Excitement Turns to Lower Back Pain.
Saturday was supposed to be about making sure we get up by 7, have some breakfast and head south from Skye to make it to Dunfermline by 2. Most reading this blog will not understand my obsession with watching England’s men’s rugby team play but today is supposed to be a chance to end the 6 Nations Tournament on a high with a victory over the Irish.I thought if we get to Dunfermline in good time we could find a great pub there. If all goes well we would find a quiet snug to watch the game. Two reasons that a quiet snug out of the way was in order. The first was I wanted to hear the TV announcers call the game, and second, if any Scotsman noticed I was cheering for England, there may have been an angry scene from Braveheart improvised at our table.The Scots get along with the English in so many ways except Rugby or Soccer or any other sport for that matter. To recap, we had 5 hours to make the journey in the glorious sunshine and then an hour to unwind before kickoff.Well sunshine and beautiful mountian scapes gave way to a significant loss of visibility and blowing snow. Two weeks ago the so named “beast from the east” hit the UK with a bout of bad weather that has not been seen in years. Today and two weeks hence we have plunged back into the belly of that beast. Simply put we could not see a hand in front of our faces and that happened in just a matter of seconds.So driving on already challenging roads went from bad to worse. When you see drivers do stupid things in these conditions your blood pressure spikes and explatiffs may sneak out at speed. As we rounded the next blind corner I see a van full of tourists from Asia that have decided to stop dead in the oncoming lane to scout potential photo opportunities near the adjacent river. If perhaps their choice would have included a safer location or at minimum pulling off the road, I suppose I would have understood. When you park in such a fashion other drivers following behind are provided only one choice, and that is to pull into oncoming traffic to get around.I swerved to miss the 5 Series BMW and luckily no damage was caused. This did however cause my temper to rage a tad. As such I was not paying attention to the pot hole that soon swallowed up our front passenger wheel. That in turn set off the tire pressure alarm almost immediately. So that’s cool. Flat tire in the Scottish Highlands. No cell coverage, no handbook in the glove compartment and only a few of the tools in the boot required for a simple tire change.
Regardless cooler heads prevailed (Deanna) and we got down to the business of jacking up the Focus and putting on the donut. Twenty minutes later and we were on our way with filthy hands and strained lower backs. 50 ain’t easy! Eventually we got phone service and we began the process of enquiring what to do to have the tire and clearly bent rim looked at or the car replaced. As you can imagine the more laborious of options is what they (Enterprise) start with. I was hoping for, “We will bring the car to you in Dunfermline sir and we will swap you.” Instead we got, “You better find a National Tyre outlet Sir and have the damage repaired.”
Things you may have already guessed. Number one, the guys at National Tyre couldn’t be bothered. As timing and luck would have it both were otherwise focussed on their local drug dealer who had recently stopped by to drop off a couple of very small plastic bags. There were two “service specialists” at this location. One couldn’t stop doing whatever he was doing (not working) to focus on us. The second one I have appropriately named Ruprect, was clearly wearing safety glasses to prevent him from plunging his own fork into his bastard eyes. We sat in the car for almost an hour before our inattentive customer service rep even gazed at the wheel and then he decided that a rubber mallet would save the day. Well to my surprise customer service representative number one, who by the way resembled Rent Boy of Train Spotting fame did good. I could almost here him grumble:“Choose a life. Choose a job. Choose a career. Choose a family. Choose a fucking big television. Choose washing machines, cars, compact disc players and electrical tin openers... Choose DIY and wondering who the fuck you are on a Sunday morning. Choose sitting on that couch watching mind-numbing, spirit crushing game shows, sticking junk food into your mouth. Choose rotting away in the end of it all, pissing your last in a miserable home, nothing more than an embarrassment to the selfish, fucked up brats you spawned to replace yourself, choose your future. Choose life... But why would I want to do a thing like that?”― Irvine Welsh, TrainspottingOur damaged wheel and tyre went back on and away we went in under two hours (for a 5 minute job). We left Perth and motored on to Dunfermline to the welcome face of Lizzy at the desk of the Holiday Inn Express. “Thank you for being a Spire Elite Customer Sir!” Thank you Lizzy for having everything ready. We shoved our gear into our room and checked the score. I should have known & I guess I shouldn’t complain as it is St. Paddy’s Day. The Irish faces were smiling. They had beaten the English at their own game on their own field.One thing I know for sure is that when you are depressed, beer is the best remedy. Down the road was the Elizabethan and its draft taps o’plenty. No Irish here but lots of Scotsman drinking lots of Tennants. We decided to join them as we know we can’t beat them. To add to the little mercies came a decision to order the Haggis Balls with whiskey cream sauce.
