With an old bike ...
... by Bill McLaughlin?

18. Quiet Glencoe I set out for Glencoe late in the day and this time decided to use the Ballachulish Ferry. The trip down was magnificent, I stopped to pay my respects at the Commando memorial at Spean Bridge. A training ground for them during the last war, this was desolate moorland, but high on a ridge with terrific views right down across the Aonoch Mor range of hills with Ben Nevis towering behind them. I let the bike run almost by itself on the long drop down through Fort William, running keeping parallel to Loch Linnhe until it was time to find the ferry. Coming off on the other side I got the best view of Glencoe; with the peaks on either side of the entrance to the glen standing like sentinels to welcome me in. That night in at the hostel I was able to feed decently have a decent meal thanks to me my previous ’employer’. The guy had tipped me half a crown for my efforts and I felt rich. I splashed out on some cake, a tinned steak pie and a pack of ‘Instant’ potatoes. I walked a few miles that night, the summer darkness being reluctant to appear until pretty late. The sky was clear and I could see right up into the corries which cut cutting through the surrounding mountains. I stopped at a small bridge crossing across the river and realised I was at the site of the Massacre of Glencoe. When The Cambells had stayed the night with the MacDonalds before slaughtering them on the orders of the King. It was a haunting place. and The thought of the people running from the village with soldiers in pursuit filled me with a sadness. In quiet times Glencoe can be a sad place, haunted with folk memories. I was glad to get back to the warmth of the hostel that night.

Next morning I headed up the glen, more like pushed pushing rather than riding the bike. The road was about five miles of unrelenting, uphill struggle! My reward, when I breached the top, was the magnificent panorama from the Black Mount; the sweep of Rannoch Moor, shining tarns with miniature islands. At this height I was king of the world. I let the bike go hammering down the steep drop that is the Mount. No pedalling required here, this was but rather a free ride for about three miles. It was a beautiful day and I felt good so I kept going, pushing along right down to Tyndrum. I considered stopping but thought that, since I was doing so well, I would stay the night at Crainlarich. I had made good time and it was early afternoon when I arrived there early afternoon. then I hit But, I was faced with a dilemma! I had only enough money for one more night’s stay at a hostel! If I stayed here I would face be facing a run home of over 50 miles. The miles were not the problem, food was! With my money almost gone, I decided to make for the hostel at Inverbeg, Hanging wardens or not. Running down Loch Lomond side was again a joy, this time seeing it from the other side. The Loch still sparkled, any morning mist by now washed away by the sunshine. Running under the overhanging trees with the sun jumping through the gaps, I played a game. The faster I went When I speeded up, the dappling effect was like someone quickly switching a light on and off a high speed light. If I moved slower When I slowed down, I got was able to enjoy the warmth of the sun on my back. The miles drifted slipped past until, I surprised myself as to my surprise, I realised I was almost at the Hostel! I now had choices, I was feeling pretty good but getting hungry with no bashed up bread or tins of Spam in the bag! I now had a choice to make. Do I spend my money here, stay the night but don’t eat? Or should do I get some food and try a to push for on home? I bought a packet of Chocolate digestive biscuits and brewed some tea. No milk, no sugar and burning hot. Nearly scalded my moth mouth with the stuff! Off again, the final push for home. Driving Cycling on past Luss and coming down towards Balloch, I suddenly realised I had made a mistake. I had travelled around 70 miles. There were another twenty odd to go and I felt strangely tired. The earlier sunshine had slipped behind some clouds and it started raining. Hard! I had lingered long on my previous break, remembering all that I had seen and wondering at the magic of the places visited. Now it was late, I was broke and I just wanted to get back home. The ankle which I had hurt a few days earlier was beginning to throb again and I suddenly lost the urge to pedal on. The rain was now coming down in buckets and things were getting a bit uncomfortable. I resolved to make for Dumbarton and try to get a train back into Glasgow. Without money this was going to be a tricky challenge.(‘this was going to be tricky’ OR ‘this was going to be a challenge’. Not both). I pulled into the big red sandstone station that is Dumbarton, that big red sandstone station and walked through to the platform. The place was deserted except for a uniformed station hand. I asked if there were any trains for Glasgow due through to Glasgow and was told there was one in about half an hour. I settled down to wait. Eventually it came slowly into the station, steam billowing. everywhere.(sounds stronger without ‘everywhere’) The train stopped. Nobody got off, nobody got on! I walked down to the guard’s van and the guard looked out,: ‘Are you going to stand there all night? We got a timetable to keep’ he shouted. ‘Get that damned bike in here and let’s be moving.’ I needed no second bidding. Scrambling the bike inside, I leaned against some parcels. ‘Right, away you and find a seat’ said the guard. So far so good! No one had asked for a ticket! I moved up a couple of carriages going through the connecting corridors and settled in a compartment to by myself. It seemed like only a couple of minutes later when I heard the voice, ‘Tickets please, Tickets please’ Nowhere to run to! Nowhere to hide! I decided to brazen it out. The compartment door slid open. and Before he the ticket collector could say a word, I blurted out, the words running into one another. ‘Yesee, ah hurt ma legana ranooto money an ah thought itwouldbe awright, mister, if ahjist gaveye manamenaddress and ma Da wullpey ye when ah get hame!’ I ran out of breath, giving the ticket collector him time to break in. ‘This is a serious offence, son, getting on a train without a ticket. Ye can go tae jail for these things ye know!’ ‘But gie me your name and address, an nae lies mind ye.’ The details were recorded in a book with pink pages and which I had to sign it. He gave me a copy which I was told I had to hand over at Queen Street station in Glasgow. The collector then became quite friendly, chatting and asking where I had been, where I had come from that day. When I told him some of my adventures, he laughed: ‘Wish I had your nerve, son. Here, let me see that paper.’ At that he inserted stuck it back in his book and wrote something on it. ‘You won’t be hearing from us about this. All you’ve got to do is get past the inspector at the station barrier gate in the station and you’ll be OK.’ Arriving On arrival in Glasgow, my friendly inspector reappeared back on the scene, this time with the guard beside him. who The latter happened to have a firm grip on my bike. ‘Right’ he said to the guard, ‘take the bike through the gate. I’ll talk to Jimmy and tell him the story.’ To my amazement, I was walked through, told to get on the my bike and get the hell out of here! I flew out of the station, down the steep slope and right into George Square. It was beginning to get dark. The streetlights had come on and were glistening on the cobbled street as I headed down through Ingram Street and on to Trongate. It was only then that I stopped laughing at my good fortune, or the thrill of ‘Getting away with it!’ As I headed up along Gallowgate, homewards, I was imagining the welcome I would receive on my arrival. A hero! An explorer! An adventurer! I pulled into Barrowfield, ready for anything, hauled up to the close and banged on the door. My mother opened it. ‘Oh yer back’ she said before walking away. I walked through the hall, only stopping to shove the bike into my bedroom. I looked into the living room. We had just recently acquired a television set. and Around it with their backs to me were Ma & Da, Davie & Margaret, and Andy & Jean, my two brothers and their wives. They were watching ‘The Invisible Man!’