The countdown.....

The day after Ben Wyvis was a little painful, but I was pleased how quickly the aching disappeared (unlike the blisters). Meanwhile, Matthew was progressing nicely. He was still sitting in on lessons (as long as my pupils were in agreement) and getting as much driving as possible inbetween. He asked if I could give him a mock test.
"We can do that, " I replied, "but I warn you that I will be strict and pick up on the slightest imperfection, otherwise there is no point."
I thought it went well, considering that we still had a week to go. I can't remember exactly, but I recorded just 5 driver errors (minor faults, if you prefer). But there were three moments I considered were serious.
He switched off the engine. "How do you think that went?" I asked him.
"Yeah, I thought that went well."
"Anything you weren't happy with?" and he talked about a couple of the things I had recorded as a minor driver error.
"How about the time when you moved out to allow traffic onto the A9 (dual-carriageway)? Your awareness and use of mirrors was really good, then you went passed them, but when should you have returned to the left lane?"
His face dropped a little, "The lane was busy."
"It was, but you had plenty of opportunity to return to the left lane earlier than you did."
"Then, toward the end, when I asked you to turn right at the roundabout, taking the fourth exit to Culloden, how were people to know where you were going?"
"I know, I forgot to indicate," he replied, "but I was watching the man at the pedestrian crossing."
"Yes, which obviously is good, but people approaching the roundabout still need to know where you are going." I don't think he was convinced. The trouble is, he sees no end of drivers approaching roundabouts (junctions) without indicators, so it might be understandable that he didn't consider it serious.
I'm struggling to remember what the other serious fault was, but I remember Matthew only grudgingly agreeing with me.
He was very quiet for a few hours afterwards. "Don't worry about it. There was no point doing a 'mock test' unless I picked up on everything that wasn't correct."
"I know, but three serious faults.'
"Yeah, but you (hopefully) understand why those things could have affected other road users, and (hopefully, again) you won't repeat them." He still wasn't happy.
The rest of the week continued to go well - more lessons, then, finally, a day off for Matthew while Joanna was busy passing her test in Elgin. "Can we do another mock test?" Matthew asked. We had two days to go. Would we be better off working on his weakness? And would a 'negative' result knock his confidence? But he really wanted another mock test, so I reminded him that I would be strict again.
At the end of the mock test I asked him "Ok, how do you think it went this time?"
He was hesitant, but I could see he wasn't disappointed. "I thought it was better."
"Anything that you think caused anyone else a problem? Or could have caused a problem?" He wasn't too sure.
"Just three minor errors this time, but......... (drumroll)..... No serious faults this time." His face lit up. "It was a nice drive. You just need to be a bit more aware of road signs and take in what information they give you. But carry on driving like that and you'll be fine."
The next day, inbetween lessons, we worked on his awareness and anything I thought could be polished further. He wanted an early night, but I thought that would be pointless, so Jane joined us for a trip to the cinema to see The Lone Ranger, which I thought was a bit too long, although good in parts. But Matthew loved it, and it did the job of taking his mind off the test.
I think I was getting more nervous than he was. Big day tomorrow.

Windswept and interesting

The next few days Matthew progressed nicely, picking up knowledge from sitting in on lessons, then putting it into practice when we had time between lessons. But I was concerned that it was all getting a bit concentrated. Time for a break.
A week or two ago my daughter, Rachel, had suggested that we all climb Ben Wyvis, the 3,432" mountain that dominates the landscape North of Inverness. The name derives from the Gaelic Beinn Uais, which apparently translates as Hill of terror. Of course, often when such things are suggested, everyone seems keen initially, but nothing happens. This time it actually went ahead.
Matthew and I were driving/instructing in Ullapool during the morning and arranged to meet everyone else at the car park, a few miles north of Garve, at 3.00pm. Of course, after weeks of calm, sunny days, the weather was now looking slightly menacing and the wind was really beginning to whip up.

Corrieshalloch Gorge

Corrieshalloch Gorge

Matthew and I took a very slight detour to Corrieshalloch Gorge, 12 miles south of Ullapool. The photos don't do it justice. The drop from the suspension bridge is just terrifying. But, if ever you are anywhere near Ullapool, it is well worth the short trip.

Matthew at Corrieshalloch Gorge

We met the others, as arranged. There was Jane, my wife, Rachel and her fiance, Jamie, and our eldest three grandchildren, Jordan, Charlie and Carmen, plus Jordan's friend, Job. I haven't told you about Dolly yet. She is our 'new' Jack Russell terrier. Actually, she is a year old now, and I will probably tell you more about her at some point. Anyway, she came too.

