The last promise, or with the Caferacer through the Highlands

(17.06. - 28.06. 2016)

With this trip, I have kept my promise to Sabine.

Scotland is a beautiful country and a trip to this wonderful region is always worthwhile.

This was the hardest trip I have ever made alone. It was so full of emotion and it was good that the Scottish rain washed the tears from my face so often

First of all, I would like to take this opportunity to thank my boys and their girls, Moni and her children and Bärbel and Gernoth and their children for supporting me financially and making the trip possible for me.

Let me briefly explain how I came to be driving my old beemer through the Scottish Highlands.

The last time I was allowed to give the best pillion rider in the world the left hand as a greeting (German drivers greet each other with their left hand), I promised her I would take her to her beloved Scotland....

Loch Lomond - To build a stone tower on the loch that Runrig sing about in their songs so that everyone can see that she was once in Scotland. And for her to look out over the Atlantic on the Isle of Skye....

.... All of this had motivated me to travel to a country where I would be traveling alone on lonely roads, far from home and would almost certainly get wet again and again.

First of all, it was my most difficult trip so far and yet also my most beautiful trip on which I brought back much more than I left behind.

I was allowed to meet so many angels - thank you that I am not alone

Well, the old Indsman is not quite so naive and had planned the trip six months in advance by booking the ferry and the Bed & Breakfest overnight stays. I had picked out routes and loaded them onto my very old TomTom navigation system... As an aging Indian, I can no longer drive with maps, as my eyesight plays tricks on the short distance to the tank bag and a map looks like a painting by Miro or the pattern from a Burda fashion magazine.…. But it is also said to increase the anticipation enormously if you prepare a little for such a trip.

Yes, the beemer also got new front and rear tires, as my pads were already pretty worn down and I reckoned with about 4000 km, but the cutting discs didn't last that long... well, I also checked the oil level and filled up half a liter...

Oh yes, and bought a new tank bag from an accessory shop… The old ratty suitcase I've been lugging around for many years felt like it needed to shed its zipper.The old ratty suitcase I've been lugging around for many years felt like it needed to shed its zipper. The salesman at the accessories store said when I asked for a proper tank bag for the Scottish tour that one would probably not be enoughThe salesman at the accessories store said when I asked for a proper tank bag for the Scottish tour that one would probably not be enough… what a nonsens. Everything that doesn't fit in there is superfluous anyway, isn't it? Hey I ride with leather jeans and cowboy boots... so pants and shoes are enough, A fresh pair of underpants, socks and a change of T-shirt every 3 days.... Some washing kit and electronics such as USB power supply for cell phone, GPS and MP3 player.

After a stupid experience somewhere in the Siegerland on a beautiful Sunday with a flat rear tire, I always have 2 tubes and an air pump on my bike... and my little kite for flying on the Atlantic Ocean also came on the bike.

The ferry is waiting

Then off to Holland, the coolest city in the world.... but not for motorcyclists... it really sucks, just like along the Lower Rhine - 70 km/h everywhere and 60 km/h in Holland. Since I don't drive the highways, I had to switch to the national roads... have I mentioned before, I hate "trempels"... and the back roads ... I think I'll invent signposts on the back roads in Holland. Could it be that because Holland is so small, they all know their way around their roads? I certainly didn't, and so I cruised sometimes against and sometimes across the rain, which alternated with the sun, to Amsterdam and on to IJmuiden to the port and the ferry.

Rumor has it that fuel is so expensive in Scotland - and it's true, so just before the ferry we stop at a petrol station again and fill up the tank. Speaking of fuel and Scotland... I found out that there are a lot of old wives' tales about the fuel supply in the Highlands… In hindsight, I suspect that those who have been there and want to go again deliberately tell it that way so that others are put off and don't park up on the single track roads. My experience is that after 60-70 km at the latest there will be a gas pump somewhere.

But back to Holland... I'm supposed to go to the check-in shortly after 15:00... but no signs there either and I know check-ins from flying... no counter or anything like that... Now what? Ahhh a bunch of Scots on motorcycles, obviously on their way home... they've come off a ferry before, they might know. So nothing like hanging on to the back of the new-fangled 12cc GSn and they found what they were looking for...

Done, the BMW safely lashed down in the belly of the steel giant. Yes, you have to do it yourself, but there are lashing straps hanging from the wall and there are steel cables on the floor and eyelets to which you can tie the bike.

The crossing to Newcastle upon Tyne was very entertaining... The food was delicious and the breakfast plentiful. But I wouldn't book in advance, it's too expensive, because there are several restaurants on the ship and you can get enough to eat for less. At some point I found a bar where a musician was playing songs from the 70s and 80s. Exactly my world. As the swell got a little rougher overnight, many of my fellow passengers stood at the railing in the morning and fed the fish while I enjoyed my scrambled eggs with salmon and my pomegranate tea.

The Teletubbies Finally land in sight... England doesn't care about the Schengen Agreement and you have to go through passport control... well, it's quick and the people are very friendly.You actually get used to driving on the left very quickly on a motorcycle and you don't notice that you've been using the wrong side of the road for 50 years and suddenly have to drive on the right. Turning left around the traffic circle is great and people on the island can do it - unlike us Germans even.

