It’s wet and foggy, but not pouring down. Thought I overslept, but no, I woke up 0700 without any reason. Quickly packed my stuff and off I went to Bamburgh. And once again met an example of one of the most beautiful cars ever, in sport british racing green. Dig that!
Amongst others, I arrived before the opening hours. So, let’s start my fuel cooker – what a monster – right under the nose of the watchman and make myself some coffee. Could you imagine a better view for your morning coffee + cigar? Me neither.
Well, when entering the Castle, I learned Prince Charles could have been offended by my actions, ‘cause he was present. What the hell do I care, I met Bundeskanzler Kohl when I was 9. Such things make you less impressed by persons.
But by views. And views, Bamburgh HAS to offer.
Also, they are digging up archeological sites right in the middle of it. Totally cool.
Also, the castle is well suited for kiddies. It describes them mediaval games, you know, the nice, political correct ones. Not the real ones, played in the street. But it's educational worthy also, since it teaches them about Bamburgh having the first signaling system for ships in danger. Small cannons with which the kiddos may play. Totally cool, also. The whole place is, except for the exhibition, possibly. That one is nice, some ming vases here and weaponary there, but nothing spectacular. Still interesting, that most of the weapons shown there are of German origin or Italian – almost none from UK. Did not find out, why. Worth the entry fee, nonetheless, 'cause your wifes can have a look at how their kitchen could have looked, if they were lucky enough to be born a century ago.
To be honest? I loved this kitchen. Want to have one of these for my own.
Including the huge chimey-fire, smokery and bakery oven, of course. Namm namm namm!
How I would love to drink my Mead out of those:
Oh and all you "I am a princess!" girlies? That
And you are only allowed to wear it after taking on the attitude to behave
like a princess.
Mind you, I treat you exactly for what you are...so I actually am willing to carry you on the arms. Possibly.
When I found the exit out of the Dungeon, my Beloved had acquired company. How I hated to be required to part them.
At the end, I rushed of to Melrose Abbey.
The town Melrose itself is a neat little place, no worries.
But they wanted me to actually pay 5.50 GPB to enter the site and look at an old Abbey. I DO like ruins, of course, but it would have been very unscottish to not just stick the camera through the gates, take a view shots and ride on. Tourist rip-off, I call that. Bastards.
Next goal: Glenfiddich Distillery. Twohundred Miles and the GPS tells me, I’ll be arriving after 6. I figured I would be too late, but just like with Scarborough: without going there, I would never know. I actually was WAY late (they close at 1630!) – but again, I couldn’t care less.
You know what I learned? There is soooo much to see here, I could never see it all. Every moment I could stop and awe in wonder. I could set up my tent and go hiking – which I totally dig, by the way. But then I would not go anywhere at all and miss even more. So I can actually just do what I am here for and RIDE without minding one single thing. And, suddenly, somewhere in the Highlands, something made CLICK. Without taking notice, I pushed the big Aprilia beast just like the Sports(touring)bike it’s supposed to be, for the first time in three days I forgot the weight and it’s instability. Mind you, I even took snapshots of the bends. And the suicidal Nazivampirezombiesheep of doom of death from outer space +3. She probably liked it, maybe I was a bit hard on tires and brakes and will come to regret that later, but for once I felt in union with my beautiful strong Lady. By the way, I rode my first single track road en route. This again was so awesome I didn't take much photos and none worth posting.
Of course, I am still a Pussy compared to the regular BMW GS rider. And I am still a wimp compared to the Supersports Kneescraper Squids – in their eyes, at least. Not to be mentioned being a pants shittin babie compared to Supermoto rides. Still, I felt good. Life’s good. And what’s else there to matter ‘bout, hmn?
In Glenfiddich (along Whisky Trail, never heard of it before actually riding on it), my GPS told me the sun would set in only 4 hours, so I could just as well move on to Inverness. Thus, I probably have more time tomorrow and will make it in time to Pulteney Distillery – or any other, maybe one on the West Side of Scotland, Oban, Bruchladdich, Caol Ila, whatnot.
And enjoy the ride, of course. ;-)
Finally, put my tent down in a Camp Site 40-50 kilometers before Inverness and here, in the office of the friendly guy, am writing this log.
My tent neighbour is a philosophical teacher, John, which as I overheard on the phone and talked with him about, has the same idea as me. You can’t see everything. Doesn’t matter. Do what you like to. For me its riding, for him its Birdwatching and teaching 'troublesome' kids in Leeds.
And thus enough of wisdom for now, I end the day.
is it actually a rule that the tour guides in distilleries need to be bleach blonde, as placeface as possible in completely black clothes?
wouldn't it be a great
way of spending Christmas with my buddies, rolling and drinking along the Whisky Trail? Not a big fan of Speysides we are, so we can do the same on the Isle of Islay.
Hey pals! What'd ya say?