 Not everyone was suitably attired - Rachel thought Ugg boots were appropriate - but we were not in any hurry and the ground was dry. Off we marched, Jordan and his friend up at the front, and me at the back, lying to my grand-daughter Charlie about how much further it was. The initial approach is a long, continuous rise and a bit of a slog. Charlie was finding it hard going and, to my concern, so was I. For someone that, in the past, has run marathons, cycled from John O'Groats to Lands End and ascended peaks like this with ease, it was alarming how unfit I had become. It must be at least a couple of years since I have done any proper exercise and I was playing the consequences. My legs were fine, but my lungs just weren't accustomed to being used and I was beginning to think that I would have to tell the others to carry on to the top without me. The really embarrassing thing was we weren't even a quarter of the way up.
Every now and then, someone would stop to take a breather, have a drink, adjust clothing, or simply stop to admire the increasingly spectacular view. To my enormous relief, this gave my lungs time to adjust and, after a while, I was absolutely fine and stomping up the mountain without the slightest discomfort.
The thing with mountains is that the summit always seems much closer than it really is, usually because the true summit can't be seen from the slopes. The slope was getting steeper, the path was becoming increasingly zig-zaggy, the wind was becoming a roaring gale and we were all struggling. As we sheltered from the wind behind a mound of boulders, we decided that the sensible thing was to stop climbing and head back down the mountain. The climb itself was not too dangerous, but the wind was incredible.

But Jamie, Job, Matthew and I (with Dolly, of course) are not sensible, and carried on to the top (hopefully). The zig-zag nature of the path mean that sometimes we had our heads right down, using every muscle to push ourselves into the wind, then, as we turned the other way, the wind would push us up the hill - a relief, but you had to be careful not to let it push you too fast. Job decided it was too much and found more boulders to shelter and wait for us. Even Dolly was beginning to tremble. My legs were beginning to burn and my lungs had pushed my ribs to breaking point. The wind roared in my ears, caused my jacket to inflate and flap around me. My cheeks felt like they were being torn from my face, and streams of tears and snot flew from my eyes and nose, high up into the air, and off towards an unsuspecting fisherman, somewhere off the coast of Norway.

Near the top

After what seemed an age, Matthew, Dolly, Jamie and I finally reached the summit. Strictly speaking, it wasn't the very highest point - that was further along the long, humped ridge - but that was a walk, rather than a climb, so we decided that we need go no further. We sat, almost in silence. Funnily enough, the wind wasn't so bad right at the top, almost as though it had admitted defeat. There was no low cloud to obscure the view, so we could see forever in every direction. Sunbeams danced around the scenery, rivers seemed like tiny silver ribbons and clouds raced across the surrounding hills. It was enough to make you feel like a god. An utterly, utterly shagged god, but still a god.

Matthew, Dolly and I at the top

Jamie and I at the summit of Ben Wyvis

Matthew, Jamie and Dolly

The initial part of the descent was steep and totally unforgiving. My legs muscles burned with every step and my sinews and cartilage around my knees had turned to soup (Mulligatawny). Even Dolly was beginning to slow down. Until now she had been scooting up and down the mountain, probably covering at least twice the distance that we poor humans managed. Eventually, the slope began to level out a bit, giving very welcome relief, but it was a seemingly endless trek back to the car. By the time we finally reached the cars I was blistered, aching in virtually every part of my body and my lower jaw hung like an extra from the film Deliverance. But would I do it all again? Of course! Just give me a year to recover.

You take the low road and we'll take the high road

"Growing old is mandatory; growing up is optional." (Chili Davis)


Why am I starting this post with such a quote? Here are two more clues:


"Birthdays are good for you. Statistics show that people who have the most live the longest." (Larry Lorenzoni)
"There's still no cure for the common birthday." (John Glenn)


Yes, I had another birthday this week. It's ok, really. I LIKE birthdays. I hope I always will. I no longer compile lists of CDs and Playstation games I must have, but the odd new shirt or bottle of Lagavulin/Macallan/Laphroaig is always welcome.
"What do you want to do on your birthday?" Jane asked. 
"I fancy a drive over to the West coast."
"But that's what you do all the time." 
"I know, but I like it. We haven't been to Applecross for a while. I'd like to go there."

So, yesterday morning, Jane, Maggie and I (plus our three dogs in the back of our pick-up) set off for Applecross. I don't know why we don't go more often, it is just THE BEST drive. The first two hours are good, but it is the last twenty miles that are stunning, especially the Bealach na Ba (Pass of the Cattle), a (very) winding, narrow mountain pass. This is a photo I took near the start of the pass (yes, I had stopped). The photo doesn't convey how steep the road gets, but the road goes over the top of those mountains. You only have to Google 'Applecross' or 'Bealach na Ba' to find a wealth of stunning images. 

To give you an even better idea, have a look at this video (and there are several more on YouTube).
It wouldn't be a top, TOP day out without a decent lunch and our lunch at The Applecross Inn was way beyond 'decent'. We shared a selection of the freshest crab, lobster and langoustines imaginable, with a window view of Raasay and Skye backlit by a low, November Sun. 
The 'Undiscovered Scotland' website recommended returning via the northern coastal road to Shieldaig, but we wanted to drive the pass again. However, A wee bit of online searching suggests that the coastal road is worth us going back to in the near future.
By all means visit Loch Ness, Edinburgh, Skye, Glencoe and 101 other places when you come to Scotland, but you will never forget a day out to Applecross. 

Ticklish noses and wobbly legs

I have just stopped for lunch at one of Ullapool's finest eateries and, as I strode purposefully into the building, I realised that I was walking like someone who has had an 'accident'. 'What's wrong with my legs?' I thought, as I found a nearby table (to save me walking further).