Then, at the second traffic circle after the ferry, my satnav goes off with a gentle jolt and the holder and satnav are scattered across the road. A local following me drives directly over the holder and chases the sat nav to the kerb... great, luckily all the routes and B&B addresses were listed there. But the Brit offers me his help and directs me to the bank 5 miles away. Thanks to my colleague Horst, who had put a navigation system on my cell phone the week before, along with a map of Scotland and my routes. But I had to find out 100 times a day: Navigating with a cell phone just sucks.

But at some point I found myself standing in front of this beautiful sign in a wonderful landscape:

It's a great feeling to have arrived where you want to go and where the real journey begins. Yes the North of England and along Hadrian's Wall is lovely to drive and it's green hills with small roads. In the Lowlands I found wonderful little roads through a landscape that looked like Teletubbie Land... only no Teletubbies, but sheep... sheep everywhere and tiny little roads with passing places. At some point I thought about a gas station, but I guess Teletubbies don't need gas. Late in the afternoon, I met two motorcyclists and asked where the nearest gas station was. They took me part of the way, but then stopped at a motorcycle stop, which I left aside due to the advanced time and the distance still to be covered.

The Promise With a full tank, I then headed via Glasgow to the beautiful Loch Lomond. That's where I wanted to build a stone tower. I put my beemer on the shore and enjoyed the view.

There were also enough stones to build with. So I looked for a quiet spot and remembered the years when I was still allowed to ride with a pillion. Sabine must have sent the warm rays of sunshine from above.

So I sat there for a long time and reflected on my life with Sabine and reminisced about the wonderful experiences while listening to Runrig's songs. Yes, many a tear has flowed into this glorious Loch Lomond and it's true what they sing in the song:

And I'll be in Scotland afore ye. But me and me true love Will ne'er meet again On the bonnie, bonnie banks O Loch Lomond..

Now at least her picture can look out over this beautiful lake and I know she was actually always on the trip with me... if you look at my bike, you'll notice that the rear footrests are always down... just her place.

After a short small talk with five very nice park rangers, I was to learn another lesson... after experiencing that the failure of my navigation system should not prevent me from continuing my journey, I realized after driving 2 km that my BMW was lacking propulsion. The engine revved up and the transmission shifted. My first thought about the cardan joint was wrong… So park the bike and check what it could be. The rear wheel could be turned freely even though a gear was engaged - stupid. So put the rear wheel down and see what's what….

Since I had just put new tires on two days earlier, everything could be easily disassembled with the on-board tools.

Here was the culprit. The rivets of the drive flange were all broken, so that it had evaporated in the direction of the axle drive and no longer engaged in the holes. Great, and it was half past seven on a Saturday evening somewhere in Scotland.

After 5 minutes, a very friendly man on a bicycle came and helped me to transport the rear wheel to his small garden shed workshop. We knocked the rivets out of the hub and drilled the holes - for lack of suitable screws - to 6mm. Since we had only found 6 screws, only every second rivet was replaced, as the remaining ones still engage in the holes and also drive. It held and when I got home I replaced the remaining rivets with screws..

Three of us were able to repair my bike in this garden shed. The lady of the house brought us orange juice and we talked about this beautiful country. When I then asked how I could say thank you for his help, he simply replied: "Just have fun in our country and remember us". He then drove me to the motorcycle and waited until I had fitted everything. Here I would like to say thank you again. I now have the names  of the lovely people... they are Hughie and Rosie and their son Gavin

Nearly forgot.... Here is a picture of my route on the first day on the island

Off into the mountains After a hearty breakfast at the farm where I spent the night, I headed north in the finest drizzle, always along the west coast. By the way, I was allowed to leave my BMW grazing in the farmer's barn and the farmer's wife laughed at my ear tag on the BMW. I then explained to her that here in Germany we call this motorcycle a rubber cow.

Leaving Loch Lomond behind me, halfway to the Isle of Skye I headed for the most famous motorcycle stop in Scotland, the green welly stop on the A82 halfway to Fort William. It's worth a visit, I met really nice motorcyclists there and chatted for a long time over a coffee.

Then continue to Fort William but hey, if you drive along there, please do NOT cross the bridge at Loch Leven. Turn right beforehand towards Kinlochleven. You then have 16 km of the best rollercoaster on the finest asphalt and no traffic to Kinlochleven and again 16 km on the other side of the lake back to the A82…

The landscape becomes rougher and more beautiful and one water pond after another flies past you. I met many motorcyclists from all over the world at various photo stops and chatted briefly. When my coffee from the green welly stop was forced into the open just before Fort William, I steered my beemer to a small rest area where two nice Englishmen were already sitting. We chatted about the country and the people and very quickly agreed that it's just beautiful here. They offered to take a photo of me, the BMW and the pond behind us. Of course I accepted the offer and took a photo of the two of them in front of their bikes.

At some point, the Midlands became increasingly rugged and a lone sign told me that I had now arrived in the Highlands.... You could actually take new pictures around every bend, but at some point you have to cover some ground. My cell phone sat nav was getting on my nerves and I had finally figured out how to tell the stupid thing not to turn the screen in the wrong direction all the time.

But then there were those moments again, when no one cares and we just stand in awe of the glory of our planet and realize how small and insignificant our problems are.

The cars were no problem, willingly making way wherever possible so that the BMW had a free run. The traffic up there in the Highlands is completely relaxed and everyone waves and smiles at you. I enjoy this, especially when I think of our highways and the way we move in traffic.

