I forgot, one of the tour guides I meet was from Laxey. They had a family farm that they raised beef cattle. She had never left the town of Laxey. I just found that amazing. Her one boy did go to collage in Chicago . She told me about Laxey beach. So I took a ride there and had an ice cream. https://youtu.be/fizLS2iKMWg
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Having ridden the Scottish Highlands in the last few years, this is inspiring me to plan a trip to Ireland and IOM. How was the ferry ride and did you take it from Ireland or one of the ports in England?Comment
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Ferry Experiences from My Ride: Belfast → Isle of Man → England → Scotland → BelfastOriginally posted by Pittsdriverwes View Post
The first leg of my ferry journey was from Belfast to the Isle of Man. The ferry was an hour late and ended up taking an extra hour to arrive due to an engine issue. Fortunately, motorcycles are always loaded first, and the process was straightforward—plenty of staff on hand to direct you. They secure your bike with straps or ropes to a padded railing, and it felt solid.
Disembarking is also quick—if you can remember where your bike is! I lost track of the deck and the stairwell I used, which made finding my bike a bit of a challenge. Everything is packed in tight down there.
The next two ferries—one from the Isle of Man to the Lake District in England, and another from Scotland back to Belfast—were newer vessels with better seating and amenities. All the ferries had bars, restaurants, and even small movie theaters. Trips ranged from two to three hours, and honestly, they were a nice break in the middle of the ride.
Funny side note: I was singled out for baggage searches twice—once leaving the Isle of Man and again in Scotland. Maybe because I was traveling solo? Same thing happened at the airport when I started this trip.
More posts and pictures coming soon!
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Riverfrum, I've enjoyed seeing your Youtubes.Comment
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Saying Goodbye to the Isle of Man
It’s time to say goodbye to the Isle of Man. My first visit here—and what a special one it’s been. The island may only be 33 miles long and 19 miles wide, but I covered a good bit of it. I found beautiful, peaceful places to leave some of Nancy’s ashes, each one chosen with love and care.
Along the way, I spoke with a few people who were also carrying grief of their own. We shared stories, a few tears, and a quiet understanding that sometimes strangers meet for a reason.
Tomorrow starts early—9 a.m. ferry to Heysham, England. From there, it's off to the Lake District, to a place called Ambleside, where I’m staying at The Temperance Inn, a bar-restaurant-inn right on Lake Road.
The ferry ride was smooth. Same routine: arrive early, check in, wait, then load—motorcycles first. This time, I made a point to remember which level and which stairs I used. It’s a two-and-a-half-hour crossing, so a little preparation helps.
Off the ferry and onto English soil, I set the GPS for the inn. The ride through the Lake District was beautiful—winding roads, lake views, and peaceful scenery. I made a few stops to take photos, and at one quiet lakeside park, I found the perfect place to scatter a bit more of Nancy’s ashes.
She’s still a world traveler.
Leaving Isle of Man
On the Ferry to England.
I stopped at this little park overlooking a lake. I thought Nancy would of wanted to take a picture here. So I left some of her ashes.
Some nice hill sides. This is where a Military jet buzzed me. Scared the shit out of me. I thought my side cases had fallen off!
Also this was the beginning of some warning messages coming up on the dash. First one was headlight not working. It seemed fine to me. Restarted the bike it went away.
Made it to the Inn but I was early. I parked in front of the Inn and unload my bags and placed them in front of the bar and had lunch.
Needed to find a place to park. Down the street was a small car park. And I found a spot. Paid the fee and got a ticket to place on my windshield. I had to tape it on. Latter I found out it was free parking for motorcycles. My one day in England. Tomorrow Edinburgh Scotland.
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From Ambleside to Edinburgh – Into the City Buzz
The ride from Ambleside to Edinburgh wasn’t too bad. I stayed within the beauty of the Lake District for a good while—rolling hills, stone fences, and quiet stretches that let my mind wander. But as I got closer to the city, the traffic picked up.
Edinburgh quickly reminded me of New York City—only with shorter, older buildings. The kind that look like they’ve seen centuries of stories. Navigating into town was a bit of a maze. Roundabouts with hidden exits, surprise ramps, and busy intersections tested my patience. The hotel didn’t offer parking or even a spot to unload, so I followed their directions to a nearby garage. Or at least, I thought I did.
I ended up at the wrong parking garage. Thankfully, I wasn’t charged. Eventually, I found the right one—about a third of a mile downhill from the hotel. They had a system where the camera was supposed to read my plate and apply a discount code from the hotel. Of course, that didn’t go smoothly either.
