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Author Topic: The death of summer  (Read 215 times)

banquo

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The death of summer
« on: October 21, 2018, 10:46:51 pm »
October is the new September here in Scotland. Normally at this time of year, the frosts have arrived, the roads are covered in salt, and the bikes have pretty much gone to bed for the winter. This year, although the weather has been mixed, it hasn't been that cold, and there's been a welcome extension to the riding season.

Last weekend was a visit to Kinlochleven with the Scottish Branch of the Moto-Guzzi club, which I joined last year, having enjoyed their Scottish Rally. Unfortunately, the Friday departure coincided with the arrival of Storm Callum, with winds of 70-80 mph, and torrential rain.
It also coincided with the funeral of a great man, one Tom Murphy, who's been suffering from terminal prostate cancer for several years, but didn't let that stop him from organising and participating in the Killin Distinguished Gentleman's Ride for the past three years. This year, he made it for the last time, and as if it knew, his BSA A65 dropped onto one cylinder on the way home, and Tom died a week later.
A very brave man, and an inspiration to all of us who took part in his DGR.



Killin is on the way to Kinlochleven from my place, so it was an easy choice to combine the funeral with the ride up.
According to the forecast, there should have been a dry window for my ride from Perth to Killin, but as is so often the case, they lied, and although I set off without the hated oversuit, the rain came on shortly afterwards, joined by a brisk wind, that turned into a howling gale as we approached the destination. What I took to be fog, was actually the water being lifted clean off the surface of Loch Earn, and blown across the road which was also peppered with small branches from the overhanging trees. I realised too late I was heading straight into a flood, and raised plumes of cold water as we ploughed into it, getting thoroughly soaked in the process, but managed to stay on, which was some consolation. A small gaggle of bikes had gathered at the Old Smiddy, where some generous soul had provided very welcome hot tea, to warm the frozen fingers, and restore some inner heat.
We escorted the motorcycle hearse down to the Kirk for the service, and then, in torrential rain, to the cemetery, a beautiful spot, overlooking the mountains and the end of Loch Tay.

A fine place for Tom's final rest.

After the traditional funeral tea, and ignoring the second forecast dry window between Killin and Kinlochleven, I donned my wetsuit, and headed West into the storm.

Tom Funeral by bancquo, on Flickr

To be entirely honest, it wasn't too bad at first; windy, but not the worst I've seen. However, as we climbed the Black Mount onto Rannoch Moor, the elevation and lack of shelter made things a whole lot worse, and sudden gusts would fling the bike sideways, once taking me over the white line, although fortunately nothing was coming the other way. Approaching Glencoe, I rounded a bend and was met with the full force of the wind into my face, as the bike seemed to come almost to a halt, and I had to select 3rd gear to maintain any progress. Entering the glen itself, I'd expected the glowering mountains to provide some semblance of shelter, but they merely encouraged the wind to whip around, and send gusts from entirely unexpected directions, taking me by surprise. You can't see the wind in this shot, but I was seriously concerned that even the weighty Mighty Falcone might get blown over...

Glencoe by bancquo, on Flickr

Glencoe 3 by bancquo, on Flickr

The roads were completely dry by this time, and although the surface had been wet most of the way, it hadn't rained much if at all. From this we can deduce that if Jake has his wetsuit on, it will be dry, and if not, it will rain, possibly in Biblical proportions...
After Glencoe, the ride along Loch Leven was relatively calm, and I was checked in at our Log Cabin before the rain arrived just a few minutes later.

cabins by bancquo, on Flickr

kinloch friday by bancquo, on Flickr

On the plus side, at this time of the year, the terrible midgies have retreated for the winter, so at least we avoided the hundreds of bites that usually characterise visits to this part of the country.

I seemed to be the first there, but others gradually arrived as the afternoon progressed, and soon we were busily attempting to drink the bar dry of Trade Winds (Cairngorm Brewery).