There can be only one After some left-hand bend, there it was in front of me, Eilean Donan Castle ... the Highlander castle of all castles. Of course, I had to get the BMW into position for the photo session. And as it was raining again, a welcome opportunity to eat a sandwich and drink a coffee in the dry, once again realizing ... actually you should drink something other than the coffee in Scotland ... there isn't really any good coffee there.

The Isle of Skye is only a stone's throw away and I had booked a hostel there in the south of the island. Well, even old men are allowed to stay there and best of all, there was a pub with Italian food. I met three young law students from Bayreuth and we caroused until closing time and tested the best beer. This information was to help me in the days that followed. There are many types of beer and only a few really good ones.

At the end of the day, as I tapped my travel diary into my cell phone, I let the route pass me by again

Met some nice people I spent the following day on the Isle of Skye. It's beautiful there. Off to breakfast, the chef meant too well by me. After a brief chat about our bikes, he rides a ratty Speedtriple with a skull and crossbones paint job, he treated me to double the amount of scrambled eggs with salmon. I can't get the real Scottish breakfast down in the morning... Something like fried Nürnbergerle, scrambled eggs and fried black pudding and bacon with a ladleful of white beans and some toast.

So up on the BMW, but first take the cell phone out of the hump again, where it lay there overnight for charging, because my adapter for the strange sockets there miserably refused to do its job. So the BMW's battery had to take over.

The roads on Sky are really good to drive.  I stopped briefly at the Siligachen Bridge. This is where all the roads on the island meet, similar to Johanniskreuz in the Palatinate Forest. But the stop is worth it.

The view from the bridge to the north showed an impressive mountain, in Scotland they almost all call themselves Ben ...

The peaks here are all in the clouds, now I know why it's called the Isle of Skye, you're so close to the sky out here. Tomorrow I should be able to feel that very clearly. I continued along the east coast of the island to a cut where a small river plunges over the cliffs into the Atlantic at Lealt Falls.

Leaving the spectacle and the tourists behind me, I turned west and enjoyed the drive over the Quiraing. Actually an unspectacular pass, but a great view from up there.

What I liked better was the road afterwards, a great single track road and no cars for miles around. It was just me, the BMW and very close to Bine in the sky.

This seemingly endless little road across the plateau then led me to a small harbor town called Uig.There we got fuel and a cup of warm coffee. But before that, the BMW could gallop along. At the end of the road, the view was different again with an unobstructed view over the Atlantic and the harbor town in front.There we got fuel and a cup of warm coffee. But before that, the BMW could gallop along. At the end of the road, the view was different again with an unobstructed view over the Atlantic and the harbor town in front.

From time to time I had to put my tank bag aside so that I could take a picture of the cockpit and Bine against the fantastic backdrop.

At the gas station in Uig, the attendant asked me how old my bike was and what brand it was. We chatted a bit about the rest of the route on Skye and out of the corner of my eye I saw a coffee shop which I then headed for.

There was a young couple from Cambridge outside the café, as it turned out later. They both had beautiful Scrampler motorcycles with them. I think she had a new Ducati Scrampler in the olive green and he had a red one. As I took off my helmet, she asked what the writing on the seat, from the song Me and Bobby McGee by Kris Kristofferson, meant: "I'd trade all  my tomorrows for a single yesterday To be holdin' her body next to mine" I explained it to her and why I was hereAs I took off my helmet, she asked what the writing on the seat, from the song Me and Bobby McGee by Kris Kristofferson, meant: "I'd trade all  my tomorrows for a single yesterday To be holdin' her body next to mine" I explained it to her and why I was here. Then she took off her helmet, took off her jacket again and hugged me. When she let go she had tears in her eyes and wished me lots of strength and "Have a safe journey". This is what the drivers here in Scotland wish for when they set offThen she took off her helmet, took off her jacket again and hugged me. When she let go she had tears in her eyes and wished me lots of strength and "Have a safe journey". This is what the drivers here in Scotland wish for when they set off.

I met a woman from Virginia at the café counter and she told me about her travels around the UK while I sipped my latte and she sipped her Guinness. I don't like the dark beer. When I told her that I was born in the Black Forest and grew up near Stuttgart, her eyes lit up. Her father was a GI and stationed in Vaihingen and she grew up there until she was 9 years old. Yes, the Big Red One was stationed there. One of her wishes was to visit the Canstatter Wasen, the Oktoberfest in Stuttgart, which her father always raves about.

After the refreshment and the lovely conversations, I was drawn back onto the road and it's worth taking a small turn to the left or right... well, you have to go back the same way again. But hey, they didn't build a road there for nothing, either someone lives there or it's a place worth seeing. I found lots of little fishing villages like this one.

Back at the hostel and in the pub, I had to put my cell phone back under the hump to charge it and decided to look for an adapter in Ullapol the day after tomorrow or to buy a USB charger for the local sockets. I met the three students again in the pub and we talked about our experiences over a good blonde lager and a chicken burger. Sometime late at night I lay down in my bunk bed, exhausted but content.

Very close to heaven In the morning I realized that another couple had spent the night in my 8-man dormitory... I didn't even notice in the evening... hmm was probably the lager beer. Anyway, today I'm off to the Applecross Pass. I'm already looking forward to riding the highest pass there is up there.

