Scottish S's on Tour
Discussion
A small select group of us intrepid (and ever so slightly deranged) Scottish S-owners organised a wee trip last weekend. In years past, we have made the trip to S-Club in the middle of England (well, they say it's the middle, it still seems pretty far down to me). This year, it wasn't entirely certain that S-Club would take place (it is now, but it wasn't at the time we needed to be organised). Anyway, it's to be on a Bank Holiday weekend, and I'm not keen on driving all the way through England on "Mad Saturday" and then back on "Loony Monday".
So we decided that we would have our own alternative, where we could enjoy the drive. So we planned a 550-mile trip through the Scottish Highlands, starting near Edinburgh, and finishing near Inverness on Saturday. Then we would have a tour finishing at Fort William on Sunday, and then home via the west coast on Monday.
Yes, we actually have a plan!
And it's typical. Just bleeding typical. The last time I used the TVR, on May 16, it was pishing down rain. Since that day, there has been nothing - I know, because I raked moss out of my grass the following day, and I've been waiting for it to rain to rejuvenate the scalped stubble I had left. No rain for 5 weeks is a record for the Mojave desert, never mind Scotland.
But as soon as you perform the ritual rain-dance of opening the garage door to take the TVR out - whoosh, it pishes down.
Undaunted, I head off for our meeting place, pausing only to go to fill up a fuel can, and then for cash in case I need to bribe an AA man as well. We meet at a petrol station for last-minute top-ups (of fuel, and Jim's caffeine gland) and a blether. While we are waiting, Billy Gibbons from ZZ Top drives in for petrol. Times are obviously hard, because he's traded in the Eliminator for a Fiat 500 Popular, and he's looking decidedly scruffy. He certainly ain't no sharp dressed man. His girlfriend sits in the car so we can't see if she's got legs, or indeed, if she knows how to use them.
And so at last, off we go, with Jim in the lead. No, that's not a misprint, Jim is going to lead us to our first stop. He is confident that he can find the Forth Road Bridge from 7 miles away. Given that it's so high that you can see it from 10 miles away, it's not that much of a challenge, but we'll give the boy his due… As we head up the motorway, we are overtaken by a motorbike cop on a slip road that turns back on itself and turns right, by going in a full circle to the left. The bike comes alongside and starts to cough and splutter. The biker is torn between trying to look cool alongside us, trying to find out what's wrong, and trying to stay on the bloody thing. Once the road straightens up, his engine sorts itself out so he takes off sharpish so that we can relax and start laughing.
Jim's expeditionary training pays off, and we find the Forth Road Bridge on our first pass.
On the other side of the bridge, we stop in a lay-by to meet Phil, who turns up after 5 minutes or so, in a cloud of steam and a puddle of brown liquid. The bonnet is lifted and all becomes clear. The cap is missing off the swirl pot. Fortunately, it has managed to land itself upside-down on top of the battery, in exactly the position you would put it if you had been, say, topping up the cooling system yesterday. How lucky is that? A quick refill with water, tighten the cap, and we're off again!
While Phil is footering around with hot engines and cold water, the rest of us help by taking our roofs off, now that the rain has stopped, and then admiring the very rare and very expensive classic Bugattis that are touring in the area, and seem to have picked today to go south over the Forth Bridge.We are outclassed, trumped into a corner.
Right, with engine re-Philled, we set off again, to meet up with John another 5 miles north. He has a Chimaera but he's an honorary "Esser" because he owned one for 8 years. He joins our convoy seamlessly from a slip road - the Red Arrows couldn't have done better. All we need is a smoke trail - no wait, I had better not speak too soon.
Soon it's absolutely bucketing down, proving that our weather forecasting skills are no better than the BBC's.
Then its off the motorway, through the edge of Perth and up towards Blairgowrie, where we stop for tea and scones and teacakes in a wee roadside cafe. Then it's onwards again, until Jim's car stops unexpectedly, as he's half-way past a bus. He manages to pull into the side though, so that the bus has to go round him, so it's not too bad. After we've turned round and regrouped, Jim's car starts again, no problem. Very mysterious. Anyway, off we go again, with me in front. Big mistake.
