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Travel StoriesUllapool 2012 - By Ren Withnell
Ullapool 2012 - Callander To Bolton
Well that storm front was a bit of a lightweight compared to what we were warned to expect. I hardly noticed any weather last night but when I "accidentally" wake the gf she asks if I heard the terrible winds last night? Nope, I heard nothing, slept right through. I'm glad I've purchased this fancy tent though, it's showing no signs of having been battered by weather of any kind. Outside the light rain is still coming and going as clouds roll by in the heavy sky. It does not matter what the weather is today, we're heading home so at the end of the journey we can get warm and dry. No matter the weather it's the end of our trip.
It's a confusing thing for me, the end of a trip. I spend the entire trip looking forward to a proper bed in a proper house with a proper toilet. To being somewhere where I know what the shops sell and what time they open and close. And yet I know as soon as I get home I'll want to be out on the road again. I'll be immediately bored of my proper bed and proper toilet and start yearning for another trip. It's just the way I am, and it's that always wanting to be somewhere else that keeps me moving.
It doesn't take long now to pack, I'm starting to get the hang of it now it's the last time. As we pack a couple of the Glaswegian fishermen crawl out of their tent looking decidedly hung over and sleepless. They complain of the wind, of how their tent at some point crumpled around them and how the wind and the rain was coming into the tent. It sounds like a rough night! I imagine swimming in a sea of beer and kebab would not help much either, but I keep that thought to myself.
The poor old Fazer again under full load. It may look the the gf's head is packed in the tank bag...
As usual no-one wants to take up my offer of soup or ravioli for breakfast, bringing the stove and utensils has for the most part been a waste of time and space. With the bike's loaded the concensus of opinion is to return to the cafe we went to last night. We know where it is, what to expect, and I think IW might just fancy the owner a bit too. I guess it's better than riding around trying to find somewhere, it just means spending more money. I am so tight.
We park on the square outside the tourist information centre, leaving the bikes fully laden. Inside the cafe is busy today, luckily there's one table spare but the pile of bike gear, helmets and waterproofs makes the small room even smaller. We're instructed to hag our gear by the toilets, but those hangars are almost full so most of the gear stays where it is. I watch as customers come and go, some don't even stay as there's nowhere to sit. There's 3 staff on today including the owner who we talked to last night. We dine on bacon barms and head out, the owner's too busy to talk this morning but smiles at IW before we leave.
The Information Centre at Callander, the cafe is just around the corner.
The weather is getting wetter, but it's not so bad at present. It's not far from Callander before we see the motorways signs and then the rain really starts. I thought the impending weather front had passed us last night with the strong winds and intermittent rain. Nope. This is the rain front. I can barely see the road signs as we ride onto the motorway, I'm down to 30 at times trying to navigate unfamiliar lanes and read directions through a visor running with water. It's hard work, scary too at times as some cars and lorries seem immune to the weather.
It's not actually that far from Stirling to the M74, but it feels like an age. My boots are soaked, my arms are dripping and I'm not sure how well my pants are holding up. Miserable. I pull in to XXXXXXXXXXXX services and rather than follow me in IW pulls alongside and signal's he's carrying on. Fair enough, I don't know what his plans are or what he's thinking but he's a big boy now so I give it no thought as he rolls off. This is one of those annoying services where you don't just slip off the motorway, you get involved with junctions and main roads.
Well I'm soaked, annoyingly the gf's new Regatta overjacket's working perfectly, her pants are holding out and her boots seem ok. She's wet around her helmet and her gloves, but compared to me she's bone dry. I, of course, am a roughty toughty biker and I can handle it, as such I sulk in silence. We do nothing more than visit the toilets and take a 5 minute rest before we set out again. By my reckoning we're about 160 miles or so from home now. I just hope the rain stops.
The rain goes from dangerous to wet. Then from wet to intermittent. Then from intermittent to stoped. Then by the time we're by the Scottish border the sun is out. Isn't British weather great! Sublime to the rediculous, it's a lovely warm afternoon now. We stop once more at XXXXXXX services again for a break and a quick rest, this time we indulge in some chocolate bars. The sun shines brightly as the car I was sat in front of jumps forwards as the owner starts it, thank god I'd moved!
The rest of the trip passes uneventfully, save for the gf requesting a stop at Forton services for no other reason than "not wanting the trip to end". I don't want it to end either, but then I don't really want to extend a holiday by sitting at a motorway services. We hardly stop, just a quick chat while I have a smoke. And that's the end of that.
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