On the approach to the pass, I overtook a group of Harley riders, which meant we kept overtaking each other as I often stopped to take photos. But the guys were fair and always allowed me to overtake, even on small roads

The prospect of lots of fun today... well, not so much sun, but no mosquitoes either, that's a good thing. I also had a premonition that it would be a bit damp in the higher regions. Many serpentines further on we saw the following picture.

The Applecross is deep in the clouds... you can only see the lower end of the mountain here. Many serpentines followed in the clouds and this as a single track road… Zero visibility, the wind was blowing the water in the clouds across the pass in the opposite direction. And the best thing is that at the top of the plateau you could briefly see that the road was built on a kind of dam that was about 1 1/5 meters high.. On the first hairpin bend on the descent, I ran into the Harley troop again and had to realize that the two at the back of the troop couldn't do a hairpin bend... the descent was very tough, because it was almost impossible to pass in zero visibility.

Once down on the coast, we turned into the Applecross Inn together and had a cup of hot coffee and a hot dog. We chatted about the beauty of the west coast and how it was a shame that the sun wasn't out.

As the boys still wanted lunch, I continued alone, which I didn't dislike at all. That way I could determine my own pace and didn't always have to watch out for the "bend parkers". There is a dreamlike backdrop around every bend. Once you reach a certain altitude, the moors with cotton grass and heather are surrounded by small and large ponds.

Then there are always great little descents down to the lochs with views of small islands and of course lots of salmon farms. And sheep.... Sheep everywhere….

Memories of bad days After a short break in Nanny's Cafe in Shiledaig on Loch Shildaig, the cupcakes there are really delicious, the journey continued to Loch Ewe. Before I went to my B&B room, I drove the few miles to the WW II Memorial Stone. Knowing the history from WWII, I had a sinking feeling in my stomach with my German license plate. This is where German submarines sank the Scottish fleet that had gathered in Loch Ewe to support the Russian convoy.

I met an older Scotsman up there, I think he was a history teacher or something. In any case, we talked for a long time about the events there and at some point he asked me why I was interested as a foreigner. I told him, "look, your grandfathers are lying there at the bottom of the sea, they were good men for sure. My grandfathers were the ones who sent them there, they weren't worse men either, it was the time in the war. Look, it's part of my story too". He could understand that and we agreed that it was a miracle that the two of us here could talk to each other without hatred. Yes, we agreed that the only thing we can do for the men down there is to make sure that such stones no longer need to be erected.Look, it's part of my story too". He could understand that and we agreed that it was a miracle that the two of us here could talk to each other without hatred. Yes, we agreed that the only thing we can do for the men down there is to make sure that such stones no longer need to be erected..

He then recommended that I visit the red beach at Loch Ewe... where the English tried to expel the Scots from their country in ancient times and deport them to New Scotland off the coast of America. I gladly followed the recommendation and parked my BMW on the beach at Loch Ewe and enjoyed the evening.

Three miles back towards Poolewe was my B&B room. I was greeted by a very nice woman and we chatted about the reason for my trip, where I'd been and that the starting point was Loch Lomond because of the Runrig song. She said that she sings Gaelic songs in a choir, including songs by Runrig. She told me to wait a moment and then came back with a CD. "It has our songs on it, listen to it" she said and gave me the CDShe told me to wait a moment and then came back with a CD. "It has our songs on it, listen to it" she said and gave me the CD. When I told her that I didn't have a CD player with me and there wasn't one in the room, she just said: "Take the CD with you and when you listen to it at home, think of me at Loch Ewe"..

The people here always manage to knock me off my feet. Slowly I am beginning to realize that I am not alone even after Sabine's death, that people are interested in me and that it is good to talk, even so many miles away from home. I don't think I was ever far from home in those few days... I was welcome everywhere and could feel at home, it just felt infinitely good to feel and experience that.

Enough of the sentimental words, here is the route I took that day.

Kites on the Atlantic Today I'm off to Ullapool and further north... but first I want to indulge in my hobby and let Marcus release his little 4-liner kite into the sky and fly on the Atlantic. So after a delicious breakfast and some small talk about horticulture in England and Scotland, I drove my BMW back to the red beach from the previous evening. But you could hardly see it because the tide had come in. That didn't bother the little kite much. I really enjoyed playing with the kite in the morning hours at Loch Ewe

Yes, the kite is a quirk of mine, I've flown it in so many places and will probably continue to do so. So it's always in my luggage. On the motorcycle I had to modify it a bit, because with a wingspan of 2 meters it is not exactly the optimum for a motorcycle.

After a good hour of fun with the bird, my BMW was scratching its hooves, having probably grazed too much of the good seaweed. In short, we were on the road again...

I hadn't even dared to dream of such paths before the trip, but they really do exist, freedom on two wheels. I had to stop again and again, as there were always such wonderful spots of earth after some of the bends.

Even the view of the bike from the other side of the road was breathtakingly beautiful. I kept telling myself that it couldn't get any more beautiful and after the next corner: "I can do it".

My stomach was slowly telling me that it was time to find something nutritious. My stupid cell phone sat nav was acting up and I couldn't estimate how far it would be to Ullapool. Then I met Lars from Tourenfahrermagazin, who was taking pictures with someone for a story about touring motorcycles in Scotland. He said that Ullapool wasn't quite half an hour away.

