The Adventures of Lachlan McAngus (The Full Version)

[Jocks]

Genesis

To understand the mentality of McAngus we must first understand the circumstances that brought him into being.

He came to the biking world late, taking advantage of the energy a good mid-life crisis grants, to sit and pass his Direct Access in one week. Now for most mere mortals the sensible thing to do is go and buy a smaller bike to learn some healthy road craft on; but for McAngus good common sense was not to be a barrier in his quest for two wheeled pleasure. However money, alas, is a barrier to a great many things. Again, the sensible approach would have been to buy an elderly rice rocket and dream of things to come. McAngus chose a more direct route and put his two grand on "Cock Rocket" running the 3.30 at Chepstow with odds of 7 to 2.

Chain smoking roll-ups in the doorway of his local bookie McAngus watched as his nag thundered round the course neck and neck with "Winalot", right to the last few furlongs there was nothing but a nose between them and as they crossed the line it was declared a photo finish. By this point McAngus was in the bookie on his knees screaming at the television, as the dispasionate cashier firmly told him to take his cigarette outside.

As he waited on his knees Auld Jimmy, the bookie himself, burst out from his smoke filled office and stood next to McAngus.

"Well, whit the result?!" He asked the screen, as he handed McAngus another fag, "Ah've got a lot ridin on' this race"
"Yer no kiddin" says McAngus lighting up, "This is ma new bike I'm hopin' to win."

Then the result came in, the jury had decided that "Winalot" took the race. McAngus sank further to the floor bawling "Naw, naw, naw!". Meanwhile Auld Jimmy was beside himself with joy.

"There's no need tae rub it in ya bam!", yelled McAngus through his tears, "You have mah money, alright."
"It's not like that Lachlan. I had my life savings on Winalot. Thats me, I'm done, I've made my money. I'm closing up now.", said Auld JImmy looking happier than McAngus had ever seen him.

Auld Jimmy explained that he had had his fill of the Turf Accountant business and wanted to persue his lifetime's ambition of becoming a bird watcher. The feathered kind before you ask. He watched as the despair began to show on McAngus's face, the loss of his ambitions put into sharf relief at the realisation of his own.

"Listen", he said, "I think I have something for you, come with me"

He took McAngus through the small office and then through the door into the back of the bookies. There sat the most beautiful thing McAngus had seen, a kitted out BMW 1150GSA. Auld Jimmy explained that it was a part payment on a debt but he had not use for the bike, or for that matter the debt, and would be glad to see the back of it.

"You've been a gud customer these past few years Lachlan. The bikes yours if ye want it?"

McAngus wiped some dust from the side of his eye and not one to miss an emotional moment remarked "About feckin' time ye paid oot!". Jimmy took this for as close to tender moment as emotionally retarded men can get and tossed McAngus the keys to his new bike.

"Now, piss off outta my shop, I've got closing up to do."

So there we have it, McAngus gets his bike and we know a little more of this enigmatic and compelling man. But, getting the Bavarian Half-Tractor is only the beginning......

 

[Jocks]

The Adventures of Lachlan McAngus

Numbers

It would be fair to say that McAngus had not fully thought through his attempts to purchase a motorcycle. All he knew was that he wanted one, badly. The events from the bookie left him elated but also unprepared, his thoughts were to win his money, buy some biking gear and use what was left over to buy a bike. As it turned out he had a bike but not a shred of equipment nor for that matter very much money.

Pondering his predicament McAngus walked back home through the streets of Edinburgh. On Queen Street he decided to poke his head into Hein Gerike and gaze wistfully at the jackets, boots, helmets and gloves. His budget would only extend as far as a pair of gloves from the bargain bin and a green open face helmet. Needs must and McAngus bought them. When he asked about the prices for jackets he nearly fell over!

"Ahh, you see this jacket is fully waterproof and the protection can be removed, like this", the salesman said as he deftly removed the elbow pads from one of the jackets, "You can them upgrade them with pads like these", he continued picking up a pack from a nearby shelf.

McAngus snapped out of his doldrums in an instant, "Ah'll take the elbow pads, hip pads and knee pads". The salesman looked confused, but only for an instant and sold McAngus the pads with only a raised eyebrow.

Shortly after leaving the shop he then walked into a gentleman's outdoor shop, specialising in scratchy tweed britches, salmon cotton trousers and green moleskin breeks. They also sold vast quantities of wax re-proofer, of which McAngus bought a large tin for a surprisingly small amount of money.

Once he heaved his purchases home he set to work making the biking gear for which he was later to become famous. His old faithful Barbour jacket was deftly upgraded with the aid of a knife to split the lining and carpet glue to bond the elbow pads in place. He took his favourite pair of jeans (the ones without the added crotch ventilation) and bonded the knee pads to the inside. An older pair (with ample testicular air flow) was sacrificed to provide a lining on the inside of the knees and an extra layer on the backside. The finishing touch was to soak the entire outfit in the wax re-proofer, rendering it completely waterproof and, it has to be said, completely foul smelling.

McAngus then pulled an old dusty shoe box from under his bed, from the inside of this he carefully took out an old pair of world war two flying goggles. These had belonged to Angus McAngus, his grandfather an active participant in the war. Not that his grandfather had been a pilot, he had however shared the same London brothel that was favoured at the time by pilots and these are all he had been wearing as he escaped a police raid. Incidentally the brothel in question went by the name of "Tipperary" and was immortalised in song, which explains why a song about a town in Ireland is sung while waving union flags.

