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Scottish Highlands:

Into the GreenA ride through the land of whisky, castles and coos makes you ask, Who wears the skirt in this clan anyway?STORY AND PHOTOS BY JAMIE ELVIDGE

Bagpipe music is truly obnoxious, especially if you happen within 20 feet of the piper, wherethe shrill tones are absolutely deafening. “I think it’s meant to be heard from a distance,” a fellow lookie-loo shouts over the din as we rush past the kilted offender, cringing as we attempt to gain entry into oneof Scotland’s most popular attractions, the Eilean Donan Castle. One of the most photogenic castles inthe Highlands, Eilean is often referred to as “Highlander Castle” after the 1986 movie Highlander wasfilmed here. On this summer day, Eilean Donan is the address of one kitschy bagpiper, about a thousandexcited sightseers and one motorcycle journalist who just wants to get a good shot and run.

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Thankfully, only a couple of dots on the Scotland map are sotouristy. Most of the countryside is dotted by sheep, not peo-ple. And best of all, the roads winding across the fabled moun-tains and glens are marvelously motorcycle-friendly. The ridingalone had been worth the journey.

Four days earlier I’d begun my exploration in Edinburgh,which I’d heard rivaled London for beauty and architecturaldetail. While Scotland’s capital city is missing the verve so immi-nent in London, it is rather extraordinary to the eye and worthyof some foot travel, though one day of urban trawling was all Icould stand before throttling my borrowed BMW R1150Rnorth, toward the home of the Highlanders. Just as you’d expect,the castles are everywhere. From 12th-centuryhilltop affairs to the more modern, sprawlingpalaces. I stumbled into my first castle experi-ence not far outside of Edinburgh in the ruraltown of Doune. I’d missed famous StirlingCastle, which I’d earlier scrawled on the map asa stop, but had somehow blown by in my rushto be free of the city. Instead I ended up follow-ing signs to Doune, a 14th-century castle com-pletely vacant of tourists. So much so that atfirst I’d thought it was closed to the public.

As you all know, it’s often those unintended, off-the-beaten-trackstops that are most rewarding. This wasn’t the grandest castle, orthe most storied, but it was all mine. Well, except for the elderlyBrit I met mid-tower who—between jokes involving George Bushand Tony Blair—filled me in on some lore about this medievalroyal household, where even the original privy was intact.

As I left Doune, I decided I shouldn’t get stuck in a game ofconnect-the-tourist-attractions, but rather would let my trip flowdepending on moment-to-moment seductions. My first taste ofreal motorcycle touring in rural Scotland came as I followed thewell-marked Trail of the Trossachs, a network of windy roads thattraverse the Loch Lomond and the Trossachs National Park.

These hills and grand loch, or “lake,” make upthe border between Scotland’s “Lowlands” and“Highlands.” Rob Roy became famous in theseparts as Scotland’s Robin Hood, and a whole vis-itor’s center exploring the subject can be foundin Callander, which looked like a nice place tostay if you want to get to know this popular parkmore intimately. Me? I was already feeling heat-ed about Scotland’s oh-so-rideable roads and thewell-trained, respectful drivers who shared them.All I wanted to do was ride.

YOU GO… NO, YOU GO…The farther north you ride, the more common one-lane roadsbecome. For each of these roads, there is a system of staggeredpullouts that work surprisingly well. If you have a pullout onyour side in the last section before your bike and an oncomingvehicle would pass, then it’s your responsibility to pull over andwait for the oncoming traffic to go by. Note these long pulloutsalternate from left side to right side about every 30–50 yards, soyou almost never wait long enough to put your foot down. Andmore often than not, the car or truck driver opposing you willpull over and politely wait for you to pass even when it’s tech-nically your responsibility to give way. This is because people inScotland revere motorcycles, and everywhere you go, you aretreated with this kind of pleasant deference.

As it was explained to me, “Everyone who lives in Scotlandeither rides bikes or knows and loves someone who does.” Itreally feels that way, too, and it might be true, judging by how

The Scottish are funny even when they’re not trying to be. Someitems that made me laugh particularly hard were the hairy cows,

elder crossing signs, Benny Hill phone booths—which were alwayssituated in the absolute middle of nowhere—and this breakfast

cereal (upper right) I spied in the grocery. So, what? If you eat thisevery morning you’ll grow big and strong…and wear a skirt?