Nice one!SlàinteMark
Give Way to Oncoming Traffic!
Most will know that the vast majority of European cars are much smaller than the ones driven on the highways and byways of North America. There are several reasons for that of course. Fuel is expensive, so a smaller car burns less. The roads in some places are quite narrow and a small car helps navigate those journeys in a safer manner.
Most of our travels up until yesterday in the highlands and on Skye have been on normal dual carriageways and therefore you could be driving a tank and still have plenty of room to manoeuvre. That abruptly stopped yesterday. Trying to fit our Ford Focus between the gravel shoulders has been akin to watching me trying to fit more than one leg into a pair of 32” waiste jeans.But miracles do happen and so far so good. Being attentive is key to survival. If a semi-truck fully laden with Cod is set for south when you are set for north on a road just a little narrower than the width of a Focus, then terror ensues. When I say terror I mean that phenomenon of fight or flight. That truck (lorry) is coming no matter what. What do you do? The clock is ticking. Do you break with force and reverse with vigor? Do you pull off to the left and hope that the peaty bog does not swallow you up and hold you hostage? Do you play chicken and hope not to become the latest in a plethora of hood ornaments on the massive Volvo truck speeding towards you?
Ten times out of ten I go with slam on the breaks and reverse trying not to deficate whilst screaming in terror. No, those are not tears you see. Tears or a show of emotion would be for big babies not experienced emergency vehicle operators such as myself. Suffice to say the only thing keeping me from my hotel bed and the fetal position is the liquid courage that comes in the form of a smokey golden viscous liquid produced from the purest of waters in the coldest of air.Over the last couple of days we have had the immense pleasure to make stops along our way at two of Scotland’s finest Scotch Distilleries. Yesterday was Dalwhinnie and today on Skye we took in Talisker. Dalwhinnie has the distinct geographic notoriety as Scotland’s highest and coldest distillery. On both accounts it did not disappoint. Several layers of clothing along with woollen accoutrements were required to brave the tour. Regardless of the conditions the tour was wonderful and we both learned a lot about the distilling process.
Deanna is not one who has enjoyed the spoils of a wee dram before, so the tasting experience after the tour was timely and thoroughly enjoyed by both of us. There was absolutely no pressure to buy as we concluded but that did not put us off and a bottle of the 15 year old and two complimentary glasses went into the shopping bag.We continued along the highway to Skye from the Highlands through the Cairngorms National Park. Our next stop was for an obligatory photo op at Eilean Donan Castle. I have seen hundreds of photos of this place in the past and it was just spectacular in person. We spent half hour just gazing across the bridge at its buttresses and ramparts. I am so glad the rain was on a tea break.
We made our way back into town for the COOP and picked up a few things for a picnic dinner in the room. As I sit here rambling I am almost driven to distraction from the winds outside pounding our windows from the west and the Irish Sea.I am sure that you are sick and tired of this nonsense by now so I will provide you with some sorely earned respite from my rubbishy stories. Tomorrow finds us heading southeast to Edinburgh and the hopes that we arrive in time to find a pub that does not hate the English so much that we can watch their team take on Ireland in 6 Nations Rugby action at 2:45 pm.
Live well!
The Children of the Corn and Lawrence
Leaving Victoria we were just a little stunned to be waved off by what appeared to be blue skies and sunshine. Regardless of this minor miracle we couldn’t stick around because we had to get to Seattle to change planes for London Heathrow and beyond.As most who fly regularly into SEATAC already know, landing there means dealing with the TSA. It begins with the instructions of a slack jawed troglodyte to recheck your already checked baggage and then subject yourself to a full cavity search. If they like what they see or touch you may proceed to the next stage in the process.Next comes the train that takes you on a magical mystery tour from terminal to terminal that actually turns out to be a waste of time and way faster to walk. We made it to the area of our connecting gate in terminal S and found a comfortable chair in a quiet nook of the departure lounge.For the first couple of hours it was joyous.