Come to Milan sometime In Ullapool there was food for the BMW. I found an ATM and even got a free game :-). On the corner opposite the snack bar I also saw a hardware store which, according to the advertising, also sells power adapters and stuff like that. There I got my USB charger to fit the Scottish sockets and a USB cable, as mine had also given up the ghost.

Then over to the snack bar.... First of all: fish & chips don't taste good, but they do have a certain nutritional value. The fried fish was ok, but the chips - no, they taste better in Belgium

Over dinner I met a couple, he was from Italy and she was from Ecuador. We talked about all sorts of things. While he chopped up her food, as she had spastic paralysis in her hands, she talked about her country on the other side of the pond. I enjoyed it and Marco and Mary have invited me to the giraffe meeting in Milan for a pizza... I should just get in touch with them.

Less than an hour later, I found a small bay with a beautiful sandy beach. The water was a beautiful blue, but far too cold for a self-confessed hot shower enthusiast. As I stood at the front of the water, I looked around and saw my track in the sand and fell back into sadness, because there was simply a track missing next to mine. These moments came very often on the trip and I was often glad of the Scottish rain because it washed the tears from my eyes.

While trying to get rid of the Coke, I stopped at a small parking lot in a forest. Less than 10 meters from the bike, I found this beautiful torrent. The water, brown from the moor, rippled over the rocks. A welcome place to relax and unwind. I had time and was in no rush. I didn't have to be at my B&B hosts until the evening.

I passed remote farms and many signs warned of lambs on the road. Yes, the old sheep were no longer bothered by the vehicles driving past, but the lambs were still trying to reach the other side of the road to Mama just in front of my bike.

At half past ten in the evening, looking out of my window at the BMW, which was getting its well-earned sleep. Up here in the north it only gets dark for a few hours, even just before midnight you can still see very well. I was able to spend the night with an old couple who had also been traveling by motorcycle for a very long time.

Here's the route I took.

Off to the north coast At breakfast, the host explained to me that I had chosen a very beautiful route that winds up and down and left and right along the coast like a rollercoaster. He said that you need good brakes if you want to go fast. I replied: "I've bad breaks, but I trust in god". The man next to me, an English couple who had arrived in the evening, laughed out loud and said: "We trust in god too, but we have breaks". And so I drove my BMW on this endless narrow road winding up and down to the right and left. But always watch out for the lambs.

Roads like this make a biker's heart beat faster, don't they?

At some point, a small and admittedly very modern filling station for the Highlands appeared in front of me. It belongs to the fishing store and I spontaneously decided to fill up my fuel supply.

Die Frau an der Kasse wollte direkt wissen, ob meine Fransen an der Wildlederjacke nicht zu laut flattern im Wind. Aber das konnte ich ruhigen Gewissens verneinen.Ich kam dann wieder über eine der vielen Hochflächen an denen es rechts und links des Weges kleine und große Seen gab. Immer wieder überwältigte mich der Anblick dieser Landschaft

Somewhere I simply turned right and came to a beautiful bay via the smallest of roads. I was able to park my bike right in front of the water and let my thoughts run free on a park bench.  But don't ask me now where I turned off.... I don't remember.

Opposite were dark cliffs with a real steep coast on which birds were nesting.

Children and old men And there was a motorhome next to my bike in the parking lot and a long-haired young man was busy cleaning his cooking utensils. At some point, he looked at my bike and we got talking when I came back from the bench. He liked the old motorcycles better than the new ones, he said. Then his heavily pregnant wife greeted me and explained that it was their last trip as a couple and that they were looking forward to their baby. I replied that my reason for traveling was exactly the opposite. While they were making their journey to expect a new life, I was making the journey to say goodbye to an old life. After wishing the mother-to-be all the best for her and her child, I said the young man to be a good father to his wife and child. With these words and an obligatory "have a safe journey", I steered my BMW north again.

My stomach signaled that it was very interested in something edible and so I looked for a suitable place.

I found it on the side of the road in the form of an old school that had been converted into a restaurant. The name was a perfect match for my old BMW and I wasn't disappointed with the food either.

In the afternoon, somewhere near Tongue, I saw a small sign for a petrol station. I drove into the small town and only found a thrift store in the form of a small corner store. The house was built on a slope and the yard consisted of potholes.... No, there was an old petrol pump in front of the store, not one with a digital display, no, one with pointers. We also had one of these at my father's gas station as a diesel column when I was a child.We also had one of these at my father's gas station as a diesel column when I was a child. Just where to park the motorcycle in front of the pillar? I was sure the BMW would fall over in the potholes on the slope. Still pondering, I read a sign written in an old, trembling hand: "no selfservice, please ring the bell" "Shit, how do I get to the stupid bell without getting off?" But an old man with a long white beard came up to me and smiled.Just where to park the motorcycle in front of the pillar? I was sure the BMW would fall over in the potholes on the slope. Still pondering, I read a sign written in an old, trembling hand: "no selfservice, please ring the bell" "Shit, how do I get to the stupid bell without getting off?" But an old man with a long white beard came up to me and smiled. We first had a little chat, like, how old is the bike? It's an old BMW, isn't it? And where I'm coming from and where I want to go today. After a few minutes, more bikes came to fill up and the old man said: "Open the tank and let's fill up, the others want to fill up too". When he had finished filling up, he wrote the liters and the amount on a small pad, just like the waiters in the restaurant have, and explained that I should park opposite and pay the amount at the till after my purchase. That's how nice a fuel stop can beWe first had a little chat, like, how old is the bike? It's an old BMW, isn't it? And where I'm coming from and where I want to go today. After a few minutes, more bikes came to fill up and the old man said: "Open the tank and let's fill up, the others want to fill up too". When he had finished filling up, he wrote the liters and the amount on a small pad, just like the waiters in the restaurant have, and explained that I should park opposite and pay the amount at the till after my purchase. That's how nice a fuel stop can be.

