Mountains, Lochs and Lonely Spots

Mountains, Lochs and Lonely Spots

Mountains, Lochs and Lonely Spots

Published by Steve Roach at Smashwords

© Steve Roach 2013

The right of Steve Roach to be identified as the author of this work has been asserted in accordance with Section 77 of the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988.

No part of this book may be reproduced or distributed in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, or stored in a database or retrieval system, without prior written consent from the author.

Smashwords Edition, License Notes

This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you're reading this ebook and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please return to Smashwords.com and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

A huge thanks to Ian and Becca Anderson,

Classic Camper Holidays.

CONTENTS

Hawick – Abington

Loudoun Castle Theme Park (Abandoned)

Pollock – Gartloch – (Glasgow)

Dumbarton - Cardross

Cruachan (Power Station) – Oban – Glenfinnan Monument, Loch Shiel

A Bit of History

Mallaig – Skye - Sligachan

Portree – Uig – North Loop to Staffin

Kyle of Lochalsh - Balmacara

Highlands – Urquhart Castle – Loch Ness – Aviemore

Pitlochry – The Wallace Monument (Stirling) – The Dunmore Pineapple – The Falkirk Wheel

Forth Bridge – Fife Coast Tourist Route - Pettycur

Edinburgh – Berwick-Upon-Tweed

Hawick - Home

Other Travel Books by Steve Roach

Classic Camper Holidays

Hawick – Abington

We pick up the campervan today. We just have to drive up to Hawick, a small town in the Scottish Borders and collect her. I say ‘her’ because the van is called Sally. In the campervan hire business, I’ve learned, vehicles aren’t just machines – they’re almost a part of the family. They have names. They have their own individual characters.

We set off in the pouring rain, the heater on full to clear the misty windscreen. The world is like the inside of a car wash, the M6 a dull grey ribbon of misery cutting through it. The car is lashed by the rain, thrumming on the roof, and we’re almost blown into the hard shoulder by a particularly strong gust of wind. Last time we went on a trip like this, I promised Steph that we’d be going somewhere sunny next time. It turns out that I may have inadvertently lied. At least she’s not in tears yet. Life hasn’t yet beaten her down enough that she can’t nurse a small glimmer of hope that the weather might get better.

The scenery either side of the motorway is magnificent, great big hills looming up on either side, their peaks shrouded in cloud. Although most people associate beautiful scenery with glorious sunshine, something that undoubtedly brightens up the landscape and improves the distant views, I’ve never minded gloom, particularly when it’s on an epic scale. It helps that we’re relatively warm and dry inside the car – gloomy scenery isn’t quite so enjoyable when you’re actually standing in it, dripping wet, boots squelching every time you move. But to view it from some sort of comfort can be a marvellous thing, and I enjoy these miles heading up towards Penrith.

Our little dog Clementine has come with us on this adventure, and she’s been immaculately well behaved so far, laid out across Steph’s lap and dozing contentedly. The key to owning a dog that travels well in vehicles is simple – get them started early. A puppy has a limited period during infancy where it won’t be frightened of very much at all. Every day brings new things to explore and everything is exciting. This period is critical for conditioning them for future behaviour, something that most dog owners don’t seem to be aware of. We took Clem to puppy training classes and the result is a dog that’s generally well behaved at all times. She’s used to being in a car, used to being told to sit and so on. She’s toilet trained, thank the Lord. She’s used to people and, perhaps most importantly, used to mixing with other dogs.

We stop at Tebay Services to give Clem a chance to have a wee and a sniff around the car park. Steph and I share the contents of a flask of coffee. It’s already saved us a fortune.

As we carry on past Penrith, heading up to Carlisle, our in-car conversation hits new heights.

‘Do you think sheep feel the cold?’ asks Steph.

‘I guess so. But then they’re probably used to it, being outdoors all the time. With their big, woolly coats on.’

Sometimes, I miss the car stereo (it stopped working about a year ago).

Shortly afterwards, I notice a herd of cows under a tree in a field.

‘Look! Cows obviously feel the cold. Or the wet, anyway.’

‘Oh, yeah.’

‘Do you think they’re all intelligent enough to head to that tree for shelter, or do you think there’s just one cow that went over and the rest followed him to see what he was doing? Like, half the cows are standing around going ‘What the fuck am I doing here?’’

Steph makes an observation from the Bible, something about it saying that God gave man the ability to make choices but not animals. She points out that animals make choices all the time, even cows. Little Clem is a very intelligent beastie – whenever she wants to go out, for instance, she sits by the front door and waits for us to take her. Clearly, that is a choice on her part not to do a big dump in the house but to wait and do it outside.