So, with joy in his heart he clothed himself in his newly created ensemble and made his way to the bookies back yard. There was his GS waiting, the panniers glistening in the sick yellow light from the bookies back door. He slotted the key into the ignition and switched it on, the bike clicked and whined out of its slumber and McAngus pressed the starter. The bike grunted into life and McAngus felt a shiver of excitement as he gave the throttle a couple of gentle twists. Clutch, click, shoulder check (in case some sneaky driver appeared from behind the bookies bin) and McAngus rolled out onto the back roads of Edinburgh. Despite his unfamiliarity with the bike and its ungainly size he found himself in harmony with the machine in a matter of minutes, a marriage made, if not in heaven then in serendipity.

 

[Jocks]

The Adventures of Lachlan McAngus - Exodus

Exodus

Anyone who has spent a day driving in Edinburgh will tell you the same thing - its lethal. A combination of erratic roadworks, potholes, traffic management on LSD and psychotic drivers is enough to make the most battle hardened biker break into a sweat. McAngus' first ride out was an education to him, he had opportunity to test the ABS, the handling and the suspension; and that was just going along George St.

By the time he arrived back at his flat McAngus was bad tempered. When he found a Porsche parked in the designated motorcycle bay he was in a rage. The driver looked very dapper in his three piece suit as he got out of the car and tried to ignore McAngus while the bike pulled up next to him.

"Feck off somewhere else ya prick!", he shouted at the driver, he was never one to resort to charm where direct threats would suffice.
"I'm only going to be an hour or so, find somewhere else to park my good man.", retorted the slightly effete driver.

Now McAngus lost the ability to speak and from somewhere the urge to react overtook him. Revving his engine he shot off to the end of the street and pulled a tight u-turn (foot down on the ground to the shame of his instructor). Incensed with anger he dug in and sent the bike hurtling towards the Porsche and while the driver stood by open mouthed he pulled a neat wheelie and mounted the front of the car. Using more luck than skill he managed to drive his bike right to the top of the Porsche. In a neat movement he put the side stand down and leapt to the ground in exactly the way a ninja wouldn't.

"Well, ahm gonna be ages so you might as well take yer time. Arse!", snorted McAngus, he turned on his heel and made his way back up the car to remove his panniers.

As soon as the Porsche driver got over his initial shock he pulled out his mobile phone and called the 999.

"All our lines are busy at the moment, if your call is life threatening please press 1, if your call is not please press 2 *BEEP*", the driver pressed 2 and a young man with a rich New Delhi brogue answered the call, "Welcome to the new non-critical emergency service, would you like fire, police, ambulance, coast guard or internet service providings?"
"Police ple....what?"
"I said would you like fire, police, ambulance, coast guard or internet service providings"
"INTERNET SERVICE PROVIDING?!", the driver exclaimed
"Very good sir, would you like 4, 8 or 16 mega bitings?"
"No, I want the police"
"The 8 megabitings providings is very good!"
"No, please my Porsche is wrecked, I want the police!"
"What is the nature of your problem, sir?"
"I've got a motorcycle on top of my car dammit!"
"And where are you parked sir?"
"I'm in a parking bay in Edinburgh, look I need the police here, now!"
"If it is a parking violation, sir, this is handled by the local authority. Would you like me to be putting you through to them?"
"No, I need the police for Christ's sake!"
"OK sir, what type of parking bay is it, we have Residential, Car Share, Ticketed or Motorcycle?"
"Its motorcycle parking, but there is a bike on TOP OF MY CAR!".

There was a long pause on the phone. It was perhaps unfortunate for the Porsche driver that only this very morning Manjit had been knocked off his Lee Enfield on his way to work by a young woman in a Porsche.

"OK Sir, is the motorcyclist there sir? Could you let me be speaking with him?"

The driver, now white with shock, walked over to McAngus and without a word handed him the mobile.
"Aye whit?", asked McAngus
"I believe you are on top of a Porsche, sir. Could you tell me what make of motorcycle you have please?"
"Er, aye its a BMW 1150GS Adventure, why..."
"What make of tyres and front forks sir?"
"Metzler Tourance I think, the forks are stock...why...."
"That is indeed a pity sir, Ohlins would have been much better. OK Sir, I have to advise you that you need to lean well back as you drive off the car and make sure you keep your front wheel up."
"Uh, erm, OK", McAngus handed the phone back to the driver slightly stunned.

"Well?", asked the Porsche Owner to Manjit
"The gentleman driving the motorcycle will be quite safe and has agreed not to press charges. In future I suggest that you don't park your car underneath motorcycles. Now, about your internet service providings, I can give you 16 megabitings for the price of 8 megabitings....."

McAngus lifted off his top box and crunched his way down the front of the car, making his way to his flat. As he opened his door he noticed a small crumpled note sitting on top of his pile of unpaid bills. The note was from Auld Jimmy:

Lachlan,

Ah've no been honest wie ye. The bike belongs tae Big Shug. He was gonna tear me heid aff, until ah telt him ye stole the bike fae me. He took ma son's Vespa so watch out fur him. Ye better make yersel scarce.

Jimmy

McAngus had heard of Big Shug and knew he was not a man to tangle with. Wasting no time he grabbed a few personal items threw them into his top box and left his flat. Just outside the dapper young man was sitting on the kerb, tie undone, still talking on the phone, "Yes, the 16 megabit broadband does sound good and you will throw in the anti-virus software too?.....". Poor sod.

Standing next to the mangled Porsche was an elderly gentleman in a mud brown tweed suit and balding head.

"Is this your work?", he asked McAngus in soft measured tones
"Aye, what of it?"
"You have a talent for the, uh, unconventional. You could be of service to us. Would you be interested in a, uh, task which would be mutually beneficial?", the way he said the word "task" sent a shiver down McAngus' spine.
"Come to my office, its nearby. We have things to, uh, discuss".