Pub Friday by bancquo, on Flickr

The storm had taken its toll though, and the Mighty Falcone was one of only two bikes there, and the only Guzzi...

bikes by bancquo, on Flickr

It was a late night, and the rain never ceased, but suitably anaesthetised, and tucked up in our cosy shed, that was no problem at all. Saturday was another matter, and when I awoke with a stinking cold, and it was clear the rain was on for the day, I took advantage of an offer to spend the day being chauffeured around in the glaur, taking in the sights of Appin and Argyll from the warmth of a car.

Choosing a tiny single track road from Oban towards Taynuilt through Glen Lonan, we round a bend to discover the road blocked by a tractor and farm trailer, grossly, and highly illegally overloaded with a huge and filthy Portacabin. Forward planning has clearly been far from the minds of the three burly men attempting to make it turn into the tight farm entrance, but they are undeterred, unhitch the tractor (which is left running in the field for the next half hour or so - red diesel being so cheap) and somehow attach the tow-hitch of the creaking trailer to a tracked excavator which allows them to raise and lower it, as well as push and pull... I don't imagine they carried out much of a risk assessment first. We're stopped in the middle of the road, the rain keeps teeming down, but none of the participants in this Scottish Pantomime says a word to us.

porta1 by bancquo, on Flickr

porta2 by bancquo, on Flickr

Eventually, it becomes clear that the fence needs to be sacrificed to the greater glory of the Portacabin, and several rotted fence posts snap as the behemoth swings round to face the entrance...

porta3 by bancquo, on Flickr

Of course, the tractor is trapped in the field now, and can't reach the front of the trailer, so they're forced to use the excavator to crawl the outfit up the steep and muddy road.

porta4 by bancquo, on Flickr

porta5 by bancquo, on Flickr

We've been here about half an hour now, but not a single vehicle has arrived in either direction, as the entourage reaches a grinding halt at the top of the hill. It's not clear if it's grounded, or they can't find any way of unhitching the crawler without the whole shebang crashing back down the hill (into the farmer who has placed himself directly in its path), but activities cease, and the farmer, belatedly, apologises for the hold-up.

porta6 by bancquo, on Flickr

Although it's tempting to wait and see what might happen next, the rain is running down our necks, so we pile back into the car, and drive for no more than a mile before we find our path barred yet again, not by machinery this time, but by a living and breathing road block of extra rare steak, although it's always hard to think of our Heilan' Coos as a source of food as they gaze, genially, at the bulk of our ancient BMW 525, and show no interest at all in moving.

coo screen by bancquo, on Flickr

coo2 by bancquo, on Flickr

coo5 by bancquo, on Flickr

Eventually, coaxing noises out the car window persuade the beasts to move on, and we get back to camp just as the rain stops, creating a landscape shrouded in mist, followed by a magnificent sunset

pap by bancquo, on Flickr

high road by bancquo, on Flickr

sunset3 by bancquo, on Flickr

sunset5 by bancquo, on Flickr

After another night of enforced alcoholic excess, we wake to a crisp, clear morning, the remnants of mist clinging to the tree lined mountains like a passing steam train, and the surface of the sea loch like a mirror.

mist train by bancquo, on Flickr

reflect2 by bancquo, on Flickr

reflect by bancquo, on Flickr

A perfect day for the ride home, and a whole world away from Friday's 'challenging' ride.

