Europe 2013: It Finally Stopped Raining (Hopefully)August 15, 2013
I am currently sitting at the Aberlour Gardens Caravan and Campsite Park, listening to the sound of several hundred active sheep across the valley. It's surprisingly loud, and although many of them go "baa," many of them also sound like a human voice saying some variation of "maa!" or "haa!" or a sort of multi-consonant "wmuaaa!" Some of them are quite loud, and there are distinct high pitched and low pitched voices, so some of them sound like women, and some like men, and some like nothing human at all.
I am now, as the caravan park's sign proclaims, on the Whisky Trail. My experiences today prove it. From Oban, I went north, to Fort William. I had a powerful urge to turn that way last night, when I was headed for the Oban campsite, but resisted it. Fort William (an Gearaisdean in Gaelic -- the signs do indeed have Gaelic, once you get north of Glasgow -- or "the garrison" if I don't miss my guess) is one of the places I'm certain Brooke and I went in 1996, an impression which was reinforced by numerous memories of walking along the high street, or driving through certain roundabouts. I took the opportunity to stock up for lunch and dinner, and happily found a supply of Tunnock's Caramel Wafers, of which I bought a plentiful quantity. I love those things, and they're hard to come by in the US. I'm sure I'll go through the whole quantity I bought before I leave, and will seriously consider shipping a case home before I leave the Highlands.
I had a mini adventure in Fort William: I saw another motorcycle, heavily laden with touring gear, parked on the sidewalk at the end of High Street. I parked next to it, thinking that must be valid parking. Not so, of course. When I returned, it was to have a parking warden saunter up to me and sarcastically point to the sign (somewhat nonsensically posted on the side of a trash bin) saying "No Parking in this Area" and ask if the sign didn't say, "No Parking in this Area?" I apologized, explained my reasoning, and said I'd leave immediately. That was the plan anyway, but it never hurts to be seen to comply with officers of the law right away. He walked away, apparently satisfied that I was suitably chastized. Before I reached Fort William, I had called the Glenuig Inn, and discovered that they don't have a room free until Sunday night. It's only Thursday today. I was hoping to be headed for Wales by Sunday, so I was feeling at a bit of a loss for what my plan should be. I headed to Fort William anyway, on the theory that it was as good as anywhere else, and I could pick up some groceries and legal chastisement there. Once out of Fort William, I was again at a loss. I wanted to go to Glenuig, and there's no question I will (I might just skip actually staying at the Inn if the timing doesn't work out). But I needed a place to stay for the night, and one thing Glenuig and environs isn't full of, and that's amenities. I briefly considered wild camping, but I think that's an adventure for another trip. I was already on the road to Inverness, so I thought, "Why not?" and headed for Inverness. At some point, I decided to stop being wishy-washy, and formulate an actual goal. So, I set as my goal to find a camping spot in Aberdeenshire, so that I could start visiting Pictish symbol stones.
Pictish Symbol Stones 101: they're these carved standing stones, which come in three classes: pre-Christian (class 1), early Christian (class 2) and fully Christian, with no pre-Christian symbology on them (class 3). No one knows exactly what they were for, although there are plenty of theories. The class 1 stones have fascinating symbols on them, some of which are obviously representative of something; some of which, not so obvious. The class 3 stones are where the "Celtic cross" originates, as I recall (they're mostly what you'd recognize as Celtic crosses). I am most interested in the class 1 stones, and hope to visit a number of them tomorrow. I hope that having this goal firmly in mind will help motivate me to get up in the morning. Also, I hope, the complete lack of pounding rain will similarly help motivate me. When I woke up this morning, it was at about 2 am, to the sound of torrential rain on my tent roof. "Well," thought I, "we'll find out for sure how waterproof the tent is, I guess." I drifted back to sleep, but it was troubled, and I didn't sleep well for the rest of the morning. I didn't get out of bed until almost 9 (my alarm is set for 7:30 these days, and I was wide awake when it went off), since every time I thought about it, it started pissing rain again. I figured, if it kept up, I would just amuse myself at the campsite and stay another night -- the last thing I want to do is ride through torrential downpours. Just because I can do it doesn't mean I want to. (By the way: the tent is actually pretty waterproof. Doesn't help to pack it soaking wet, but there wasn't much choice.)