The one bit of the planned route that I'm not sure about, is the bit through Blairgowrie. I manage to miss the left turn (almost completely unsigned, I'll say in my defence) and lead everybody on a wee tour of a nearby car park. Then I shoot off again, up the right road, looking for somewhere to re-group. While studying the parking restrictions, I manage to miss a second big (well, massive) left turn sign, and stop about 200 yards round the corner, while everybody else turns left behind me. My alternative route choice only becomes apparent when the others reach a wee hotel about 10 miles away, and I'm not there.
Anyway, suitably re-grouped and with roofs replaced (or did we take them off here? I can't remember - by this stage they were on and off like a tart's drawers) we set off again.
Now here's another thing that gets on my tits (one of an ever-increasing list). See when you stop at traffic signals over a narrow bridge, then just as the signals change to green, two motorcycles push past into the gap and expect you not to kill them? Well, wouldn't it be nice if, after they did that, they were at least courteous enough to p
s off up the road out of the way? Well these two weren't, so I might have "noised them up" a bit over the next half-mile or so of twisty bits, until they could take off up the straight.
All is fun. Then Jim's car stops again, but again, starts immediately. And it's raining again.
On we go, and a few miles up the road, we stop at the Glenshee Ski Centre for a wee lunch. The place is deserted apart from soggy bikers (not my two new pals, though) plus a poor sod in a Caterham whose weatherproof gear is even worse than a TVR's. No matter how miserable it seems, there's always some poor sod who is worse off.
Suitably heartened and motivated, we set off again, over the famous "Cockbridge to Tomintoul" road - famous for being the first to close because of snow in the winter (i.e. in about mid-July) and the last to re-open again (in about mid-June). It's a fantastic road, with steep hills, hairpin bends, and at other bits, flowing bends you can really get into a flow along. We stop at the top for more photos.
I don't know why I bothered cleaning the car - it's manky.
Then it's on to Grantown on Spey, to yet another cafe, for more cakes and/or ice cream (well the rain's off so it's summer). The young lad serving in the cafe is the spitting image of Peter Kay - I keep expecting a quick chorus of "Is this the way to Amarillo". Good buns though.
Then Dave and Jim visit the local "check your ancestry" shop.
The final leg for today. We set off through Nairn and into Inverness, stopping for fuel, because we won't be passing any tomorrow (or if we do, it'll be at "Highland premium" prices). Then it's on to the hotel in Inverness for a wee freshen up and a three-course dinner, just to keep us going.
170 miles today, along superb roads with little traffic. A bit less rain would have helped but it's been a great day. Casualty list: Phil's car boiled over due to a self-detaching swirl pot cap, Jim's car cut out twice due to a faulty alternator connection (fixed at the hotel tonight) and mine is misfiring a bit (well, quite a lot on the Tomintoul stage) and I can't be bothered to look at it tonight.
More tomorrow...
So we decided that we would have our own alternative, where we could enjoy the drive. So we planned a 550-mile trip through the Scottish Highlands, starting near Edinburgh, and finishing near Inverness on Saturday. Then we would have a tour finishing at Fort William on Sunday, and then home via the west coast on Monday.
Yes, we actually have a plan!
And it's typical. Just bleeding typical. The last time I used the TVR, on May 16, it was pishing down rain. Since that day, there has been nothing - I know, because I raked moss out of my grass the following day, and I've been waiting for it to rain to rejuvenate the scalped stubble I had left. No rain for 5 weeks is a record for the Mojave desert, never mind Scotland.
But as soon as you perform the ritual rain-dance of opening the garage door to take the TVR out - whoosh, it pishes down.
Undaunted, I head off for our meeting place, pausing only to go to fill up a fuel can, and then for cash in case I need to bribe an AA man as well. We meet at a petrol station for last-minute top-ups (of fuel, and Jim's caffeine gland) and a blether. While we are waiting, Billy Gibbons from ZZ Top drives in for petrol. Times are obviously hard, because he's traded in the Eliminator for a Fiat 500 Popular, and he's looking decidedly scruffy. He certainly ain't no sharp dressed man. His girlfriend sits in the car so we can't see if she's got legs, or indeed, if she knows how to use them.