Then arrived a family of seven that appeared to be supervised by parents (and I use that word loosely) who couldn’t care less how much noise their children made, damage they caused or mayhem they created.All 5 kids appeared to be under 6 years old and were left to do as they thought fit while mom applied layer after layer of makeup and dad looked away in silence and what appeared to be regret. I will never know if they were from a flyover state, but I can almost guarantee you that somewhere in Iowa, there is an evil farmer’s corn field missing it’s horror movie children.At 6:30 we boarded British Airways flight 48 and took our seats in the 26th row. This does not sound like choice seating however for those frequent flyers that know the Boeing 777 it is.
As it turns out we were in the first row at an exit that provided more leg room than we could have used if we wanted. Our flight attendant was an example of the grooming standard set by British Airways. Lawrence was a man of mid to late 20’s and not only was his uniform impeccable but his recent hair cut, perfectly trimmed beard and manicured eyebrows spoke volumes. I knew several things about Lawrence just by taking time to listen to his softly spoken banter with other members of his team and the odd traveller. Foremost, at no time should I refer to Lawrence as Larry or Lar. Lawrence would not stand for it and was easily the most passive aggressive, surly slightly built man I would encounter for the next 9 ½ hours. I could sense that on most transatlantic flights Lawrence would have not been providing his standard of service to any passengers seated so far back as row 26.
Lawrence flew amongst those in rows 1-8 and as such was uncomfortable trying to make small talk with the plebs back here. I thought to myself at some point that I would try and take the chance to break the ice, however I was met with “do you want the butter chicken or the spinach ravioli? There isn’t much chicken left you should know.” “I’ll have the Chicken Lawrence”. That didn’t make Larry happy but c’est la vie.
We arrived a little before schedule and made our way through passport control in no time flat. Grabbing our bags we were whisked out of terminal 5 and into the Enterprise shuttle. We grabbed our Ford Focus diesel (side note it goes almost 700 miles on a tank.) and made our way for the M40 and north to the Lake District in the north west of England. Once past Lancaster we looked for the first opportunity to get off the motorway and into the lakes. We drove through slate roofed village after village that stunningly lined the southern lake shores. The sun was setting on our left over the water and the pub goers were starting to fill the sidewalks peeking in windows to investigate which one looked the best for dinner and a pint.
Many families and couples with their dogs all looking for the perfect Cumberland sausage with mashed potatoes and onion gravy. Windermere and Ullswater are absolutely jaw dropping and it’s clear to see why so many writers, painters and poets have made their way here over the years. We soon after arrived at the Dale Head Inn on Lake Thirlmere. The Inn is 300 hundred or so years in age but in great condition. We were welcomed by the manager/owner and not unlike my favourite episode of Fawlty Towers he advised us that the kitchen was closed and he couldn’t offer any food. I thought about the offer of cash for a Waldorf salad but I think that may have been rude.
But from every negative there is a positive and in this case we were directed back down the ¼ mile driveway to cross the dark road that brought us here. From there turn north for a hundred yards and we should find the King’s Head. This was an epic recommendation and we stepped inside to a roaring fire and the happy faces of the young bar staff who took our orders. Two pints of bitter and dinner was to be roast lamb and an outstanding gourmet burger. We relished the ambiance and made friends with those on either side of us and their dogs. After dinner and the short walk back to the Dales Head where we’re out like lights. The following morning found us early to rise (03:45 hrs, stupid jet lag) and we got our gear on. A flask of tea prepared in our room and back packs packed for our jaunt to Lake Buttermere. We left just before 6 and it took us around 45 minutes by car to arrive in the little village of Buttermere itself. We parked up in a National Trust parking lot and got our hiking boots on.
A 15 minute walk from the parking lot got us to the trail that goes around the lake. Dawn was breaking and we were the only ones there except for one landscape photographer clearly “catching the worm”. We stopped for a bit so I could set up my tripod and get my gear out for a few shots from this iconic location. I packed this gear all this way and after all that I forgot the bracket that attaches my camera to the tripod and my camera battery was on its last legs. Nice one genius. But as one does when one is faced with a challenge, they adapt and overcome. And just like Clint Eastwood in one of his lessor box office successes (Heartbreak Ridge), I did just that while Deanna paced the lake shore in a hypothermic state.
