Since my ankle was still in a cast, we had, after much back and forth, been able to arrange for a car with handicap controls (the yanks had decided not to brave lefthand traffic this time either). I was expecting something like the handicap cars you will see in Norway, with hand controls on the wheel, but alas it was not to be. We actually talked to the guy who installed our system, he made a living installing these things all over Scotland and seemed happy as a clam; I know I would have been in his position.
Anyway, the actual handicap system was a laughably primitive contraption. It consisted of two thin, metal rods attached to the brake and the gas pedal respectively and at the top, near the wheel they were attached to a small plastic handle. It had a hole in for the brake so that one could perform that operation without revving the engine at the same time. When we arrived at our car, we just stared at it and laughed; it looked like (and felt like) something out of a steampunk novel; some mad alternative reality where you'd still have to pump steam to get the vehicle up to speed.
We first set course for Stirling. Along the way I pointed out the Kelpies, which duly impressed the yanks and I also made a quick stop at Bannockburn to show them the memorial and to talk a little bit about the country's uneasy and complex history with its southern neighbor. We then went up to the castle, where we spent a good, long time strolling around while I talked and talked (I'm sensing a theme here) and they took pics.
After Stirling, it was a quick trip up to lovely Callander where we spent an incredible Wednesday evening at the weekly singalong at the Old Rectory Inn with the guys from the band Pure Malt. I think the yanks thoroughly enjoyed themselves, I know I did. The only tragedy came the next morning, when Court and I ordered haggis for our breakfast and poor Albie lost her appetite due to the smell.
Yours truly attempting to navigate 21st century technology. It usually ends in tears.
After breakfast (this diary is written in late June, but backdated) we set course for Mallaig, where there's a ferry connection to Skye. However, our first stop was literally right up the road at the Mill, a rest stop for busloads of tourists to the Trossachs who all pour out in the shop's parking lot for a stretch, a cup of coffee and hopefully to buy something from the well stocked souvenir shop. I quickly went in and came out with a couple of small bags of veggies for the lovely little hairballs that grace the adjacent field; yes I'm talking about the shaggy coos!
Wantses.
Nom, nom.
Moooooore!
Carrots, which contain more sugar than animals normally get, is like chocolate to humans so that was a big favorite but she was so, so gentle in taking the food from my hand. The yanks took pictures and after a couple of minutes a busload of tourists from various places showed up. It was time to move on. We then drove through the outer edge of the Trossachs and up to the Falls of Dochart. Here, I got my first disappointment as the lovely stream did not meet with approval from her Highness, who thought them "ok, but not pictureworthy". Well, I never! We pressed on and they started gawping at the scenery when we reached the area just above Tyndrum, where the real Highlands begin. We even stopped a couple of times along the A-82, at Loch Tulla and at Kings House Hotel to take pics.
Some lovely mountains.
The A-82, in particular the distance between Tyndrum and Glencoe, is one of my favoritestest roads in world.
As usual, there was a herd of deer hanging out at the Kings House Hotel. Spring is the season the bucks shed their antlers, which often causes some of them to look retarded mid-process.
The mighty mountains to the west of the hotel.
We then drove down the long single-lane road to Loch Etive, accompanied by more oohing and aahing from the 'muricans. After an overpriced lunch at the hotel, we drove on towards Glencoe. We dutifully stopped to take pics at the Meeting of the Three Waters and I talked about Monty Python's Holy Grail movie, which was partially shot in this area and about the Massacre of 1692.
Later, we also stopped at Glenfinnan, where I talked a bit about the uprising of 1745 and about what an airhead Bonnie Prince Charlie was.
Close to Mallaig, we took a detour off to Loch Morar. I was completely new to this particular area so it came as a nice surprise to me too that there was a lovely body of water here. We passed some sheep along the way and had a couple of hairy meetings with other drivers; as is usual with single lane roads, the locals tend to drive like maniacs.
Lovely lake.
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