WHAM!!
The front left tire struck something. The loud ‘bang’ was followed by the
compact
rental car pulling sharply to the left, plowing into the dirt bank burying the
front bumper in muck. “That does it,” I exclaimed. “Driving on the ‘wrong’ side
of the road is not as easy as it looked to be! They need to clear these large
stones on the edge of the roads!” Our accident left us sitting to the side of a
single lane road in the middle of nowhere. The terrain consisted of low rolling
hills. Not a living soul in sight. “Perfect,” I exclaimed.
My wife commented, “Those rocks are
called Cotswold Stones.” She was reading from a travel guide book.
“We’re not in the Cotswolds, and won’t be on this
trip…you’re looking at the wrong section.” My wife gave me a glare as if to say
‘Fine, I won’t be the tour guide anymore.’
I swore under my breath as this was our second flat tire driving on the narrow
roads of Northern Scotland. This part of our holiday from a hectic business
week in London had not started out well. We had just spent two great days in
Edinburgh, and rented the car for our fun venture north. Our small hotel on
Princess Street had been a real treat. Our hotel room looked out on the
Princess Gardens and Edinburgh Castle high on the hill opposite the hotel.
The beautiful Isle of Skye was beautiful in a stark, barren sort of way. But
at the moment we were in a ‘spot of bother’ as they like to say in England.
I dug out the cell phone I had rented in the U.S.; opened the rental
information packet from the glove box, and checked the phone number of the U.K.
AA office.
My wife leaned back in the passenger seat of our rental car. “Don’t get in a
panic,” she said. “The Auto Club fixed the last flat, and they will rescue us
again this time. Do you want a snack?”
“No, I don’t want a snack. I want to get the car fixed, and get to the next
village. We need to find a B and B or hotel for tonight. Sheesh,” I muttered.
“There’s no reception out here in these boondocks!”
We were stranded on this one lane road (Okay, maybe a lane and a half), with no
sign of civilization. Meeting an oncoming vehicle could present a problem. Not
a house or even a tree in sight. What looked like a field of peat was on our
right. One could see where the harvesters had cut nice little slices, which
were carried off to fuel the fireplaces of homes in the area…there had to be
homes somewhere. To the left there were half a dozen scraggly looking cows with
big horns, and long fur. “Those are Highland Cattle according to the guide
book.” My wife was thumbing through a tour book. She was assuming the role of
tour guide once again. “It says here
that they are free-ranging.”
There was no fence, and one of the huge beasts was curious at our predicament.
He, or she, began walking toward our car and yours truly as I stood out in the
open inspecting the tire and wheel damage. “It also says they are not
dangerous, but are a protected species here in the Highlands.”
I climbed back into the sub-compact Ford car and rolled up the window. “I think
he is just curious,” says my wife.
“Well keep the window rolled up. I
wonder if the big guy can repair our car. Well, I guess I should start walking
to find some help.”
My wife sat up and said, “What, and leave me here with
Brutus? I don’t think so.”
Brutus had walked right up to the car with his nose about two feet from my
window. “Do you think they would like some cheese and crackers,” my wife says.
“If we feed him, he’ll never go away,” I muttered. “Ok,” I
said, “Here’s the plan. We bundle up; lock the car with a note on the
windshield, and start walking in the direction we were headed. Some farmer or
tourist is bound to come along.”
We glanced at Brutus who seemed happy to stay where he was. Maybe he thought of
the car as a friend. Who knew? “Bye, bye Brutus,” my wife said as we exited the
crippled car and began trudging up the narrow road. Maybe the mobile phone
would work again a little further on.
We hadn’t walked more than a hundred yards, when a red mini-van of sorts
appeared on the horizon. We stood to the side of the road, and I waved my arm
hopefully alerting the driver of our plight. Also to avoid being struck dead as
there was only a couple of feet separating the raised muddy bank and the road
surface. As the mini-van came closer, I could see that a man and woman were in
the front seat. The driver blinked his headlights, and he pulled over in front
of us and parked the car. The driver opened his door and climbed out. He was an
older guy with gray hair, and was wearing high Wellington boots. I hated to
think what the boots were covered with. “What’s the trouble?’ he asked.
I pointed back to our car listing almost on its side. “I hit
a rock and blew a tire. I tried calling AA, but I can’t get any reception.”
By this time his wife had joined us. She was bundled up in a heavy long wool
coat, a full head scarf, and clutched her purse as if someone might try to
steal it. She smiled broadly, and greeted us. “Hello, my name is Ann MacDonald
and my husband here is Ian.” Ian and I had not got around to introductions as
yet.
“I’m not sure what to do right now. If
we could get to a land line phone, I’m sure I can get AA to come out and fix
the tire.”
Ian took off his wool cap; scratched his scalp, and said, “Ya might have to
walk a ways to find that phone. Not much out here except our cows. He turned
his head and pointed to Brutus who, joined by two more friends, had walked
closer to all of us. I guessed he recognized the folks that fed him. I doubted
the big guy would charge with his master looking on.
“The Mrs. and I live not so far from here. We own a Bed and Breakfast Inn near
Loch Ness.” My wife and I glanced at each other feeling that we may be in luck.
I quickly said, “We were in the process of trying to find a place to stay for
the night. Do you have a room we could rent?”
“Tell ya what,” says Ian, “We do have a room, and Ann here has dinner fixin as
we speak. We can eat in our parlor next to the peat fire. It will be a cold one
tonight. The wind is roaring off the Firth.” I didn’t know what a Firth was,
but was sure I would find out tonight. If the Firth was on our tour map, I had
a notion to scratch it off our agenda.
“We can call the AA tonight. Your car will be fine right here. If they can’t
get out tonight, I’m sure they can make it first thing in the morning.”