So, in order to meet my goal of finding a campsite in Aberdeenshire (I chose Aberdeenshire because I have a map of stone sites that covers this county), I picked a campsite from the map that was more or less in the middle of the county, and set out for it. It was near a town called Tarland. I hope that's like Garland, and not like land-of-tar. Anyway. Headed for Tarland, I topped a rise in the road, and had the oddest feeling of deja-vu: I said to myself, "Dalwhinnie?" Brooke and I stumbled upon Dalwhinnie pretty much by accident last time, on our way from Fort William to somewhere else (probably more or less the same general destination I have now). I'm not sure why, but it really stuck in my mind, and I remember what a depressing little town it was. It was also fairly odd that we stumbled upon it, since it was off on a side-route, and not really on the main drag. And then, sure enough, the next mileage sign listed Dalwhinnie, 5 miles hence. I couldn't not go again. The coincidence of stumbling on this little out of the way town with the spendy distillery product was just too weird. I stopped and took a picture outside the gate (I thought briefly of going in, but really the last thing I need to do is start acquiring breakable bottles of stuff to carry for the next five weeks).
Speaking of which, today is my one week-iversary: I landed in Dublin one week ago this morning. Five weeks left, and that's a daunting, daunting amount of riding to ponder. Anyway, on from Dalwhinnie I rode, joining up with the A9. I was following the GPS's directions, which means I frequently find myself going along weird little roads, as it's found the "most efficient" way to get to the destination, rather than the most sensible one. I had missed a turn at one point, because I'd seen Aberlour on a mileage sign, and decided I definitely had to visit that one (Aberlour is "my favorite scotch," in that it's the one that I frequently have on hand). After I missed the turn, I stopped in a picnic area and spread out the map, to see what I wanted to do. I could go for Tarland, or I could run up to the Aberlour distillery and see what I could see. I did some poking around, and discovered that there was, in fact, an Aberlour campsite, so that sounded like a match made in heaven. Every B&B I've passed has had a "no vacancy" sign out, so obviously the weekend vacationers are out. I was a little worried that campsites might similarly be filling up, but the Aberlour Gardens site is only at half capacity or less.
I've been stopping a lot to take pictures (the phrase, "When am I going to be by here again?" keeps running through my head, and it's pretty much true -- I also always regret not taking enough pictures after a vacation or trip, so I'm trying to avoid that here). At one point, I took a tiny side road off the primary road I was on (the A9, maybe), intending to turn around and rejoin the highway. However, a delightful thing about the GPS is it will reroute you based on where you're actually going, and it said there was a route forward, on this tiny road. Hell yes, GPS. Take me there! It was maybe a 2 mile diversion from the highway, but it was nearing Golden Hour, and the light was amazing, showing beautifully on valleys and vistas. I must have stopped a dozen times on that tiny road, taking a picture each time, each view making me more and more heart-struck and homesick for a place that's never been home.
I spotted a castle across the valley, and realized with joy that my tiny road was going to take me right past it. After several more photo stops, I passed by where I knew it should be, and I looked up, but could only see the spire of the tallest tower from the road. Ah well. I passed a sign a short while later at a driveway, which said something-or-other lodge. It was a modern-looking castle (ie, looked like it had been built in the last 100 years), and my guess is that it was some very rich person's summer home. Eventually I found my way to the Aberlour distillery (almost missing the turn -- all the signs in Scotland seem to give me notice that I've passed a thing, not enough notice to actually slow down and turn there). It was past 7 when I got there, so it was closed, but I stopped and took pictures of myself with the Aberlour sign in the background. It was a handful of very pretty, obviously tourist-focused buildings, and a large number of big, ugly industrial buildings. The site smelled of a variety of very unpleasant things, of which "disgusting toilet" was the most charitable I could name. I suppose the process of distilling fine whisky has to include a bunch of smelly fermentation as well. The cloud cover over me, as the night descends to the braying of hundreds of sheep, is moderate, and these don't look like rain clouds. I'm very hopeful I have a dry evening ahead of me. I didn't make it to Glenuig today, but perhaps I'll make it to a couple symbol stones tomorrow.
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