 

[garfield]

Here's the full story, any funny posts will be moved to the general chat thread.....which can be found here....

http://www.ukgser.com/forums/showthread.php?t=176748

Right I'm off the read the continuing stories of Lachlan.....

Any nonsense chat will be moved to preserve the quality of this thread.....Jocks, over to you Sir.....

 

[(RIP) Proff]

Just read it again !!
Bloody brilliant

 

[Jocks]

Job

Lachlan followed the stranger up a nearby flight of stairs into one of the Newtown offices. Inside the walls were completely covered, from floor to ceiling with books of law and statute. This collection was far from decorative and most of the tomes were dust free and well worn. Inside there were two large desks facing each other from opposite sides, behind one sat an elegant woman who was quietly tapping away at an ancient green screen terminal. She paused only briefly to look at Lachlan before returning her attentions to the green glow of her screen.

"Sit, sit!" the gentleman asked indicating a leather covered chair opposite his desk.

"Allow me to explain myself, I am Francis McGovern of McGovern, Falter and Associates, you will not have heard of me and until this morning I had little interest in you. However you have, become, uh, integral to my activities today."

"Look, if it's about the car, that tw...", Lachlan tried to explain,

"The car can be replaced, however my grandson-in-law was about to perform an important task for me and you have, uh, stymied his progress. He's a pleasant enough chap and keeps my granddaughter happy but he is less than effective on matters of import.", Francis peered over his spectacles at Lachlan in much the same way as a vulture looks at a twitching corpse, "You seem to have an element of non-conformity which may be Ideal for my purposes, so as time is of the essence I shall make a brief proposal to you which will be of mutual benefit."

Lachlan remained silent, which Francis took as approval to continue but was in reality because he had not really taken in what he was being told.

"In simple terms I want you to drive to Tyndrum and pick up a package, this will then be taken to a location specified upon collection. Will you perform this task for me?"

"I suppose, but how come you dinnae just use a.."

"Courier? Because you may meet resistance on your travels and for that reason I need someone who is, uh, resourceful."

"Maybe, but how mu.."

"You will be paid £5000 upon completion, with expenses."

"OK, I'll dae it but when dae I..."

"Immediately! I anticipated your acquiescence and have fully insured your vehicle for the task, Miss Johnston has your documentation along with instructions.", Francis smiled a cold grin at Lachlan that did absolutely nothing to put him at ease. Miss Johnston glided across the office and whispered something in his ear, he turned and nodded to her.

"It would appear that Hugh Symington has found your address and is making his way hither as we speak, I would suggest that you make haste."

Lachlan responded with a blank expression as he had no idea who Hugh Symington was.

Francis sighed, "The character that you know as 'Big Shug' is making his way here to discuss vehicle ownership with you, I suggest you start moving now!".

Needing no further encouragement Lachlan took a brown envelope from Miss Johnston and left the office, as he hurried down the steps Francis shouted "And don't forget to check your oil level at Tyndrum, those bikes have a voracious appetite!".

McAngus clambered to the top of the destroyed Porsche and shoved the brown envelope into his top box. He gingerly climbed onto his bike, which was giving the impression it was trying to crush the Porsche into the ground. Remembering Manjit's words of advice he revved the engine and pulled hard on the bars while he drove the bike off the car. Pausing to check for any damage he noticed a bike entering the far end of the street. It was Big Shug, his massive body towering over an elderly blue Vespa. Shug put the wee scooter into 1st and showing a remarkable degree of dexterity pulled an aluminium baseball bat from the back of his jacket as he accelerated forwards.

"Baaaaaasssturd!", screamed Big Shug as his machine made a sound like a thousand angry wasps and left a huge trail of blue smoke. He drove straight for McAngus swinging the bat and making it very clear his intention was to do him harm.

McAngus wasted no more time and shot off down a side street. Big Shug slid to a halt next to the crumpled Porsche to put the bat back down the inside of his jacket. "Where is that prick off to?", he asked himself out loud.

"Oh that hooligan is now making his way to Tyndrum, the complete cad!", replied the effete Porsche driver, accurate information which earned him a sharp kick from Francis, "Idiot!", he muttered under his breath.

Shug kicked his scooter into life and revved the 200cc two stroke to deafening levels then dumped the clutch and screeched off after McAngus. The Vespa was well suited to working its way through traffic while the GS may have had a lot more speed it was wider and much more cumbersome when filtering. For the next twenty minutes McAngus and Shug played a lethal game of cat and mouse through the streets of Edinburgh, dodging and weaving their way through the traffic. On several occasions McAngus jumped the lights to get away from the closing scooter, swerving and flicking the bike between the crossing traffic. It was not until he made a suicidal cut through the Barnton Interchange that McAngus felt like he was finally putting some distance between himself and Big Shug.

The open dual carriageway was relatively free of traffic and he rode towards the bridge feeling a damned sight more relaxed than the previous half hour. Crossing the bridge McAngus took a look out to his right, to the Forth estuary and the open sea beyond. A sense of freedom and adventure tickled him like the kick from the first whisky of a Friday night. The bike settled down to a friendly hum and he soaked up the miles to Perth, admiring the pleasant views of Fife and Kinrosshire. At Perth he passed through a couple of big open roundabouts and entered a stretch of spectacular twists and bends taking him to Crief. From there the roads presented fast sweeping bends and delightful straights that seemed to McAngus to be there just for his entertainment. The distance between the towns became meaningless as each place became a period of slow preparation and contemplation before the next set of fast bends and technical twists. In what felt like seconds he had passed Loch Earn and was waiting at a junction for a gap in the traffic to let him join the road to Tyndrum and beyond.

