by Alan Cook
Chapter 21
We could have taken the train from Glasgow,
but I had said that driving would give us more
freedom. I should have held my tongue. The "A"
roads are supposed to be the best roads in the
UK next to the "M" roads (limited-access
motorways like the good old LA freeways) but
soon after leaving Glasgow on A82 we encountered
seven miles of hell along the west bank of mythic
Loch Lomond.
Between the cliff rising on the left and the stone wall
on the right that separated us from the lake shore
was a winding road so narrow that two cars could
barely pass each other, not to mention the big rigs
that kept lumbering by.
"You're going off the road!" became Arrow's favorite
shout as I kept edging the car to the left to avoid the
imminent collisions that were constantly looming.
At one point the local engineers even acknowledged
that the road was too narrow for two cars and
stop lights were set up so that traffic could only
move in one direction at a time.
North of Loch Lomond the road widened and I
breathed easier. Arrow relinquished her death grip
on the door handle. We followed the road up
toward Rannoch Moor Summit, with bare granite
peaks rising on either side.
A roar behind us told me that we were about to be
obliterated by some monster machine. As my heart
went into double-time and I frantically searched
for an escape route, the roar passed over us.
Arrow looked up and pointed. "Jet fighter."
I could see the plane too, flying low, snaking its
way through the canyon, its engine noise
reverberating off the rocky walls. "Must be
RAF," I said. "The sound of freedom. If they don't
scare us to death in the process."
I stopped at a wide spot in the road to let my
shaking subside.
"I'm ready to drive now," Arrow said.
"Fine."
Arrow picked driving up quickly, even shifting
left-handed, and I relaxed a little. She had good
coordination, although occasionally I heard her
chanting the mantra, "Keep to the left." We stopped
to eat at a lunchroom in a village along the north
shore of Loch Ness.
A woman behind a counter made us sandwiches
and we chose to eat at an inside table, shielded
from the cool wind. None of the few tables was
vacant, but one had two free chairs. A man
waved at the chairs and in an accent
suspiciously like ours, said, "Have a seat."
He was older, with streaks of gray in his short hair,
almost skinny. He wore glasses with aviator
frames. We sat down and introduced ourselves.
"I'm Larry," he said, shaking both our hands. "I
take it you're from the US."
"Los Angeles," I said.
"Me too, specifically Palos Verdes."
"Small world." We spent the next two minutes
determining that we lived within three miles of
each other.
"What an amazing coincidence," Arrow exclaimed.
Larry shrugged. "The first time I was in Athens I
saw somebody wearing a T-shirt that read 'Palos
Verdes High School Physical Education' in
Syntagma Square."
"You must travel a lot," Arrow said, and when he
nodded she added, "What are you doing here?"
"Walking." He noticed our looks of disbelief and
added, "From John O'Groats to Land's End,
northeast to southwest. It's a traditional British
walk. Lots of people do it."
"Where do you stay?" Arrow asked.
"B and B's. Bed and breakfast places. The
owners are the nicest people this side of New
Zealand. And many of the rooms are newly
remodeled."
"And what do you carry with you?"
"A fanny pack with water, a little food, a change
of clothes and first aid. And my North Face and
waterproof pants for rain and wind. That's all I
need." Larry pointed to the seat beside him, on
which sat the fanny pack. A blue jacket with a
hood was draped over the chair. It looked
high-tech with its zippers and drawstrings.
Maybe he could give us some information. "If you
started at John O'Groats, you must have gone
through Wick," I said, remembering the road map
we were using.
"The day I started I walked from John O'Groats
to Wick. I stayed at Mackays Hotel. It's more
expensive than a B and B, but I was still
jet-lagged and I thought it might be more
comfortable. It was okay, but I've found the B
and B's to be just as comfortable."
"We have reservations at Mackays Hotel," I said.
"Are the people friendly there?" Will they spill
their guts to us?
"They're friendly, if a little isolated. The day I was
there the local bagpipe band marched through
town, wearing their kilts. Incidentally, some of the
bagpipers are girls. I was watching on the street
and struck up a conversation with a couple of
locals. I thought I was in a time warp. They
talked about the problem of blacks moving in. I
haven't heard that in 30 years."
He didn't look specifically at Arrow and she
didn't respond. I said, "Speaking of 30 years,
we're attempting to look up some men who
lived in Wick 30 years ago and we hope still
do. Do you think the residents will help us?"
"They'll fall all over themselves to help you. It'll
give them something to do. Some days the most
exciting thing that happens here is a cat has
kittens."
We chatted some more until Larry got up to leave.
"If I stop too long at one time I get sleepy and
comfortable," he said, "and it's difficult to get
going again."
"By the way, have you seen the Loch Ness
monster?" Arrow asked.
