Got a few more things to do:
Visit a Whisky distillery
Eat lunch at Hanoi Bike Shop in Glasgow's West End
Drive 200 miles to Yorkshire
Make it on time for my 3:22pm tee time
And one day left.
So first, I need some help. A Druid would come in handy. And I know where to find one.
It’s called The Devil’s Pulprit. There’s a scientific explanation for the red stream but I doubt Middle Ages people knew about it. It’s basically a crazy gorge in a small forrest on private land squeeze up between two fields. Look it up! After a short but Free Solo descent into the gorge, I spoke to the Druid.
Well he spoke to me. It went like this:
Ouhhh-ouhhh-ouhhhhh…
Yeah, Mr Druid, I get it. There’s no point in trying to stop the time or even slow it down so that I can do all the things I need to do on my last day in Scotland.
Ouhhhhhh-ouh.
I appreciate that. I’m gonna hike back to the car and get going. Let’s see what the day brings. No expectation.
And just like that, we parted ways. The Druid, who had taken the form of a white owl (try finding it on the picture - and if you can't, then this might help), must have been evil because he fucking cursed me.
First, a family showed up. Grandad, mom and two boys.I saw them struggle down the hike to the gorge. We chatted. They took pics of each others but couldn’t take a group pic. I offered to help take it. But it entailed joining them on a tiny island in the middle of the shallow steam. I hopped from rock to rock, made it safely, took the pics, hopped back, slipped on a mossy stone and took the next three (quick) steps ankle deep in the bloody water. Literally.
The hike back to the car was squishy. When I got to the tail head, I met a big dude and his son. They wore tracksuits, the locals favourite attire. Local tourists check the gorge. I offered to help by indicating the least dangerous route down the gorge (ie: avoid the stairs of hell)
The big guy looked at me sideways and mumbled “I know, mate. It’s me land, mate”.
Shit, I just told the owner of the private land I was kind of encroaching on how to navigate the treacherous terrain.
Red with embarrassment, I squished miserably up to the car.
Still unaware of been cursed, I used Google Map to go to the distillery instead of Waze because I had looked up the place in the morning on Google Map to get the opening time and I got lazy. I could have typed it on Waze but I didn’t. A road block 500 meters from the distillery forced me in a 12 miles detour. I still made it but now I’d wasted precious time. I kept the visit short, bought some booze at the shop and left without tasting a single drop of single malt.
On my way out, I noticed that sign:
Four words that would dictate if you live or die. Was it a sign from the Druid? Powerful…
I made it to Glasgow relatively quickly. Too quickly. Hanoi Bike Shop (the best Vietnamese restaurant in Glasgow as per Chris) was closed. It opened in one hour. I could wait and eat, or head to Yorkshire and make my tee time. I chooses Golf over food. I got meself a treat at a second hands book store.
A really nice édition of the Beagle’s voyage. Very on point.
The first 100 and so miles down to Yorkshire went ok. Busy highway but rolling. Then, 66 miles from Warlby Lodge, all hell broke loose. It started with a Waze report. 30 minus added immediately to the trip. Gut punch but I still had time to be at the Romanby Golf club on time.
A mile later, I was facing a sea of car on standstill over the highway’s four lanes. Waze read my thoughts and advised me to take a sharp left and exit the madness at J41. The initial intention was to ride the A6 (I think) but the news about the M1 jam had traveled fast. The A6 wasn’t an option anymore. But B5329 could work. Except the news about the A6 jam had traveled fast.
B5329 could not cope either with the excess traffic. It runs through tiny village with many red lights (red, like the Druids stream), roundabouts and 20mph narrow streets. I wasn’t moving. Golf be damned…
Sensing my distress, Waze tried one last gamble. A66 (I swear I’m not lying, look it up on a map). It was a risky move. A gunslinger move.
If A66 was gridlocked, I’d not only miss my tee time but probably also diner. Raul and Serena invited me to join them at a diner party at Patrick's, Raul’s agent. Honestly I did not wanna go. All my cloths were muddy and stinky, and I felt a bit anti social (I just spent 6 days practically alone). But I couldn’t say no to my friends. They always welcome me in their home and treat me like family.
By now, I’m sure you know what I did. A66. Gun blazing!!!
We made it to the start of home no 1 at 3:23. I took out the driver and without a warming shot, I drove 220 yards down the middle of the fairway. My best shot of the day. Raul sliced his drive deep in a forest, and hooked the mulligan into a field. Then he steadily improved and finished the front nine strong.
Yes, these are sheeps behind him. Good to see some animals alive in a field. Seen too many of’em horribly squashed on the road.
The diner party was awesome. Patrick and his wife are great hosts. I met a real cricketer and his Irish wife from the Connemara region. I felt like singing “Laaaaa-bas au Connemara, on dit que la vue, c’est une folie, et que la folie, ça se daaaaanse. »
Later, back at the Lodge, we tried the Whisky I bought them as a gift at the distillery. It was supposed to taste like wild berry, vanilla and spray mist. It tasted like Whisky. Scottish Whisky... Time to go home.