July 9th: Flight from London to Boston
July 9th – 12th: Boston
July 13th – 16th: Niagara Falls and Adirondack Mountains
July 20th: Boston to Seattle
July 20th – August 20th: Drive from Seattle to Los Angeles
August 20th: Los Angeles to Arkansas
August 24th – 27th: Las Vegas
September 10th: Arkansas to London
I booked stays in Seattle, the Olympic National Park, Portland, Crater Lake National Park and San Francisco, and I hoped to find other places to stay as I drove along.
Friday July 1
It is a tradition in the Air Force, when someone is either posted or leave, to have what is known as a beer call. A beer call is really just an excuse to get drunk, and maybe have a little fun as well. But, I decided to have my beer call at a pub in Norwich. The Fat Cat has been voted best pub in Britain twice, the second time just a few weeks ago. It has a fine selection of real ales, and it is a favourite of ours. I had planned the event for months, invited those I wanted, and not those I would rather avoid. It was the reason not to have the beer call on base. The appointed time to meet was one pm, so, they could have an afternoon off, and I could get a train home, when I had had enough. There are some people that I will be seeing for the last time, which will not be a bad thing. And even those I do like, I probably will not see again either, as promises to keep in touch are rarely kept.
I took the eleven o’clock train to Norwich, and wandered around until it was time to go to the Fat Cat. Waiting inside was Nik Smith, a guy who had been posted a year before, but I had invited. The fact he turned up was great. So, we had a drink while we waited for the others to turn up. Then another. And Another. By now it was approaching three, and there was no sign of what should have been my friends. Another guy who turned up, did was not even in the Air Force any more. Arwel now works at Lotus Cars, but Nik had seen him that week, and asked if he would like to come along. It was really good to see him again after a couple of years. He left after the debacle in Iraq. The fact he was happy to have left the Air Force gives me hope. The dumpies arrived just after half three. I found out later that none of them did any work in the morning, so, Freddie had to make them work until it was done. Shows what they thought of me. Once they arrived, my memory begins to fail me. I know that Nik left at six, to be picked up by his wife, and I had had enough soon after and ignoring pleas to stay, I leave. I grab a taxi on Dereham Road, and get dropped off at KFC. As usual the munchies had hit.
Saturday July 2
Today was the day of the Live 8 concerts. It seems odd to hear millionaire pop stars pontificating about poverty and debt. But, they were not asking us for money, just trying to put pressure on politicians to scrap third wall debt. It is a worthy cause. I miss the initial acts, but the Killers were great, but only got to sing one song, whilst the Scissor Sisters got to sing three. Later, The Who were wonderful, and note perfect as ever. But the undoubted highlight was Pink Floyd, fully reformed after 20 plus years. And they were stunning, as though they had never been away. The fact that Scott Welland turned up for the Velvet Revolver set was notable, although few people in the crowd knew any of their material.
Sunday July 3
As I was going to be away for nine weeks, I had decided to take Mum away for a few days before I left. In January I had stayed in a town on the west coast of Scotland called Inveraray, and it was very picturesque and would a make a good base to explore the area. I picked Mum up at seven in the morning, having packed. Needless to say, I had forgotten something. Namely toothpaste. It did not bode well for my trip across America, by the time the trip was over, my suitcase would be empty. I decided to drive up the A14, and then up the M6. We stopped off at a service station just south of Birmingham, to have breakfast. I had neither food nor drink that morning. Mum fancied bacon butties, which should not be too expensive, right? Wrong, two bacon rolls and a cup of tea and a cup of coffee cost just under twelve pounds. Just how criminal is that? Mum asked if there was any change from the £10 she gave me.
