Mikes Big Adventure

Wednesday 20th August 2003 - Day Five

The Forth Road Bridge looms larger and larger as I approach. Did I mention that I have a bridge phobia? Especially ones that cross water. I can`t explain it, it just makes me shiver, even the thought of crossing bridges like this one makes me nervous and twitchy. I`m even shivering as I type this! Ive never had a bad experience, maybe its just the unnerving feeling knowing that youre not actually on terra firma, held aloft by metal, bricks, whatever they make bridges out of, over some place youre not meant to be.

The road takes a sharp left turn and I`m heading toward the toll booths with several articulated lorries and a few cars all jockeying for position. Its like watching a horse race in reverse with the racers darting back into the stalls. Well, thats enough to take my mind off the expanse of water each side of me for a minute or so. I roll slowly up to the toll booth, a uniformed lady pops out of her little windowed box. She flags me down to stop, then with a quick flick of the wrist gives me the thumbs up and a smile. Here we go!

For as long as you look straight forward, the bridge looks just like a dual carriage way with a slight upward curve, a weird looking central reservation and in the corner of your sight, heavy cables that reach forever upward. I could feel my body getting rigid. My mouth going dry, my gaze getting fixed. I had to snap out of it. The bridge was far too long to make a mad dash to the other side (as I usually do!). The traffic was light, thankfully, which meant I didnt have to stop. It also meant I didnt have to concentrate too much on what was going on around me - vehicle wise. So, I took a deep breath and glanced sideways, then a glance to the other side.. all I could see was water! What a view! It was like crossing the Atlantic on my motorbike! I was gobsmacked by how much and how far I could see. Then, a massive shudder ran through my body as I remembered I was hurtling along on a bridge. I`d done it though, I was near to the end, the "ground" was getting nearer and my posture and breathing pattern could get back to normal again. For the next hour or so all I could think of was that I`d crossed THAT bridge.

Sensing that the road is climbing, sometimes gradally, sometimes not so gradually, I feel the going is getting slower. The hills turn into mountains and cities turn into towns which turn into villages. The villages become further and further apart, along with petrol stations. During my stay in Northallerton, Gail had reminded me that petrol stations are few and far between the further north in Scotland you go. She should know as she`s Scottish! I take her advice seriously and decide to fill up at roughly 50 mile intervals instead of the usual 100 miles. With the temperature rapidly dropping too, its very sound advice.

Pitlochry is a small resort town about 50 miles from my previous fill up so its here that I detour off the main A9 road for refreshment. The petrol in the tank could have taken me at least another 50 miles but I was taking no chances. It took only £3.50 to top up so I treated myself to a salad sandwich and a glucose energy drink. I`d been riding for nearly two hours and wanted to take in some sights on the way so Pitlochry was as good a place as any to stop and have lunch. Sandwich duly eaten and drink downed in two I looked around for a bin. No bins! Even after a five minute walk up the main street I didnt find one single rubbish bin! The place was spotlessly clean yet I couldnt find a place to dispose of my rubbish. Looking into a hotel car park I saw their kitchen bins in the yard waiting to be emptied so I hotfooted it in, dumped my junk and hotfooted it out again. What do people in Pitlochry do with their litter? Answers on a postcard to Pitlochy Local Council Refuse Dept please.

Setting off along the A9 again and still heading upward into the mountains. The Cairngorms are a popular place for skiers, with Aviemore not much further along from Pitlochry. The road takes me through some fantastic scenery, the ground leaps into the sky totally at random, taking with it mauve coloured heather reaching as far as the brilliant white clouds. I notice the altitude reading on my GPS receiver ascending faster than I can read it. I slow down and blink in almost disbelief. 1300.. 1350.. 1400.. 1450.. 1500 feet up! All around me there are giant purple peaks and vivid green valleys, like an enormous, panoramic, ruffled duvet spreading as far up, down and around as you can see.

Now, heading toward Inverness. Away from the wild, open countryside and through an industrialised city. What do I see in the distance? Ha! Another bridge! This time crossing the Moray Firth is Kessock bridge, styled similar to the one at Forth, quite a tall but shorter suspension bridge. With a smile spanning my own face I shrug this one off - pah! Easy!

I`m now riding through the Black Isle which a tourist information type sign informs me is neither black nor an isle. Looking down I notice the odometer has passed another 50 miles so onto Tore for a petrol top up. I take my turn in the queue to pay. An elderly lady eventually takes my money. I ask her "How far to John O Groats, 100 miles?". She looks at me square in the face. Eye to eye she gives me a stern warning. "Yes, and mind you be careful, Theres been a lot of motorcyclists killed recently along there". Oh great. I was feeling pretty cocksure about my riding skills and she has to bring me right back down to earth. Well, I`m sure she meant it with concern for my well being so I nodded with an "I will, I will" and left with my chin on my chest.