And so at last, off we go, with Jim in the lead. No, that's not a misprint, Jim is going to lead us to our first stop. He is confident that he can find the Forth Road Bridge from 7 miles away. Given that it's so high that you can see it from 10 miles away, it's not that much of a challenge, but we'll give the boy his due… As we head up the motorway, we are overtaken by a motorbike cop on a slip road that turns back on itself and turns right, by going in a full circle to the left. The bike comes alongside and starts to cough and splutter. The biker is torn between trying to look cool alongside us, trying to find out what's wrong, and trying to stay on the bloody thing. Once the road straightens up, his engine sorts itself out so he takes off sharpish so that we can relax and start laughing.
Jim's expeditionary training pays off, and we find the Forth Road Bridge on our first pass.
On the other side of the bridge, we stop in a lay-by to meet Phil, who turns up after 5 minutes or so, in a cloud of steam and a puddle of brown liquid. The bonnet is lifted and all becomes clear. The cap is missing off the swirl pot. Fortunately, it has managed to land itself upside-down on top of the battery, in exactly the position you would put it if you had been, say, topping up the cooling system yesterday. How lucky is that? A quick refill with water, tighten the cap, and we're off again!
While Phil is footering around with hot engines and cold water, the rest of us help by taking our roofs off, now that the rain has stopped, and then admiring the very rare and very expensive classic Bugattis that are touring in the area, and seem to have picked today to go south over the Forth Bridge.We are outclassed, trumped into a corner.
Right, with engine re-Philled, we set off again, to meet up with John another 5 miles north. He has a Chimaera but he's an honorary "Esser" because he owned one for 8 years. He joins our convoy seamlessly from a slip road - the Red Arrows couldn't have done better. All we need is a smoke trail - no wait, I had better not speak too soon.
Soon it's absolutely bucketing down, proving that our weather forecasting skills are no better than the BBC's.
Then its off the motorway, through the edge of Perth and up towards Blairgowrie, where we stop for tea and scones and teacakes in a wee roadside cafe. Then it's onwards again, until Jim's car stops unexpectedly, as he's half-way past a bus. He manages to pull into the side though, so that the bus has to go round him, so it's not too bad. After we've turned round and regrouped, Jim's car starts again, no problem. Very mysterious. Anyway, off we go again, with me in front. Big mistake.
The one bit of the planned route that I'm not sure about, is the bit through Blairgowrie. I manage to miss the left turn (almost completely unsigned, I'll say in my defence) and lead everybody on a wee tour of a nearby car park. Then I shoot off again, up the right road, looking for somewhere to re-group. While studying the parking restrictions, I manage to miss a second big (well, massive) left turn sign, and stop about 200 yards round the corner, while everybody else turns left behind me. My alternative route choice only becomes apparent when the others reach a wee hotel about 10 miles away, and I'm not there.
Anyway, suitably re-grouped and with roofs replaced (or did we take them off here? I can't remember - by this stage they were on and off like a tart's drawers) we set off again.
Now here's another thing that gets on my tits (one of an ever-increasing list). See when you stop at traffic signals over a narrow bridge, then just as the signals change to green, two motorcycles push past into the gap and expect you not to kill them? Well, wouldn't it be nice if, after they did that, they were at least courteous enough to p
s off up the road out of the way? Well these two weren't, so I might have "noised them up" a bit over the next half-mile or so of twisty bits, until they could take off up the straight. All is fun. Then Jim's car stops again, but again, starts immediately. And it's raining again.
On we go, and a few miles up the road, we stop at the Glenshee Ski Centre for a wee lunch. The place is deserted apart from soggy bikers (not my two new pals, though) plus a poor sod in a Caterham whose weatherproof gear is even worse than a TVR's. No matter how miserable it seems, there's always some poor sod who is worse off.
Suitably heartened and motivated, we set off again, over the famous "Cockbridge to Tomintoul" road - famous for being the first to close because of snow in the winter (i.e. in about mid-July) and the last to re-open again (in about mid-June). It's a fantastic road, with steep hills, hairpin bends, and at other bits, flowing bends you can really get into a flow along. We stop at the top for more photos.
I don't know why I bothered cleaning the car - it's manky.
Then it's on to Grantown on Spey, to yet another cafe, for more cakes and/or ice cream (well the rain's off so it's summer). The young lad serving in the cafe is the spitting image of Peter Kay - I keep expecting a quick chorus of "Is this the way to Amarillo". Good buns though.