He sensed that the nature of the roads had changed. No longer was it a town followed by twists followed by town, it had become big open road with spectacular views. He slid past dozens of cars on the climb towards Killin, the clear open views letting him see the traffic ahead. Heading towards the garage at Killin he noticed that the yellow tracked Land Rover had gone and it felt to him like his childhood memories had been robbed. This thought only passed for a second as he powered his way round the long sweeping left hand bend, for the first time ever his cylinder head passing closely to the ground. Narrow old road gave way to wide modern road and then changed to sharp bends, each twist and turn infused McAngus with energy and a sense of freedom which only motorcyclists can perceive.

Crianlarich approached and he slowed to pass through the town, a series of caravans, campers and heavily loaded cars edged their way under the railway bridge in front of him, vehicles which he had already overtaken before the national speed limit sign had passed. He pushed the bike to its limits on the next stretch of road and was having so much fun that he resented Tyndrum's approach because this meant he had to stop; it also meant that he had work to do and the sense of resentment gave over to foreboding and a nagging fear of an uncertain future.

Two roads diverged in a yellow wood,
And sorry I could not travel both
And be one traveler, long I stood
And looked down one as far as I could
To where it bent in the undergrowth.

 

[Jocks]

Ezekiel (25:17)

McAngus pulled into the car park at Tyndrum and slid his bike in with the others. He noticed that there were quite a few GSs there, well loved machines lovingly adorned with shiny accessories, oil cooler covers, raised hand protectors, extended mudguards, petrol cap covers in mock carbon fibre and all manner of trinkets. Some, he felt, were useful but most were simply expensive boy’s toys and served little functional purpose.

He opened the top box and pulled out the brown envelope, inside he found various certificates of insurance and what looked like a contract. There was also a carefully handwritten letter on thick ivory coloured paper. It read:

"Mr McAngus,

Please follow these instructions to the letter and do not disclose the contents to anyone.

You are required to meet one Mrs Eupheme McAllister at 'The Green Welly Boot' restaurant at your earliest disposal. She will be alerted to your presence and will be waiting for you as soon as you arrive.

You MUST follow her instructions exactly. Bring this letter with you as proof of identity.

Yours sincerely,


Francis McGovern"​

He shoved the letter into one of his jacket pockets and walked over to the restaurant, the grey hardcore crunching under his feet. Once inside the glass doors he looked over the busy room but with no idea of who he was meant to meet. After just a few seconds a large man appeared from nowhere at his shoulder, dressed like a bouncer but sounding like a hairdresser.

"Lachlan McAngus?", he asked softly, managing to sound gentle while simultaneously looking dangerous, "Good, follow me, mind the step."

He led McAngus to the furthest table in the restaurant where an elderly woman was sat. She wore a simple black dress and had a black lace cowl over her head, in front of her on the table was a large envelope which obviously contained a rectangular package. It was sealed shut with a red wax stamp, including a short red ribbon.

"Sit, and be respectful", the gentle thug whispered.

McAngus sat opposite the old woman and waited for her to speak. The thug leaned forward and whispered in his ear, "Give her the letter you fool."

She took the letter and opened it, her paper thin skin showing every bone in her hands.
"So this is what Francis sends me? No matter, I'm sure he knows what he is doing.", her voice carried remarkable authority and Lachlan found himself sitting up straight.

"Do you understand what is required of you today?"
"Aye, well no. No really, just ah huv tae take a package fae you an take it tae..."
"Perhaps your lack of knowledge is a blessing. Give Dino your keys, he will prepare your vehicle.". Reluctantly McAngus gave his keys to Dino who promptly left the restaurant.
"Dino!", Eupheme called to him, "Don't forget to replenish the oil, those machines devour lubricant."

"To begin. You are to take this item and deliver it to Mr McGovern at..", she slowly leaned forward beckoning Lachlan to do the same, "The monument of the Duke of Sutherland, at Golspie", she leaned back her expression showing relief, then she pushed the envelope towards Lachlan and lowered her head.

"That it?", asked McAngus but she showed no signs of responding she even looked like she was crying but he was not sure. Slightly bemused McAngus stood up and taking the envelope left the restaurant. He saw Dino at the nearby petrol station just removing the nozzle from the bike's tank. He appeared to be completely oblivious to the half dozen other GSs around him and the odd expressions his black suited frame was attracting from the other bikers.

"Mr McAngus, your bike is ready, tyre pressure checked, oil level correct and fuelled. God speed to you.". This attracted more attention from the other GSers and McAngus became the brunt of some harsh humour.
"Bloody royalty huh!", "Get yer butler to dae mah bike!" along with some less savoury comments. One asked, "Where yah heading?" and a sharp glance from Dino let McAngus know he needed to be discrete.

"Uh, West, then North, uh, maybe", McAngus said, trying to sound as non-specific as he could.
"OK, same as us, ride wie us, you are a Tosser ken?", McAngus' red face and angry expression forced the friendly biker to explain, "GS bikers are Tossers, in a good way, ken!". This placated McAngus and like it or not they set out together.

The roads from Tyndrum open up to some of the most spectacular riding there is, probably better suited to super quick rice rockets but equally rewarding to canny GSs. The group roared through Bridge of Orchy, the two cylinder roars merging into a harmonious cacophony which McAngus could feel inside every organ of his body. They sped up the giant double 'S' bend and made the summit of Rannoch Moor in what can only be described as classic bike gang mood. As they descended from the summit they could see the road gently snaking for miles into the distance, this encouraged them all to accelerate a little and zoom past the solitary King's House Hotel. Glancing at his mirror McAngus noticed, in the distance, a small bike with a massive rider on it, leaving a trail of blue smoke. "Oh no feckin' way!", he muttered, realising that there was every chance that was Big Shug on his trail.