Not long later and another bridge looms into view! This time its the low level, concrete pillar supported, Cromarty Firth bridge. This one is so low and straight it holds very little fear for me. It still spans quite a long expanse of water but it doesnt have the same murky depths as the previous two. Across it and Im turning right, along the shores of the Cromarty Firth. The road opens up again to dual carriageway, fast and sweeping with a shallow curve. My senses are bombarded with the strong, hanging smell of seawater and washed up kelp. Not far off the shore stand a clutch of oil rigs, giant Chinese puzzle-like masses of metal standing on rusty scaffold legs waiting for the tide to return.

Surprise, surprise what do I see ahead? A black line of tarmac across a wide blue expanse of glittering water - its yet another bridge! Any signs of nerves are shadowed by shivers of cold and tiredness. The bridge is a minor worry compared to the fatigue I`m now feeling. Still with another 70 miles to go I`m wondering if I should stop for a "warm up" break at the next convenient place. Through little villages I cast a weary eye, hoping for shelter and somewhere to sit while I regather my strength. Golspie, Brora, Helmsdale pass me by. As my speed drops I feel a little better. A little more confident and a little more awake. The fresh air through my open visor helps to sharpen my senses and the traffic forces me to be alert.

Suddenly the villages are behind me and I`m back out into the open. To my right are miles and miles of open seascape, to my left and upward are hills and mountains, ahead of me lies a twisting, winding road. Signs warn me that the roads are liable to icing! I back off the throttle though a few cars still overtake. Slithering along the coast, the tarmac snake leads me through hairpins, around cliff faces, out to sea and back to land in varying combinations. I`m now getting very cold, tired and in need of a rest.

Just as I`m about to look for a place to pull over and stop, I see a sign for Wick. This is a small, fairly well built up town, and passing through it I spot a supermarket with a half empty car park. My brain sparks into life and a brainwave hits me! "I`ll get some food and stuff for tonight at the camp site". The supermarket has a good selection of biscuits, crisps, cheeses etc and I fill my arms with about £5 worth of snacky food and drink. About a quarter of it is eaten there and then, the rest is stuffed into the front of my jacket. So I waggle, ducklike, over to my bike. Its been raining and the seat is soaked. I wipe the rain from the seat, the damp must have triggered something within me that said I should have been to the toilet some time ago. It had been a while since my last visit, but the "V twin vibe" has the same effect as crossing your legs and doing that funny dance when you desperately need to go. It was too late now, I`d struggled to zip up my jacket with the feast taking up every spare pocket of space and it was only about 20 miles to the camp site. I could wait.

Ten miles down the road and I reach a junction. The sign says straight ahead but my carefully planned route said turn right. I stopped the bike and reached for the map. Uhoh! Bad idea! Now I absolutely, desperately needed the toilet! Looking around, panic stricken, all I can see are houses and a Post Office. Not a public toilet, bush, wall to hide behind or anything convenient in sight! I shouldnt have got off the bike with its buzzing, numbing, V twin vibe.

From out of his kitchen window the elderly Scottish man must have been wondering what I was doing. I noticed him as he gave me a curious gaze. It seemed by now we were already half introduced so I hobbled over to his door and gave it a knock. He opened it slowly and before he had opened his mouth I blurted "Sorry to bother you, I`m really desperate for the toilet - can I use yours please?". Puzzlement filled his expression, "..really need the toilet, can I use yours please?" I repeated, more urgently than last time. "ooh aye, ye can but ma girls in there at the moment, ya`ll have te wait" he lulled in his Gaelic tongue. A minute later and the door to the toilet opened, he looked at me and smiled. A few words passed from him to "his girl", a lady that must have been his wife. She was just a blur as I dashed to relieve myself in this total strangers bathroom. I heard mutterings outside, as the kind Scot explained to his girl the predicament the mad biker had got himself into.

Once outside I thanked both Mr Scotsman and his wife for their kindness. They both tried to cover their amusement as they politely appeased my embarrasment. We chatted for a minute or two, I proudly told them of my destination, he pointed "That way for about ten miles" and off I went. I supposed at that point it might have been more impressive if id told them how far I`d been and not just where I was going!

Sure enough, about ten miles later I`m rolling up to the camp site at Huna, just over a mile beyond John O Groats. This is where I`d arranged a place for the night. I was lucky in that the site had a caravan and that particular night it was vacant. Otherwise Id have been pitching a hired tent - not something I fancied doing after that journey! The site owner, John, was apologetic about the caravan, saying it was a little shabby, but to me it was great, a place to eat, drink, rest and sleep! I unpacked, called home on my mobile phone, took a few photos out of the window, snacked and promptly fell asleep.