Then Dave and Jim visit the local "check your ancestry" shop.
The final leg for today. We set off through Nairn and into Inverness, stopping for fuel, because we won't be passing any tomorrow (or if we do, it'll be at "Highland premium" prices). Then it's on to the hotel in Inverness for a wee freshen up and a three-course dinner, just to keep us going.
170 miles today, along superb roads with little traffic. A bit less rain would have helped but it's been a great day. Casualty list: Phil's car boiled over due to a self-detaching swirl pot cap, Jim's car cut out twice due to a faulty alternator connection (fixed at the hotel tonight) and mine is misfiring a bit (well, quite a lot on the Tomintoul stage) and I can't be bothered to look at it tonight.
More tomorrow...
tvrgit said:
On the other side of the bridge, we stop in a lay-by to meet Phil, who turns up after 5 minutes or so, in a cloud of steam and a puddle of brown liquid. The bonnet is lifted and all becomes clear. The cap is missing off the swirl pot. Fortunately, it has managed to land itself upside-down on top of the battery, in exactly the position you would put it if you had been, say, topping up the cooling system yesterday. How lucky is that? A quick refill with water, tighten the cap, and we're off again!
Day 2 - Sunday - Inverness to Fort William via Isle of Skye
Up bright and early (well, early…) for a low calorie breakfast comprising sausage, eggs, bacon, hash browns, mushrooms, beans, tomatoes, toast, plus choices of croissants, muffins, cereals, muesli, etc etc etc. It's a long way till our first stop (could be up to 2 hours) so we stoke up the boilers for the arduous morning ahead. No black pudding or haggis though, so the time scale might be shorter.
Unfortunately, all this stoking up has a natural side effect, and that brings me on to another moan. Maybe I am displaying a lack of proper upbringing (more than likely) but whose idea was it, what tormented soul thought up the sheer bloody torture, of making the thinnest toilet paper you can find, using modern atom-splitting techniques, and then, worse than that, pre-chopping it into 4-inch squares and putting them into a dispenser on the bog wall of every hotel in the UK? Are these people inhuman? Don't they eat? Don't they realise that unless you live on a diet of eggs and other bindy things, it's impossible - IMPOSSIBLE - to wipe yourself with a single square of tissue without looking like you've just hand-cleaned the drains at the local Kebab-Mahal?
I stare out of the window at the rabbits in the next field, willing one of them to come closer. Even a hedgehog would be preferable. But no. So after half-emptying the dispenser, and a couple of handstands in the shower, I'm ready to go.
First we give the cars a wee clean. I also have a look for the cause of yesterday's misfire. There's nothing obvious, but a bit of twisting and fiddling suggests that one of the plug leads might be slightly loose at the distributor cap. I click it on more firmly, and hope.
After a confabulation about the weather, and a difference of opinion about roof on or roof off, we set off down the side of Loch Ness, and encounter a group of Westfields going the other way. We stop at Urquhart Castle, a well-known landmark on the shore of the Loch, which you can no longer see since they built the visitor centre, and then screened the visitor centre off with trees, forgetting that also means you can't see the castle. Heritage, eh? You can't beat it (or even see it, once you cater for the public).
We make another photo stop on the side of Loch Ness, but the tourist lay-bys are all strategically placed where you can't see the Loch for trees. Onwards...
More pishing rain, until we come to our destination cafe. Which is closed. Onwards through more pishing rain
A bit later, the rain goes off, and we come to the Cluanie Inn, in the middle of nowhere. It's time for a break and a wee coffee, and maybe a bun. We're well into hillwalking country now, and every so often you see them walking along the side of the road, smoking their pipes and grimacing through their bushy beards. And that's just the women.
Then it's back to the road. The rain is off, so we can have a slightly more spirited drive, with Jim leading again (he's miles from his house, does he realise?) along some great roads with beautiful scenery. It would be even better if it was sunny.
Then we come to Eilean Donan castle - the one that has been on more biscuit tins than any other building in the world (probably). It apparently dates back to the 13th century, but was destroyed during or after the Jacobite rebellion, and then rebuilt about 100 years ago. History lesson over.