The group pressed on and as they reached the bottom of the descent they came to an abrupt halt behind a long queue of traffic. This was not roadworks as they first suspected. A fellow biker coming the other way pulled up and told them that there were a dozen guys blocking the road and pulling all bikers into a layby. Apparently they were looking for someone or something. McAngus guessed it was him and with a horrible realisation found he was now stuck between Big Shug and some sinister enemy.

"This is shite!", barked one of the Tossers, not known for his patience, and not enjoying the prospect of waiting in a long queue.
"Aye it was a guid ride but it really fizzled oot like a damp squib, in mah opinion.", exclaimed another, not blessed with good looks nor patience.

Frantically McAngus tried to think what to do next, there was no way forward and he didn't fancy dicing it with Big Shug's baseball bat either. Equally he couldn't stay where he was and he couldn't rely on the support of complete strangers.

It's so hard to keep this smile from my face
Losin' control, yeah, I'm all over the place
Clowns to the left of me, jokers to the right
Here I am stuck in the middle with you

 

[doyle]

Next please youv'e captivaited an audiance now.

 

[Jocks]

Jocky met with Jenny fair

Looking around him Lachlan came to the conclusion that he had only one course of action - head for the hills. He sighed as he started his bike, the familiar grunt of his machine bringing him a little confidence. One error, one mistake, one slip would mean injury at best, but could also mean capture and a "doing" from Big Shug or worse, from those unknown strangers.

Taking his life into his hands Lachlan cut through the pack of bikers and nimbly popped the bulky GS onto the chicken wire covered sleepers that made up the beginning of the path to the Devil's Staircase. The bike bumped up and down over the sleepers with surprising ease, which was just as well because Lachlan realised with horror that he could not stop. Either side of him lay an oily looking foul bog, his two foot wide wooden roadway was the only firm ground around.

In the blink of an eye he had passed the bog and was now faced with the long zigzag climb over loose gravel and broken rock, the Devil's Staircase itself. Again his only hope was to keep moving, if he stopped he was done for. Hoping his nerves would hold out (and his bowels) Lachlan stood up on the pegs and gave it everything he had. The bike bit into the ground and growled its anger at the hill, each corner was a wheel-spin and lurch but rapidly the bike continued upwards. Lachlan began to believe that he could actually do it, as his confidence grew somehow the bike knew and moved with increased ease.

---
Back on the road one of the Tossers commented "Ah've no seen ridin' like that ootside mah beloved Fife!", a comment for which he was rewarded a shower of half eaten apples, carrots and an empty bottle of Jagermeister (remarkable this early in the day). However this shower stopped as a very angry man on a blue Vespa pulled up, his machine dwarfed by the looming bulk of the GS bikes, however as he stood up it was his looming bulk that dwarfed the GS riders.

"Huv ye seen Lachlan?" Big Shug asked the group, completely oblivious to the number or size of the gang despite the obvious irritation at his presence,
"Who?", replied one
"Whit are ye talkin' about?", replied another.
The group was pleased with itself, managing to keep the presence and direction of Lachlan secret from this thug.......but one voice chirped up from the back of the group..
"Hud oan, is that no the guy up on the hill there, isnae he called Lachlan? He's the one heading tae Fort Wulliam is he no?...."
In one motion the entire group turned to face this big mouthed idiot...
"....uh, he'll be in Kinlochleven in about an hour ah think...", he added, sealing his fate. In true tosser style he was excommunicated from the group and we will say no more about him.

Big Shug sized up the hillside and rightly concluded that his 200cc Vespa was not up to the task of a savage hill climb, however unlike Lachlan Big Shug was up to the task of driving headlong into a pack of dark suited goons and standing a fairly good chance of coming out the other side. Which is precisely what he did, swinging the aluminium baseball bat in his left hand and roaring at the top of his voice he raced down the glen towards the unofficial roadblock just before the turn off to the Clahaig Inn. Using the type of grace and charm bestowed on a pre-menstrual rhinoceros he smashed into the first goon, clattered his bat on the back of the legs of a second and by some miracle ricoched his scooter off the side of a large car and in a split second found himself careering down the old road past the Clahaig, leaving a trail of devastation and confusion behind him. He allowed himself a wry grin, by God Lachlan was going to pay for this!

---
Lachlan's progress was somewhat harder, each corner became a physical demand that he found harder and harder to answer, in one last desperate leap of faith Lachlan cut the last corner and headed straight for the summit, sweat pouring down the inside of his helmet, his goggles hanging by his throat slowly filling with dust and sweat. Inside his improvised jeans and jacket the puddles of fear were forming, clammy and unpleasant.

(A few years ago, when Lachlan was retelling this story to an enthralled WRI rally, he described his condition thus, "Mah gusset wuz like a fuggin' paddlin' pool, ken!", which went down as expected of the ladies of the WRI)

Just as Lachlan was certain he was about to collapse the road graduated off, steep gravel slope giving way to a pleasant path through the heather. The views were magnificent and Lachlan found that his ears popped, replacing roar and pressure in his head with tranquillity and peace, broken only by the gentle rumble of his bike. He travelled on for a half mile or so, until he felt certain that he was not being followed and brought the bike to a stop. The side stand had been thoughtfully fitted with a larger plate and only sank a little into the ground.

A small stream bubbled by and Lachlan peeled off his lid and jacket, taking a leisurely dook in the cooling waters while the warm sunshine lifted his spirits. For a moment he forgot his task and soaked up the sensations of the hill. He let out an enormously loud fart and mouthed a quiet "Ahh!" under his breath.

