Scotland August 2020-Part 1: Oban and Glencoe

Last week I decided to head up to Oban to see my Dad. I’ve not seen him this year, with being away in South America January and February, and pretty much going straight into lock-down when I got back. My Dad is 88, and with me going back to work in two weeks, I wanted to see him before I couldn’t risk it again.

For this trip, I decided to take the Harley. The Himalayan has been sorned while I do some work on it, and the Harley is great for Scottish roads. I’d already done 1800 miles on the Harley this year, during lock-down, delivering PPE. Harleys seem to get a lot of bad press, but, for a long trip, the Slim is a brilliant bike. It’s comfortable, fast, has bags of torque for overtaking, and, as long as you’re not hoping to get your knee down, the handling is sure and precise. I’ve learnt you can load it up as much as you like, and the only thing you’ll notice is an increase in fuel consumption, which isn’t brilliant, about 32 mpg loaded up for a camping trip. I decided to spend three nights at my Dad’s, just south of Oban, do a quick loop of Glencoe while up there, and take the scenic route home, wild-camping for the last night of the trip. I set off on the morning of 28^th August in rain, and it rained heavily until I got north of Lancaster, then continued intermittently for the rest of the trip. Traffic was pretty light on the motorway, and I made good time. Once past Glasgow, I stopped for fuel in Dumbarton, then had a very pleasant ride along Loch Lomond to Crianlarich. I had thought of taking the road through Inverary, but it was closed. Once on the windy roads along Loch Lomond, I put on my biking playlist, played through the Sena headset, and contemplated the year so far. It’s been a strange one. So far this year, 5 friends of mine have died of various causes, the world has gone mad, and we’re all hiding from a pandemic that maybe isn’t as serious as we all think. When Muse started playing over the headset, as always I was reminded of riding at night in Qatar, where I originally bought the bike. I thought about Mikey, who I haven’t seen for nearly 5 years. Mikey and myself used to ride the Truck Road, which was about as exciting as life on a bike gets in Qatar. It was supposedly a temporary road for trucks, as the name suggests, but it was also the most exciting road in Qatar. It actually had some corners, and several roundabouts. It was also full of trucks, and the occasional random object lying in the road, the weirdest one being a double mattress we encountered once. Mikey and me were known as the Truck Road Warriors, as so few people chose to ride on it. Mikey is now back in New Zealand, and here I was, still listening to the same music. Only now, instead of sweating profusely in 90% humidity at 40 degrees, I was cranking up the heated grips and wiping rain off my visor.

I stopped at the Green Welly for a coffee and a pie, then carried on along the A85 to Oban. Again, traffic was fairly light, and I made good time, even enjoying a bit of sunshine for a while. The A85 is a great road, and I know it quite well now, a fact which enabled me to time perfectly jumping the queue at the traffic lights at the bridge crossing the railway line near Loch Awe. Oban was busier than I expected, and it took me about 15 minutes to get through Oban and onto the A816. My Dad and two of my brothers live on the Isle of Seil, just across Clachan Bridge, or the Bridge over The Atlantic as it is also known. The bridge is actually fairly small, made from stone with a huge hump in it. It was designed by John Stevenson of Oban in 1792, and built by engineer Robert Mylne between 1792 and ‘93. On the Seil side of the bridge is the Tigh an Truish, or House of Trousers. This name dates back to the Jacobite rebellion, the 1745 uprising and the failed attempt by Charles Stuart, Bonnie Prince Charlie, to regain the English throne. In the ensuing aftermath repressive measures were introduced with the Disarming Act. Bagpipes were branded an instrument of war and banned. Wearing of the tartan and traditional kilt were forbidden too, under imposed penalties of fines or even transportation to the colonies. Islanders would change out of their kilts and into trousers at the pub, before venturing onto the mainland. With the weather being so crap all the way, I didn’t actually take any pictures at all on the whole journey to Seil. 

I arrived at my Dad’s house about 7pm, and he’d cooked a very nice dinner in anticipation of my arrival. My brother Tim came round, and we sampled several malt whiskies. Tim works at the Oban distillery, and as far as I know is the first person ever with a PhD in chemistry to be employed making whisky. My other brother, Nick, who also lives on the island, is currently on a voyage taking one of his boats to the Canaries, where he plans to leave it.

