Scotland Pt.2

Tuesday 4^th May 2010

So here I was in sunny Gorebridge again, or as the locals like to call it, Gorr-brig. It’s hardly the centre of Scottish cultural learning, but it does have it’s charms. Like the coal-era slag heaps that have recently been levelled to make way for a private housing estate, or the abandoned turn of the century high street with it’s boarded up windows and litter-cornered doorways. The last time I was here I remember thinking that the small stream of Gore water that flowed under the main road resembled the last vestiges of hope escaping from a community that had thrown out all it’s toys. Now it seems that even that hope has run-out completely, and the once culturally-rich and economically booming little village has fallen to it’s knees as yet another victim of corporate domination and a world that couldn’t give a fuck.

But that aside, it’s where I woke up this morning. I rolled out of a comfortable bed and downstairs to a bacon and egg roll and a cup of tea. Simon had got up early and made breakfast. I can always tell when Simon’s up, there’ll be the sound of guitar or Ukele strumming coming from the lounge room.

We wandered out side and he introduced me to his Girls. Leggy-looking chicks they were too, with nice perky breasts and sharp, gleaming eyes. Salmon Feverolles, I think he said they were called; but to me they just looked like chickens, I couldn’t help but imagine a strip of bacon resting across their backs.

He’s taken to breeding Poultry now, least, that’s his latest thing. Before this it was Lime-wood whittling, ukelele crafting, and radio-controlled flying. Beyond that the list stretches back as far as my earliest memories and takes in such things as guitar playing, photography, birds of prey, replica handguns, Parrots, Rabbits, Cartooning, wood-turning and all other manner of intricate engineering and building projects. Each of these and more he has mastered with sickening agility and speed, he can turn his hand to anything and make it bow to his every wish. So not only is he now breeding poultry, but he’s also genetically modifying them to recreate a species of chook that went extinct with the dinosaurs…or something like that. Chances are he’ll probably succeed too, the moment he does, he’ll move-on, and look for a new challenge to conquer; like living totally self-sufficient on the carbon footprint of an AA battery.

*

I spent most of the afternoon clicking through e-mails and text messages, replying here and there, deleting elsewhere. I thought about how I should be putting a diary of my journey up on the web, but Simon suddenly decided he wanted to have a ride on the bike that used to be his, so I grabbed the keys instead. I hadn’t been near it since climbing off the night before all bedraggled and tousled-up, and I wasn’t so sure that I could even face sitting on it again so soon. Simon climbed aboard and fired it up, man it sounded good. He revved it a few times and said so himself, then he kicked it into gear and took off into the make-believe sunset. An hour later he was back, and full of praise for how well the bike was performing; and the level of it’s care. Excellent I thought, I’ve done my brother proud.

In the evening we kinda chilled, watched a movie, had a laugh, ate some food. Me and Matt took a final coffee and fag on the Moon-less and cloudy-skied doorstep, where we shared stories of failed relationships and the women we’d love to have loved. Back inside Simon was snoring and farting on the couch; I took off my shoes and crept upstairs to bed.

Wednesday 5^th May 2010

Today dawned fresh and clear, with just a hint of misty rain that cleared before I’d downed my first of many coffee’s. There was a couple of things that I had to get sorted while I was here, one of them was getting the bike MOT’d, and the other was going through a large rucksack of gear I’d left behind last time I was here. I got on the phone to Torness motors in East Linton and got the bike booked in for 9am the next morning, then I went outside and retrieved my bag of nonsense from Simons workshop-shed.

It’s amazing the amount of crap I can accumulate for no apparent reason, things that I simply can’t live without, but have had to leave behind here and there for the time being. I opened the bag -which had got soaked through-, and started rummaging through the contents. Shirts, t-shirts, scarves, beanies, and socks, and socks…and socks! Old video stock and blank dvd’s that I’d completely forgotten about. Piles of paperwork from the Bringing Walter Home project I did a couple years back that fell apart in my hands and turned to paper-mache before my eyes. An alarm clock I’d been given by the Stobsmill Pub for drinking exorbitant amounts of bourbon was still ticking, and remarkably was even showing the right time. Old addresses, memorabilia from places long ago seen, and bits of fluff and notebooks and pens and tangled fishing line scattered the bottom of the stinking, soggy canvas. I upended the whole bag and tipped it out on the ground.

I hung the clothes out on the line and started going through the mish-mash of assorted crap. In truth, most of it went in the bin, but the stuff that I did save is now relevant and worth hanging onto, except maybe the 2009 calendar I got from the Gorebridge chinese. Maybe that’ll make my shit-list next year.

In the afternoon I got a text from Lyndal saying she was glad I’d survived the first leg of the journey, and that she hoped good weather would be my constant travelling companion. As I sat there inside with the rain beating at the windows, I couldn’t help but remember my last trip to northern France. The sun had shone for two weeks constant, and the wind had never lifted above totally still, it was glorious, unlike the grey sagging clouds hanging above, and the whirlwind semi-typhoon rattling at the doors all around me.

The evening saw Simon teaching me the finer points of championship Draughts. I always thought Draughts was for people who didn’t know how to play chess, and was therefore so simple that even a fool like me could master it…I was wrong, embarrassingly so. Over the next hour or so I drowned my sorrows with a fruity Rose’ while poring over a map of Europe and refining my route down south.