Dave asks the nice man if we can line up the cars in the coach park, for a better photo where the castle isn't obscured by trees.
Then we set off again, along the coast to Kyle of Lochalsh and over the bridge to the Isle of Skye. We've got time to spare before the ferry back to the mainland at the other end of the island, so we decide to extend our tour by 30 miles or so, just to see more Skye.
Here's a photo of some TVR's with a background of sea and sky and Skye.
While I am parking for this photo, I hear the front wheel rubbing. When I lift the bonnet, it seems that the offside front inner wheelarch has come loose. I cable tie it up to the brake master cylinder. Sorted.
Then we stop at another tourist-type cafe, where I have to tighten the driver's door mirror, which is suffering from droop. Then we have a nice lunch before heading down to the bottom of the island to the ferry terminal at Armadale.
We take our places in the queue and check in, leaving just enough time for an ice cream and a wander about. The ferry arrives and docks, then as we start up to board, Dave's car makes a helluva racket. Starter.
Once we're aboard, we have to leave the cars and go upstairs - you're not allowed to travel on the car deck. Dave has to fret about restarting the car to get off the boat. It starts though, and we're able to get along to a car park in Mallaig to take the roofs back off.
Then it's back along to Fort William along the A830, pausing to take more photos beside Loch Eilt.
After we've checked into the hotel, we get fired in to fix Dave's starter. It turns out that the earth lead has cracked at the terminal, so the alternator hasn't been able to charge the battery properly, or regulate the voltage. Dave takes off the lead to fix it to the chassis in a different place, then makes up a new battery connection and bolts it together. The battery won't start the car, but it fires up immediately if you connect jump leads. Hopefully, no permanent damage.
Then it's time to wash up and force down another 3-course dinner, which isn't as good as last night's until the wee waitress comes along to clear the plates, and Jim extracts her life story.
160 miles today, again along excellent driving roads. If only they had been dry… Casualty list: Jim's car is now ok with its blu-tak repair to the wiring, while my car isn't misfiring any more, and the cable tie wheel arch repair is holding up. Dave's battery is still in the observation ward.
Tomorrow: Fort William, Oban, Lochgilphead, Inverary and home...
Up bright and early (well, early…) for a low calorie breakfast comprising sausage, eggs, bacon, hash browns, mushrooms, beans, tomatoes, toast, plus choices of croissants, muffins, cereals, muesli, etc etc etc. It's a long way till our first stop (could be up to 2 hours) so we stoke up the boilers for the arduous morning ahead. No black pudding or haggis though, so the time scale might be shorter.
Unfortunately, all this stoking up has a natural side effect, and that brings me on to another moan. Maybe I am displaying a lack of proper upbringing (more than likely) but whose idea was it, what tormented soul thought up the sheer bloody torture, of making the thinnest toilet paper you can find, using modern atom-splitting techniques, and then, worse than that, pre-chopping it into 4-inch squares and putting them into a dispenser on the bog wall of every hotel in the UK? Are these people inhuman? Don't they eat? Don't they realise that unless you live on a diet of eggs and other bindy things, it's impossible - IMPOSSIBLE - to wipe yourself with a single square of tissue without looking like you've just hand-cleaned the drains at the local Kebab-Mahal?
I stare out of the window at the rabbits in the next field, willing one of them to come closer. Even a hedgehog would be preferable. But no. So after half-emptying the dispenser, and a couple of handstands in the shower, I'm ready to go.
First we give the cars a wee clean. I also have a look for the cause of yesterday's misfire. There's nothing obvious, but a bit of twisting and fiddling suggests that one of the plug leads might be slightly loose at the distributor cap. I click it on more firmly, and hope.
After a confabulation about the weather, and a difference of opinion about roof on or roof off, we set off down the side of Loch Ness, and encounter a group of Westfields going the other way. We stop at Urquhart Castle, a well-known landmark on the shore of the Loch, which you can no longer see since they built the visitor centre, and then screened the visitor centre off with trees, forgetting that also means you can't see the castle. Heritage, eh? You can't beat it (or even see it, once you cater for the public).
We make another photo stop on the side of Loch Ness, but the tourist lay-bys are all strategically placed where you can't see the Loch for trees. Onwards...
