Clutch and I in the Highlands

Time to leave Perth. I feel like goin’ all Thoreau. Walden-esque. In Nature.

Another last-minute search, lists a treehouse in the Scottish Highlands. It’s remote; I’d need a car. That will be a healthy challenge — to drive on the “wrong” left side of the road. To navigate narrow two-lanes. To manipulate a manual transmission — I haven’t played with one in years (exception, my motorcycle).

My Left Clutch

Malven, from Enterprise car rental, picks me up and drives us to the lot. In the same vehicle, he gives me a briefing on the wipers, lights, petro — the usual. This time, due to the aforementioned challenges, I take out extra insurance. We inspect the car together and he courteously opens the door. I settle in to the driver’s seat, on the right side, and all is well. The foot action is familiar — clutch left, accelerate and brake right. Then, the holy unexpected. Why I didn’t notice this before defies understanding. It simply did not compute. “OH MALVEN FOR FOX SAKE! Fuuuuuuuuuuuu. F, F, F, F, F.”
A litany of cursing and shameful behavior carries on…too long, until I apologize with explanation. “Oh maaaannnn. Malven. Please excuse my language. I didn’t consider that the clutch would be on my left and I haven’t driven manual in years.” (Might have kept that tidbit to self.)
He is more entertained than concerned, “Well, we have no automatics on this lot. You’ll be fine. You’ll be fine. People are considerate drivers here. There’s no road rage. They won’t tailgate you. Just take your time. It’ll be all right.” After reasonable consideration I reply, “You’re right. I can do this. I am smarter than this car.” With determination and the pacing of a sloth, I pull out of the safety lot and into the wild yonder.

I love roundabouts. If confused, you just drive round and round until you pick an exit — frustration rolls into amusement.

The width of the roads are nerve-wracking. It appears to be only inches between my car and those oncoming. More than once, my left tires bounce off the curb as I make way. About an hour out of town the road enters a wee village. How can there be cars parked on an already too-narrow two-lane? Do I wait until all oncoming cars have passed or delicately maneuver a drive through? There’s no car in front of me for guidance but they’re lining up behind me. I accelerate and go for it. Midway, I hear and feel a “thwack bam”. (Repeat above litany.) I pull over. The left side mirror is folded inward…but without a scratch on it! I pop the mirror back in place. Thank You, Universe. I walk back to see what I hit, and a white-haired elderly man is hobbling toward me. People are sitting on a bench in a pocket-sized park across the street and I feel them giving me the stink eye. “I am so sorry, the streets are so narrow, I didn’t realize.” Blather. We reach his car, no damage! A mere mirror collision. Nevertheless, he slowly, painfully, plods around the entire car scrutinizing every inch. Yes, even the opposite side of the vehicle. I profusely and sincerely apologize. “Aye, aye,” he says with a nod. That’s response enough, I better get outta town before the crowd’s thoughts turn to lynching. Back at the car, my pal Clutch and I are fine. It’s sideswiping that gets me…still. Lesson learned: Don’t look at oncoming cars. Look at the road ahead. You go where you look.

The Highlands

Come…cross

Light and Death

Loch Earn

Hikers in Glen Coe

Dome-shaped cairn

In the shadow of Ben Nevis, highest mountain in British Isles

Bridge to the Past

 

 

Castle Stalker, Loch Laich

The owner of the Treehouse, Andrew advised me to head north at Crianlarich onto route A82, one of the most beautiful in Scotland. It traverses through  lands of lochs, moors, mountains and cairns. Otherworldly. At a northerly junction, the instructions get a bit cryptic. “Turn south at Ballachulish, and after Portnacroish you’ll find Kinlochlaich.”

Are any of those pronounced, Treehouse?

 

 

 

 

 

“Feel like I’m driftin’, driftin’ from scene to scene
I’m wonderin’ what in the devil could it all possibly mean.”

Bob Dylan, Highlands

 

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