The Road to Old Deer. Part 2.
Posted: Mon Jun 11, 2007 10:25 pm
The Events decribed below are fictitous and any resemblance to people living or dead are conincidental. Most of the conversations are made up too.
Part The First. TT 2001.
In 2001 I was met by a mysterious bare footed man in a car park somehwere in Fife. What followed was an exhilerating if ever so slightly insane 4 hour drive to the Isles of Glencoe, followed by a 4 hour drive back to Glasgow and work. A drive that means my colleague swore never to ride in a car with me again. Finally, over 6 years later, I've recovered. The counselling was expensive but the demons are vanquished.
It's time to try again.
Part the Second
A bridge over an A road somewhere in deepest darkest Ayrshire. A small be-stickered grey car is sitting, steam rising gently from it's exhaust when with a muted burble a similar black car pulls up alongside.
"Hi Shug."
"Hey Pete. You ready?"
"Yep."
After the black car executes a clumsy three point turn they are off, heading North.
Cut to a service station next to a disused Little Chef, just outside Scotland's premier new town.
Shug "Coffee's hot."
Pete "Yep."
(from stage right comes the distance brrrum of a throttle being blipped to ease a down change through a reluctant box. Suddenly one then two then five brightly coloured sportscars descend on them. As if pre-arranged.)
Pete "Now we are Seven."
Shug "What?"
Pete "You know like in the film, 'The Magnificent Seven'."
Shug "You mean the Seven Samurai?
Pete "Errm yes."
Shug "but there isn't seven of us. Mandy and Mac are round there filling up with petrol."
Pete "Oh well never mind. Oh look there's Alan."
A foggy twisty country lane in Fife. A lone people carrier is making it's way up the steep road when there is the BLAT of a sports exhaust echoing off a dry stone wall. Suddenly the Espace's mirrors are filled with a snake like line of sportscars all vying for position on the still damp road. Seconds later they are gone, then another solitary engine tone starts to get louder but the black car sits behind him for longer, seemingly unable to find a long enough straight to get past, finally he too manages and rockets off into the mist in pursuit of his erstwhile companions.
"That's funny," thinks the driver of the Renault, "I would have bet money that he was going to Knockhill with the others. But he has just shot past the entrance."
Two minutes later the car re-appears. Heading the other way.
"So do you think it will clear," asks Alan. The fog is so thick that we can't see the tower in the centre of the paddock.
"No." I reply with some certainty. "I've just spoken to the Met observer at Edinburgh airport and he is pretty certain this is with us for the whole day."
"sh*t."
"Yeah."
Four minutes later the fog has lifted and the first warm up laps are beginning.
to be continued...
It's at this point that I realise how long it is going to to take me to recount the whole weekend in the style of a really poor quality movie script but will perservere for a bit...
Part The First. TT 2001.
In 2001 I was met by a mysterious bare footed man in a car park somehwere in Fife. What followed was an exhilerating if ever so slightly insane 4 hour drive to the Isles of Glencoe, followed by a 4 hour drive back to Glasgow and work. A drive that means my colleague swore never to ride in a car with me again. Finally, over 6 years later, I've recovered. The counselling was expensive but the demons are vanquished.
It's time to try again.
Part the Second
A bridge over an A road somewhere in deepest darkest Ayrshire. A small be-stickered grey car is sitting, steam rising gently from it's exhaust when with a muted burble a similar black car pulls up alongside.
"Hi Shug."
"Hey Pete. You ready?"
"Yep."
After the black car executes a clumsy three point turn they are off, heading North.
Cut to a service station next to a disused Little Chef, just outside Scotland's premier new town.
Shug "Coffee's hot."
Pete "Yep."
(from stage right comes the distance brrrum of a throttle being blipped to ease a down change through a reluctant box. Suddenly one then two then five brightly coloured sportscars descend on them. As if pre-arranged.)
Pete "Now we are Seven."
Shug "What?"
Pete "You know like in the film, 'The Magnificent Seven'."
Shug "You mean the Seven Samurai?
Pete "Errm yes."
Shug "but there isn't seven of us. Mandy and Mac are round there filling up with petrol."
Pete "Oh well never mind. Oh look there's Alan."
A foggy twisty country lane in Fife. A lone people carrier is making it's way up the steep road when there is the BLAT of a sports exhaust echoing off a dry stone wall. Suddenly the Espace's mirrors are filled with a snake like line of sportscars all vying for position on the still damp road. Seconds later they are gone, then another solitary engine tone starts to get louder but the black car sits behind him for longer, seemingly unable to find a long enough straight to get past, finally he too manages and rockets off into the mist in pursuit of his erstwhile companions.
"That's funny," thinks the driver of the Renault, "I would have bet money that he was going to Knockhill with the others. But he has just shot past the entrance."
Two minutes later the car re-appears. Heading the other way.
"So do you think it will clear," asks Alan. The fog is so thick that we can't see the tower in the centre of the paddock.
"No." I reply with some certainty. "I've just spoken to the Met observer at Edinburgh airport and he is pretty certain this is with us for the whole day."
"sh*t."
"Yeah."
Four minutes later the fog has lifted and the first warm up laps are beginning.
to be continued...
It's at this point that I realise how long it is going to to take me to recount the whole weekend in the style of a really poor quality movie script but will perservere for a bit...