So there I was—two uphill hikes in full riding gear, weaving through crowded sidewalks like a space man in a sea of tourists. One of the elevators at the hotel was out of order, because of course it was. Check-in happened at the bar, where I was handed one bottle of water like it was a trophy. I finally made it to my room—top floor, tucked into the corner. It had small round windows. Odd little things, like ship portholes. Strange, but kind of charming in its own way.
Edinburgh was already showing me it was going to be a different kind of stop on this journey.
Once I settled in at the hotel, I set out on foot and wandered into a nearby mall packed with restaurants of all kinds. I landed on a spot that served pizza and beer—just what I needed after the long ride and parking saga. It hit the spot.
After eating, I returned to the parking garage to move the bike to the motorcycle-specific area. Then it was another uphill walk through the crowded streets back to the hotel. I was beat. I hit the bed and was out.
The next morning I was up by 4 a.m.—still on road time, I guess. I spent a little time catching up on the computer and bought a ticket for one of those hop-on hop-off bus tours. The hotel’s breakfast wasn’t free, and it didn’t look too appealing anyway, so I skipped it.
As usual, I was way too early for the bus. I waited about 25 minutes, but I was the first one on, so I got a great seat. The tour lasted about an hour and a half and gave me a solid overview of Edinburgh—from its layered architecture to its tangled streets full of history.
We rolled through the Old City, past the Grassmarket, which the guide said was a historic marketplace. I joked to myself: What’s the Grassmarket? A place that only sells meat from animals that ate grass? Yes that is true! But hey, it's Edinburgh—anything’s possible.
We passed the Scottish Parliament building, which the tour guide mentioned was open to the public. I mentally bookmarked that one. Turned out I’d get more familiar with it than I expected… thanks to a run-in with the local police. More on that in a bit.
From my hotel room.
Through a dirty window
I think that is a hotel. Reminded me of the Guggenheim Museum in NYC
The bus tour.
A castle that I did not visit.
That round window on the top of that little tower was my room.
I had skipped breakfast so I had an early lunch.
A little more about my visit to the capital city in my next post.
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More food porn please. Is that thing on your dish some sort of meat pie?
I figured that building was another Guggenheim in Edinburgh but no.
â€A great city has been defaced’: why has a poo emoji arrived on Edinburgh’s skyline? | Architecture | The Guardian https://share.google/aMSaFKTtyUXYlLJfCLast edited by Pete_Tallahassee; 06-23-2025, 10:16 AM. -
"thanks to a run-in with the local police"...
Furman! Come on man! You can't leave this hanging like that.
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Edinburgh – Unexpected Finds and an Even More Unexpected Incident
After wandering the Royal Mile and soaking in the city, I ducked into a small place in Old Town for lunch. I think it was a meat pie—flaky, rich, and comforting—with some green stuff Nancy would’ve made me eat. Probably kale or something close enough. She always tried to sneak in vegetables. I smiled to myself, thinking, "Okay, Nancy... I ate the green stuff."
With a full belly and the afternoon ahead of me, I decided it was time to find some gifts. I wanted to bring something back for the girls in my neighborhood and others who helped me with Nancy during those hard months. Just a small thank-you.
Down a quiet side street, I found a charming little jewelry shop. Inside, I searched for something that spoke of Scotland and meaning. Celtic knots caught my eye—those beautiful, endless designs. I picked out two pairs of earrings and a silver cross inlaid with a delicate pearl. Simple, elegant, and heartfelt. Nancy would have approved.
I left the shop feeling good, but reality soon called. A stop at the chemist for some stomach medicine—loose poop and motorcycle riding don’t mix. Let’s just say I didn’t want any surprise “exits” while navigating mountain curves.
Then the two beers from earlier caught up with me. I needed a bathroom—bad. I remembered the Scottish Parliament Building is open to the public and has facilities, so I made my way over. No big deal, I thought.
Until I had to go through airport-style security.
Shoes off. Belt off. Pockets emptied. Hat off. I stepped through the scanner. No alarms. All good.
Until a security guard started going through my things and stopped. He held up my little folding knife—the same cheap one I’ve carried forever. Just a single blade with a locking mechanism.
He looked at me sharply:
“You! Stand over there.”
Then he disappeared and came back with a police officer.
“Sir, is this your knife?”
“Yes.”
“We have an issue.”
Turns out, in Scotland, locking-blade knives—even small folding ones—are illegal to carry in public unless you’ve got a really good reason. The locking blade was the problem, not the size or intent. He explained the law, very professional but firm. I wasn’t in trouble, but I got a warning. He said it could have been serious, and that I should never carry it again while out and about.
