe. Another brew and more cake for IW then we head out again. I send the gf off to get some photos of the locks on the Caledonian canal and IW talks to a couple from Yorkshire touring on a Triumph Tiger. I'm jealous, they're only half way through their trip and they've already been to all the best places, including Ullapool. The gf returns much quicker than I expected so we get on the bikes and head into Fort William for better priced fuel and another affordable meal at Morrisons.
Fort Augustus Locks...NOT! The gf had thought I meant "LOCH" not "LOCK". As such she'd seen some water and snapped some piccies as instructed. The "LOCKS" as in canal locks are 50 yards further down the road. DOH!
The sun is beating down again as we get to Fort William. I find it hard to imagine there's a savage band of rain heading our way but the BBC weather on my mobile confirms my fears. The restaurant is busy as we dine with the sun shining warmly through the window, it's so warm the gf is happy to move tables into the shade. After fueling ourselves we fuel the bikes and head South again to pass through Glencoe and Rannock Moor.
IW's Hornet in the sun. I think Morrisons has done pretty well this week out of us.
The very first signs of the forthcoming weather can be felt up on Rannock Moor. After Glencoe the road rises high then levels out for many miles of windswept vastness covered in harsh grass and thistles, there's no trees up here to protect us from the wind. With the luggage, the gr, myself and the bike the cross wind is hard work, even dangerous at times. I'm being blown to my right, towards the traffic so I have to concentrate on keeping the bike left. It's a fight, quite a tiring fight and today the moor seems endless, stretching off into the blustery distance. I see in my mirrors IW's fighting as much as I am.
At one point there's a large lorry stopped in a difficult position on the road. I can only assumes he's broken down. I slow to a stop to allow oncoming traffic to pass then power onwards. A mile or so later I look in the mirrors and IW's nowhere to be seen. Odd, no worries, he'll catch up soon. He doesn't. I consider stopping to turn around but with the wind and the lack of safe places to stop I carry on. It's not far to the shelter of the Green Welly at Tyndrum and I'm sure he's fine. It may not be far, but the Green Welly seems an awful long way away as I ride, I can't wait to get out of this wind.
I park in the motorcycle parking spaces at the Green Welly, I've been here many times before. Still no sign of IW. The gf concurs we lost him at the truck, I'm amazed she can see him in my mirrors! I roll a smoke while she looks anxiously up the road. No sign. A few other bikers pass us by, 2 of them pull in. No sign. I take some comfort these bikers are not talking excitedly of a crash, but I do wonder where IW's got to. No sign. I spot another helmet, it's him, thank goodness.
He's laughing as he get off the bike, there's obviously a story to tell. It seems as we'd both stopped at the truck he'd been enveloped by a cloud of choking smoke. Was his bike on fire? Was he on fire? He'd coughed his way to putting the bike on the stand and bailed as fast as he could before whatever the problem was became worse. After composing himself he looked to find his waterproofs, folded into thier own pocket and strapped with their own strap to the luggage, had fallen directly into the path of the left underseat exhaust exit. The strap had broken. As he was riding the heat from the motor had set fire to the waterproofs.
Of course this was unknown to him as he was traveling at 60mph with a crosswind. It was only when we stopped at the truck the smoke had chance to catch him up. The offending waterproofs were quickly removed and tossed into a roadside ditch. We laugh at the thought of any cars we'd overtaken, passed by two bikes leaning hard to port against the wind and one of them leaving a trail of smoke and burning molten plastic in it's wake. All is well, save for the tail tidy and part of IW's numberplate is melted. He borrows a marker pen to make the "P" a bit more visible. Now that is a funny tale.
IW has now added the marker pen to complete the "P". Funny, and thankfully not a disaster. Could have been a lot worse.
I talk to another biker as I roll another smoke, he's from Glasgow and he knows this area well enough. I ask him if we'll find camping along the road to Stirling, he reckons we'll have no problem at all. I plan to aim for Callander some 20 miles before Stirling, it looks more rural and more likely to have a campsite. I'm still laughing to myself each time I see IW's bike with it's melted number plate, I can't wait to get back and tell the lads this story.
I'm concerned about tonight's camping, whether we'll be midged to distraction, if we'll find camping and I'm feeling down about going home. Don't get me wrong, I'm not depressed, there's a part of me that's looking forward to a real bed and my own private midge free toilet, but I'm not looking forward to traffic, work, bills and domestic chores. What is a pleasant surprise is the way the miles are passing so comfortably today. We've already covered 160 or 170 miles and I've no aches, pains or saddle sores. I feel quite fresh and comfortable. Perhaps laughing at IW's description of stopping in a cloud of acrid smoke is making it all seem so easy.
It's not far from Tyndrum to Callander, the miles are just rolling by. Callander is a town, huge compared to Ullapool but small compared to where I live. I can't find any camping as we pass through but on the far side of town I spot a likely looking sign and turn in. It's a camp site for sure, quite nice looking too, but there's a large notice informing us that there's no camping for tents. Damn and blast, I hope we don't have to ride round for ages looking for somewhere, the day is wearing on and I want to get pitched and sorted. Rather than just ride off I march into the smart offices where a rather posh lady gives me a look up and down. I expect her to give me a look of disgust, instead she just smiles and asks if she can help. I ask if there's anywhere nearby that does allow tents, she directs me a mere half mile along the road.
The high street in Callander. Everything looks so solid and purposeful.
Sure enough, half a mile further along there's another large sign to Keltie Bridge campsite. It looks smart enough on first impressions but it's obvious it's mostly a caravan site, both touring and static. There's a static by the entrance where a lady takes payment from us while kids run around our feet and a chap watches telly, acknowleding us with a nod and hello. The lady directs us to another couple of tents dow in a dip. We roll the bikes down there but I'm not happy, not at all.