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many bikes are on the road. No matter where I went, driverswere exceedingly polite, and off the bike, not one time did I geta backward “oh it’s a biker” glance, even from the old fogies,who, by the way, are plentiful in Scotland. (Or maybe it justseems like an elder boom, because there, unlike in the States,people don’t seem intent on fighting age. They rather embracegetting old, hence all the gray heads and laugh lines.)

LOCH IT UPThere are 30,000 lochs in Scotland, which means you spend alot of your time riding around them, and whipping along therivers that connect each. Glens are just as plentiful, and theroad through Glen Orchy, on my way to Glencoe, was an out-standing highlight—a true one-laner, flashing back and forthalong the river Etive, complete with waterfalls and meanderingstone fences. This was the beginning of the Scotland of myimagination. From here north, the scenery was postcard-scenic, green and lush and dramatic.

My wandering took me northwest, beneath the peaks ofThree Sisters and up for an out-and-back through GlenEtive, another breathtaking single-laner, before droppinginto Fort Williams to rest before catching a series of ferries tothe Isle of Skye.

Once you get used to all the sheep, and men in tartan skirts,the only things keeping you from your dream state while ridingthrough the western Highlands are the incessant flyovers of mil-itary aircraft. Sure, it’s exciting and fun to watch when you seeor hear them coming, but there’s nothing like a fighter jetsneaking up your tailpipes, and the resonant crack that follows,to make your small hairs jump. Even the sheep don’t seem tospook from the constant maneuvering, but it’s something Inever stopped being goosed by. Locals say it’s nothing new,though, just where the UK’s military plays with toys, kind oflike Death Valley in California or Park City, Utah.

Isle of Skye is a part of Scotland no visitor should miss. Iarrived by ferry, via Mallaig, where the ocean waters are so clearand beaches so golden, you’re tempted to wade in like it’s theCaribbean. Of course, the fact that you’re swaddled in cold-busting gear reminds you where you are. Scotland is chilly, haveno doubt. I had several rides in the sun, but none were espe-cially warm—even if the weather report dubbed conditions“hot” that week. Think mid-60s at the warmest. The sheepmight have been “hot.”

Isle of Skye should be famous for its beauty alone, but it’s for-ever connected to Bonnie Prince Charlie (not our not-so-bon-

nie Charles), who in the 18th century found himself overcomewith fury that his family, the Stuarts, had lost the claim of theRoyal Crown. He brought an army from France and battledhard to win back the throne, though ended up defeated and onthe run. He snuck over to the Isle of Skye disguised as a woman,and from there was able to steal back to France. A strange story,indeed, but one the locals seem oddly proud of.

The Scottish are proud of a few other things, too: maltwhisky, wool and Sean Connery among them. Kilt Rock shouldbe on top of the list, for its spectacle of a waterfall, plummetingto the sea from cliffs that didn’t look even vaguely like a man-skirt to me. I stayed in the colorful harbor town of Portee, so Icould do the northern loop of the Isle on A87/A855, twice. Itwas that remarkable. The first day I did it from west to east andthe next morning turned the loop backward, even though itcost half a day with all the eye-popping photo ops. That put mea little behind getting to the aforementioned HighlanderCastle, where my bagpiper was waiting.

THE BIG GREENI broke off from my accidental clique of tourists before I’d evencrossed the castle’s causeway, almost running for my bike. I had

Everywhere you ride in theHighlands you’ll find postcard-perfect scenes, like this waterfallpouring off the edge of the Isleof Skye (far left), or the Inveraraycastle (above). Even the detailsare magnificent. Any directionyou point your camera—or yourbike—seems perfect.

“Everyone who lives in Scotland either ridesbikes or knows and loves someone who does.”

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what I wanted—a reminder of the view, not another stuffy tourof ancient towers. Call me a naysayer, but I had a seen-one-castle-you’ve-seen-them-all attitude by this point. What I wasafter were the roads of Scotland. I couldn’t get enough!

I headed farther north on A835 toward the town of Ullapool,which I’d heard was a jewel, but found it’s the scenery sur-rounding the little fishing-village-turned-ferry-stop that’s of realvalue. It’s all open space, all green and all empty, except for theoccasional herd of sheep or rock outcropping. This area ofScotland suffered a dark period in the early 1800s, when theHighland Clearances occurred. These were waves of forced dis-placement, in which the homelands of local clans were surren-dered to provide grazing land for sheep. Today, there are stillmore sheep than people, and even more coos, it seems. Thecoos, huge, hairy, comical-looking cows, are actually directdescendants of Europe’s wild cattle, long since snuffed in favorof the shorthaired domestic variety.

