Starting by pronouncing it 'Eddin-bra'. And drinking Scotch whisky instead of Irish whisky. And hating the English. That's all Edinburgh asks of you.
I can only appreciate so much beauty in one sitting before it blends into mush and I need a drink or a lie down. I remember going to the Salvador Dali exhibition, it was fascinating up to about the halfway point with the lobster-phone. I thought to myself 'oh, it's just a lobster phone' and that's when I knew I was over the exhibit and not appreciating what I'd paid for. Melty clock you're so booooooring, I want Playstation and crunchy chips. That's art for me. A this stage of the ride from Inverness back to Edinburgh, with perhaps another 180kms to go, beauty for me wasn't another snow-topped crag in a waterfall-strewn valley. Beauty was a double shot of Glenfiddich whisky with two cubes of ice. Beauty was somewhere to lie that had never been shat on by a squirrel. Can't actually guarantee that last one when staying at a hostel in the U of K.
Country road, take me home. I need city because city equals fresh bread loaf and fresh plastic cheese and the company of people who don't want your company, only your monies. It would be another day and a half before Edinburgh smacked me in the head/heart/wallet again. Having left my campy ground at about 9:30am after a relaxing nights kip beside Loch Ness, I followed the A82 slowly down to Loch Linnhe , about a hundred and something kays south. I'm liking setting up camp in the early afternoon, but it means not making much travel progress. I'm okay with that though. I ain't rushin' but my bike is. Ha. Russian. Have I made that pun before?
This was by far the shittiest campsite I'd ever stayed at. Over-charging, rude, smelly pirate hooker who ran the establishment, I couldn't park my bike on the grass, they had the gates locked at ten and ye couldn't leave until eight in the morning, what a cow. Nice view of the sunrise though. What a bitch, I hope she swallows her teeth. I ran into town in the evening for some chow. Grapes and a jar of hotdogs. Gosh that campsite harpy is a fuckhead. What a slapper, I'd like to slap her.
Hurry up morning. I spent my tent time reading that book I'd picked up last night, I tend to read until I fall asleep and drop the book, which wakes me up. Determined to get myself to Edinburgh asap, I was up at 7:30am packing, and sitting on my motorcycle in front of the gate by eight, waiting impatiently for the gates to be unlocked. I ended up leaving at around nine though, after a quick shower and fifteen minutes of brushing my teeth. Jar hotdogs make my mouth feel pickled. Leaving loch territory gave way to flat plains of marsh and swamp, otherwise known as moors. It's where the early Scots came to have picnics and dump dead bodies. Very windy out here. Bad kilt weather.
Northern Scotland was gorgeous, definitely the best sceneries I'd seen in UK so far, well it's kind of a tie with the lakes district back in England, but being here now I'd probably have to pick Scotland. Meh. Seen one fog-covered lake bordered by mossy trees, ya seen 'em all. Never thought I'd think this but I craved a motorway again, needed speed and civilisation. Edinburgh please. This time I'll do it properly.
