More Driving Lessons

More Driving Lessons

Last we left off, we had reached Inveraray, having driven through Edinburgh, not without incident. I believe we encountered a flat tire, having rudely been accosted by a curb while I was minding my own business, and narrowly saved by the rescue men who regularly change tires for the Americans and Canadians who seemed to love to have contact with the curbs of their great city. A quick stop at the Kwik-Fit tire place, and all was well.
We were told to avoid Glasgow, but again the best laid plans…well, you know the saying. We rolled into Inveraray exhausted at 8pm. I didn’t want to drive again, and neither did Robyn.
A good night’s sleep, and we are off again, with me driving. This time it was beautiful, slow, and we made it to the ferry that would take us to Craignure without incident. The ferry ride was smooth, and when we drove off the ferry, we were in high spirits. That is until we drove ten minutes down the road.
The Isle of Mull has what are called one track carriageways. This means that cars going in either direction share one lane. How does that work, you ask? Well, I’ve been driving on it for two days, and I still couldn’t tell you. What I can tell you is, I’m sure I now have a bleeding ulcer. My knuckles will be white for the rest of my life, and the moment of true understanding came today when we rounded a curve that on the left side had a sign pointing in the direction that we were going that said, CEMETARY. I know now that they chose to put a cemetery seemingly in the middle of nowhere for the head-on collisions that happen at that point. Saves time, you see. They can just drag the bodies out of the car and up the hill and bury them. No muss, no fuss. In a country that has seen so many civil wars, what’s a few more drops of blood on the soil?
I was surprised by the speed by which cars traveled. Where I was going 30, they would easily be going 50. I also decided that the trick to surviving on these single track roads was to follow someone who knew what they were doing. That way, if a collision happened, I could watch from behind, thus allowing me to escape. Unfortunately, this didn’t work very well because every time I found someone to follow, they would pull over and let me pass, unlike Americans who would do anything to prevent someone from passing them. At one point I frantically waved the person to go on ahead. He did, but eventually pulled over again to let me pass. Truly, I don’t think I looked that confident.
So, we managed to make it to Tobermory with nary an incident. We made it to Iona this morning with only a small incident, whereby the other driver cheerfully said, “Great Driving! You avoided an accident! Well done!” while I threw up in the bushes.
I became grateful to see cows, sheep and goats. That meant I had to slow down, so that when they leapt unexpectedly into the road I didn’t slam into them, throwing their furry bodies into the ditch.
It took two hours to make it to Fionnphort (pronounced, I am told, Fen-a-fert), or, for perspective, a distance of 48.6 miles. But we were alive, and as Robin pointed out, undamaged in any way, shape or form.
We toured Iona Abby in the misty, driving rain, and returned to the ferry, and the Isle of Mull, where we got back into the car, and proceeded to drive back to Craignure on the other side of the island, or 34.8 miles. We must have done better (we did have more people to follow) because we managed that in one hour and 15 minutes. I refused to drive to the gas station after we parked, telling Robyn if she wanted to fill up that bad, she could drive. On the way out, the proprietor of the Pennygate Lodge where we were staying informed us that if we needed diesel fuel, we wouldn't get any because somebody had backed up into the only diesel pump in town, and knocked it over. We stared at her.
“Are you kidding me?” we asked.
“No, I’m not.” She said grinning.
“What happened?” We asked.
“Ooch, twas an American, backing up and not looking where he was going!”
At least I left the curb in working order.

Driving in Edinburgh

28 July 2010
Driving in Edinburgh

Normally I’m the adventurous type. So I was undaunted by the prospect of driving in Edinburgh. My friends from the UK assured me it was easier than driving in the U.S. I beg to differ on this point, now having driven in this fine city.
Finding the Rental place in Waverly station wasn’t a problem—the cab driver knew just where to go. Checking out, was fairly smooth. The attendant wanted to know if I wanted insurance. I said I already purchased insurance. She agreed, but said I had a 600.00GBP deductible. Hmm…I did some quick calculations, and realized that was almost 1000.00 dollars. She smiled charmingly at me.
“Would you like to purchase additional insurance for 6 GBP/day? It would relieve you of any responsibility should anything at all happen to the car.”
More calculations. 42.00 GBP, roughly 70 US dollars for no liability. “O.K.” I say.
She adds it on in the computer, prints the paperwork, and has both myself and my friend sign. Hands me keys and tells me, “You have a blue Mercedes.”
I blink, sure she couldn’t be talking to me. Taking the key fob she is handing me, I see that it is indeed a Mercedes. You have to understand. I’ve rented many cars. Never have I gotten one that was, well, nice, without asking. My smile broadens. She gives me directions for finding my rental, and away we go. The car, was a tiny four door model I’ve never seen before, but nevertheless very cute. We loaded the luggage and proceeded to drive out of the station, out of Edinburgh to Rosslyn Chapel in Midlothian.
Too bad we didn’t get far. The second round-about got me. On the backside of Holyrood Palace, the curb jumped out in front of me. I know that is what happened, because I was hugging the inside curb. I couldn’t possibly have run over the curb on the other side, going so slow, people were honking at me. Robyn yelled to go left, and I responded with, “I’ve got a flat tire.”
We pulled into the driveway of the Scotland Standard Newspaper building, in the rain, of course, to inspect the damage. Right passengers side flat tire. Thank god for insurance. The interesting thing about this is the fact that it happens often enough that they have a phone number solely devoted to changing tires for rental autos. I called the number, cursing the minutes I was using, and wondering what the phone bill was going to look like.
Within 45 a gentleman showed up in a bright orange van with RAC Rescue written on the hood. I had vowed I would not say I hit the curb. To my dismay there was no need to. He took one look, and said, “Hit the curb, did you?”
I smiled dolefully, holding my hand above my forehead with my thumb and forefinger in the shape of an L.
“Do you know what this means in American?” I asked him.
“No.” He replies starting to grin. I suspect he has an idea.
“It means I’m a big loser,” I say jokingly.
He laughs at this, while my friend asks him if this happens a lot.
He gives us a Cheshire cat grin. “Every day or two there is at least one American or Canadian who hits the curb and gets a flat.”
I breath a sigh of relief, feeling very much less a loser.