“Coming into Los Angeles
Bringing in a couple of keys
Don't touch my bags if you please
Mister Customs Man

Hip woman walking on a moving floor
Tripping on the escalator
There's a man in the line
And she's blowing his mind
Thinking that he's already made her”

 

[Jocks]

O'er the Hills

"We look to Scotland for all our ideas of civilisation."
- Voltaire

Lachlan closed his eyes and let the warmth of the weak sun play across his face. Given the choice he would have remained at that very spot for an eternity but as he began drifting off to sleep nightmares flashed through his mind. Big Shug flashed by wielding a twenty foot baseball bat screaming, with the old woman on the back of the Vespa holding a miniscule package with blood dripping from it...

Screaming, screaming, screaming...Lachlan suddenly woke, peering into the watery sun and noticed the golden eagle optimistically circling overhead. "Aye, ah'm no yer dinner today Goldie", Lachlan grunted, heaving himself up on his elbows. He had no idea how long he had dozed off for but he felt it was not too long. The cylinder heads on the GS were still lukewarm so it cannot have been long. He wearily mounted the bike and it started and idled, showing no signs of any of the previous exploits.

He took off again, gently weaving his way along the walkers path to Kinlochleven, alone now that the hungry eagle had disappeared. The climb up the Devil's Staircase had been hard but the descent was worse, once moving there was no way to stop and Lachlan felt every bump and lump on the way. Still the bike rumbled on, eagerly pushing against first gear and urging him to race ahead.

As suddenly as his climb began he landed with a thump in the village. The smooth road felt ridiculously easy to drive, the potholes, which he would have bemoaned before, were nothing to him. Ahh the open road he thought, heading North out of the town, then turning West he looked forward to the ride to Fort William and beyond. The air was not as fresh as it was on the hill, the smell of civilisation and petrol fumes. In particular one smell caused the hairs on his neck to rise, the distinctive smell of a hot two stroke engine. As he passed out of the village he turned the final bend to see...

Big Shug! His bike parked across the road, baseball bat in hand ready to give Lachlan the doing he deserved. As soon as McAngus saw Shug he swerved sharply to the right and began to climb a steep tarmac road. He heard the sound of the Vespa being brought to life and opened up the bike, reaching the top of the road and joining the old military road to Fort William. It was lumpy but by no means as bad as the Devil's Staircase, he wasted no time in putting as much distance as he could between himself and Shug. Many years ago he had walked this route and remembered it being unforgiving and murderous on his feet which had carried him from Glasgow all those years before. On the bike it was murder on his wrists but he had found his rhythm and made excellent progress.

The miles rolled past and with the exception of a deer fence he met with no difficulty. He descended into the final stretch feeling oddly refreshed. The track gave over to dirt road, then to rough tarmac and then to fully hardened surface. He joined the main road just South of Fort William, just in front of Big Shug, but somehow this did not alarm him and he sensed that Shug knew it. He followed for a short part but stopped at a petrol station, letting Lachlan open up and head onto Golspie. He was confident now that the worst was behind him but also felt strong enough to face it all again.

The bike still had half a tank of fuel and all seemed well so Lachlan pulled into Fort Augustus for petrol. He bought some chocolate and drank heavily from a bottle of Lucozade. He felt fine but became aware of how he looked when a young mother swiftly pulled a gaped mouthed boy away from him. He was covered in dried mud, dust, filth and sweat. The bike was not much better, the only clean bit was where his backside was on the saddle. He grinned at this, enjoying the feeling of being a wild adventurer.

Only 80 or 90 miles left to go he thought, then this strangest of journeys would be over...


Like a hobo from a broken home
Nothing’s gonna stop me
Like a hobo from a broken home
Nothing’s gonna stop me

I’ve never yearned
for anybody’s fortune
The less I have
the more I am a happy man

 

[Jocks]

Brighton Revisited

The best-laid schemes o' mice an' men
Gang aft a-gley,
An' lea'e us nought but grief an' pain,
For promis'd joy!
- Robert Burns

Lachlan lowered himself back into the saddle. He was not afraid to admit his arse was feeling tender. He rolled from the forecourt and onto the twisty road, almost immediately the ache started to build in the back of his legs so he propped them forward, cruiser style, on top of the crash guards. This brought a little relief and gave a pleasant cooling breeze up his trouser legs.

Pleased with himself he rolled on easing in and out of each bend with a relaxed flowing style. He even took time to take in some of the view, a pleasure he had been denied since Tyndrum, the expanse of Loch Ness to his right opening out to the horizon and the rolling hills to his left. He noticed a farmer standing on top of a nearby hill and fancied himself one day working the land. Oddly the farmer was wearing black rather than the more traditional earthy colours but Lachlan paid this no heed.

Until that was, when he saw another farmer a few miles further on, standing in the same way on the hillside all dressed in black. Lachlan’s relaxed mood gave over to a gnawing concern and by the time he saw the fourth “farmer” he began to panic.

“Oh, shit, oh shit, oh shit!”, he muttered under his breath. These must be the guys that were stopping traffic back in Glencoe. “What the hell is going on?” he thought. His feet dropped from the crash bars back to the foot pegs and he sped up, the pain in his legs sent to the back of his mind. As he sped up his mind flicked over to the opening scene from ‘The Italian Job’ where the elegant sports car drove into a tunnel and crashed into a bulldozer, the black suited figures appearing on the hillside shortly afterwards. Lachlan eased back slightly on the throttle and approached each blind bend with a little more caution.

