Easter 2000 - Portpatrick

The Scurrilous Scoundrals:-
Mark The Idiot - Yamaha Diversion 900
Carol - Kawasaki GPX600
Lindsey - Triumph 955 Sprint
Me - Suzuki RF900
Thus representing all the major food groups. And no fucking Honda's for a change.

Friday 21st April

At last after that long and stressfull haul from Christmas it's holiday time. Thursday night Mark and Carol had stayed over at our house so at least we where all in the right place at the right time for the start of the journey.
The original plan was to go via Alston however I was overuled and the revised scheme saw us on the A68 and A69. Loads of holiday traffic kept us on the legal side of the limit but still happily blasting past all the queues of cars. Very satisfing.
Despite the odd rain shower weather remained generally sunny throughout.
Once on the M6 we pulled into services for a feed, who should we meet there but Andy and Jo on their way to Arran. Quite a few where going but with chaotic organisation so they had set off on their own. Hope they made the ferry...

Once fed the fun and games continued all the way to Portpatrick. The final few miles where in light rain, which spoiled what would otherwise have been a great road.
The Melvin Lodge guest house was easily found and is brilliant. We have the two front bedrooms with great views out to sea and across the bay, the bikes are parked off the road just below our windows.
Unload the bikes, get changed and walk into town in the evening sunshine, we hear it's been raining down south, which is nice, after all they need the water down there. Mosey around for a bit, go to the Harbour Hotel, eat good food, drink good beer. Drink more good beer. Eventually stagger back to Melvin, which does not have a bar so it's back out and off to another pub. By this time I'm plastered.

... you come back from the pub after a quite pint (or three) and there are cat all over the bikes...

Next thing I'm waking up feeling a bit woozey and it's Saturday morning.

Saturday 22nd April

Woke up to the sound of my alarm to a mild hangover and bright sunshine. After a huge breakfast I'm starting to feel half way human again, and ready to face the world. Carol meanwhile gives our host a confusing list of what she want for tomorrows breakfast, the end conclusion is scrambled apples... Possibly.
Mark had spent the twilight hours frightening children and looking through the inevitable piles of leaflets found in any B&B room and, as a result of this, had several places he wanted to visit, a small but nasty rash and a warrent for his arrest.
We decided to explore the penninsular.
The first place on the adgenda after some back lane thrashing was the bontanic gardens near Balgowan. A brilliant place to visit - although there is some corner of my biker soul screaming and kicking in protest at the idea of visiting a garden.

From here we continued south to the Mull of Galloway, the most southerly point of Scotland. Port Logan was next, it's a beautiful cove with just a few houses and a pub, there is a fish pond center that we had to miss. Mark had been looking forward to stroking startfish all day but was vey brave about it all and didn't cry at all.
Some serious hooliganising followed on a road to Stranrae then on and round the top of the penninsula.
Some time later and back in Portpatrick me and Mark slope off to the pub to sit outside in the sunshine. Later we collected the girls and a good meal and several pints later we went to bed.

Sunday 23rd April

The day started dull and damp, although with a distant promise of improvemet. After breakfast we had a walk round the town and looked into he various touristy shops in order to satisfy Carol's mad cravings.
A quick look at the map showed the Machars Triangle as promising for a days mooching around indoor things.
The Motor Museum at Glenluce sounds better than it is, although there is a fair collection of old bikes and cars they aint excatly restored to concourse condition.
Sophie's Puppenstube and Dolls House museum proved more interesting, although as rufty tufty bikers I do feel we have let the side down a bit. And, no, I don't know what a Puppenstube is either. I thought it might have been a mid 18th centuary German sex toy but I could see nothing there that fitted that catagory.
Next stop the obligitory distillery, the Bladnoch in this case. There isn't a cafe there as yet but they gave us coffee and shortbread regardless. The chap who owns the place is Irish and well into his whiskey (and sherry strangly enough), and was an absolute star, although possibly barking mad. The first part of the tour was more mostly about motorbikes and the perils of old BMW's vs moderm Kawasaki 600's - he's going to replace it once his mates Kwak beats him anywhere! Eventually realising the non biking part of the tour where looking confused we got to talking about whiskey.
Later, after the usual free dram we where taken round the the other facilities on offer. Campsite, bar, music venue complete with 24 track desk and recording facilities and regular bands on over the weekends.

Needless to say we will be back, hopefully in force for a party weekend, but we had to move on and as the weather was picking up a blat down to the Isle of Whithorn seemed in order. Due to the lack of eating facilities this proved an extremely short stay before we howled off into the distance and Port William.
Here food was available in the Scott cafe. Good cheap grub, spoilt only by someones vomitting children.
By the time we left the cafe the sun was out so we did only thing possible and thrashed up the A747, howled down the A75, scratched down the B7077 and eventaully positively hooliganised along the A77 all the way back to Portpatrick. BFG, in fact huge BFG.
Me and Lindsey had only been back about 5 or 10 minutes before Mark and Carol appeared so I can only conclude Carol's turning into a hooligan too.
This brings up to the present, sitting in our room typing away and thinking about a beer...
Needless to say, beer did feature strongly in the evenings entertainment at the Harbourside Hotel.

Monday 24th April

Another dull start with the promise of improvement. Rather than just blasting straight back we decided to explore a bit more on the way and avoid the boring bits of the A75.
However soon this last little pleasure was at an end as we rejoined what can laughingly be called civilisation at Dumfries.
In a final fit of madness we called in at Gretna Green and to visit the Old Blacksmith Shop. A truely horrendus place full of coach tours, fat tourists and screeming kids, we couldn't leave fast enough.

Go to Scotland, it's beautiful