The next lesson for driving in Scotland would be regarding round-abouts. We drove to Rosslyn Chapel encountering a few, but navigated them fairly well. We toured Rosslyn Chapel about which I can only say, it is truly amazing. Afterward we walked to a local pub and ate, then headed toward our new destination, Inveraray. Getting to Inveraray was interesting to say the least. Getting through the round-abouts seemed to have escaped us. We spent what seemed like 45 minutes or so going between two round-abouts, trying to take the right road, but always ending up on the wrong road. There is only a finite number of times one can take hearing that annoying voice say, “recalculating”. I think it must have been the fifth try we got it right, and were going the right direction. You might be thinking to yourself, how can anyone get lost using a GPS? I’m not sure, but we managed to. I do now know however, that after at least 15 round-abouts, we learned that when the GPS says take the second exit, it really means stay on the same road you’ve been on, essentially going straight through the circle. Better the lesson learned late than not at all.
We eventually made it to Inveraray, and a wonderful room with a wonderful view. It’s 11:00 PM and finally dark. I think I’ll go to bed.

Off the Plane

After so much anticipation, I have finally arrived at my destination, Edinburgh. So far, everything has been much simpler than I expected, which in turn has made for a smooth transition. I arrived at the Bed and Breakfast which is a 10 minute walk from Princes Street in a steady rain, something I fully expected. I even expected chilly weather, but when you leave 100+ degree temperatures, even the expectation doesn't live up to the experience. It was 54 degrees when we landed, and I'm pretty sure, three hours later, it hasn't increased any. But I didn't come for the weather, and many back home in the sweltering heat will tell me to shut up and enjoy it, something I plan on doing.

The proprietor here, is a lovely lady who immediately showed me to the dining room and offered me a wonderful breakfast with hot coffee. The other guests of the establishment had already begun to eat, so I sat and sipped coffee, striking up interesting coversation with them--or as interesting as can be had on a couple of hours of sleep and a glazed look in my eyes that did not go unnoticed. I have to admit feeling somewhat in awe, as a group of them had been on a biking holiday, by which I mean the type of bike that lacks a motor and relies solely on muscle power. One gentlemen had biked the Swiss Alps for two weeks before coming here, planning to make his way to London, while two of the women had biked from Inverness to Edinburgh. I suddenly felt lazy coming from the airport in a cab. Does walking all over the city count for anything?

So off I go, headed for my 10 minute walk to Princes Street. Hmmm...I walk, and walk and walk. I stop and ask someone if I'm going the right direction, and I get a smile and a wave, "just keep going, way down..." The ten minutes turns to more like thirty. Finally I see the Edinburgh Castle, but it seems no closer to me then the moon, perched high on a hill with a park separating me from it. Suffice it to say, I was sweating by the time I reached the Royal Mile, which as the name implies, is the mile leading up to the castle.
The climb to the castle was worth it. Even the very long line to get a pass was worth it, if only for the sake of the picture of Bob.
You see, Bob came at the end of the tour (no small thing since the tour takes several hours), and was something of a shock. His people wanted to remember him, so they had him stuffed. Bob, was a dog-Registered Pet of the 1st Battalion. And as all dogs that were part of any of the Scottish Regiments, they were well cared for and well loved. My tour was over, but I learned a lot about how a town contained within the walls of Edinburgh Castle spills over those walls, and becomes a wonderful city full of wonderful people.

I will close this by saying that It is now 10:30PM and finally dark outside. I cannot keep my eyes open any longer, so the pictures will be posted tomorrow--especially the one of Bob that is my favorite.