Bend after bend after bend, town and village passed by but no further sign of the black suits. The tension wound Lachlan’s guts tighter and tighter until he realised that beyond just fear he also was desperate for a shit. About 10 miles outside Golspie Lachlan pulled up a forestry track and leapt off his bike. Then he made a quick dash for a secluded spot just beyond the view of the roadway, he dropped his trousers and groaned as he laid what felt like five yards of cable.

He felt a lot lighter and made use of a handful of moss to clean his backside. As he stood up to pull his trousers back up he heard the familiar sound of a two stroke engine pulling up next to his bike. “Aw fer fuxsake!” he swore, squatting down once again.

The stench from his own excrement and sheer frustration at the situation made Lachlan’s mind up for him – his only choice was to attack. He grabbed a nearby rock and a useful looking piece of wood, took a deep breath and burst from his secluded spot, roaring like a man possessed.

When things go wrong in the biking world, they go wrong quickly and this was never truer in Lachlan’s case. Instead of Big Shug, Lachlan found himself standing a mere three yards from a young man dressed in Mod clothing enjoying a quiet embrace from a pretty Modette, obviously out on a wee romantic run. They were presented with a filthy roaring biker armed with a club and rock. It was at this stage of mutual recognition that Lachlan’s unfastened trousers fell to the ground and the Modette screamed.
“Bloody carnivore!”, the young man yelled, ushering his girl to the Lambretta.
“Look, I wasnae expecting you!”, Lachlan pleaded
“Who the bloody hell were you expecting dressed like that, you pervert!”, he retorted before kicking the scooter into life and shooting away in a flurry of gravel and dust.
“Aye, fair point.”, Lachlan murmered, realising how crazed he looked. It had been a long, long day for him.

Here he comes, look at that, look at that
There he goes, look at that, look at that
And he ain't wearin' no clothes

Oh, yes, they call him the Streak
Look at that, look at that
Fastest thing on two feet
Look at that, look at that
He's just as proud as he can be
Of his anatomy
He goin' give us a peek

 

[Jocks]

Finale

"There passed a weary time. Each throat
Was parched, and glazed each eye.
A weary time! a weary time!
How glazed each weary eye -
When looking westward, I beheld
A something in the sky.

At first it seemed a little speck,
And then it seemed a mist;
It moved and moved, and took at last
A certain shape, I wist.

Lachlan pulled up his trousers and wearily walked back to his bike. He rested his head on the saddle and muttered "What the hell ahm ah doin'?". At this point the offer of £5000 from Francis McGovern did little to enthuse him. As he threw his leg over the bike, the pains of the journey rushed back, his arms and legs ached and he was slowly deciding to abandon his task.

He reached forward to pull the key from the ignition, with the intention of opening his top box and throwing the package into the nearby and freshly-shit-stinking ditch. As his hands touched the key he thought he heard another vehicle.

Distinctly another engine approaching.

A two stroke engine.

"Awferfuxake!" he spat, realising that while he might have the option of abandoning his quest, Big Shug was showing no similar inclination.

Instinctively he turned the key, the bike whined awake and growled into life. Fear and adrenaline drive us all to greater achievement and Lachlan used his plentiful supplies of both to make the final push to Golspie. The bike still behaved as it should, showing no injury from the difficult passage from Tyndrum to Fort William, other than the filth it had happily collected on the way it was mechanically perfect.

Only a few miles left, Lachlan thought and on fast roads! He opened the bike up and enjoyed the flow of the wide tarmac, the bike coursing round the easy bends and sliding past car after car. Spectacular scenery flicked by him, but it might as well have been urban desolation for all he took it in. In this hypnotic state Lachlan lost track of time, space and humanity. Man and machine working as one, the machine almost in charge seemingly drawing him to his final destination.

Golspie 5 miles, three minutes, nine overtakes, one purpose.

As he approached the turning for the monument he saw a row of black suited men, aligned to guide him up the road towards the monument car park. Lachlan should have been alarmed, scared even, but his current mindset accepted this sight as normal and he followed their direction to the top without missing a beat.

At the car park there were three large black executive saloons and a silver Astra emblazoned with "Edinburgh Porsche Courtesy Car". He recognised the figure of Francis' grandson-to-be sitting at the wheel despondently arguing with someone on his mobile.

He also saw the figure of Francis himself supporting the frail figure of the mysterious lady from The Green Welly Boot cafe. Around the area various sinister figures attempted to make themselves look discrete, and failing miserably to do so in the barren landscape around them. He stopped and removed his helmet.

"Ahh, Mr McAngus, you have decided to join us.", Francis intoned without a trace of sarcasm, causing Lachlan to wonder if he somehow knew of Lachlan's earlier decision to abandon his cause.

"Aye, ah suppose I huv.", he replied, equally with no trace of sarcasm. This was met with the slightest raise of an eyebrow from Francis. The first show of emotion he had seen.

"And your cargo is with you I trust?"

Lachlan replied with a grunt and gingerly slid his painful backside from the bike. He opened the top box and lifted the envelope from within. He handed it to Francis who opened it and pulled out a click-lock Tupperware box. Through the clear plastic Lachlan could see nothing but a brown stain.

Francis showed the box to Eupheme, who nodded. He then walked over to one of the large blacked out cars. The rear window opened and Francis presented the box, a frail hand emerged and touched the top of it, withdrew and the window closed.

"Whit the fuck is gawin' oan?", Lachlan muttered to himself. Suddenly surprised when a young leather clad, blonde haired woman with a rich Polish accent replied "The contents are being verified, it's like a ritual, an incantation!".

Lachlan instinctively sucked in his gut and straightened up a little, it was rare for him to spend time in the company of young women. It was almost unheard of him to actually talk to one and even rarer that they actually reply.