More pishing rain, until we come to our destination cafe. Which is closed. Onwards through more pishing rain
A bit later, the rain goes off, and we come to the Cluanie Inn, in the middle of nowhere. It's time for a break and a wee coffee, and maybe a bun. We're well into hillwalking country now, and every so often you see them walking along the side of the road, smoking their pipes and grimacing through their bushy beards. And that's just the women.
Then it's back to the road. The rain is off, so we can have a slightly more spirited drive, with Jim leading again (he's miles from his house, does he realise?) along some great roads with beautiful scenery. It would be even better if it was sunny.
Then we come to Eilean Donan castle - the one that has been on more biscuit tins than any other building in the world (probably). It apparently dates back to the 13th century, but was destroyed during or after the Jacobite rebellion, and then rebuilt about 100 years ago. History lesson over.
Dave asks the nice man if we can line up the cars in the coach park, for a better photo where the castle isn't obscured by trees.
Then we set off again, along the coast to Kyle of Lochalsh and over the bridge to the Isle of Skye. We've got time to spare before the ferry back to the mainland at the other end of the island, so we decide to extend our tour by 30 miles or so, just to see more Skye.
Here's a photo of some TVR's with a background of sea and sky and Skye.
While I am parking for this photo, I hear the front wheel rubbing. When I lift the bonnet, it seems that the offside front inner wheelarch has come loose. I cable tie it up to the brake master cylinder. Sorted.
Then we stop at another tourist-type cafe, where I have to tighten the driver's door mirror, which is suffering from droop. Then we have a nice lunch before heading down to the bottom of the island to the ferry terminal at Armadale.
We take our places in the queue and check in, leaving just enough time for an ice cream and a wander about. The ferry arrives and docks, then as we start up to board, Dave's car makes a helluva racket. Starter.
Once we're aboard, we have to leave the cars and go upstairs - you're not allowed to travel on the car deck. Dave has to fret about restarting the car to get off the boat. It starts though, and we're able to get along to a car park in Mallaig to take the roofs back off.
Then it's back along to Fort William along the A830, pausing to take more photos beside Loch Eilt.
After we've checked into the hotel, we get fired in to fix Dave's starter. It turns out that the earth lead has cracked at the terminal, so the alternator hasn't been able to charge the battery properly, or regulate the voltage. Dave takes off the lead to fix it to the chassis in a different place, then makes up a new battery connection and bolts it together. The battery won't start the car, but it fires up immediately if you connect jump leads. Hopefully, no permanent damage.
Then it's time to wash up and force down another 3-course dinner, which isn't as good as last night's until the wee waitress comes along to clear the plates, and Jim extracts her life story.
160 miles today, again along excellent driving roads. If only they had been dry… Casualty list: Jim's car is now ok with its blu-tak repair to the wiring, while my car isn't misfiring any more, and the cable tie wheel arch repair is holding up. Dave's battery is still in the observation ward.
Tomorrow: Fort William, Oban, Lochgilphead, Inverary and home...
tvrgit said:
Dave asks the nice man if we can line up the cars in the coach park, for a better photo where the castle isn't obscured by trees.
When "we" were there the nice man told us we couldn't park in the really quite large and totally empty coach park, a lot of coaches were expected (not a single one turned up while we were there)
...
Day 3 - Fort William, Lochgilphead, Inverary and home
Once again, we're up early to give the cars a bit of a clean, seeing as it's dry, and it looks like it's going to stay dry.
Then it's back indoors for another low calorie breakfast, self service this time, so you can take as much as you like. Or as much as you can hold. It's not a Little Chef, though, so Dave's not guaranteed an Early Starter. And there's still no black pudding, or haggis, or even square sausage, so it's almost the same as starving yourself.
Then it's back out to the cars, and roofs off for definite this time. Then Dave's car won't start, but just like last night, it starts as soon as you connect another battery. Dave is worried that either the battery or alternator is ruined… we'll see… OK, round 'em up, move 'em out.
First stop is just round the corner, for petrol. Today's itinerary covers 240 miles so we brim the tanks. Then Dave's car needs another jump start. He's not happy, it's not hard to tell the difference between Dave and a ray of golden sunshine at the moment.
