OUR CLASSICS
Mark’s Guzzi isn’t the only thing around with loud pipes as it hits the high roads north of the border on an 1100-mile jaunt
Mark bought his scuzzy Guzzi T3 in 2014, and has been making improvements to it ever since.
In over four years of Guzzi T3 ownership, I’d never managed to do a really big trip on it, and craved an adventure with a four-figure mileage. It’s what these long-legged V-twins do best, even when they’re 43 years old. So when the talk in my local pub one night turned to riding to Scotland, I was up for it.
My mate Alan, a Scotsman well versed in the ways of motorcycle touring in his old homeland, convinced me that a trip up to Applecross on the west coast of the Highlands was the thing to do. We’ve enjoyed riding many mountain roads abroad together, and the Alpine-style road to Applecross sounded like a great challenge. And it’s over 500 miles from where we live. Perfect.
A date was arranged in mid-may – usually a time for fair weather in that part of the world, according to Alan, and preparations began. I’d just re-registered the Guzzi as an historic vehicle, neatly bodyswerving the expenses of tax and MOT, so it was just a case of checking fluids, pressures and nut-and-bolt tightness as far as the bike was concerned. A tool-roll with a few just-in-case essentials was assembled, along with a one-litre bottle of engine oil, a spare inner tube and gaffer tape.
As for my personal comfort and safety, I had a few new things to help me along the way. My knackered old all-weather riding gear was replaced by a Bering laminate Gore-tex suit – seemed to make sense, considering where we were going. A Schuberth R2 helmet with claimed attributes of quietness and aerodynamic efficiency also sounded like a good idea, as my Guzzi has no screen. This full-face job also has built-in speakers to transmit the directions from the Tomtom satnav I had fitted on the Guzzi’s ’bars – handy for a bloke with a pitiful sense of direction like me. The other two additions were anti-pain measures befitting a man of my advancing years: an Airhawk inflatable seat and a Scottoiler Crampbuster ‘cruise control’ to reduce ache on my rear end and right wrist respectively.
With the 43-year-old bike and its considerably older rider as ready as could be, we awaited Alan’s arrival on Thursday morning as planned.
‘THE BORDER ARRIVED SOONER THAN EXPECTED’
How well our pair of Italian V-twins would gel as touring companions remained to be seen, as they were built four decades apart – he owns a 2013 Ducati Multistrada…
We set off from our Leicestershire village at 9am and headed up the A50 to Stoke, then onto the M6 for the long motorway grind up to the Scottish border. In fifth gear, easily keeping up with outside-lane traffic, the Guzzi is in its happy place – the top cog is like an overdrive and the 850cc V-twin simmers along effortlessly. It’s just a case of holding onto it in the wind blast. Swapping lead position to alleviate boredom, we leapfrogged up to Lancashire before heading off the motorway for a fuel and food stop in Lancaster. The Guzzi was showing no signs of distress, which was more than could be said for my rear end. The combination of 160 miles of bad road surfaces, 1970s suspension and an ongoing back complaint had me reaching for the Airhawk seat (it had been bungeed to the rear rack, along with the tool roll, until needed). The Guzzi’s performance on the motorway had impressed Alan, to the point where he was prepared to make a no-refund booking on our accommodation for the night – by now he obviously realised it had a fair chance of actually making it to our intended destination of Inveraray, 240 miles away. I couldn’t help but feel a pang of pride at this vote of confidence in my old bike.
With the seat now inflatably cushioned, I was free to concentrate on riding, rather than on my aching arse. The Cramp buster was proving its worth, too – long periods of holding the Guzzi’s heavy throttle open are enough to make anyone’s right wrist go numb, but my creaky old hand joints were saved from unnecessary pain by this simple plastic lever that fits over the twistgrip. Just apply downward pressure with whatever part of your hand feels comfortable. Sorted.
With pain kept at bay, the Scottish border arrived sooner than expected, after which we turned off the motorway at Gretna, taking the A75 to Dumfries, then the A76 to Kilmarnock. A-roads mean occasional traffic lights and roundabouts, of course, which the Guzzi doesn’t deal with well. No neutral warning light and a horribly grabby clutch mean stopping at roundabouts can be stressful. At one particular roundabout, with Alan in the lead, I’m convinced there’s enough room to squeeze on before an oncoming truck; I’m committed to go, but Alan doesn’t realise how close behind I am and decides to stop… and gets his left pannier rammed by the Guzzi’s front wheel as a result. We both manage to stay
upright, though, and a quick stop to check reveals there’s no damage. Neither of us can help cracking up with hysterical laughter…
Alan wants to show me Irvine, the town he grew up in. We get there and park up next to miles of sandy beach, and as we’ve been blessed with glorious sunshine all day, a visit to the ice cream van is a must. Then it’s off to the ferry across the Firth of Clyde to Hunter’s Quay, followed by a ride to our overnight stay at Inveraray hostel. By the time we arrive there, it’s 7pm and we’ve covered 400 miles, so we dump our gear, get changed and head into the town for a delicious dinner and a few drinks at The George Hotel.