"You see,", she continued, "Mrs Bucklivie's husband, Mr Bucklivie made a promise, a vow even, that he would return to Scotland, desecrate the monument of the Duke of Sutherland and claim back his family estate before his death."

"Nuh, I still dinnae get..."

"..so he has journeyed from Italy, from his death bed, to complete his vow", the young lady smiled at Lachlan, he blonde hair dimmed only by her glowing white smile and vibrant red lipstick.

"Ah still dinnae understand, whits in yon box?"

"Well, unfortunately for Mr Bucklivie there are still those loyal to the Duke and they are in the pay of the current estate owners. They managed to contain him in Tyndrum where I think he still is now. But you,", she grinned and hugged Lachlan's arm, causing a dark stirring somewhere within his waxed breeks, "have saved the day!"

"Nup, ahm completely lost!", Lachlan exclaimed, not particularly impressed by the proceedings.

"OK, Mr Bucklivie came here to desecrate the monument, he is barely alive and stuck in Tyndrum, however we can still do it by proxy!"

As this discussion was going on Francis' grandson was wrestling a scale model wooden trebuchet from the back of his car. One of the black suited goons lent assistance and it was lined up near the information plaque facing the monument. Francis carefully placed the box on the launching spoon and removed the lid, handing it gingerly to his grandson who's look of revulsion gave indication as to what was inside the box - shit.

"You see, Mr Lachlan, this is the final piece of an agreement made centuries ago. The monument will be desecrated, the estate handed over and the deal done!", the Polish girl grinned winsomely at Lachlan, still holding firmly to his arm. An action he did little to resist.

Francis rejoined Eupheme and stooped down to listen to her whisper in his ear. He nodded and in a startlingly clear voice shouted "Pull!". His grandson-to-be quickly tugged on the launching rope and the Tupperware box flew perfectly into the chest of the Duke of Sutherland; it smashed and deposited its foul contents.

A few seconds later the saloon car window opened and an A4 envelope was carelessly thrown out. The car reversed and unceremoniously raced away.

Francis walked over picked up the envelope and handed it to Eupheme. She smiled and smartly turned her back on him, also entering a car and leaving. The sinister men had already melted away.

"Lachlan, I see you have made Emi's acquaintance. Good.", Francis intoned.
"Aye, but..."
"Never mind the details, it is all done now. You have done well. Better than even you think perhaps!"
"OK, but..."
"So, we have arranged a hotel for you tonight, Emi will guide you there, your money awaits."

"Right, fuggin' stop and listen! All that crap I have been through, for a box o' shite? For whit? A grudge? Who holds a grudge fur that length o' time?", Lachlan ranted.

"How appropriate for you to ask Lachlan, I think you are about to find out.", Francis intoned, nodding his head towards the approaching Vespa piloted by the thoroughly enraged Big Shug.

Lachlan growled and started looking for somewhere to escape to but before he could do anything Emi whispered "Leave this to me.".

Big Shug stepped off his Vespa, allowing it to fall harshly to the ground and pulled out his baseball bat. Emi approached him her arms spread as if to block his way. "Ahm no hittin' a lassie!", he roared, "Get oot ma fuckin' roa...". He never finished the sentence, in one neat move Emi had spun round on her heel and planted the toe of the other boot squarely on Shug’s temple. He hit the ground like a sack of potatoes. Lachlan observed her leather clad backside with a mixture of lust and admiration.

"Splendid! Mr McAngus we hope you enjoy your rest at the hotel. Emi - take care of him.", Francis ordered, his tone closing all discussion. Francis left in the hire car, obviously displeased with his immediate surroundings and clearly his grandson-to-be as they bounced over the rough car park.

Emi mounted a Yamaha Super Tenere (for it is a girls bike) and indicated for Lachlan to follow. A short while later the arrived at a huge country house hotel, where Lachlan was shown to his palatial room. A dark grey suit was lying on the bed along with a tailored shirt and black brogues. He noticed they were all perfectly his size.

Emi stood in the doorway. "Perhaps I could visit you after you have washed and dressed?", she smouldered, leaving little room for mis-interpretation.

"Erm, uh aye, I suppose", Lachlan replied suspiciously as he was on unfamiliar territory.

Emi closed the door leaving Lachlan on his own. A small circle of filth was forming round his feet on the floor and he decided that perhaps now was a good time for his annual wash. The large bath filled quickly and Lachlan poured in generous amounts of whatever cleaning fluids he could find. He plunged into the hot water and immediately felt better as the aches an pains seemed to sooth away. However, he could not rest too deeply, Emi's offer preyed on his mind and he decided that he was keen to meet up with her after all. Slowly he drifted off to sleep his mind flooded with dreams of her, mixed with the horrors of his previous 12 hours.

Suddenly he was awoken by a knock at the door. Dammit! He must have drifted off, it must be Emi! He leapt out of the bath, flooding the floor and grabbed a thick dressing gown. As fast as he could he rushed to the door and opened it, expecting to see his leather clad goddess....

Instead it was Dino, the effeminate bouncer.

"I see you were not expecting me", he nodded his head towards Lachlan's poorly closed dressing gown.

"Whit do you want?", he grunted closing the garment more appropriately
"Firstly Emi apologises for not being here, however Mr McGovern has another task for you."
"Oh whit now?!"
"A collection to be made,"
"Aye..."
"In Russia.."
"But I divnae have a passport or....."
"These things have already been catered for...."
"How..."
"£12,000 will be deposited into your bank account..."
"But..."
"All the details are in this envelope."

Once again Lachlan finds himself receiving an offer he cannot refuse, another element in this interesting man's life. But that is another story.