« Last Edit: October 23, 2018, 12:31:26 pm by banquo »

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banquo

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The death of summer (2)
« Reply #1 on: October 22, 2018, 02:09:17 pm »
I arrive back home to a message from the 'seat man' to whom I gave a blasted and powder-coated seat pan back in early May, with a promise of a price by the following week. Of course I was still waiting more than 5 months later, despite several visits to chase him up, the most recent being just before last weekend's trip, where I forced a price out of him, and secured a promise that the job would finally be done.
And it was.
I'd had no intention of fitting the seat to the Mighty Falcone, and it was instead intended for my Panther, whose dual seat is both ugly and very awkward to fit and remove (and it has needed fitting and removal far too many times of late). However, on collecting the seat, in all its glory, and compared it with the tape-covered magnificence of my stock seat, it seemed insane not to at least give it a try.

gaffa seat by bancquo, on Flickr

Note Nikwax waterproofer on the seams; although it's a lovely job, he waited until it was finished before mentioning it would leak through the stitched seams. Obvious really, but not to me. We'll just have to see how it works out.

newseat by bancquo, on Flickr

I'm surprised to discover that the bike is due its 3rd oil change of the year, having been used somewhat more than most years, and those 3000 km changes come around all too quickly. It's a good excuse to ignore the stinking cold I picked up, pull on the leathers, and head for the hills, resplendent in their autumn finery.

black cloud by bancquo, on Flickr

Ford by bancquo, on Flickr

NF leaves by bancquo, on Flickr

NF leaves2 by bancquo, on Flickr

Oil changed, the bike sits ready for our final event of the year, the 3rd Wee Smokey in Arbroath. The forecasters have promised a fine day, but I wake up to rain battering off the roof. Waiting until it eases a little, I finally wheel the bike out of the garage, and apply a bright yellow polythene bag to the seat. It's still raining, and I don't want the new seat to get a soaking on its first outing, and the Nikwax mentioned above is being brought to the event by another NF riding friend.
As is so often the case after changing the oil (why?) the bike seems to be running well, and we make good progress out of Perthshire, and into the rolling fields of Angus. It's tattie howking time, and as we pull off the main road onto the maze of back roads towards Arbroath, the surface is a sea of wet mud dumped by the many tractors, punctuated by wet leaves, just to make sure you keep your wits about you.
It's a very mud spattered Nuovo Falcone that arrives in Arbroath, and you can tell just by looking at the bikes which ones have chosen the cross country route...

mud by bancquo, on Flickr

There's a late Rocket III underneath the clag...

rocket III mud by bancquo, on Flickr

I spend far too much time socialising, and far too little photographing, so there's not much to show for the 120 or so bikes that braved the morning's weather, but here are a few:

MV 150 by bancquo, on Flickr

Marion A10 by bancquo, on Flickr

Goldie by bancquo, on Flickr

Firebird by bancquo, on Flickr

Andrew V7 by bancquo, on Flickr

Alan Panther by bancquo, on Flickr

By the time I'm ready to head for home, the sun is beating down, albeit a bit wanly, on the tarmac, and I decide to take a more indirect route to make the most of this unseasonal weather.

NF Danger by bancquo, on Flickr

These plans are somewhat dashed when I discover that the reason for the excellent performance on the way to Arbroath was a stiff wind at my back, and that's now right in my face, turning the Mighty Falcone into a dull sluggard. The low sun is also in my eyes most of the way home, and I end up riding one-handed for much of the way, the other acting as a sun visor. We stop at the Beech Hedge in Meikleour on the way home, the tallest hedge in the world, planted in 1745 and trimmed every ten years to 30m tall, dwarfing the wee Falcone.

beech by bancquo, on Flickr

Possibly that's it for another year, but perhaps the Gods will smile on us a few more times before Spring finally lifts the winter that inevitably will arrive at some point soon, but with this in the forecast for next weekend, it looks like it's time to tuck the bikes up for now....

forecast by bancquo, on Flickr
« Last Edit: October 23, 2018, 07:45:55 pm by banquo »

JamesNFalconaut

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Re: The death of summer
« Reply #2 on: October 24, 2018, 01:17:52 pm »
Banquo - fine tales yet again.
Scottish Tourism should have you on the payroll.
Coos 2 and 5 are blow-ups
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banquo

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Re: The death of summer
« Reply #3 on: October 24, 2018, 01:35:57 pm »
Glad you liked it James; we don't have inflatable coos up here though....  ;D