Again and again you pass the many bays of the Atlantic. The people here live from fish farming, sheep farming and tourism. Although they live in a beautiful area, they also have to work hard for their bread.

Every now and then I stopped at old, almost dilapidated cemeteries and read some grave inscriptions. Some of the graves dated back to the 17th century. There they chiseled into the stone exactly how the deceased died. We read a lot about illness and murder, but also about death sentences and piracy. However, there are also stones that say that the person died of natural causes due to old age.

It's a strange atmosphere in such an old cemetery and the houses up there are not demolished - they remain standing as witnesses to the times until they fall into disrepair.

In a cemetery in a foreign country

About other people's graves and gravestones I walk alone in the evening glow. Have I disturbed the sleepers downstairs? Did they hear my questioning word?

I feel as if I could be in sweet horror Looking down through clods and coffins Right in the middle of the quiet city, Where all traveling has an end.

How much suffering, how much grief Inside that narrow wall! Behind the iron barred door' How many prayers, vows and swears!

Alas! nowhere is there so much human love Here at the last hiking destination; Her roses and thorns she mildly rejoices Across the tearful realm

Just don't spoil it without love alone, Just don't die and die in a foreign country, Cherished and cared for by rental hands! Laid in the coffin with an open eye!

And should I not see her alive again, The homeland, I would like to die in it And resting with my little mother - Just not in a foreign country, just not alone!

Franz von Dingelstedt

Shortly before my destination, Armadale House, I took another short break at a lighthouse and gave the BMW a rest.

For tea, please Armadale House is run by a very nice old lady. You have to imagine it like a manor house in a Rosamunde Pilcher movie that flickers on TV on Sunday evenings. She gave me a warm welcome and after she showed me to my room, we sat in her kitchen with a cup of tea and cookies. Just like here, I was able to experience the hospitality and warmth of the people everywhere. I am beginning to feel that I will remember the people in this beautiful country far more than the magnificent landscape.

I then showed her the route I had covered that day and what I had been able to experience.

No power The next morning it rained, it had probably been raining all night and the temperatures were slightly below zero. I think it peaked at around 16 degrees that day. So I had to wear my rain jacket again. Once I had tidied up my luggage, I tried to start the BMW. I already had a hunch that the rain and my open funnels weren't going to work very well together. The BMW was standing so stupidly that the rain fell into the funnels and the motorcycle wouldn't start. At some point the battery runs out and there I was, high up in the north and no more power. The other guests, two young Swiss women and a young couple from Leverkusen, had no jumper cables in their rental vehicles. The housekeeper didn't have one either. But she phoned the entire neighborhood in vain for such cables. Hmmm, so I called the garage in Tongue, 40 miles away. The man asked about payment and I explained that I would have to pay out of my own pocket. In the 45 minutes I had to wait for him, I sat back in the kitchen having tea.

Sometime after what felt like an eternity, the good mechanic arrived and we bypassed the BMW, which immediately acknowledged this with a willing cold start. I was £60 poorer and asked where I could buy a jumper cable. He told me that the petrol station in the next town had such cables. I put them in my tank bag when I stopped to refuel, along with a can of Startpilot. Fortunately, I haven't needed the cables or the Startpilot to date.

Vegetable soup is great In the drizzle and chilly temperatures, I then headed east, always along the northern coast to the end of the mainland, if you can call an island a mainland. John o' Groats was my destination. The last house in Scotland.

Here I was on the edge of the British Isles in the cold drizzle. But we both made it, the BMW and me. I'm proud of us. Somehow, when you ride so far alone, you build up a certain "relationship" with your vehicle, in my case the BMW. You talk to the bike and I imagine that it also talks to me. So I was able to put my BMW in the parking lot next to the many other motorcycles and take a look at the place in peace.

As I said, it was very fresh and cool during the journey, so I enjoyed the sight of the café in the background. As soon as I entered, I noticed a delicious aroma and approached the waitress. It was a vegetable soup that gave off the aroma and I was even allowed to try it. Yummy !.. "A plate of this please", "Large or small?" "Large, as large as it goes and toast, brown toast please".

I am convinced that this vegetable soup is one of the best soups I have ever eaten. It not only warmed the stomach and fingers, but also the soul. It didn't matter that the coffee was once again not one of the best sold anywhere in the world.

Tip: Be sure to try the vegetable soup once you've driven your bike to this corner of the world, it's worth it.

As my sister-in-law is turning 70 next week - oh boy I'm getting old - I thought it would be a good choice to buy something nice and Scottish here. Yes, there is also tourist nonsense here at exorbitant prices... but what the heck, hey, I'm a tourist and I want to buy this nonsense. I gave the BMW a little sticker from John o' Groats for the hump. I think it can shine in front of the other motorcycles that take their riders to the nearest café in the sunshine and back home again.