Yesterday, Jane and I had taken advantage of the improved weather - there had even been some snow on the highest mountains a few days earlier -  to ride the ponies in Culbin Forest, a mile north of our house. Jane has two ponies; Dave, an Arab, and Lachie, a Highland. Lachie, although slightly smaller, is much more strong-boned and sturdy, so he gets lumbered with me. Difficult to tell from this photo whether he likes me tickling his nose or not.
Jane has been riding all her life, so she knows what she is doing. Even so, she still likes to take lessons every now and then because she always feels that there is room for improvement. I'm nowhere near Jane's standard. Until recently, I considered it an achievement if I could complete a ride without falling off and with the horse/pony going vaguely where I wanted it to. At first I struggled to understand why it mattered whether my feet pointed up or down, and my use of the reins was basic to say the least. But gradually I am beginning to appreciate what subtle leg movements do, and how to co-ordinate my whole body to guide Lachie where I want him to go.
Driving is similar in many respects. The brake and accelerator are much more than 'stop' and 'go'; steering can be improved by 'feeling' the wheels holding the road. Continuous work on this 'feel' for the controls will improve your driving and free your brain to concentrate on the road ahead (hazard perception).

Just as Raphael Nadal strives to improve his tennis and Jane looks to better her riding, I am always trying to make my own driving just that bit better. This attitude works for Sebastian Vettel, so it should work for my pupils and me.One thing about driving though.... After a two hour drive, you do not waddle like a duck the next day.

Nobody likes a Smartarse

I had very little experience of teaching anyone to drive before I became a driving instructor. The only time I can think of was when I was Landlord of The Cross Keys, Totternhoe. One of my bar staff said that she wanted to learn to drive and could I teach her? 'No problem, I thought. I had been driving for over ten years by then, thought I knew everything there was to know about driving and would be happy to pass on my expertise to someone else.
I am having a mental block and cannot remember her real name - we called her 'Squirty', in reference to her verbal diarrhoea. I think I had an old Ford Mondeo, but, obviously, no dual-controls. The pub car park wasn't the biggest, but I thought it would be an ideal area to teach her how to get the car moving, do a bit of steering, then she would be able to drive out of the village (looking back, I obviously had no idea then of how to teach someone to drive). Needless to say, we never even got out of the car park and I don't know if she ever learned to drive.
When I met Jane, my wife, her eldest daughter, Rachel, had already passed her driving test. Then, a few years later, her other daughter, Anna, took lessons and passed her test in Inverness while I was still working in Cambridgeshire. So I had no input when it came to how either of them drive (so don't blame me). Anna's boyfriend, Ross, is 23 but had never got around to learning to drive. It's his decision if he wants to learn to drive, or not, so I have never interfered. When Anna and Ross discovered that Anna was expecting their second child, they decided that perhaps it was time Ross finally learned to drive.
So, this morning, it was Ross' first attempt at the driving test. No matter how much I try to relax my pupils, they will be nervous. I have only ever had two, maybe three pupils who genuinely did not seem even the slightest bit nervous before their test. Ross was definitely not one of those.
What is there to be nervous about? It could be various reasons:
It is your first test and you are not sure what will happen.
It is not your first test and you know what is going to happen.
You are not confident in your driving.
Your lessons have not been going as well as you would have liked recently.
You just don’t like exam situations.
You have heard stories about certain examiners or things they might ask you to do.
You don’t want to go through it all again
It could be any, some, or none of the above. I would guess, however, that the most likely reason is the worry of what others might think. Think about it; if no-one knew about your test, would it matter quite so much if you did not pass?
I only remember bits and pieces of my own driving test, when I was 17. But I clearly remember being told that both my parents, my aunties and uncles, my grandparents and my cousin had ALL passed first time…. No pressure then.
 I stalled three times in my test and was absolutely convinced I had failed. As we approached the end of the test, all I could think about was my younger brothers finding it hilarious that I had been the first in our family to have failed. Fortunately, my examiner considered that, even having stalled, I had demonstrated that I was safe and (usually) in control, so he passed me and I couldn’t wait to tell everyone.
I think this especially true in Ross’ case. He was nervous because he was probably worried about what Anna, his friends and his family might say. The thing is, because I know his family, and because his girlfriend is my step-daughter, I also felt that same pressure and (stupidly) wondered what they might think about my qualities as a driving instructor if I didn’t get Ross through his test, first-time, with flying colours.
Therefore, I was as happy as Ross when he passed with 3 minor faults. And I was straight on the phone to Jane before Ross had even got out of the car (I allowed him the pleasure of telling Anna the good news).
So everybody’s happy today. Being the dad of his girlfriend, however, I have been robbed of something I could tease him about. Unfortunately, for Ross, there is one thing about which I can tease him: His test was today, Wednesday morning at 10.44am, and we had planned a final lesson on Tuesday evening, after he finished work. Late Monday night he text me to ask “Is it tomorrow night my lesson?” I could not resist replying “Unless you would rather leave it until after your test?”
Don’t you just hate it when your girlfriend’s dad is a smartarse.