Trying to get my head out of the Highlands

Three days back from our Scottish adventure and the days spent travelling though the old mountains of the north are already sorely missed.

A view in the TrossachsTime spent in the camper or tent took on a most agreeable tempo, and differentiation between ten miles and a hundred miles on Scotland’s absorbing roads became unimportant.

Although diverting somewhat from the remit of this blog, I can heartily recommend a road trip north of the border, and opting for an aged camper like Dylan should you fancy it.

A handful to drive, maybe, but life at 45mph helped to iron out the creases of the day-to-day we were seeking to escape… much to the annoyance of impatient drivers cueing behind us.

Despite being 30 years of age, and bearing one or two scars and patches of rust, the VW performed brilliantly and we only had to trouble the AA man once. Dylan refused to start on the A9 just south of the Forest of Atholl. It was a nice place to break down, though, as the views were superb and there was always the option of making a brew!

Should you opt for this mode of transportation, prepare yourself for waves from camper drivers and admiring glances and comments from folk you’ll meet on the way.

One chap, with a wistful look in his eye, recounted a tale of driving across Europe in his. A French backpacker was moved to comment on Dylan: ‘Your car eezz verry preetty,’ he said.

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