I should have known it was going to be a bad day when the lady behind the counter at the Green Welly, informed me that they stopped serving breakfast at 11am. It was ten to twelve.
The previous day(Thurs), was just a chillout day, a few beers, a read through MCN. There had been a severe weather warning to the south and east, which was my next direction of travel. With a back tyre past its sell by date, I decided to stay put.
The rain started about 5ish, a few minutes after I'd fired up my camping gas to boil some water in preparation for some of Uncle Bens finest. Other than a short rainless spell that allowed me to eat, it rained continuously through the evening and night. As if scripted, it had stopped when I woke at 7. Happy days. Although my Khyam tent is a bit on the heavy and bulky side, it does pack down really quickly, the sole purpose for buying it. After a shower and a coffee, I was packed up and rolling out of the campsite by 08:15, heading southeast on the Inverness road. The air felt quite cold, which was compounded by a flashing ice warning sign on one of the remote stretches. This was June for Christsakes, ice wasn't in my normal thought process at this time of the year. Rounding a corner a few miles further on, a deer carcass was spread all over my side of the road. You don't realise how big they are until you're that close. Hitting one of those on a bike would not end well.
Before reaching Inverness I took a slight northern detour to Dingwall and then down to Muir of Ord and Beauly, which were places I'd missed out on my way up the east coast. I rejoined the southbound A82 at Drumnadrochit. Although the roads were wet, the rain held off in the main, although the wind through Glencoe was certainly flexing its muscles. There must have been at least a mile and a half tailback approaching Tyndrum, caused by a contraflow. This was no problem for the Fazer.
"Sorry, we've stopped serving breakfast", was not what I wanted to hear as I got to the front of the queue at the Green Welly. Cottage pie and macaroni cheese it is then. I'd already refuelled at Fort William, so tapped in the postcode of The Wheel at Falkirk, and set off down Loch Lomond, left at the bottom, and past mickvp's house.
Bikes park for free at The Wheel, which is handy, so after watching a revolution of this mechanical marvel and taking the obligatory pics, it was back on the bike heading for The Kelpies. The clock was ticking and I knew the park in Hawick, which is home to the Steve Hislop memorial, closed at 6pm. On returning to the bike at The Kelpies carpark, all was not well. My knackered rear tyre had punctured. After unloading the camping gear to get to my mini compressor, I couldn't locate the leak despite pouring a bottle of water over the tyre. The day at Applecross on the newly gravelled single track roads had taken a toll. The amount of tread I needed to get home.
I couldn't believe my luck, when, after a phone round, Jim Allan Motorcycles, had a Road Tech 01 in the correct size. After another session with the compressor, I repacked the luggage and sat navved my way to the bike shop. They did a first class job, and got me turned around in no time at all. While their mech worked his magic I got talking to someone who was well in to their bike racing, being a personal friend of Jonny Rea and Keith Amor.
I rode away from Jim Allan's at 5:30, so my Steve Hislop memorial visit had gone out of the window, but was determined to explore the A7. After me and the bike were refuelled it was off to Galashiels, Hawick and Carlisle. Thanks again to Mr. Red for the headsup on the A7. What a cracker. In hindsight I should have looked for a campsite near Hawick, and viewed the memorial the following day(Sat), but now I was on a mission to just get home. Droning down the M6 might have been the obvious route, but decided to only go as far as Penrith, before chopping across to Scotch Corner on the A66. Another fuel stop at Scotch Corner, and with the temperature dropping, I put my Rain Seal jacket over the top of my Alpinestars, and changed gloves to a warmer pair. Off down the A1M, making Peterborough my final fuel stop. However with those petrol pumps only about 10 miles behind me,progress slowed somewhat, as the A1 was closed, forcing traffic onto the A14. Foc knows where the A14 goes, are people just supposed to know these things. Within a few miles the road then became a 40mph average speed zone. Oh deep joy. Not only did I not know where I was headed, I was also going there very slowly. No doubt spending more time checking my speed on the Garmin, I now found myself the wrong side if a traffic divide. The otherside was where I needed to be, headed for the M11 and eventually the M25. Fortunately the satnav was able to bail me out of my self inflicted predicament, although the small lanes it sent me down must have terrified the local rabbit population. As much as I dislike motorways when on the bike, I must admit I was quite glad to get on the M11 superslab, M25 bound. An hour or so later I rolled onto my drive at 04:20, precisely 20 hours after leaving Ullapool, the trip meter reading 734 miles. The mighty thou never missed a beat, what a bike, proving that to do the NC500 you don't need to be kitted out in Klim, riding a Beemer Adventure with aluminium boxes the size of shipping containers and a million spotlights on the front. :lol
The previous day(Thurs), was just a chillout day, a few beers, a read through MCN. There had been a severe weather warning to the south and east, which was my next direction of travel. With a back tyre past its sell by date, I decided to stay put.