Larry had been walking along the north shore
of Loch Ness.
Larry laughed. "No. And since Loch Ness is the
largest body of water in Scotland and so deep
that the bottom has never been found there are
plenty of places for the monster to hide."
"One more question," Arrow said. "Why do you
walk?"
"Because I'm a lousy runner."
# # # #
Mackays Hotel is a sturdy stone building near the
Wick River. The intersection beside it is actually a
small roundabout, as I discovered when I
attempted to turn right into the side street and
saw oncoming traffic waiting for me. A circle
painted in the middle of the intersection
designates it as a roundabout.
Tired from having driven almost 300 miles, and still
suffering from eight hours of jet lag, Arrow and I
decided to eat at the hotel rather than venturing
forth into the village of Wick. The food was good,
if unimaginative, and there was plenty of it. We
would not starve. Judging from the girth of some
of the people we had seen so far, none of the
population was starving.
As we tried to compensate for our sleep-debt
by filling our stomachs, I said to Arrow, "I
notice you didn't say anything when Larry
talked about the black problem. You didn't
take offense, did you?"
"Of course not. He was just reporting; it was
nothing personal. And I've heard it all before.
Perhaps he was warning me I might hear some
talk like that. But so far the people seem very
nice."
That wasn't surprising. I had noticed that Arrow
charmed almost everybody on contact. "What
do you think about his plan to walk the length
of the UK?" I asked.
"I think it's exciting. And isn't he handsome."
"That's right, you like older men, don't you."
The look Arrow gave me convinced me to
change the subject.
After dinner we saw a sign in the lobby
advertising a show to be held that evening in
the hotel. It featured singing and dancing and,
best of all, it was free. We agreed that this was
a good chance to meet some people.
# # # #
"I suspect that this is a substitute for pub night,"
I said as Arrow and I slid into a bench seat of one
of the long tables at a ninety-degree angle to the
front of the large room. The room was filling up fast
with whole families, and most of the men went and
purchased drinks at the bar as soon as they were
settled.
"Elma told us about these get-togethers,
remember?" Arrow said. "She used to sing
here."
"I guess nothing's changed. I'll get us a couple
of pints."
When I returned, a man was sitting next to Arrow
on the bench and talking to her. He hadn't
wasted any time. I looked around to see if he
was there with anyone, but no wife or girlfriend
was in evidence. He appeared to be in his
thirties. His cheeks were redder than his
thinning hair. I was glad to see that his waistline
was expanding--not that I was feeling any jealousy.
"Karl, this is Jock," Arrow said, as I put down the
mugs.
He reached in front of Arrow to shake my hand
and said, "Glad to meet you, Karl."
I replied in kind and asked, "Can I get you a drink?"
For answer he lifted his own mug, which was half
full. Before I could say anything more the room
hushed. The emcee, another well-fed man whose
name was Mackay, welcomed everybody and
introduced the first singer, another Mackay.
The young woman had a nice voice and I could
picture Elma singing in her place, except that
she made two of Elma. I said into Arrow's ear,
"Is everybody here named Mackay?"
She passed the question along to Jock, who
laughed and shook his head, indicating that he
was not.
The traditional Scottish song received a rousing
round of applause; I'm sure everybody in the
room had learned the words while still in diapers.
Ms. Mackay sang several others, on the mournful
side, and was followed by more singers and some
kilt-clad dancers.
The small band struck up a tune that was a signal
for members of the audience to get up and dance.
They did a round dance that involved changing
partners frequently. I was trying to figure out the
steps when Jock asked Arrow to dance.
I'm sure she had never done this dance before, but
she picked it up fast and obviously enjoyed herself.
Men glanced at her while pretending not to; women
stared more openly, partly because she was the only
dark-skinned person in the room and partly because
she looked striking in her short curls and blue dress.
After the song ended Arrow and Jock returned
to the table and sat down. The three of us
talked, half-shouting to be heard over the din
of the crowd. We told Jock we were in the UK
on business, without being too specific, and
said that we had promised to attempt to look
up some people for friends of ours. We bounced
several names off him until he reacted to one.
"Aye, Michael McTavish. He lives over by John
O'Groats."
Jock verified that his age was probably late
forties. It appeared we had a hit.
"Could you tell us how to get there?" Arrow asked.
"I'll do better than that. I'll take you there tomorrow."
"Don't you have to work?"
"It's Saturday, my day off."
The band started to play again. Arrow stood up
and grabbed my hand. "Come on, Karl. Get up.
I want to see you dance."
"I've never done that before," I protested.
"I'll show you how; it's easy."
By this time I had drunk most of my pint and it didn't
matter so much if I made a fool of myself. I resisted
only slightly as Arrow dragged me to the dance floor.
Aces and Knaves copyright ©2002 Alan L. Cook
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