North of Manchester, the M6 was full of black mariahs heading north we guessed to Edinburgh for the G8 conference at Gleneagles. We counted more than 50, and it was three days before the conference was due to begin. The weather was glorious and we made good time as we headed into Scotland. Once through Glasgow, we came into the stunning countryside of the Clyde estuary. I took Mum through Helensburgh, as she had been there as a child. The town has a very down at heel feel to it now. But enough of the grand hotels, mostly now retirement homes, to show it’s proud past when steamers from Glasgow would call at its pier, although the high street is now full of bargain booze shops, which proliferate in most Scottish towns these days.
West of Helensburgh is the town of Rhu, were I have stayed before. It has stunning views across the Clyde, across to the lights of Port Glasgow miles away. It is a glorious day, and the water is Mediterranean blue. The boats in the marina could be in St Tropez. Further along, up a fjord-like bay is the Faslane shipyard, now complete with its own peace camp, I guess due to the G8 conference. Beyond there, the road narrows to just about a single track road, and twists and turns beside the water’s edge. West of Arrochar, we head up a valley, climbing higher and higher. I stop at the head of the valley to take pictures, it’s stunning, and the sunbathed valley stretches out bellows for miles.
The hotel was just outside the town, on Loch Fyne, with fine views across to the hills beyond. I had a room that overlooked the Loch, with the window open, the smell of the flowers from the garden could drift in. For dinner I ordered venison with a chocolate sauce. But, it turned out that I had steak, as our waitress got our order mixed up with a nearby tables’. Mum was tired, and so went upstairs to lie down. I sat in the bar, and had a couple of whiskies. There was a couple from Glasgow, about my age. And we got talking, and ended up staying up until the wee small hours, eventually being chased out of the lounge as the barman wanted to go to bed.Monday July 4
Thanks to the malts and the late night, I slept through the alarm, and so was woken by my mobile ringing. It was Mum at the table waiting for me to be at breakfast. Breakfast was good, and I even remembered to ask that the black pudding was left off the plate. I decided that we should go along the Mull of Kintyre, just to see what was there. Since I was a boy, I used to look at maps and I saw that there was a town at the end of the Mull called Southend, and I wondered if it was similar to the one in Essex.
Once again, it was a glorious morning. In fact it was wonderful, nothing but clear blue skies, a great day for exploring. For ten miles the road ran along Loch Fyne, passing through small villages, each with a church and a small harbour. We came round a headland, and saw a larger town, Lochgilphead, turned out to be the last reasonable sized town on the mull. Even so, it was only just what could be described as a town. At Inveraray, the sign post says its 83 miles to Campbeltown, so, it was going to take about two hours to get there, and then it was about another 15 miles further on to Southend. 20 miles south of Lochgilphead, we came to the town of Tarbert. We entered the town on a road right beside the harbour. It was a stunning view, not a breath of wind stirred, and the water mirrored the town and sky perfectly. I found a place to park, and got out the camera. It was like a town on the Mediterranean, stunning to believe we were in the highlands at all. Beside the harbour was a small park, and groups of people were seated just looking at the view. I spoke to one couple, they were all on a coach trip, and had got the ferry across from Aaron this morning. But they spent three days on Aaron, which seemed a bit excessive to me.
Either you could travel along the Mull on the A road, or there was a minor road that went south on the other side of the mull. I decided the minor road would be better, and as were in no hurry, it seemed like a good idea. About ten miles south of Tarbert, a minor road branched off. We took it, headed past a lonely farmhouse, and headed up the hill that stood in our way. The other side of the hill, there was a small village, on a cliff overlooking Killbrannon Sound, and across that was the Island of Aaron, its dark mountains rising to the sky. As we paused to take in the view, a ferry was setting out from the dock below, taking a handful of cars to the Isle. The road, which was nothing more than a track really, ran south, rising and falling along with the land, twisting and turning round the contours of the hills. In time, we came to a small village, Carradale, I followed the signs to the harbour, but it was not at all photogenic, with portable toilets on the harbour wall, and the harbour itself empty. Soon after Carradale, the track turned onto the main road, and headed further south, at once heading high above the sound, giving one final look behind at the stunning coastline.