The rain started about 5ish, a few minutes after I'd fired up my camping gas to boil some water in preparation for some of Uncle Bens finest. Other than a short rainless spell that allowed me to eat, it rained continuously through the evening and night. As if scripted, it had stopped when I woke at 7. Happy days. Although my Khyam tent is a bit on the heavy and bulky side, it does pack down really quickly, the sole purpose for buying it. After a shower and a coffee, I was packed up and rolling out of the campsite by 08:15, heading southeast on the Inverness road. The air felt quite cold, which was compounded by a flashing ice warning sign on one of the remote stretches. This was June for Christsakes, ice wasn't in my normal thought process at this time of the year. Rounding a corner a few miles further on, a deer carcass was spread all over my side of the road. You don't realise how big they are until you're that close. Hitting one of those on a bike would not end well.
Before reaching Inverness I took a slight northern detour to Dingwall and then down to Muir of Ord and Beauly, which were places I'd missed out on my way up the east coast. I rejoined the southbound A82 at Drumnadrochit. Although the roads were wet, the rain held off in the main, although the wind through Glencoe was certainly flexing its muscles. There must have been at least a mile and a half tailback approaching Tyndrum, caused by a contraflow. This was no problem for the Fazer.
"Sorry, we've stopped serving breakfast", was not what I wanted to hear as I got to the front of the queue at the Green Welly. Cottage pie and macaroni cheese it is then. I'd already refuelled at Fort William, so tapped in the postcode of The Wheel at Falkirk, and set off down Loch Lomond, left at the bottom, and past mickvp's house.
Bikes park for free at The Wheel, which is handy, so after watching a revolution of this mechanical marvel and taking the obligatory pics, it was back on the bike heading for The Kelpies. The clock was ticking and I knew the park in Hawick, which is home to the Steve Hislop memorial, closed at 6pm. On returning to the bike at The Kelpies carpark, all was not well. My knackered rear tyre had punctured. After unloading the camping gear to get to my mini compressor, I couldn't locate the leak despite pouring a bottle of water over the tyre. The day at Applecross on the newly gravelled single track roads had taken a toll. The amount of tread I needed to get home.
I couldn't believe my luck, when, after a phone round, Jim Allan Motorcycles, had a Road Tech 01 in the correct size. After another session with the compressor, I repacked the luggage and sat navved my way to the bike shop. They did a first class job, and got me turned around in no time at all. While their mech worked his magic I got talking to someone who was well in to their bike racing, being a personal friend of Jonny Rea and Keith Amor.
I rode away from Jim Allan's at 5:30, so my Steve Hislop memorial visit had gone out of the window, but was determined to explore the A7. After me and the bike were refuelled it was off to Galashiels, Hawick and Carlisle. Thanks again to Mr. Red for the headsup on the A7. What a cracker. In hindsight I should have looked for a campsite near Hawick, and viewed the memorial the following day(Sat), but now I was on a mission to just get home. Droning down the M6 might have been the obvious route, but decided to only go as far as Penrith, before chopping across to Scotch Corner on the A66. Another fuel stop at Scotch Corner, and with the temperature dropping, I put my Rain Seal jacket over the top of my Alpinestars, and changed gloves to a warmer pair. Off down the A1M, making Peterborough my final fuel stop. However with those petrol pumps only about 10 miles behind me,progress slowed somewhat, as the A1 was closed, forcing traffic onto the A14. Foc knows where the A14 goes, are people just supposed to know these things. Within a few miles the road then became a 40mph average speed zone. Oh deep joy. Not only did I not know where I was headed, I was also going there very slowly. No doubt spending more time checking my speed on the Garmin, I now found myself the wrong side if a traffic divide. The otherside was where I needed to be, headed for the M11 and eventually the M25. Fortunately the satnav was able to bail me out of my self inflicted predicament, although the small lanes it sent me down must have terrified the local rabbit population. As much as I dislike motorways when on the bike, I must admit I was quite glad to get on the M11 superslab, M25 bound. An hour or so later I rolled onto my drive at 04:20, precisely 20 hours after leaving Ullapool, the trip meter reading 734 miles. The mighty thou never missed a beat, what a bike, proving that to do the NC500 you don't need to be kitted out in Klim, riding a Beemer Adventure with aluminium boxes the size of shipping containers and a million spotlights on the front. :lol
Whizz kid sitting pretty on his two wheeled stallion.