They confiscated it temporarily, and I continued on my way—relieved in more ways than one. When I exited, they handed it back to me in a sealed envelope, through a slot in the wall, like a scene out of a spy movie.
Lesson learned: Always know the knife laws of the country you’re in.
But I got to pee, the world didn’t end, and I now have a weirdly funny memory to go along with the earrings and cross. Nancy would've laughed at that whole ordeal—“Furman, you and your damn pocketknife…” I can hear her now.
Edinburgh at night from my room.
Edinburgh train station clock. Always three mins. fast.
Tomorrow I start my ride north to the Highland of Scotland.
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Left Edinburgh early to avoid city traffic—but then the GPS issues started.
All my routes were preplanned, but the GPS didn’t account for road and street construction. I kept getting rerouted from one detour to another. Eventually, I gave up, shut the GPS down, and decided to just head in one direction—north. After about 40 minutes, I re-entered the route. It asked if I wanted to start from my current location. I hit yes.
Once I got out of the city, the fog rolled in thick. I could barely see the vehicle in front of me. I had to stop often just to clean my visor and glasses—it was slow going.
Then the next issue started. The instrument panel on the bike began flashing multiple error codes. But oddly enough, the bike ran fine. Eventually, I rode out of the fog and spotted a roadside restaurant with a sign that said “Motorcyclists Welcome.” I pulled in, grabbed a breakfast sandwich and a coffee, and texted Paul from Celtic Rider.
He replied that he was at a family event but would have a tech call me. I was starting to think it might be a battery issue—maybe a reset would help. I couldn’t figure out how to remove the seat to access the battery, though. At that point, the dash was almost completely blank—just the tachometer and the clock. No speedometer, no fuel gauge, nothing else. Still, the bike kept running.
Paul eventually called back and reassured me: each day’s route was planned to be under one tank of gas. That gave me some peace of mind. The roads began to improve, and I passed through some great little villages—exactly the kind of riding I’d hoped for.
When I finally reached the hotel, I looked up how to remove the seat. With a borrowed screwdriver, I disconnected the battery for about half an hour. After reconnecting it, everything worked fine. The full dash display came back like nothing ever happened.
The hotel had a bottle of free local whisky on the counter, so I gave it a try. I’m guessing it was Scotch—very strong, and definitely not like Ed’s moonshine at BRPR. I couldn’t even finish it. So I wandered over to the local pub for a cold beer, and that’s where I got my first lesson in pub etiquette.
A roadside stop for breakfast.
Sausage egg and cheese.
https://youtube.com/shorts/D6kw2SK6B2s?feature=share
I found outdoor bathrooms everywhere.
At the pub. Learning hot to under a beer. The first one was warm.
They allows dogs into the bar/restaurant
Why so many pillows?
The Craigatin House & Court Pitlochrt Scotland
North bound tomorrow
Last edited by Riverfurm; 06-30-2025, 02:43 PM.Comment
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Heading to the Top of Scotland
I left Pitlochry around 9:45 AM. It’s kind of a touristy village—saw a few tour buses unloading, and a line out the door at an ice cream shop (no ice cream for me). When I rolled out, it was a warm 19°C, but I knew I was heading north, where it would get colder.
No issues with the 1300GS this time. I gassed up and rode on. I never really figured out the cost of fuel per gallon since everything was in liters and I was paying in either pounds or euros.
As I climbed in elevation, the temperature dropped to 8°C. I pulled over and added some underlayers. Found a great view of the mountains and left some of Nancy’s ashes there. It was the kind of spot she would’ve loved—a photo stop for sure.
Most of the road was two-track and narrow, but it was a fun ride—lots of switchbacks and sweeping turns. It was Sunday, and this must be the place to ride. I got passed a few times by local riders enjoying the day. There were also a lot of campers (or “caravans” as they call them). They’re not huge—more like box vans—and they’re required to yield to faster traffic, so passing them was easy. I must’ve passed a hundred of them over the course of the ride.
Along the way, I passed two closed-down ski resorts. I didn’t even know there was skiing in Scotland.
Made it to my hotel in Inverness—a small, comfortable place. I parked on a little island area near my room and had both dinner and breakfast at the hotel. Since I’m always up early, I took a walk around town. The hotel sits along a canal with a small suspension bridge crossing it. Nice little town.
It’s getting close to 10 now, so it’s back on the road again.
A friend of mine was looking for Land Rover parts. Just had to take a picture.
A stop to put warmer layer on and spread some of Nancy's ashes.
I thought my bathroom at the Hotel looked like a first class cabin on the Titanic.
This is the Hotel I was at. Old but nice and clean.