Has Steph just disproved the legitimacy of the Bible, or even the existence of God? It’s deep stuff for a wet Monday morning on the M6. Later, though, she ruins any illusion of profound intelligence when we see a sign that says ‘Glasgow 96 Edinburgh 93’ and asks: ‘Is Edinburgh really only 3 miles from Glasgow?’

We leave the M6 at J44 and head north on the A7. Shortly after Longtown we see a ‘Welcome to Scotland’ sign and cross the border.

The B711 is a single track road that splits off the A7 a couple of miles shy of Hawick. We’re heading for a place called Roberton, home of Classic Camper Holidays. Within minutes, we realise that we’re really heading out into the sticks, that the road is taking us through some of the wildest, most open scenery we’ve seen so far. Every now and then are passing places, tiny inlets to pull over and let cars coming the opposite way pass by.

But we don’t see any other cars. Things get a bit weird when we find a farmer’s gate blocking the road. This isn’t a farm track, remember, but a bona fide highway of the national road system. I pull over, get out into the sheeting rain and open the gate. Then I have to drive through and stop again to get out and close it. I could have left it, but after watching Withnail and I too many times as a youth I know the dangers of leaving farmers’ gates open. Randy bulls can escape and give helpless locals one int’ knee.

Things get even weirder when, a couple of miles later, there’s another gate. Just where in the hell are we? I open it, drive through and close it again.

We haven’t seen another car for about fifteen minutes. There are no people. We pass by a small lake.

‘That’s where they dispose of the bodies around here,’ I say.

‘I was thinking exactly the same thing.’

Thankfully, as we crest a small hill, Classic Camper Holidays swings into view. There’s a lovely big wooden chalet nestled next to a brook, and a white T25 van parked on the edge of the driveway. As we get closer, we see a veranda stretching alongside the house and Sally, a bright orange 1972 Westfalia pop-top T2 is parked beneath it.

We park up and Ian comes out to welcome us. He’s a wiry feller with a big smile, clutching a roll-up. We shake hands and he bids us welcome.

Shortly after, Becca emerges with their dog, a wee Jack Russel called Fergus. In moments, Clem and Fergus are jumping all over each other having a whale of a time.

Although the business has been running for a number of years, Ian and Becca only bought it from the original owner back in February, so it’s all relatively new to them. They have a fleet of five campervans and will shortly acquire one that’s fully kitted out for disabled people, who aren’t much accommodated for in the campervan business. It’s been a very busy first season, and the vans have been rented more or less without a pause.

Ian gives me a brief rundown of Sally. I remember some of it from last time (with Monty, the hire van for the Europe trip), but the interior is laid out in a different way and it takes me a while to get used to it all. Perhaps the biggest change is that Sally is a left hand drive. This may prove a little harder to adjust to.

Before long, the business side of things is taken care of and I unload the car and put everything into the van. And then it’s time to go. They wish us a good trip and we drive off down the narrow road, thankfully not the way we came, although this means continuing along the B711 for almost twice as long as before. The left hand drive immediately proves itself to be a disorienting experience, mainly because we’re also on the left hand side of the road. More than once, Steph tells me (in a tight, high pitched voice) to get back onto the correct side. If I stop concentrating, my mind wants to position my body on the normal, default position above the road, which in my car would mean I’m sitting just on the inside of the centre line. In Sally, this means that Steph is well over the line, sitting and staring at potentially oncoming traffic.

It’s a slow drive towards Buccleuch as I get used to the van. I’m extremely grateful that there are still no other cars around as, if I’d gotten into a position where I’d have been forced to reverse, there would have been carnage. Other things are easier than I remember, such as the gears. In our previous campervan, I remember getting into all sorts of trouble on the journey from the hire place to my house, a bitter and anger filled episode involving the M5 motorway, a traffic jam, and a van that wouldn’t get into first gear. In Sally, the gears are no problem, as long as they’re delicately handled. The only problem would be the lack of ability to change from 2nd to 1st whilst moving, which would mean stopping the van completely at traffic islands in order to start moving again. No big deal and I soon became used to it.

We stop after about half an hour so I can grab a quick cigarette. I park up between two mountains, remove the key from the ignition and get out. Steph follows with Clem, even though it’s pissing down and blowing a gale. Smoke over, we all get back in the van and I suddenly find that the ignition key no longer works. I think that Sally might be fitted with some sort of locking mechanism, and fiddle around until I admit defeat. I phone Ian and Becca but they’re out, so I leave a message on their answerphone.