So off we go, down the side of Loch Linnhe and across the Ballachuilish Bridge, and then across the Connell Bridge (which always reminds me of the opening of "Taxi") and into Oban, which is heaving, so there's nowhere to stop. We carry on, although we do note the location of the local motor factors, just for future reference, you understand.
Eventually, we see a cafe in a village called Kilmelford, at the top of Loch Melfort. The car park is tiny though, so we park on the street, and just as we are doing the usual "mill around outside the cafe until somebody makes a decision to go in", this man appears and tells us that there's a coffee morning for charity at the hotel next door, with home baking and all. Well, it would be rude to say no.
It turns out that the baker is from the town where I was brought up (although he's a wee bit older than me, and left when he was 14). He went to the same school though, and we both knew where each other's old house was (they were only about 200 yards apart, 50 years ago!). Once again, the others go inside and leave me to it… Anyway, the lemon sponge cake was excellent, and so was the chocolate gateau and the cheesecake, so I hear. As much cake as you want, and as much coffee, for a fixed price of £3.00. We all do our bit for charity.
Being a good boy obviously pays off, because Dave's car starts no problem. He's instantly transformed, and spends the rest of the day with a smile like Kermit the Frog dropping a silent fart.
So it's on to Lochgilphead, but we haven't gone a mile before we catch up to other traffic, and are then caught up by a nutter in a big red van, who proceeds to drive up Dave's arse for miles, weaving about and being a dick. The road is too bendy and hilly to overtake (and I don't mean a little bit, I mean steep gradients and hairpins), otherwise we wouldn't still be following the stuff in front, but nutter-van-man isn't to be deterred.
On the first available straight, he pushes past Dave, who lets him in rather than let him kill himself. A few miles later he does the same to me. Then he hops out again, and gets half-way past Phil and John, before realising that he's running out of road and engine power simultaneously, so he pulls back in, onto a bit of road where Phil already happens to be. Then he brake tests us, and realises just in time that he's left a gap in front that we could easily hop round and into, so he boots it off again.
Eventually he manages to push past the other two, and some other traffic, and disappears into the distance at Vmax.
We drive on through Lochgilphead, and back up the side of Loch Fyne, where we stop for another photo.
Then it's on into Inverary, where there is an urgent need to find a cafe or somewhere to eat. It's been an hour and a half, after all. We also visit the sweetie shops and the tourist souvenir shops.
Jim tries on a possible driving hat - it's "Nessie". The reason he's got that expression was because we told him that the man was coming to slap him for trying on hats without buying.
Inverary is also the home of the "Vital Spark", the puffer featured in Neil Munro's Para Handy books. Cue much "If Dougie was here, he would tell you" and other Para Handy witticisms.
God, I am knackered.
Back in the cars after a bit of present-buying, and on to the next stop, Balloch. We head over to Tarbert and then down the side of Loch Lomond. The Loch Lomond road is always busy, so we don't have the free run that we've enjoyed over the last 2 days, but that's ok. My bonnet pops open for the third time today (it's always done it from time to time but it's obviously needing some adjustment). We meet a family from Alabama, who want to see the proper British sports cars. Turns out he has a TR6 and a Porsche 911. After a pee, an ice cream and a wander about, it's back in the car for the final leg home, via Stirling, along more fairly quiet but interesting roads (much favoured by Sunday bikers).
So that's 240 miles again today, along more great driving roads. Casualty list: Jim's car is still ok, my car still isn't misfiring, the cable tie wheel arch repair is holding up, and the bonnet needs fine adjustment with a smaller hammer than the one I have with me. Dave's battery has been released from the ward but will have to return to Outpatients for some post-operation monitoring. Phil's coolant incontinence is cured, and John has a boring Chimaera that doesn't break. OK if you like that sort of thing.
An absolutely great weekend, great company, great memories, superb wee cars.
Once again, we're up early to give the cars a bit of a clean, seeing as it's dry, and it looks like it's going to stay dry.
Then it's back indoors for another low calorie breakfast, self service this time, so you can take as much as you like. Or as much as you can hold. It's not a Little Chef, though, so Dave's not guaranteed an Early Starter. And there's still no black pudding, or haggis, or even square sausage, so it's almost the same as starving yourself.
