Any day is a motorcyling day but Sundays always have that extra buzz. Yesterday was no exception. I set out mid-morning and as the polis would say ‘I proceeded in a westerly direction’ – by St Fillans and the north bank of Loch Earn.
With wet roads and temperatures between three and six degrees – feeling like minus 3 – 6 – but nae mind as the watery sun was reflecting off a few of the snow capped mountains to brighten up the day..
When I reached Lochearnhead – north looked the most favourable – so off I popped up Glen Ogle where the snow-melt waters were rushing down the hillsides in foaming white torrents. One in particular dropping hundreds of feet down the hillside and through the arches of the old railway viaduct was really spectacular.
A glimpse of Ben Lawers poking into the clouds caught my eye from the top of Glen Ogle so there was nothing else for it other than to swing right at Lix-toll and head due east for Loch Tay and Aberfeldy.
First there were the tumultuous Falls of Dochert thundering under the bridge by the hotel of the same name on the outskirts of Killin. I have never seen the waters looking so dangerous and I actually had thoughts about the wisdom of crossing the bridge with the river in the state it was.
Through Killin and down the side of Loch Tay with glimpses of a snow covered Ben Lawers in the clouds above and to the left were next on the menu. This section was made more interesting when a hot-hatch appeared from somewhere behind with the driver seeming intent on taking my rear number plate home with him. No worries – the Big Scoot has an equally big twin motor from the Honda NC750 and can show a clean pair of heels when it needs to.
Kenmore was next with hardly a soul in sight and by the time I reached Aberfeldy I was ready for food. There wasn’t much choice of cafe’s so I plumped for one in the main square.
The complicated menu didn’t endear itself to me and the prices at £4.50 for a bacon roll seemed over the top – but I WAS hungry and ready to order. That was when a group of young wimmen all screeching in what seemed to be more than animated conversation at the top of their voices wedged themselves in the open doorway and didn’t look like moving. The polis who come down on motor-cyclists with noisy after-market exhausts would have had a field day with that lot with their noise meters going off the scale!
Time to beat a hasty retreat! I grabbed my heavy jaikit n crash helmet n squeezed out past the still shrieking females into the street while I still had my hearing.
With clobber on I selected ‘Home’ setting and high-tailed it out of town on the road south by the Birks of Aberfeldy. Maybe I should have put my earplugs in and shovelled something hot into my tank for the weather turned nasty after that – but at least there was a sort of black strip of tarmac between the roadside snowbanks.
Onwards and upwards into more weather – then down through the Sma’ Glen to Gilmerton where I hung a right for Crieff. It seemed like no time at all and I was home in Comrie – roughly on the hundred mile mark – for my first cup of tea and sarnie of the day,
Okay – so there are no photos due to the battery in my phone playing up but it does take me back to the days when I actually wrote about something instead of taking the easy way out and succumbing to the senseless modern saying – ‘One photograph is worth a thousand words.’