We soon rambled on for real and just shy of 9 kilometres later we were untying our boots back at the car park. We discussed the Ayrshire cattle that made little effort to get out of way on the trail and the spectacular scenery that surrounded us. Once put back together again we walked into the village to find a pub for a full English breakfast and a coffee to further our great start to the day. Job done! Half an hour later, after a superb meal and some lovely conversation with the publican. She told us that she and her husband had recently returned to the area after living 20 years abroad in South Carolina. Apparently Trump has this effect on people.
Having had the opportunity to travel to South Carolina a few years ago I know it is a very nice state, however if I had the choice of either there or where I spent my early morning I would choose Buttermere a hundred times over. We drove off to the west and our next stop was Ennerdale. I first had the good fortune to walk in to this town with Dale at the end of Day 1 of the Coast to Coast walk in 2015. Since then I have visited on three other separate occasions. I love this village as well. The community spirit is high and the area is breathtaking. We stopped in for tea and piece of Victoria sponge cake that I must admit may be near the top of the many reasons that keeps bringing me back. We had a great chat with the staff and left with a very wide smile on our faces.North to our next stop at the Ennerdale Brewery. A cheeky ½ pint of their finest each and back on the road to Keswick for a wander around the streets of this walker’s and climber’s nirvana. We parked, paid for parking and then I reached into the back of the car for my coat. I thought to myself, I hope the brewery is still open when we get back in 45 minutes to collect my coat from the chair I hung it on when we arrived their 2 hours ago. Being old is an affliction and as far as my memory goes I can’t remember when it went south (hahaha). So back in the car to collect the jacket just before the brewery office staff call it a day.
Mission accomplished and back to Keswick and the intended walk was next on the cards. The streets of Keswick are lovely. It is an outdoorsy village reminding me of Banff or Jasper on a smaller scale. We bought a few bits and pieces and then made our way back to the Dale Head to drop off our things before dinner back at the King’s. One more beautiful meal with great ambiance that set us on another crash course for sleep at all costs.Today we rose at a normal time and went down to the breakfast room for an awesome meal at a seat overlooking
Thirlmere Lake. We soon after packed up the car and set off for Perth in Scotland. About a 4 hour drive and kind of out of the way considering we are heading towards the Isle of Skye on the West coast of Scotland. Perth is not far north of Edinburgh and is not known for too much other than being a nice small city of 50,000 with a fantastic military museum and a lot of new car sales dealerships. Our reason for coming to Perth has nothing to do with loitering around new cars as you can imagine. No, in fact we are hear because Deanna knows how much I like a British comedian known as Stewart Lee. He is currently in the tail end of an 18 month tour of the UK and this gig just dovetailed perfectly into our trip. The tickets were a lovely Christmas present and tonight we grabbed a cab from our luxurious Perth Holiday Inn Express to the Perth Concert Hall for a 7:30 start. I can tell you that it is now 12:18 a.m. and my stomach is still sore from the incessant laughter of nearly three hours of Stew’s stand up routine. Stew can be found on YouTube, but I warn you to say if your sense of humour is not very dry and you don’t go in for hyper sarcasm just give him a miss. Tomorrow we head for Skye with several distilleries and castles in between.
SOMEONE HAS TO DO IT
When it comes to planning, one should always find a location that suits the needs of the planners. On Wednesday what suited us was a local brew pub that has been well thought of for many years. We arrived at Spinnaker's with a lot to do and the need to be refreshed while doing it.Our server was prompt and the order went in without much chatter. Soon after, we were basking in the glow of the amber nectar and turning our mind to contacting more B&B's and hotels to accommodate our weary feet on our epic journey. We sent out a bunch more emails and then turned our focus to rental cars, train tickets and best of all tickets for as many matches at the Rugby World Cup as we can reasonably afford. Lots of web surfing later we were closer to the goal for the evening. The rugby tickets were going on sale again on Friday morning so I would focus on being successful on the day! This is going to be awesome. This trip cannot come soon enough.