Campbeltown is much smaller than one would think it would be. We entered the town, really wanting a cup of coffee. But, parking spaces seemed to be of a premium, even though the streets were as wide as a city’s. Within a minute, we were out in the countryside again; neither of us had seen a café, or a place where to get a drink. We decided to press on to Southend; maybe we would have more luck there.
South of Campbeltown, the land flattens out, small holdings dot the land, and there to the west is the old Air Base at Machrihanish, once the worst posting in the UK, a desolate place to be sure. I noted that there was no pub in the village outside the gate.
Southend is a very small village indeed; it has a shop, a single pump garage and a pub, along with a handful of houses. A mile further south is the beach, and the Irish Sea: just visible on the horizon is the coast of Northern Ireland.I stopped to take pictures (above), driving back into the town; I spied a sign to Southend Lighthouse. Not realizing Mum needed the bathroom, I headed off. It was only seven miles. But those seven miles were along single track country lane, across cattle grids, and up the steepest hills I had ever driven up and down, at one point, giving spectacular views of the bay and Southend in the distance. The road ended up at a desolate car park, perched on the edge of a cliff. The lighthouse was a mile down a 1 in 3 hill. I tried to go down, but my back at once indicated it was not happy. It’s a good job I only did a hundred yards or so, as it was a struggle back to the car. We headed off to Southend to find a bathroom, sheep scattering before us in all directions.
The only place was the pub. It was a quiet but friendly place, and the only other customer at the bar said hello. Turned out his name was Donny, and was the local soak. He gladly accepted the offer of a pint, and asked us a thousand questions. The postmistress walked it, the pub is also the post office, and spoke to Donny, seems like he missed the bus for work that morning, and was in the pub until his £10 ran out. He could certainly put them away, as pint after pint was drunk.
We took the A road back north: it ran along long golden beaches, small villages were scattered about. We stopped off in Lochgilphead for another bathroom break. It was another pub, stuck to the ceiling were about twenty football shirts of all teams: mainly Scottish of course. Once again, the locals were friendly; I say this because in some places, English are not welcome. I have had trouble in Wales and some parts of Scotland before.
Once back in Inveraray, I headed off into the town to the whiskey shop, as I heard they had a good selection. Indeed they did: I ended up with a 1969 Glen Grant, and a 16 year old Isle of Jura. After a days driving and retail therapy, what better way to relax than a pint at the George? That night, we did get what we ordered, and red meat with a chocolate sauce was interesting, though I doubt if I will be trying it again very soon.
The weather forecast for tomorrow is for showers, so the trip to Skye might not be on. Fingers crossed on that.
Tuesday July 5
Morning dawned with the sun pouring through the window, alas, it was not to last. We had the usual highland breakfast, without the black pudding. The choice for today was to go to:
1. Oban. If the weather was really rotten.
2. Isle of Skye
3. Or Loch Ness
The weather had turned cloudy, but was not too bad, and Mum really could not walk too far. Both Skye and loch Ness were long drives, but, we had time. We decided to see what the weather was like when the roads to either divided, some hours away.
We took the mountain road out of Inveraray, as we drove, the clouds rolled in. Soon, we descended into a wide valley, with a shallow, stone strewn river meandering across it. A stone castle sat on a small island where the river had been dammed. Just outside Oban, we turned off, and headed north across the Connell Ferry Bridge. Mum was already asleep, so missed the view from the narrow bridge. It was built as a railway bridge, but converted to road when the line closed. So, it is only wide enough for one car at a time. We came across a castle sitting on an island just off the coast, it was not marked, and I caught sight of it as we went through a village, found a place to pull over, and grabbed a shot.
We soon arrived in Fort William. We had visited here many years ago, and I remember it as just one street, with houses and hotels on both sides. Now, it is a sprawling town, with superstores and DIY stores all along the main road, now having lost any traces of quaintness. North of Fort William, we came to a greasy spoon caravan, sitting beside a loch. The turn off to Skye was only a few miles away, and we had yet to decide. I went and got a cup of coffee for us both. I asked the woman behind the counter, both and her 4 year old daughter said at the same time ‘Skye.’ So, Skye it was.
