Away yonder to Oonyackistan

Steptoe

What a waste.
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Away yonder

Far from the great seething metropolis.



Left home at 4.45pm on weds. Not the best time to hit the M25 and head up the M40/M6, but as usual i'd left everything until the last minute, including putting in rear pads while dressed in my stich ready to leave.

Headed off with the intention of just riding until 8.30pm and then stop at a B&B where ever i was at that time. Took the turn off signed Preston and stopped at the first B&B.
That meant an easy ride to Oonyakistan tomorrow.

Took no pictures at all until arrived at Oonyakistan, so you'll just have to use your powers of imagination to picture a B&B on a road to Preston.
You won't be to far wrong. Except you forgot to visualise the huge bunch of pubic hair that was blocking the shower plughole.

Early breakfast, but eaten with the thought in mind of the B&B hostess ( powers of imagination for visualisation) with her arms up to the elbow unblocking the drains of pubic hair.
Maybe also something to do with why i turned down the offer of some "nice paste sandwiches" for my trip north.

Had a strange experience as I crossed into Scotland, it turned rather cold. So I pulled off the A74, and put on my heated jacket.
As I struggled half out of my stich while being half in my jacket with all the associated wires for the heating and my I-pod and earphones I heard a plane jet engine, a low jet engine, a very low jet engine, I instinctively lowered my head while looking around. Whoosh it was gone, but I couldn’t see it.
Then the Beatles chimed in - “Oh flew in from Miami beach, didn’t get to bed last night”. . What a twat I felt ( powers of imagination for visualisation) .
Anyway, onward I strove, into an British August wearing a heated jacket nearly turned full on.

Is it just me ? , but every time I ride past Lockerbie I can’t help but look up into the sky and recall the dreadful event from all those years ago.

Anyway, I finally bumped into a few Gsers somewhere in Scotland, and we all stopped at GC’s Inn for some lunch ( powers of imagination for visualisation) . Also there were Thunder and Mrs Cheeks. And Jamie had a capstan full strength, cheaper than a meal.

Onwards again. And I did manage to stop and take a picture of the Obligatory Loch and foreboding sky.

I don’t know where this is, but once again, feel free to think of your favourite word and name the loch after it. My pleasure.





We passed onto Oonyakistan about 6pm, and after stopping with Ming and Woody to recce a promising B&B just 10 miles or so from the campsite ( we’re soft, and wanted a last night of soft beds and hot showers), they buggered off quick at the mention of only one double bed (they were both miked up and were speaking with each other about the preacher and his “sister” and both agreed to hightail it out). While I fought a rearward advance and left me talking to a desperate man and his sister !! And with a scotty dog with the biggest brown arse you’ve seen. I caught up with them several miles later. There were mentions of a Gimp being locked up in the preachers garage.

What a spot for camping. Overlooking Waternish bay, only feet away from the sea. It was about 7.30 on Thursday night when we arrived and put up the tents.




The are facilities second to none.





And only just matched by the view from the tent. And guess what. The local Pub only a minutes walk away.

.

A good show of riders in the pub for an evening meal and a few beers saw the night fly past. And helped towards the easy sleep. Except for the 5am call of something that sounded like a cross between a corncrake and a seal. And within feet of the tents.

The king & Queen of Oonyakistan put in an appearance nice and early in the morning with breakfast rolls for everyone. They tasted even better after being told that the Queen had cooked them while wearing skimpy underwear ( powers of imagination for visualisation) .

The King, Woody and myself were off for a spot of fishing late morning. You’d best not ask the “losers” how many they caught, or even if they’d managed to catch anything at all.





After fishing it was back for lunch - Woody had some sausages that were made by his local sausage specialist that went down very well ( once you’d fought your way though the clingfilm) while looking out over the bay.



After Woody and I had an afternoon nap, we set off for a cup of Tea in Uig and a ride around the northern part of the island.

Looking across to Uig and the bay.





After tea and scones, it was off around the North of Skye.

I’ll let the pictures do the talking.

















Back to the camp site after a very enjoyable ride, and the kalee (?)








And a few up-kilt shots.
I wonder who is it that doesn’t give it a proper shake ?





Here‘s one who never shakes.





The taxi ride back was interesting ( powers of imagination for visualisation) .

The next day is best described as a wash out. A gale force washout.

So before the cheesy disco it was a few mellow songs in the bar from “Flash of the Gap” , Shep mistook the mellowness for suicidal and gave us a strum about life, and look at us now.





Thirsty work singing and guitaring



While Tuned - in just heckled all and sundry.

.

The disco went in a flash, my camera flash that is. It went on strike. Never mind, there was dancing ( powers of imagination for visualisation) .

And so the ride home, rained on and off, so not much stopping for pictures, just some quick looking as the glorious scenes rolled past.








And to cap it all, we have our very own beer. Thanks for the memories everyone. Go break a leg.

 
It's just a wee stain:eek:onyack

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Ahhhh, I'm mentally scarred...the powers of imagination would have been enough as far as James' pants go...:D
Enjoyed that - the report that is - not the pants.:eek:onyack
 
Are there any female upkilt shots - or do we have to use our 'powers of imagination for visualisation' for that too?
 


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