Sunk in the pub There wasn't really anything going on on the road towards Inverness, the capital of the Highlands... lots of fertile land, the occasional castle or fortress, but the road wasn't worth mentioning. So I was able to do what motorcyclists actually like to do, just bang down the road at excessive speed. It has to be done sometimes, right?

At some point I passed a castle and thought, why not have a look at the castle? But the entrance fee was simply too much for me. So I took a look at the thing from the outside and met a nice, smart Jaguar driver. He proudly explained his sports car to me and let me listen to the rich sound. They are beautiful cars that the British build.

Then on to Inverness, this time I had booked an apartment in the middle of the city, actually in Nairn, a little east of Inverness.

Since the old lady at Armadale House told me that you could see dolphins in the wild here, I walked to the harbor in the evening. Of course, low tide and no dolphins. On the way home, I passed a pub and had a lager. After several lager beers and even more Coronas, I was happy when the landlord said: "last order, boys". But first things first. I sat down next to a man in blue overalls who, as it turned out, was an Englishman and had moved to Nairn. We chatted about everything and had a beer or two together. Then suddenly a Scotsman stood next to me, who saw my Bad Liebenzell ice hockey club patch as a Chicago Blackhawks fan patch: "Blackhawks - yea !!!! " and thumbs up, he grinned at me. I replied the same and there were three beers on the bar. It was a really cool evening in the pub and we laughed and chatted a lot. Until the landlord called for the last round.

Late at night in my apartment, I took another look at the route that lay behind me.

No Flipper, no Nessi but Cajun chicken The landlord told me that I would definitely see the dolphins in Rosemarkie on the Black Isle. I actually wanted to go to Nessi... hey Scotland without a visit to Loch Ness, that's not possible, you have to go there. Well, you do, but not me. I figured it was more likely to see dolphins than to see Nessi, so I drove to the Black Isle. Very nice roads there and when I arrived in Rosemarkie - low tide and again no dolphins.

Moray Firth, the bay of Inverness already belongs to the North Sea... Frustrated by the absence of Flipper and co, I continued my journey towards Dundee. My satnav was once again brilliant and guided me through Inverness 3 times. That really annoys me. I just drove in the direction I wanted to go and hoped that the sat nav would catch up again.

I found some nice routes and somewhere in the Cairngorms National Park I met like-minded Scots at a stop. A couple were driving an old green Norton through the National Park. Over coffee and cake - the latter tastes delicious in Scotland and is highly recommended - we talked petrol, just like everywhere else. Old motorcycles and great routes were the topic. I liked the fact that the two of them were on the road with just one bike, it's better to be on the road with a pillion.

The Midlands are easy to drive. Although you will find single track roads everywhere, the population is denser and the hills flatter. Nevertheless, there are still beautiful views of the rivers, which still have the typical brown water.

When I arrived in Dundee, I thought I could stock up on food and put a few cans of drink back in my tank bag, but unfortunately the stores were already closed. So I parked my bike in some parking lot and hoped that my tank bag would still be there when I got back. To my delight, I found a small Italian bar with probably the best cappuccino in the whole of Scotland. I told the young landlord this straight away and he happily accepted it. Oh yes, the tank bag was still on the bike.

It started to rain again on the last 5 km and not just a little.

At Seaside House I had my room and the landlady just said that she had switched on the heating and I could dry my clothes. Yes and as I wanted to watch the Germany football game, it was the European Championship after all, she told me where I could eat well and watch football.

I found the restaurant and ordered a Cajun Chicken... I had no idea that such spicy breading even existed. But it was delicious and worlds better than fish & chips. In the meantime, my clothes were drying out and the weather was getting better again.

An evening among friends Right at breakfast I shocked the landlady. I "only" wanted toast and jam or marmalade with my Persian pomegranate tea, which I had brought myself. Even after the fourth toast, she asked again if I really didn't want anything to eat. A sweet breakfast is probably not one of the meals in Scotland.

The route from Dundee to Perth is so boring. I could occasionally get off the wide road and onto side roads, but they eventually ended up back on the stupid A90 to Perth. Once there, I filled up with fuel and ended up at the local biker hangout. More and more bikers from the Glasgow Tribe and Blue Angels Scotland arrived. I had a long chat with some of them and they asked me if I had ridden the North500. Nope, the Scotland 4000, I replied and got some sympathetic looks when they looked at my old bike. One of the guys had a book by Guy Martin in his tank bag. I told them how I got to meet him at the 1/8-mile race at Glemseck 101, and as I set off they wished me the familiar "have a safe journey" again.

After Perth, the landscape became more beautiful and the roads smaller and prettier. I found beautiful little bridges like this one at Bridge of Earn.

When I stopped here to take photos, I first posed my bike across the road so that I could get the river in the picture. It was Sunday lunchtime and, as Murphy explained, a smart new Land Rover had just pulled up at that moment, but couldn't pass. It stopped and, to my amazement, greeted me in a friendly manner. I greeted him back, of course. He waited until I had taken my photos and I thanked him and he greeted me again to say goodbye. Imagine the bridge was in Germany.....

Here in the Midlands, it's wonderful to go on tours. I was heading towards St. Andrews. But this beautiful place on the North Sea coast was so overcrowded. I couldn't even find a place on the central mile where my BMW could rest and I could get a coffee.

With these wonderful views, it's nice to spend a Sunday afternoon in the saddle, isn't it? And since St. Andrews was so crowded, I looked for a cozy street café elsewhere and found one in Cupar.