England to Scotland

Saturday 1^st May 2010

So I’m off on this journey. I’m going to ride from where I’ve been living in Somerset for the last four months, up north to Scotland to stay with my brother Simon for a week or so. After chilling with ma bro and doing some final prep stuff with the bike, I’ll be riding it back down through England to Dover, where I’ll be getting the ferry across to Calais in France. Then I’m riding it further again into Switzerland and Italy and down as far as Rome itself. I’ll be coming back up along the Mediterranean coast and the Riviera’s, then winding my way up the centre of France into Paris, were I’ll be drinking and eating with a friend from Melbourne for a week who’s taken an apartment there. After Paris I’ll be visiting the Normandy beaches on my way to Cherbourg, where I’ll get the ferry back to England to work out what comes next. All told, it’s about a 4000 mile bike ride.

But the journey hasn’t actually started yet, there’s still tomorrow to get the last of myself sorted out. It’s really just my clothes, electronics and assorted bits to get packed now. I’ve decided what I’m taking and what I’m not, and I’ve pretty much done all that needs doing. But there’s always one more thing isn’t there; like Insurance that needs to get paid, and a new mobile phone to get bought and fumbled around with. See, there’s two things already without even trying.

The bike is ready enough though. Aside from a new MOT that’ll get done in Scotland, and a bit of a service that’ll get done at the same time, it’s all good to go. I’ve replaced both ignition coils, the front and rear sprockets and the chain, and the sprocket carrier bearing. I’ve scrubbed it, cleaned it, de-greased it, washed it, polished it, and sprayed it different colours. Not different from the original colours mind you, just different from each other. Black where black was needed, silver where silver was needed and yellow etc, etc. Oh, and it’s also got a new exhaust system too. Say Oo-rah gentlemen!

Sunday 2^nd May 2010

Rain, rain, rain. In typical british style the day started out cold, wet and miserable. I had a breakfast of heart-attack on toast, along with two cups of coffee and the obligatory cigarette, then it was back to packing mode. 24 hours from right then I would be hitting the road; I needed to get it on.

Before I knew, it was afternoon and I wanted to start practise-loading the bike. I’ve done this before so I knew how it went, and it don’t really take too long to do right. But after loading it all on, and then taking it all off, I emptied all the stuff out of the bags that I was taking, and went through it all again. I ditched a jumper and two T-shirts and some other bits I really didn’t need. Then I packed it all back together again and loaded it onto the bike.

I sent Lyndal a text saying in 24 hours I’d be en-route to Edinburgh, and in 28 days we’d be saying Bonjour vous on the Champs elysee. She sent me a reply reminding me that we’d be watching a pink sunset over the Seine, and sipping vin rouge and eating frommage.

That night Lee came over and we went up the Ilchester Arms for a drink. Not too sure what happened after that.

Monday 3^rd May 2010

Woke up early with a kind of apprehension…oh dear, here we go again. Made coffee, ate toast, smoked cigarettes. Went outside and looked at the bike, started bringing the luggage down.

More coffee, more cigarettes, feeling kinda anxious, kinda champin’ at the bit. Before too long I started the bike, took it out on the road, and dumped the luggage beside it.

Lee and Diane came down. Lee picked up my camera and took some shots, Diane grabbed the video and did exactly the same. Stuart the chef got home just before I was leaving. Then with handshakes and hugs all around, I jumped on the bike and rode out of town. I did find it kinda hard leaving though I gotta admit, the place has been my home for the last five months after-all. I guess I just made myself homeless.

*

Homeless is as homeless does, life’s a box of chocolates. Run Freelance, run. The first hour took me from Ilchester through Street and Glastonbury, to Bridgewater where I joined the M5 motorway that’d take me north toward Scotland. The bike felt really solid beneath me. Not cumbersome and stodgy I don’t mean, but rather, very stable and very well connected to the road. Once I hit the motorway I opened it up to cruise at about 80mph. Bristol came and went with just the slightest of glances, before I knew it I was just outside of Birmingham, and stopping for a services break. I’d done about 120 miles.

It was bleak outside in the carpark ; and the rain that came down started freezing and turning to hail. I got talking to this biker who had this black Honda Fury US import. He’d just come from a rally in Weston-super-mare where he’d won the best production bike. Mine was parked right next to it. The guy looked at my bike like it was someone’s luckless cousin. I reckon he was just jealous.

*

The road went on, and the road went on. Manchester, Liverpool, the Lakes, Carlisle, Abbington, over the source of the Clyde. Near Biggar I took a wrong turn, rode out through the Moorfoots, down into Peebles, along by the Tweed then back out through Innerliethen. I’d taken a twenty-mile Long Way Round, but it really didn’t matter. Soon I was blasting back along the A7 just five minutes from Simon’s place. All I wanted to do now was get there. I was up to 445 miles for the day, and my arse was totally numb.

*

By the time I got to Simons place the cold has frozen my thumbs into weird pointy-out things. I thawed them out with hot coffee and toast, and warm-hearted banter, and exaggerated tales of my trip thus far. Then I stepped outside with my nephew Matty, and smoked a big, fat joint.

The hour was late, the day too long, and my head was fuzzy and fizzing. I hit the sack about quarter to one, and dreamed of the road to come.