Out just before 9am to get a taxi to Buchanan Street bus station.
Showed our ticket and our bus pass to the bus driver and we were ready for the loooong journey north. Little did we know then just how long that journey would be.
Scamp demanded that I get the window seat on the bus, because I’d never had the luxury of being able to look out the window as someone else did the hard work and drove us all the way to Skye. I’d always been the one driving us to Skye since way back in 1987!! That was last century, you realise!! Anyway, I enjoyed the run out of Glasgow and up past Loch Lomond. We passed Glencoe and crossed the Ballachulish Bride over Loch Leven and on along the snaking road to our first official stopping point of Fort William. A half hour stop there, just enough time for a coffee and a cold panini each and we were on the bus again.
We’d changed drivers at Fort William and climbed up past Lochs Lochy, Garry and Loyne, then along Loch Cluanie where we stopped for a comfort break (ie, a fag break for some). We were now at the highest point on the journey and it was all downhill from there … literally. We drove past the ‘Biscuit Tin’ that is named Eileen Dolan Castle. Not nearly as old as it looks.We cruised along to Kyle of Lochalsh where the driver did another ‘comfort break’ stop. That felt like a stop too many. It was now gloaming, and as the sun sank behind the Skye hills I walked on to the slip and got a few photos of the Skye Bridge. When everyone got back on the bus the driver kept saying “Oh Dear!”, like the comedian he later turned out to be.
What happened was a warning light had appeared on his dashboard when he tried to start the engine. His solution was the same as every driver; he switched the engine off but immediately turned it back on again. Now, even I knew that he should have counted to ten first before restarting. It’s all about allowing capacitors and other electrical devices to discharge and give the engine a chance to have a clean restart. Not surprisingly the warning light was still there, but he drove off anyway, possibly with his fingers crossed. Maybe he thought he could drive the almost forty miles with a wounded bus.
After a short time he realised this was beyond his skill set and stopped to phone for a mechanic. Meanwhile about a dozen folk were complaining that they needed to get to Uig a further twenty odd miles from Portree to catch the ferry to Harris. He did manage to get the bus to a carpark in Broadford and arranged for a minibus to take them to the ferry port, so maybe I shouldn’t be so down on him.
However, two more breakdowns later we ended up halfway up a hill in total darkness, miles from anywhere (there are no streetlights between villages in Skye). Another call to a mechanic and then the driver started telling stories to the folk left on the bus and carrying on a repartee with a Canadian(?) teacher(?). I think they thought they were entertaining, but they obviously weren’t looking at the faces of the folk on the bus. We were all just fed up by then. Fed up and sore too.
Eventually, Scamp cut into his flow of consciousness and asked how long we’d need to sit in the dark, because we had people waiting for us in Portree. He disappeared for a while and came back with a message from the mechanic to say that we should be on the road again in 20mins.
As it turned out, the mechanic was as good as his word and on the way we dropped off one lady at a different ferry taking her to Raasay. Thankfully Jackie and Murdo were waiting for us. They’d even got a Chinese carry-out for us all! That was very welcome. Our advertised seven hour journey took Nine hours
When we described the driver to Murdo, he just said “Oh! ‘Popeye’, that ***** idiot of a man.” Expletives deleted.
PoD went to the photo I’d taken in the ‘Blue Hour’ looking out from the slip at Kyle.
Is it significant that today was the 13th? Lucky white heather!
Tomorrow we are hoping to meet Grian.