Perhaps the most comical things you see out in the wildScottish north, however, are the phone booths. I mean, youreally are out in the middle of nowhere, you haven’t seen aperson or even another vehicle in 30 miles, and there inmiddle of this monochrome green scene is a bright-redLondon-style phone booth—right out of a Benny Hill show,I’m telling you!

FOOD FOR THOUGHTUp here you can hardly understand the locals, who speak Gaelic,an ancient Celtic language. Signs are also hard to sound out andso are some menus, which are less likely than those found in thesouth to offer a variety of foods. Scottish food—well, let’s just say,it’s just a little lacking. Sometimes it’s even gross. Take the coun-try’s most famous dish, haggis. This brownish mound is made ofsheep’s innards mixed with oatmeal. You’ll even get some turnipson the side. Other traditional dishes here are cock-a-leekie soup(I kid you not), pickled herring and skirlie (another oatmeal dish,this one with onions). You can guess by the favorites that this isone vacation where you might lose weight instead of gain, unless,of course, you’re like me and compensate with other regionalstandards like homemade shortbread and sticky toffee pudding.

As I rode toward the northernmost tip of Scotland, its starkbeauty would at times overwhelm me. It feels almost mesmeriz-ing in its monotony—so green and...well...so green. No wonderthe clans up here needed such colorful tartans. In each desolatevillage the air is weighted with chimney smoke, and after I’d passthrough, the thick scent of burning peat would stay with me fora while, until it was cleansed by the heady green scent ofScotland’s seemingly endless meadowlands.

After a trip to John o’Groats (that’s a town, not a guy), thenorthernmost point of the island accessible by road, there’snothing left to do but ride some more. The Scottish Highlandsare fantastic that way—the roads, some of the best in theworld. I wondered if the locals realize their treasure—or evenwonder why so many motorcycles are touring the ScottishHighlands. It certainly isn’t the haggis!

OVERVIEWScotland is a charming country with premium roadsand scenery. Best of all, you’llfind a universally welcomingattitude, as well as respectfultreatment when you’re on thebike, which makes for safer,more enjoyable exploration.It’s easy to explore on yourown, or if you don’t want todeal with rentals, routing andreservations, hook up withEdelweiss (www.edelweissbike.com), which offers several tours in the region.

DRIVING/NAVIGATIONAlthough you’ll ride on the left,it’s exceedingly easy to getaround Scotland; even distanceis measured in miles instead ofkilometers. The roads are sys-tematic and well marked. Ihardly made a wrong turn,unlike times I’ve ridden on myown through Central Europe,where I had to allow severalhours a day for backtracking.

CLIMATEScotland is a chilly destina-tion, as you’d expect. But whatwould the green glens be with-out a spot of mist? You’ll wantto pack warm gear, and alwayshave rain gear ready. I washappy to have Gore-Tex-lined

boots and wore medium-weight gloves every day. Mysuit, an AST Touring jacket andRanger 2 pants from OlympiaMoto Sports, was ideal, andthe neon yellow color I chose,perfect for safety (for a fulltest, see page 19).

LANGUAGEIt’s English, of course, withthat charming Celtic lilt,except in the far north, wherethe Gaelic is so thick it’s hardto understand.

MONEYYou’ll be using the pound sterling in Scotland, whichtrades at an even higher ratethan the euro (1.84:1 at presstime), making Scotland apricey destination forAmericans. B&Bs, which arecommon, will cost upward of$100 U.S., while a nice hotelroom can easily run $300 to$400. Gas is still more in theUK than the U.S., althoughthese days, not by a lot. Aswith all currency exchange,we recommend withdrawingfrom an ATM instead of usingan exchange service likethose found in the airports.

RESEARCHInstead of my usual LonelyPlanet Guide I picked up anEyewitness Travel Guide onScotland instead, and mustsay I think I’ll stick with thiseasy-to-use brand of traveler’sreference because it offered a lot less hotel/restaurantdetail and a lot more aboutthe nuances of culture andhistory. Plus there is a nicelydetailed transportation sec-tion and a plethora of photosfor the visually minded. Ifyou’re a history buff, tryScotland, A Concise Historyby Fitzroy MacLean.

How-To: SCOTTISH HIGHLANDS

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Scotland is just as green as you’d imagine it to be, with meandering one-lanes lined with cobbled fences, and cliffs that jut from the glens, like castlesgrown straight from the earth.