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A Geordie’s winter tale
Each year as Xmas approaches, I get a little fed-up of the commercial hype which seems to have taken over the whole meaning of this special time, and the fact that it now starts in October, for heavens sake, just does my head in.
Left - Winter sunset over Cumbrae, off the coast of Largs in Scotland. (December 2003). Triumph Trophy 1200cc
Bah-humbug perhaps, but that doesn't bother me. As my work tails off towards the Xmas period, it also gives me the perfect chance to unwind. It gives me the opportunity to ride my bike on nice roads, amongst nice people, with no other bikers around, and quiet pubs/hotels. There was a BSA camp on way darn sarth, but the thought of a lengthy trek down the broing A1 didn't appeal. Anyway, when Scotland is on your doorstep, is there really a choice? I carry my tent and usually mix the availability of very affordable Bed & Breakfast houses in Scotland with the remote lochside camping if the weather is half decent.
So on Tuesday, I packed up the bike (Trophy 1200), and on Wednesday morning clambered aboard with a destination of Largs in mind. It's a clear but chilly day, and just above freezing, so a multitude of layers of clothing were applied, including heated vest which didn't get switched on until well across the border.
I usually head to Carlisle, then Dumfries, then take the Dalmellington road to Ayr, but this time I took the more direct route to Kilmarnock. Funnily enough, I think this is the first time I have ever taken this road. Approaching Kilmarnock the temps dropped again and lo and behold the heated vest was DEFINITELY no longer providing heat. A check of the bike's fuse box revealed the 10 amp fuse blown, so a quick replacement solved the problem.
Got to Largs just as darkness came down, pulled in to Roberta's Guest House, and slipped into bed for a snooze. Woke up at 8pm! Hell's bells, that is prime drinking time! Walked to the pub and had a couple of beers whilst watching the long faces of the Celtic soccer supporters (their match was on TV) as their team slumped to a defeat at the hands of the French, over a dodgy penalty decision (or so those dressed in green and white (99% of the pub) thought so ! I thought it was the correct decision, but sometimes discretion IS the better part of valour 8:)
Slept like a log and rose to Roberta's full Scottish breakfast, something I have done many times before, and decided to take a C class road from Largs to Greenock, passing through the Clyde Muirshiel Country Park. The weather was outstanding; and this was the third time in three years I have hit the jackpot of such wonderful weather in December. A weak but full winter sun gaining little elevation in the south east, and a full moon high up to the west; the most wonderfully calm sea, and not a breath of wind. The pollution from the stack of the Caledonian MacBrayne Ferry rising almost vertically. I rose from Largs up a fairly steep incline and quickly realised I was on the wrong road; I should be traversing away from the coastline, but I was following it. A quick stop for a few photos of the Isle of Cumbrae, and an about-turn to a point where I quickly found the right road.
Rising again, I noticed the road seemed a bit whitish, and assumed it to be road salt. BIG mistake; "C" class roads don't get gritted! A sharp twitch of the front wheel on a gentle bend, and I realised caution was now the watchword, as patchy frost was still around from a cold night. Reaching the top of the hills, I passed a small reservoir and saw the sun glimmer on the road ahead where it shouldn't be glimmering. Wise enough to realise this could be ice, I had a choice of grabbing a handful of brake and risking a skid on the frost, or simply going for it in the hope it was a stream crossing the road. Well, the brakes worked, with no lock up of the rear, and I stopped a few feet from a total sheet of ice, about 20 feet across. Yes, there was a stream crossing the road, but most of it was solid! I decided I really couldn't get across here on the Trumpet. On a BSA, yes, but this machine is a handful even for a big guy. I had to turn back. So it was a gentle blast up the coast road to Gourock and Greenock, across the Erskine bridge and a play around Loch Lomond.
I usually head to Carlisle, then Dumfries, then take the Dalmellington road to Ayr, but this time I took the more direct route to Kilmarnock. Funnily enough, I think this is the first time I have ever taken this road. Approaching Kilmarnock the temps dropped again and lo and behold the heated vest was DEFINITELY no longer providing heat. A check of the bike's fuse box revealed the 10 amp fuse blown, so a quick replacement solved the problem.