From Fort William to the Kyle of Lochalsh, it is 74 miles. And the road twists and turns, so it takes nearly two hours. We drove across mountains, moors, and through deep valleys. At each turn in the valley, one hoped the mountains were coming to an end. But, they went on. Although always heading downhill all the time. In due course, the valleys ended, and the coastline stretched out before us, a couple of miles away was the famous Eilean Donan Castle. As befitting such a scenic place, it was crowded with tourists, and to make matters worse, due to a sewer blockage, all toilets were closed. So enough time to grab a few pictures, and head off for working toilets. Not an easy task in the middle of the Highlands. The castle makes a great fuss about being a location for the Highlander films. Hmm, I just think it looks wonderful.
The road we were travelling on is known as the Road to the Isles, and the final town on the mainland if the Kyle of Lochalsh. It’s also the terminus of the rail line from Glasgow. So, it is reasonable to think that the town would be of some size. In fact, it’s a village, a fishing village really. The station has just one platform, and few trains came there now. Dominating the town and the sound between the mainland and the Isle of Skye beyond is the bridge to the isle. Crossing the bridge is now free, although until recently it cost more than two pounds. The ferry terminal lies now abandoned, as the bridge put it out of business. We were through Kyle before we realized, and so headed across the bridge to Skye. We followed the signs to the old ferry terminal on the isle. It is now a collection of huts and canteens, full of people on coach tours, not at all inviting. I had seen a sign to a county hotel as we turned off the main road, and so we headed back there.
It was a Victorian country house, the bar set in a small downstairs room. But, it was cosy, and the food good, we had hot sandwiches, and lovely draught beer. They had a bottle of 51 year old Glen Grant at £8 a tot. But, as I was driving I did not think it a good idea. After eating, we drove further onto the Isle, eventually to the town of Broadford. It is dominated by a twin peaked mountain. We rally did not have time to stay and look round, as it was four hours to get back to the hotel, so reluctantly, we turned round and headed back to the mainland. As we went further south, the weather gradually brightened, making it a very pleasant trip indeed. When we arrived back at Fort William, Ben Nevis was just about cloud free. It was nearly half past six by the time we returned to the hotel, and we had travelled 312 miles, and Mum had slept through most of it. Still, I enjoyed myself.
Wednesday July 6 We had been worried about heading home, as it was the first day of the G8 summit, and much disruption was predicted in Scotland. In the end, we had more trouble in getting past Loch Lomond, as the Scottish Open was due to begin the next day, and fans were queuing to see the last day of practice. We were only held up 10 minutes of so, and in the traffic, we got wonderful views across the Loch, to the heather covered hills beyond, all purple and green in the bright sunshine.
The rest of the trip was fine, really. Traffic was light, weather fine, and we made good progress. Just south of Leeds, we heard that London was to host the 2012 Olympic Games. We cheered, and laughed at the cries of anguish of the French, as they were sure they were going to win. We stopped off for a meal at a roadside place, rather than have to cook when we got back. The last three hours of the trip, across the fens of Lincolnshire were a nightmare. Rain poured down, and an almost solid convoy of truck meant that we made slow time. So, it was a relief to get to Kings Lynn, and then Norwich as we neared home.
Thursday July 7
I had so much planned for today. I thought I would start with a lazy breakfast, and then sort out clothes and documents for the trip. I had just finished breakfast at about ten, when the radio says there had been some power outages on the London Underground, and all services had been suspended.
I turned on the BBC news channel, and it soon became clear that something far worse had happened. News also came that a bus had exploded, and the full horror of the situation became obvious. I sat for hours dumbstruck at the images on the screen, how can people do this to one another? Nothing else seemed to matter.
Nothing got done that day.
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