It was along a canal. A suspension pedestrian bridge across the canal.
Another castel I did not visit.
Passed a nice Church.
I made a stop for coffee and bathroom break.
Tomorrow Thurso and Lisa.
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I found out later I was being tracked by Paul at Celtic Rider. I did put my own tracker on the bike in case something happen to it. The image is from Pauls tracker. The different colors are different days. And it tracked how fast I was going. Paul said "Furman why were you going a 154 KPH?" I thought that was pretty tame 95 MPH. No issues though and no tickets so far.Last edited by Riverfurm; 07-01-2025, 02:51 PM.Comment
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If you ever watched or were a fan of Outlander you should go a short way out of Inverness to the battlefield at Culloden where the Jacobite revolution was finally defeated by overwhelming English forces. It was pretty cool to find the stone on the battlefield where the Fraser clan made their last stand. That entire chapter of history there was fascinating to me.
It only keeps getting better and better as you go north from Inverness. I'm really enjoying you taking us along.Comment
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I am a big fan of Outlander. Wish I knew that when I was there. I would of done my research on the location. Thanks WesOriginally posted by Pittsdriverwes View Post
just found this from Wicki- The city has strong historical ties to various Scottish clans, including Clan Mackintosh, Clan Fraser, and Clan MacKenzie, according to Wikipedia.
Last edited by Riverfurm; 07-01-2025, 06:37 PM.Comment
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To the Top of the Highlands – Inverness to Thurso
Today’s ride took me from Inverness to Thurso—right up into the northern Highlands. It was a great ride, mostly on dual-track roads, though still pretty narrow, and occasionally on single-track roads. In Scotland, the road rule is that slower vehicles yield to faster ones. It’s a good system once you get used to it. Even on these tiny roads, the speed limit is 60 mph, which feels quick when the pavement’s barely wider than your mirrors.
There were a lot of campers (or “caravans” as they call them here), most about the size of a box van. Many of them were doing the NC500—the North Coast 500—a scenic 500-mile loop around the top of Scotland. Part of the appeal is stopping in the small villages along the way. Scotland is well set up for RVs, with lots of little spots that offer electric and sewer hookups. Sometimes they look like basic car parks, but they’re actually camping parks. Some only have five spots, maybe tucked behind a gas station right in the heart of a village.
Back to the ride. I was moving faster than most, passing a good number of those caravans. At one point, I passed three of them going downhill on the inside of a turn. Yeah, a little risky—but I could clearly see there was no oncoming traffic. One village had a strange sight: a duplex house where half of it was completely missing. I-beams were holding up the side that remained. I’ll say more on that later.
I arrived at the Pentland Lodge House around 3:30—perfect timing. A small bus had just dropped off a group of travelers, so I waited my turn to check in. While waiting, I spotted a laundry room (a welcome sight by this point). Lisa, my host, was a bit flustered when she got to me.
“Name?” she asked.
“Furman.”
“I can’t find Furman.”
Then I gave her my last name, and she found the reservation right away. She said she needed a beer—then asked if I wanted one too. Absolutely—yes. I also asked if she could do my laundry, but I needed it back by the next morning. She checked and said yes—£10 would cover it.
Once I was checked in and my laundry was handed off, I took a walk along the beach and into the village. Found a bar/restaurant and had some excellent fish and chips. On the way back, I walked up to a bluff overlooking the North Sea. There was a nice little park there—and a camper park too, with a few of the same caravans I’d passed earlier parked for the night.
A bench looked out across the water. Peaceful and still. I sat for a bit and left some of Nancy’s ashes there.
The next morning, Lisa served me breakfast—and handed me my freshly laundered clothes. I tried to give her £15.
She said, “No, just £10.”
I said, “£15.”
She insisted, “No, £10.”
I said again, “£15.”
Finally, she smiled and said, “Oh, yes.”
The clothes were folded too.
Back on the road—headed toward Ullapool.
https://youtube.com/shorts/2HUmCMkIj...n97awYFDLuwthW
Just a little walk from the Pentland Lodge
Lisa told me the North Sea water temp was around 40-45f. People swim there during the summer. Way to cold for me.
On the way into to town. A Bloke who came out of his home told me the lettering was not real gold. I said I knew it was not real, I tried to scrape it off.
Good Fish and chips
This little park is where I left some of Nancy's ashes. She would of been taking pictures there.
The Duplex house with the I-Beams holding it up, I did not get a picture of it. But.... a friend told me a bout a Scottish Sitcom called "Still Game". in the first episode in a wide shot I saw that house.
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I should of stop in the Clansman Pub for a pint. You liking the XR?Comment
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