Got to Largs just as darkness came down, pulled in to Roberta's Guest House, and slipped into bed for a snooze. Woke up at 8pm! Hell's bells, that is prime drinking time! Walked to the pub and had a couple of beers whilst watching the long faces of the Celtic soccer supporters (their match was on TV) as their team slumped to a defeat at the hands of the French, over a dodgy penalty decision (or so those dressed in green and white (99% of the pub) thought so ! I thought it was the correct decision, but sometimes discretion IS the better part of valour 8:)
Slept like a log and rose to Roberta's full Scottish breakfast, something I have done many times before, and decided to take a C class road from Largs to Greenock, passing through the Clyde Muirshiel Country Park. The weather was outstanding; and this was the third time in three years I have hit the jackpot of such wonderful weather in December. A weak but full winter sun gaining little elevation in the south east, and a full moon high up to the west; the most wonderfully calm sea, and not a breath of wind. The pollution from the stack of the Caledonian MacBrayne Ferry rising almost vertically. I rose from Largs up a fairly steep incline and quickly realised I was on the wrong road; I should be traversing away from the coastline, but I was following it. A quick stop for a few photos of the Isle of Cumbrae, and an about-
Rising again, I noticed the road seemed a bit whitish, and assumed it to be road salt. BIG mistake; "C" class roads don't get gritted! A sharp twitch of the front wheel on a gentle bend, and I realised caution was now the watchword, as patchy frost was still around from a cold night. Reaching the top of the hills, I passed a small reservoir and saw the sun glimmer on the road ahead where it shouldn't be glimmering. Wise enough to realise this could be ice, I had a choice of grabbing a handful of brake and risking a skid on the frost, or simply going for it in the hope it was a stream crossing the road. Well, the brakes worked, with no lock up of the rear, and I stopped a few feet from a total sheet of ice, about 20 feet across. Yes, there was a stream crossing the road, but most of it was solid! I decided I really couldn't get across here on the Trumpet. On a BSA, yes, but this machine is a handful even for a big guy. I had to turn back. So it was a gentle blast up the coast road to Gourock and Greenock, across the Erskine bridge and a play around Loch Lomond.
Right - Christmas Card views over a frozen Lochwinnoch (Castle Semple Loch)
Coming back I passed the brand new Calmac Ferry still on trials between Wemyss Bay and Rothesay. Chatted with the port staff, then headed back to Largs for the Yuletide festival that evening. A strange affair this; the shops are all open until late and everyone insists that you have a few complementary mulled wines and mince pies. No need for an evening meal! Next day it was a different route through Castle Semple (Lochwinnoch) and on to Glasgow where I stayed with friends. Their house is actually in Glasgow Green, the major city centre park, so it's a brief walking distance to the city. I made my usual visit to the People's Palace museum and said hello to the museum shop girl. "Just a minute" she says "I remember you from last year? You're the biker! Chilling out again ?" She's got some memory, that lassie!
An evening meal and sound sleep and it was time to head home. This time it was going to be the quick route motorway route. The weather had turned; in fact it was bloody awful. Strong winds and heavy rain being the order of the day. I decided I had enough fuel to probably do the return trip in one go (wrong!). Just after crossing back into England I could feel a loss of performance. You know, the one when you know you are running out of fuel. The gauge was just in the red! I switched to reserve and hoped that by riding carefully, I could make Brampton where I knew there was a filling station. Now staying at around 50mph, I felt the engine lose all power about 200 metres before the filling station - an easy cruise ! And so on to home. Once back, time was taken to the apply the power washer to clean off all that road grime and salt, and a hose fed into the radiator/cooling vanes. Another mini-adventure completed.
Icy but gorgeous December midday at Largs
When's the next one? Oh yes - 15 days, 19 hours, & 12 minutes away !