Refreshed, I found more small side roads, which were very easy to ride thanks to a good surface.

Coincidence then led me to Springfield and I had to laugh and send a picture to my boys straight away. WhatsApp also works in the UK.

Then it came as it had to, on the last 30 km I got wet again. But the French woman with whom I had my B&B room took it in her stride that I was standing there like a watered poodle.

Since another German football game was on and the French woman had nothing to do with TV, she told me the way to the only pub in the village. 

It used to be really loud in the pub. I don't think Scots can be quiet in the pub. I stood at the counter and drank my usual lager. Next to me was a tin of dog cookies and two old dogs kept begging for them. Somehow it was like being in a big living room.

Before the game, I got my dinner... the fish was delicious, but the chips... some farmer must have gotten them for his pigs.

When I cheered loudly for our team to go 1-0 up, three men stood right next to me and asked me if I was German. Then they congratulated me on our great team, well, it's not my fault they're playing so well. We spent the whole evening chatting about soccer, Brexit and motorcycles.

One of them introduced me to his whole family and asked what I was riding. I showed him a picture of my motorcycle. He smiled and said he also has a German boxer. Showed off his fiery red 911 Carrera. The evening was totally relaxed and I enjoyed being able to spend it with old friends.

I hope it's dry tomorrow, because tomorrow I have a sporty stint back to the ferry. Here is the route I took.

Jetzt aber Gas Der Morgen war wirklich schön und es fiel mir schwer den Heimweg anzutreten. Da mein Weg eigentlich quer durch Edinburgh führte, versuchte diese zu umfahren. Dabei verzettelte ich mich gaaanz leicht an der Küste entlang in Richtung Dunbar.

It was fun to speed along the coastal road, but I had the 3 p.m. check-in on my back. So it was with a heavy heart that I headed south on the A2. Endless columns of trucks had to be overtaken and the BMW ran like clockwork. I actually thought I'd make it to the ferry with the last £ at the gas station, but nope, just before the ferry it was time to pull another £20 and grab some gas.

In Newcastel, the signs to the ferry are as shitty as in Amsterdam.... In a strange way, however, I ended up in a parking lot where many motorcycles were waiting to embark. A nice young couple from Plauen on their XS400 Caferacers stood behind me and we reminisced about the lonely Highlands. In front of me were two girls from Belgium with modern bikes.

The check-in was actually done very quickly and we were allowed on the ship without a long wait. Only there it wasn't as comfortable as on the outward journey. The motorcycles were lined up in rows of three and there was only a steel cable on one side... you had to find a stopping point "somewhere" for the good ones you had laid out. And there was no one to check what we were doing. And worst of all, it was almost impossible to move between the motorcycles. Lashing straps all over the place...

I made three crosses when I was finally able to leave the hold and enter my bunk. I quickly threw my stuff on the bed, swapped my leather jeans for another pair and then went out on deck to get some fresh air. The cargo deck was totally stuffy, hot and noisy.

Farewell to the island and hoping for a calm crossing. As we left the harbor, an old fortress beckoned to us... now the sea had us in its grip.

On deck, I sat down in a café and typed up the day's experiences in my travel diary. I then spent my last pound notes on iced tea. I also found another nice bar where someone was singing the old songs of Simon and Garfunkel or the Beatles to the guitar.

Holland and its back roads First I took a walk around the deck to get some fresh air and enjoy the silence.

I spent the evening in the bar with a Dutch couple who had explored Scotland by train. They had really enjoyed it and she told me that he had given her the trip as a present because she had survived a very serious heart attack. I was happy for her and then I also told my story. That way we could understand each other very well.

At some point, however, I fell into my bunk and let the waves rock me to sleep.

The next morning before breakfast I wanted to know what it was like to shower on a ship... what can I say, it works.

I wanted to avoid the highways when I got off the ferry and thought I could manage without a satnav... well, at least I thought so. At some point I thought that the direction of The Hague was slightly wrong and that Utrecht would have been better. Heading for the next gas station and buying a road map. I drew a line with a pencil between the place where I was and Harscheid... hmm I have to get to Aachen via Gauda and Eindhoven - great, I know my way around from there.So the 350 planned kilometers ended up being a little over 500. In Holland there were various ferries across the rivers, like this one across the Meuse.

On arrival in Aachen, I drove the BMW via Simmerath into the Eifel. Not without ordering a Coke at the Biker Ranch there, of course. It was strange to be sitting here after a wonderful trip and all the nice people I'd met and nobody wanted to chat with me.

Here is the last part of my trip:

After more than 4500 km I was happily back home, the BMW was a bit sore, but it was all repairable.

I am glad that I was able to keep my promise and that I was able to take a lot with me on this journey, which was the hardest for me so far.

Before I even turned into my yard, I drove on to Sabine and laid a stone that I had brought from her  Loch Lomond on her gravestone.

The sun was shining and a light breeze was blowing as I left the cemetery again. I know she was happy about it and sent the sunbeam into my face.

I hope I have not bored you

The Indian

18.02.2017 Addendum:

Today I was finally able to send a parcel to say thank you to Hughie and Rosie Allan, who helped me get my BMW back on the road on the first evening at Loch Lomond. Jane from Shandon Farm, had found the address and sent it to me by e-mail.

Thank you Jane