Scotland on a Triumph Sprint ST
Edinburgh's Royal Mile was a non-stop barrage of stimulation as I sat drinking a cappuccino with my nephew Robin last summer. Surrounded by stunning Georgian and Victorian architecture, a never-ending flow of tourists, locals, fire juggling street performers, double-decker buses, and even the occasional man in a kilt, the piece de resistance was the magical view through the buildings to the shimmering Firth of Forth at the bottom of town. Riding a motorcycle in Scotland for the first time in quarter of a century, I was enjoying a day in the saddle of the new Triumph Sprint ST with Robin and a chance to relax in one of the most beautiful cities in Europe.
I was in Scotland to take a Highland tour with my good friend Dennis Gage and his son Sam. With the addition of my "wee" 220-pound nephew along for a day, a good opportunity to check out the Sprint under load, so to speak, presented itself.
A couple of days later Dennis, Sam and I started our trip, but with school still in session, unfortunately Robin wasn't able to join us. As part of our mission in Scotland was to film a television documentary about our experiences, we didn't have to load the bikes down with luggage thanks to the support vehicle. We did make sure we were fully equipped in Motophoria's latest adventure touring gear though, as the weather in Scotland can turn harsh and cruel at a moment's notice. This turned out to be a wise move, because leaving the west coast basking in 80 degree sunshine we had no way of knowing how cold and damp it would get later on the Isle of Skye
[Hmmm? I wonder if the islanders like Skyy Vodka?--Ed. Only if they want to be burned for heresy! They drink delicious Talisker Scotch! - The Other Ed.]
We had crossed the River Clyde and cleared the seaside resort of Dunnoon before we had any chance to open the bikes up. Roaring along the A 83 at a steady 65-75mph in the afternoon sun, with the big three cylinder humming beneath me, I was having one of those perfect motorcycle moments. The view along Loch Fyne was of sparkling water, a gentle mountain range sparsely dotted with trees framing out the picture. The challenging two-lane roads were lightly trafficked, and lined with fir trees that sailed by in our peripheral vision. Topped by a light blue sky and clouds so white they could have come out of a laundry detergent commercial -- it could not have been more perfect.
Dennis had adapted to the Scottish life in moments, and every time we stopped he would busily engage some friendly local in conversation as we learned the history of the area we were traveling through. Scotland just keeps getting more rural as your travel further north, and leaving the modern world far behind we rode on in the warm sunshine, heading to a place where manners and customs still mean something. The landscape got harsher and more rugged; as did the people, and pausing to gaze across the Sound of Shuna we pulled our cameras out at the sight of Castle Stalker. Built by the Stewarts of Appin in the 16th century, it sits on a small islet at the edge of Loch Laich. A basic-looking three-story rectangular building, it was abandoned in 1780 and is only reachable on foot when the tide is out. Making for some picture postcard perfect photos we learned the current owner has been restoring it since 1960.
Having hiked and camped all through this area with my high school sweetheart many moons ago, I picked Fort William as a destination for the night and we motored on. With the picturesque town built on the edge of Loch Linnhe, and overshadowed by Scotland's highest mountain, Ben Nevis, it was a decision welcomed by the gang. The tight narrow high street, with quaint curiosity shops and pubs is most charming and Ft. William is a must if you are visiting this area.
Our start the following morning was slow and leisurely as we debated a couple of options to cross to the Isle of Skye. Electing to take the more direct route, we stopped for a photo opportunity at the top of Loch Shiel. Staring up at the massive viaduct made famous in the Harry Potter movies, and gazing at a huge statue of a kilted highlander in memory of Bonnie Prince Charlie, it was one of those moments when you have to pinch yourself to see if you are dreaming it was just so magical. Roaring off into a tunnel of trees along the twisting, winding two-lane road, we positively flew up to the lonely port town of Mailag where we would pick up our ferry.
The Isle of Skye took a whole day for us to circumnavigate, and gave us some wild weather as we toured this fascinating island. Primed by the tourist board's headline, "500 million years of history whispers across the inlets, cliffs, mountains and glens of Skye, the Island and Lochalsh," we marveled at the jagged peaks of the Cuillin Mountains, stood in awe at Dunvegan Castle and froze our arses off crossing to the quaint fishing village of Portree. Battling strong winds and occasional slashes of ice-cold rain across my face shield, I ducked down behind the Sprint's fairing and weathered the storm.
Riding in midsummer, the sun comes up early and our last day on the road saw us enjoying a variety of incredible activities again. The misty, magical castle grounds at Rothiemurchus; a fast-paced race to the top of the Cairngorm mountains for the uninterrupted views that stretched for miles in front of us, and some of the tightest, narrowest single track roads of the journey. Ending with a spectacular ride across the Erskine bridge that crosses the River Clyde, we had come full circle as we made our way back to my sister's house in the small town of Houston. It had not been a journey of epic mileage, but that had never been our mission. We came to enjoy this sparsely-populated country that is steeped with fascinating history and blessed with its own uniquely beautiful landscape.
Throw in top-quality roads, first-class company and a motorcycle that must surely be a contender for Sport Tourer of the year, and as any good Scotsman will tell you, "you canny whack it."
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