A very wet Sunday was spent walking my Dad’s dog, Jett, a badly trained Staffie that basically took me for a walk, and chatting with my Dad. He pulled out loads of old family photos I’d not seen before, reminisced about his time in Botswana, where I grew up, and prepared another great dinner. Another night in the loft before heading out on the Monday for a loop of Glencoe.

The road to Glencoe took me back up the B844 to the A816 to Oban. The B844 is a great little road, single track mostly, and thankfully not busy when I set off. In the summer, the normal swarms of camper-vans and caravans can make riding around here a bit tedious. Just after Oban, I stopped for petrol and a coffee, and met two Polish bikers, Zbigniew and Robert, who had ridden up from London and just completed the NC500. We chatted a while, swapped details, then I headed off across the Connel Bridge and up towards Glencoe on the A828.

Traffic was again quite light, the weather was sunny, and the bike was running great. Days like this are just so satisfying. Anyone who doesn’t get motorcycling just needs a ride on the West Coast of Scotland to get understand why it’s so addictive. Lochs, mountains, twisty roads; Scotland is, in my opinion, one of the best motorcycling countries on the planet, and I’ve been lucky enough to ride in many countries.

At South Ballachulish, I joined the A82, pulling over after a few miles for a drink of water. Then on into Glencoe. I went to school not far from here, at Rannoch, and spent many weekends wandering around lost in the rain on school expeditions. I always imagine I can feel the atmosphere left over here from the famous massacre. There’s something spooky about Glencoe, yet at the same time it is really beautiful. Traffic was heavier than it had been, and after a while it was at a standstill. As nothing was coming from the other direction, it was evident there’d been an accident. I rode slowly to the front, and saw a BMW GS on it’s side in the middle of the road. Behind it, lying on the asphalt, in line with the road, I could see a rider in a textile suit. He was in the recovery position, and being attended to by a couple who looked they knew what they were doing. A small group of people were gathered round them. Next to the bike was an SUV, at right angles to the road, with damage to the right rear side. Shit. The bike had evidently clipped the rear of the SUV as the car driver was turning into a parking area on the right hand side of the road, most probably while the biker was overtaking. The guy lying in the road was one of a group of bikers who had passed me a few miles back, when I’d stopped to take pictures. I chatted with one of them for a while. His friend was talking, and didn’t seem to be too badly injured. He’d not hit the SUV side-on, but had caught it glancing glow, and evidently hadn’t been at high speed when he hit the car. A policeman who had been passing had taken control of proceedings, and a helicopter was on it’s way. The biker was talking, and I hope he wasn’t too badly hurt. Unfortunately, it’s an almost inevitable type of accident when you have streams of tourists rubbernecking at the amazing scenery on the roads in a beautiful area, and lots of people on bikes too. The cop said if I could get round the SUV by going into the parking area, I was welcome to continue. Once the helicopter arrived, the road would be closed. I decided to carry on while I could, and a number of other bikes did likewise. Once past, the road of course was empty in my direction. I stopped for a few minutes, and, after getting over the shock of seeing the aftermath of an accident, I soon settled into the ride through the rest of Glencoe. The weather was overcast but dry, the temperature comfortable.

I stopped at the Green Welly for the traditional coffee, and gave a few other riders the heads up on Glencoe. It was now closed, according to Google maps. Then back along the A85 to Oban, with a stop to fly the drone.

I was expecting a lot of traffic, with Glencoe now closed, but, apart from a long line at the railway bridge again, which I managed once again to get past in the gap between the oncoming traffic and the lights changing to let us across. I passed a group of three bikers on Kwakasukis who seemed to be taking it pretty slowly, then for a while got stuck behind a van. After getting past the van near Taynuilt, I hit bright sunshine and clear roads the rest of the way to Oban. I arrived back at Seil around 5:30pm, and we ordered take away fish and chips from the Oyster Bar at Easdale. The next day I was heading home, so planned a route taking me t the Scottish broders avoiding motorways, and had a look on a satellite map for a campsite. There was a small loch in the Galloway Forest park that looked a good candidate, Loch Moan. I’d camp there, and have a good moan while I was at it. Time for bed.