Then it's back out to the cars, and roofs off for definite this time. Then Dave's car won't start, but just like last night, it starts as soon as you connect another battery. Dave is worried that either the battery or alternator is ruined… we'll see… OK, round 'em up, move 'em out.
First stop is just round the corner, for petrol. Today's itinerary covers 240 miles so we brim the tanks. Then Dave's car needs another jump start. He's not happy, it's not hard to tell the difference between Dave and a ray of golden sunshine at the moment.
So off we go, down the side of Loch Linnhe and across the Ballachuilish Bridge, and then across the Connell Bridge (which always reminds me of the opening of "Taxi") and into Oban, which is heaving, so there's nowhere to stop. We carry on, although we do note the location of the local motor factors, just for future reference, you understand.
Eventually, we see a cafe in a village called Kilmelford, at the top of Loch Melfort. The car park is tiny though, so we park on the street, and just as we are doing the usual "mill around outside the cafe until somebody makes a decision to go in", this man appears and tells us that there's a coffee morning for charity at the hotel next door, with home baking and all. Well, it would be rude to say no.
It turns out that the baker is from the town where I was brought up (although he's a wee bit older than me, and left when he was 14). He went to the same school though, and we both knew where each other's old house was (they were only about 200 yards apart, 50 years ago!). Once again, the others go inside and leave me to it… Anyway, the lemon sponge cake was excellent, and so was the chocolate gateau and the cheesecake, so I hear. As much cake as you want, and as much coffee, for a fixed price of £3.00. We all do our bit for charity.
Being a good boy obviously pays off, because Dave's car starts no problem. He's instantly transformed, and spends the rest of the day with a smile like Kermit the Frog dropping a silent fart.
So it's on to Lochgilphead, but we haven't gone a mile before we catch up to other traffic, and are then caught up by a nutter in a big red van, who proceeds to drive up Dave's arse for miles, weaving about and being a dick. The road is too bendy and hilly to overtake (and I don't mean a little bit, I mean steep gradients and hairpins), otherwise we wouldn't still be following the stuff in front, but nutter-van-man isn't to be deterred.
On the first available straight, he pushes past Dave, who lets him in rather than let him kill himself. A few miles later he does the same to me. Then he hops out again, and gets half-way past Phil and John, before realising that he's running out of road and engine power simultaneously, so he pulls back in, onto a bit of road where Phil already happens to be. Then he brake tests us, and realises just in time that he's left a gap in front that we could easily hop round and into, so he boots it off again.
Eventually he manages to push past the other two, and some other traffic, and disappears into the distance at Vmax.
We drive on through Lochgilphead, and back up the side of Loch Fyne, where we stop for another photo.
Then it's on into Inverary, where there is an urgent need to find a cafe or somewhere to eat. It's been an hour and a half, after all. We also visit the sweetie shops and the tourist souvenir shops.
Jim tries on a possible driving hat - it's "Nessie". The reason he's got that expression was because we told him that the man was coming to slap him for trying on hats without buying.
Inverary is also the home of the "Vital Spark", the puffer featured in Neil Munro's Para Handy books. Cue much "If Dougie was here, he would tell you" and other Para Handy witticisms.
God, I am knackered.
Back in the cars after a bit of present-buying, and on to the next stop, Balloch. We head over to Tarbert and then down the side of Loch Lomond. The Loch Lomond road is always busy, so we don't have the free run that we've enjoyed over the last 2 days, but that's ok. My bonnet pops open for the third time today (it's always done it from time to time but it's obviously needing some adjustment). We meet a family from Alabama, who want to see the proper British sports cars. Turns out he has a TR6 and a Porsche 911. After a pee, an ice cream and a wander about, it's back in the car for the final leg home, via Stirling, along more fairly quiet but interesting roads (much favoured by Sunday bikers).
So that's 240 miles again today, along more great driving roads. Casualty list: Jim's car is still ok, my car still isn't misfiring, the cable tie wheel arch repair is holding up, and the bonnet needs fine adjustment with a smaller hammer than the one I have with me. Dave's battery has been released from the ward but will have to return to Outpatients for some post-operation monitoring. Phil's coolant incontinence is cured, and John has a boring Chimaera that doesn't break. OK if you like that sort of thing.
An absolutely great weekend, great company, great memories, superb wee cars.
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