Travel Story : paul pitchfork and pau
Seasoned travellers like to say that travel “ is about the journey , not the destination ”. I disagree with this in one regard . Travelling to a specific point ‘ at the end of the road ’ - most obviously the extremity of a landmass , but also to the source of a river , for example - adds an additional quality to a journey . It infuses and enriches the experience with a sense of progressing towards somewhere special whilst at the same time increasingly leaving behind that which the traveller has chosen to let go of - the cities , people , development , familiarity , the world we inhabit daily .
So it was as we approached the village of Durness on the barren north coast . Here we could go no further ; we had ‘ arrived ’, somewhere physical but also metaphorical . But there is an inevitable prologue to any journey of such nature - we had to turn around and return . Eighteen hours of lashing rain gave us an excuse to delay the inevitable , as we holed up in the cosy Lazy Crofter Bunkhouse for a day . But then time obliged us to continue to Inverness ; we chose the lonely road through the mountains past Ben Hope instead of following the coast further . From Inverness we consigned ourselves to the main roads , put our heads down and headed for the border and beyond . A few days later I found myself riding down the M4 motorway on my Triumph Tiger . The Scottish Highlands already felt a long way away ; another world almost , so different is the ambience of the
place to that of the congested south of England . I wondered why it had taken me so many years to finally experience this special corner of the British Isles .
I was also struggling to adjust the Tiger . Despite the planted stability , the silky-smooth triple motor , the roomy cockpit and the comfortable riding position , something was missing . I couldn ’ t find any one specific characteristic ; instead , it seemed to be something about the essence of riding . Somehow , riding a small bike had felt more pure , the experience more immediately accessible to the senses . Perhaps the way you can turn a small bike with just a flick of the hips makes it feels more connected to the rider – your partner in crime rather than a responsible guardian accompanying you on the ride . Maybe it is the wind in your face with no screen to tuck in behind . or perhaps the closer proximity of the ground . In that moment I didn ’ t know what it was ; but what I did know was that I was missing the little Scrambler .
I thought back to the day I road across the Bolivian Altiplano with Alejandro astride his Harley , and felt a sense of gratatude that he had planted the seed which had grown into this revelation . I love my Tenere and Tiger , but our trip around Scotland has reminded me that the mantra , “ you can have an adventure on any bike ”, is indeed true . But perhaps it is more fun on a small one .