The Triumph Trophy seems to be in the Bonnybridge garage recommended by my BBC colleague Bill Whiteford, so all should be relatively well...however, my plan to catch the boat from Shetland to Orkney and meet up with The Whisky Pilgrims there has had to be abandoned.
Now I hope to meet Rob and the rest in Tain, for lunch at Glenmorangie before heading to Fort William. First though, what's Mr Allanson been up to?
Well OK, hands up, I should have written about my trip up to Tain when I got back, but things, and a trip to China conspired against me. I just don’t want to end up in one of these situations where you get “Dear Diary…nothing much has happened so I haven’t written to weeks…”
Anyhoo, so the run went well and my little Korean packhorse loaded up to the gunnels with a roll bag and soft panniers did me well there and back.
It took, including a stop in to see my dad and a wonderful brunch, about 11 ¾ hours in total.
There is definitely something about travelling by bike that you don’t get when you take the car. I was sitting in an eatery at Blyth service station when a couple walked in, helmets in hand and jackets on. They were from Norway and were heading up to Edinburgh on what looked like an old Triumph California. We had a good natter about distilleries and drams we had know and loved. Don’t see that with car drivers…
One of my favourite bits of the trip up was sweeping through the Black Isle at dusk to get to the Anderson pub at Fortrose. The scenery, the light scent of the sea and the promise of a good beer and whisky made those last few miles wonderful.
As for the Anderson, if you are ever in that neck of the woods drop in for a glass or two, or even stay. The food, dinner and breakfast, is glorious and you might just learn something at the bar if Jim is holding forth.
I know I did. I now have a new beer friend called Aventinus from Schneider. A dark wheat beer that is simply knee melting – thanks for that Jim!!
After a pleasant night’s rest and a breakfast to stop me til tea time, I struck out on the final leg up to Tain and Glenmorangie.
I don’t know what it is but riding over bridges, especially the one over the Cromarty Firth, just feels odd. Left and right out of the visor is all water, the brain says nooo not right. A funny feeling.
Finally the sat nav (I swear that’s not cheating) guided me to Glenmorangie House where I was met by, the horror of it, a gravel driveway, not the sort of thing you want with a laden bike. Slip slide nice.
One thing I did learn on this journey was a new aspect to parental love. When I got to my dad’s I had been caught in a couple of serious downpour and my boots had leaked. Dad took my wet socks and gave me some dry ones – serious bliss!
The way home was pretty uneventful to be honest. A 12 hour push in one day. The occasional moment of wondering when the next petrol station is, and in fact when the bike is going to cough and stop.
All in all a good start to our big adventure in a couple of weeks. The task ahead is massive, if not epic.
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Okay, Rob, your dad may have given you dry socks, but don't forget who brought you baked beans with your tapas! I look forward to June 2, when the crew-less-one descends upon The Anderson on the eve of the Journey's official kickoff. We'll be cooking Black Isle Burgers in honor of Tom, who -- with any luck -- will be saddled up on the Nouveaux Trophy, making his way to Kirkwall whilst (did I just say, "whilst"?!?) the rest of us explore the synergistic relationship of distilled beer to grilled beef.
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