Three Scratches, A Brake Lever and A Pannier Rail

Arran for Easter 1998

Despite claims of doom, gloom and imminent death by arctic conditions we decided to go. Some needed more encouragement than others. Eventually only four people utterly wussed out.

Their names and excuses :-
Helen - Trxus Tartus - (Fiendish Delight) - Wanted to stay in bed.
Steve - Nils Sensus - (Apprentice and Fiendish Delight Mascot/Sex Toy) - CB250 couldn't move with all his camping stuff on.
Danny - Pieus Scoffus - (Official Pie Eater) - To cold, V-Max would get left behind (again), V-Max might get dirty, shortage of pies on Arran.

... and there off ...

The rest, intrepid heroes all, where :-
Dav - Pychoticus Beardus - The TURBO
Sue - Gimme Gimme Sedativus - Willing to travel on the back of the TURBO.
Jamie - Jockus Jockus - Dashing hero, fondler of GT550's, keeps a pet badger in his beard.
Helen - Stepus Scrubii - Now rapidly approaching middle age Helen enjoys the quieter things in life, cooking, long walks to the post office, scrubbing doorsteps and mud wrestling.
Scott - Gutus Gigantitus - Although not yet 18 months old Scott has the waist line to shame many a fifty year lard bucket. Looking forward to inheriting the family piles.
Nadine - Trollopi Minor - Although still young Nadine has stupidity beyond her years
Mark - Maximus Twatus - The Idiot
Bev - Rhymi Whiti - Fiendish Delights elder stateswoman and the only true FD to get to Arran. Rides a Virago with 3 duvets, 8 pillows, kitchen sink, cuddly toy, magimix and boxes of wine fitted as standard.

and of course my good self

... and this is our storey.

Friday 10th April

As per plan we met up at West Auckland at the unholy hour of 9:15am. By 9:30, there still been no sign of Mark or Dav and Sue, we decided to set off. Dav would undoubtedly soon catch up and Mark's so utterly incomprehensible it was not worth the effort of waiting.
As the A68 started to rise into the hills it got colder and colder until we found trails of slush on the road. Fortunately, with the exception of beer prices, what goes up must come down, and as the A68 descended the weather improved until by the time we reached the A69 it was a cold but beautiful day. We had no sooner pulled into a lay-by on the A69 when a distant rattle signified the arrival of the Turbo.

Game on.

Scott looks stupid, Helen looks pissed ...

Stopping on the M74 services for lunch we meet Mark. He had decided on the A66/M6 route instead of the twisty roads and reckoned we'd stop to feed our collective faces about here. How right he was. As usual the ride across Scotland from Dumfries to Ardrossan was hilarious. Dav and myself would like to apologise to all those drivers on the A76 near Kirkconnel who where subjected to some outrageous overtaking manoeuvres but please understand... On second thoughts bog off, you would have done exactly the same if you where on the bikes and knew how good the road was about to get.
Eventually after much fun and games we arrived at the ferry port of Ardossan. The ferry pootles across to Brodick then we ride a couple of miles up the road to the Glenrosa camp site. What a campsite. Not much in the way of facilities, just bogs and basins but what a stunning place. I start to grin manically. Several others from Darlington are here, although as they came by car, mountain bike and, in case, purple seal club they will feature only sparingly in this epistle.
"It's only a short walk", says I as we set off for the pub. Only Dav gives me a suspicious look at this rather misleading statement, the rest of them are unaware of what I deem a short walk. Several pints later I start the long stumble back aided and abetted by Dr. Hartley, a law unto himself.

Jamie, delighted, struts his funky stuff, Helen wonders where her drinks gone

Saturday 11th April

Wakey, wakey. And it's sunny. Concluding that Dav and Sue won't be emerging for a while I drag Scott and Nadine off to the cafe at Lamlash for breakfast where we are met by Bev and Mark. The rest of 'em turn up just as we set off to see the stones on Malaki moor.
The ride across the island from Brodick picks up speed leaving Mark and Bev behind. At one stage a Merc joins the fun and can we shake him off? Can we bollox. Concluding he must be a local we wave him past and to my eternal shame fail to keep up, knowledge is everything on roads like these.
Parking the bikes they all fall for of more my "Its only a 5 minute walk" routine again and off we trot. Walking back we meet up with Dav, Sue, Helen and Jamie (un)happily trudging along in full leathers, Dav, now wise to my ways, leads them on.
Next stop is the Catacol Bay Inn for huge pitzas, Bev orders a monsta' one and has to call in help from Scotts not inconsiderable eating abilities to finish it off.

Glenrosa campsite, what more do you want?

Back at Brodick to pick up some essential supplies (err that's brandy basically) we bump into Giddy who has come up for the night on his trusty Guzzi. We lead him to the site and watch sadistically from our tents as he tries to put his tent up in the wind and rain.
By the time he's accomplished this the suns out again so I ply him with coffee laced with brandy as recompense.

That evening we again hike to the pub only to find Dav and Jamie barred because they look a bit like some bloke who offended the barmans daughter! Just goes to prove even in a place as beautiful and friendly as Arran you can still find a complete arsehole if you try. Or even if you don't.

Note the blue skies, sunshine and palm trees.
Its snowed everywhere else, apart from 'dawn sarf' which sank
Ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha.

Walking back to the site it's a full moon and near daylight. We stop on the way so Scott can phone his mum to ask about his dad's piles.

"... Hiya Mum. How are Dad's piles?"

Sunday 12th April

Yet another cold but sunny day. We ride about for a bit, wander about Brodick and generally do the tourist bit.
Back at the site the fun starts. Martin and Joe come walking back from the hills with two women, Martin mutters something, collects the car, picks up the two women and heads off to Brodick. Under severe interrogation Joe explains the details. It seems Craig managed to dislodge a rock while coming down a hill which caught some poor bloke, father and husband respectively to the aforementioned women, a good 'un on the leg. This necessitated calling out the Mountain Rescue helicopter to whisk the poor sod off to hospital. Craig meanwhile, deciding that a minor item like this would not spoil his day, continued off on his climb.
The rest of the day was spent getting bolloxed on coffee and brandy so that I would be fresh and healthy for the ride back on Monday.

Scott explains the secret of fire to Nadine

Monday 13th (ahh that explains it then) April

Time to go home. I'm last to the ferry port, the place is full of cars and people waiting to get on, all those on the boat are about to get off. It is at this point I forget how wide hard luggage makes a bike and collide with Scott. Next thing I know I'm flailing about under my bike wondering why I always do this sort of thing in public.

A poem was penned by Bev and Mark regarding this :-

An ode to 'H'.
We were all so impressed with the speed you could do
As around Arran's bends on your bike you flew
Ne'er a mistake was witnessed by us
Well - not till the ferry terminus
At 2 miles per hour your skill hit the shit
As Scotty's panniers you ruthlessly hit
Legs in the air flat on your back
You really looked a silly great prat.

Thank you, you bastards

This is the third year running I've gone to Arran for Easter and rest assured I'll be back again next year, and hopefully stay upright.