The next day we head further north, with the scenery getting properly crinkly and lumpy the further we go. We pick up the A82 through Tyndrum and cross Rannoch Moor, the kind of properly wild place you’d expect the three witches from Macbeth to hang out at night. It’s here that we’re greeted by the ‘Welcome to the Highlands’ sign. A few miles up the road we pass through the majestic splendour of Glencoe, where the road follows the bottom of a huge, glaciallycarved U-shaped valley. Riding through it, with steep-sided peaks looming on either side, is an experience guaranteed to inspire awe at the immense scenery surrounding you. Now we’re in serious Scotland. Dropping down from Glencoe’s heights, we take the lochside road towards Fort William… but the Guzzi starts to play up. It’s running lumpier by the mile, feeling ready to die any minute. I nurse it along, heart in mouth, hoping it won’t expire out in the wilds on a narrow, busy road… and after what seems like an age, we limp into Fort William and park up at a fuel station.
As I un-bungee the tool roll, I hope it’s nothing serious. We’ve done 450 miles and we’ve only got 120 to go to our destination – it’d be cruel to have to give up now. First port of call are the spark plugs – I had issues previously with the right-side plug coking up, and thankfully that proves to be the problem again. I’ve brought a pair of new ones along as a precaution, so I just gap them up, fit them… and the engine starts and runs sweetly again. Time to fuel up and head north once more…
We turn left off the A82 onto the A87 at Invergarry, and then pull over at the popular viewpoint over the loch, where a piper in full regalia is giving it full bore on his bagpipes. We stop for a listen, a chat and some photos – he’s a friendly fella by the name of Alexander who used to own a Gold Star way back when. We have a bit of a laugh and he wishes us well before we head off along Loch Garry. The A87 here is relatively wide and sweeping, with great visibility – and the Guzzi laps it up. It’s in its element in third gear, grunting through the corners and getting snarly and eager as the revs rise while it devours the straights.
We’re getting close now, with the road getting tighter and more nadgery after we take the A890 north of Lochcarron, then the A896 to Kishorn. And then, there it is – the road to Applecross. A sign at the turn-off warns: ‘This road rises to a height of 2053ft with gradients of one in five and hairpin bends. Not advised for learner drivers, very large vehicles or caravans after first mile.’
It turns out to be a truly intense experience on the Guzzi – exhilarating, with a healthy dose of fear thrown in for good measure. The road writhes and bucks through blind hairpins and vertiginous climbs – it’s a rough-surfaced singletrack all the way, with passing places strewn at random intervals, so you have to keep your wits about you. The craggy peaks and weathered slopes that the road dissects are picked out in starkly beautiful definition by the sunshine we’ve been lucky enough to enjoy all day, and it feels like a real privilege to be riding this road on such a glorious day. At the road’s zenith is Bealach na Ba viewpoint, which looks west over the water to the hazy peaks of the Isle of Skye. A bunch of car drivers on road trips from Germany and Lithuania, as well as gaggles of bikers, are all sharing the buzz of the road and the beauty of the view.
‘THE SUN GLINTS ON THE SEA IN 20°C TEMPERATURES’
And now the descent into Applecross itself – a line of houses facing a picturesque bay, with the sun glinting on the sea and 20°C-plus temperatures giving it a Mediterranean atmosphere. This calls for another ice cream. The guy serving us tells us that the campsite up the hill rents out huts – and luckily there’s one available, so we dump our bikes and gear, and head straight back down to the Applecross Inn. An evening of the local pale ale, delicious haddock and chips and the odd wee dram ensues by the waterside as we bask in the heat of the sun until it finally sets at nearly 10 o’clock. What a day!
Work commitments meant we could only get away for four days, so the next day saw the start of the return trip home. Low cloud led to us choosing the low road out of town, through brooding scenery, but at least the rain held off until after we’d left the single-track roads behind. Then it stayed cold and wet for most of the day.
The aim was to cover the 300 miles to Carlisle that would make the final leg home on Sunday easy meat. In my eyes, the Guzzi was still going strong, although on the likes of twisty lochside roads with limited visibility, Alan’s Multistrada was leaving us behind. The Ducati’s 150bhp more than doubles the T3’s power output, making hopping past lines of traffic a doddle. Modern brakes and electronically selfadjusting suspension was also helping to give Alan the confidence to sandwich the Ducati between close-packed cars, while the Guzzi’s less responsive anchors made my overtakes a bit more circumspect. But once back on the motorway it was even-stevens, with the T3 often leading and happy to cruise at outside-lane speeds for long stretches. And we both agreed my bike was best in one vital respect – it sounds bloody fantastic.
“That’s the baby!” exclaimed Alan, pointing at the Guzzi as I parked up at home the next day. He was obviously impressed that a fortysomething motorcycle had made the trip, and at such a high cruising speed. Yes, mate – that’s my baby.
Thanks to Alan Wright for providing inspiration, guidance and photography.