It had to happen (but not before time) – a weekend organised by me that didn’t feature rain. Instead we had sun,empty
roads and fantastic Highland scenery. The onshore Offshore Weekend was great.
I arrived at the Ullapool Hotel around 7pm, after making the 45-mile journey from Maryburgh, to find Mike M, Big Geoff, Gordon, Ian R and Roy settled comfortably in the lounge, spoiling the management’s dog, Ben and sipping cocktails. OK, the lastbit’s a lie. Not long after that we were joined by Heather, busy that weekend but making a guest appearance to see some old friends.
Dinner was ordered (how can one waiter get so confused?) and was worth the wait. Andrew arrived just in time to hoover up the leftover chips, then the leftover veg. They’re a thrifty lot on Mull.
The evening passed with a drink or two,  perusal of the latest Shaft (which I hand-delivered to save the club a few stamps), and assessment of the odds of Geoff staying upright the whole weekend. He’d already cheated by bringing his bike in a Transit –getting it out was pure Laurel and Hardy.
Roy was first to bed. I’d like to make that clear because it’s usually me. But it wasRoy, OK?
Next morning it wasn’t raining. There was eveen sun. So after breakfast, while we waited for Roy and Andrew to join us from the campsite, we hung around the car park and sneered at the Goldwings parked well away from us. Illuminated brake disc covers? I ask you! The Donnelly boys also joined us after overnighting in Inverness, so nine bikes made the run: three Kawasakis, three Hondas, two BMWs and a Suzuki.
The day’s run was planned to be a meander because several people had already done big miles to get there. So we rode north on the main road but soon turned off to sample the minor roads of Coigach, do the coastal loop above Achiltibuie, then take the even more minor road to Lochinver. We’d lost the sun but the weather stayed fine and the mountain scenery was superb. Stac Pollaidh is an impressive sight and I apologise to Mike for not taking a photo break.
Where we did break was the middle-of-nowhere cafe and bookshop at Inverkirkaig, a few miles before Lochinver, where tea and buns were taken. Above Lochinver (which is a dreary fishing harbour and not much else) is another coastal loop – one which I’d neverdone. It was worth the wait, as was the detour to Stoer lighthouse.
                     
Back on the main road, earlier than I’d expected, I got carried away and turned north again, destination Kinlochbervie. This is another dreary fishing harbour, but like Lochinver the road to get there is spectacular, and I thought everyone would appreciate a chance for speed after a day of dawdling round single-track roads at 30-40mph.Unfortunately, I’d forgotten Allan’s VN hasa range of 120 miles. We rode back toScourie at fuel-conserving speeds and he filled up his empty tank there. From there it was every man for himself back to Ullapool at the speed of your choice.
 I was followed by Roy for much of it, but he must have got fed up with my cowardly cornering because towards the end he overtook and shot off ahead of me. Show off.
Back at the hotel the last member of the gang had belatedly arrived – Jim from Glasgow, delayed the previous day by a dodgy starter motor. And his arrival meant shaft-drive Kwacks now made the biggest group. Hurrah!
The evening was more good food (though smaller portions – I reckon they didn’t want to feed the non-paying chip-monster again), more talk and an increased alcohol intake which ended at midnight with rounds of whisky. Mike started it, after a bottle of wine, and you know what they say about mixing the grain and the grape…
Next morning Mike was conspicuously absent at breakfast and Jim looked like he was only just holding on to life, although both made the day’s run. The only drop-outs were Ian R, who had a family function to attend in Elgin, and Allan, who preferred the hotel garden and the Sunday papers. Takes all sorts.
This time we headed south, the lack of petrol stations that open on a Sunday putting the kybosh on thoughts of a north coast run. So from Ullapool we turned west at Braemore Junction on the road to Gairloch where we stopped at the cafe for Mike to make up for his lack of breakfast. Huge buns and puds tempted the rest of us. This was the same cafe wheretwo years earlier Geoff had demonstrated the spectacular failure of his waterproof Batman suit. His only problem this time was a broken zip which allowed the wind to whistle in at an unfortunate place. He protected himself by stuffing a road atlas down the front of his trousers. (Is that a map in your pocket or are you just pleased to see me?)
After Gairloch we took another lighthouse detour, to Rubha Reidh, where we could look across the Minch to Lewis, Harris and Skye. Along the way we lost Andrew, who had the Mull ferry to catch.
Mike left the lighthouse first, determined to photograph the group at a corner he’d spotted further along the road. We found him much sooner than expected, his bike lying in the middle of the road and being watched by acouple in a BMW who obviously had no intention of getting out to help him. Mike, who'd caught a patch of gravel on a sharp corner, was unhurt. The pussy he’d earlier been fondling was probably still on his mind. The only damage to his Pan was a broken plastic cover on his crash bar.
Next stop (bar a photo opportunity at Loch Maree) was petrol at Kinlochewe where another gang of bikers were lounging in the sun and admiring their silver machines. We dubbed them the David Essex Fan Club. Then it was time for a zoom: Achnasheen, Lochluichart (and some spectacular HGV skid marks at one
of the bends), Garve and Braemore Junction again. There, after goodbyes, the gang continued to Ullapool and I went the other way, back to Maryburgh and work on Monday.
I’ve had no reports of subsequent excitement so I presume there were no other dramas and that Geoff safely loaded his bike back in theTransit.
Thanks to everyone who came and made it a great weekend. I’ll check the feasibility of a Western Isles weekend and report later.