Day 3 of Bike Tour or It's a Small World

One of my destinations, for my three-year world tour on bicycle, was Glencoe, Scotland. As it is an infamous location, due to my family, the Campbell’s, massacring the MacDonald’s.

Gratefully, the rain abated as I rolled into the town. I asked a local as to a possible bed & breakfast and was directed to a wee cottage. The couple that ran it were most kind and impressed that I was from Canada and riding a bicycle by myself. After getting settled, I wheeled up to the top of one of the mountains where I had a panoramic view of the Highlands.

As I sat surrounded by Scotch Thistles, I tried to go back in time to feel the horrible events of that day, several hundreds of years ago. Friends in Glasgow had actually warned me to not say I was a Campbell once I got up into the Highlands. I just laughed. But it’s true. They still harbour ill will over this event. Heck, the MacDonald’s did more killing of us than we did of them! We just got some bad press.

As my luck would have it, I blew a tire as I was speeding down the mountain. I had stupidly left all my pannier bags, including my repair kit, at the cottage. It was a several mile hike back to town.

I felt like a returning hero, home from a successful skirmish with the enemy, as I staggered into town, carrying my wounded compatriot, The Beast, over my shoulder with blood on my face, knees and elbows.

My hostess was most distressed at my arrival. I downplayed it. “Fret not, my fair lady, I have endured worse encounters. Why, did I ever tell you about the time I came face to face with a bear?” She insisted I have a wee dram of scotch to straighten myself out, as I was obviously rambling at this point.

After a shower and fresh clothes I was ready for some grub and grog. My hosts directed me to the only pub in town.

There were only two tables occupied as I took my usual seat of “back to the wall and facing the door”. I ordered a pint and fish and chips. Just as I started in on my meal, I heard a loud, raucous noise as a bunch of kids entered the bar. They were all in leather jackets and very short hair. “Skinheads”, I thought to myself. “Oh crap, they’re gonna swarm me!” Yup, they proceeded to sit all around me.

One girl started eating my chips and a bloke took a swig of my beer. I nonchalantly leaned back into my seat, with furtive, pleading glances at the barkeep to bloody well hurry up and call in the coppers.

There were five girls and eight guys. I quickly ascertained that there appeared to be one of each sex a tad older than the rest and about my age. Then, one of them spied my lapel pin of the Canada flag. “Are you from Canada, mate?” Well, it turns out, these were new army recruits out for some mountain climbing.

The lieutenant of the lads then asks me where I was from. “Toronto”.
“Oh, do you know the area of Maple and Woodbridge?”
“Grew up there!”
“Well, do you know the Ishoys?”
“Went to school with them!”

This lad had spent two years working at the horse stable where Jim Elder and Big Ben had trained! Probably the most famous Canadian equestrian duo, ever!

When they saw how I polished off my beer, they cajoled me into a pint race with their champ. I just laughed until this behemoth clears his way through the throng around my table. I gulped as I continued to scan my eyes up his towering mass. But I had enough liquid courage in me already to take up the challenge.

The poor boy looked quite downtrodden as I polished mine off before he was even half way through his goblet. Cheers rang out, pats on my back and I was made an honourary member of the unit.

They taught me all sorts of bawdy army songs as we continued to party into the night. Until, gratefully, the call rang out from the barkeep, “Time Everyone!”

The lieutenant asked me if I wanted to go mountain climbing with them the next day. “Shurr, matey, I’d luv to” I heard myself slur out. We made arrangements of when and where to meet the next morning and set our chronometers in preparation for this great sortie.

Neither my head, nor body, greeted six am at all favourably. I realized that I was not in the best shape for defying gravity at several thousand feet, so I opted for a few more hours of downtime.

I finally dragged my corpse out of bed and felt semi-human after a shower. I loaded up The Beast and as I headed out of town I had a bus pass me. With heads out the window all yelling, “Willie! Willie! Willie!” People on the street turned to see who was this demi-god amongst their midst.

“Go back to your lives, citizens. It is only, I, Bacchus, the god of excessiveness. Don’t worry about your women and children. I’m leaving town now.”

As I painfully pedaled out of town and into the next (mis)adventure.

Then it started to rain.