The grass in the dip is sodden and boggy. There's trees behind the grass and the sound of a stream or river behind the trees. Midge territory. It's also a long blooming walk to the toilet block. The gf asks, quite rightly, why the toilets are close to the caravans which have their own toilets and far from the tents, which don't. Fair point. There's the usual British round of complaints but only between ourselves. For once in my life I decide I want something better! I take a walk off around the site and spot a lone tent on higher ground, closer to the toilet block and away from the trees. Damn where the woman told us to camp, we're camping here.
Our much more suitable pitch at Keltie Bridge campsite. We even get the use of a bench!
Of course my bravado and rebellion is all bluff. As we pitch the tents I expect, even fear, the woman coming across to chastise us for ignoring her instructions. I worry that we'll be thrown off the site and have to repack. I'm concerned if we leave the tents she'll come and take them down while we're out. I can of course worry about anything, and I do, often. Never-the-less we pitch the tents in what I consider a much better location, and that's that. We've pitched just in time, as I move the gear into the porch there's a pitter patter on the material, here comes the rain.
The rain does come, then goes, then returns then goes again. And it's light, it's not the torrent of biblical proportions that has been predicted. I suppose the worst of the rain has dropped now and we're just catching the back end of it. Well done us. It's late already, well past 1900 and although we ate a proper meal at Fort William we've not had any tea. We jump back onto the unloaded bikes and ride the couple of miles back into Callander although I very much doubt we'll find anywhere to dine at this time of night. I didn't see any supermarkets and any cafes will have closed long ago. Again no-one wants to take up my offer of tinned soup or ravioli.
Callander is a pleasant little place. Along the main road are several small shops, a couple of banks and a church. The buildings have that strong solid look of the industrial age, built to last and look smart without showing off. We park the bikes up a side road and walk, as best we can with all the bike gear. At this time most of the shops are shut and there's no hope of getting something to eat other than crisps and chocolate from an off-licence. The church turns out to be a tourist information centre now and beside the once-was-a-church is a cafe sign in what I guess would have been the vestry or Sunday school. The door to the cafe is open. Nah...surely not. We walk towards the door. It's open. I expect to be told "we're closed" instead a tall blonde woman greets us.
A cafe...open at this late hour on a Friday...sorted!
What a place! This is another quirky cafe but this seems focused on food and choice not hippy trinkets or travel guides. A vast counter holds all kinds of sweet cakes, lavish shortbreads, tempting flapjacks and fattening chocolates. There's cheeses and meat. There's packets of jerky hanging from the walls and shelves full of local preserves. It's a veritable cornucopia of edible extravagance, all set in a small room with a vaulted roof. The lady owns the shop and she remains open until 2100 on Fridays and Saturdays. I feel embarrased just asking for a tea, I squeeze in a chocolate and caramel shortbread, it would seem rude not to.
There's only us in the cafe. I of course have the gf with me but IW engages the blonde in conversation and just a little flirting. We learn she has a degree, is called Julie and has been running the cafe for about 5 years now. We sit and she stands as we talk at length. It seems this cafe has not only saved ourselves from a night of tinned products but is popular for many other bikers who pass this way. She of course has never been on a bike, but she's had many offers. Time flies by and IW looks disapointed when I make to leave. It's 2045 anyhow and I'm sure she'll be wanting to lock up soon.
IW, the gf and the Owner, Julie. Many thanks for feeding and giving us such a warm welcome at this time.
Outside the rain is still coming and going and it's not heavy at all. In fact the ground is barely damp, the wind is starting to pick up though. Back at the campsite we notice a car is parked next to the tent nearby, later I spot 2 middle aged bokes walk to the tent speaking with a thick Glaswegian accent. The cafe was a great find and has made the night a good one, back at the site there's little to do except have a shower, sort the tent out and chat with the gf. Later I'm sat outside then tent having a smoke when one of the men from the other tent stops to say hello.
There's a group of them from Glasgow, they're here fishing. He holds a bent cigarette in his tobacco stained fingers and a can of beer in the other hand. He's gaunt and wrinkled, it's been a hard life full of drinking and smoking as far as I can tell. I don't sense any malice from him but I wouldn't like to meet him on a dark Glaswegian night. He departs to join his friends and I return to the tent and join the gf. The wind is gaining strength and shking the tent a little. My fancy new tent doesn't care, it has tri-band straps across the poles and it stands firm and rigid.
As the gf and I settle down there's a loud "RAP RAP" against the tent, I jump out of my skin! This is followed by "Eh...sheppy...sheppy...ya wanna kebab...is gonna bin otherwise.." I reply in the negative through the tent material. I don't particularly feel hungry, I don't fancy a second hand kebab of unknown origin and I centrainly do not want to engage with a drunk Glaswegian at this time of night. He tries again and I remain firm in the negative, he wanders off. I sure hope that's the last I'll hear from him or his friends this evening.
Thankfully it is, and I sleep well.
Ullapool 2012 - Prologue
Ullapool 2012 - Bolton to Inverarnan
Ullapool 2012 - Inverarnan to Ullapool
Ullapool 2012 - The Lochinver and Drumbeg Loop
Ullapool 2012 - A Ride To Gairloch
Just another one of those fabulous and beautiful rides around The Highlands. The weather isn't so bad either.
Ullapool 2012 - UIlapool To Callander
Ullapool 2012 - Callander To Bolton
The motorcycle ride from callander to bolton and what happened on the journey
Ullapool 2012 - Epilogue and More Pictures
The end of my travel story to ullapool and some more pictures of the area
Ullapool 2012 - Even More Pictures
Pictures from my motorcycle trip to Ullapool. Scotland is a beautiful place and we even had great weather.
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Travel StoriesUllapool 2012 - By Ren Withnell