Aces and Knaves

Chapter 21 WICK

We could have taken the train from Glasgow, but I had said that driving would give us more freedom. I should have held my tongue. The "A" roads are supposed to be the best roads in the UK next to the "M" roads (limited-access motorways like the good old LA freeways) but soon after leaving Glasgow on A82 we encountered seven miles of hell along the west bank of mythic Loch Lomond.

Between the cliff rising on the left and the stone wall on the right that separated us from the lake shore was a winding road so narrow that two cars could barely pass each other, not to mention the big rigs that kept lumbering by.

"You're going off the road!" became Arrow's favorite shout as I kept edging the car to the left to avoid the imminent collisions that were constantly looming.

At one point the local engineers even acknowledged that the road was too narrow for two cars and stop lights were set up so that traffic could only move in one direction at a time.

North of Loch Lomond the road widened and I breathed easier. Arrow relinquished her death grip on the door handle. We followed the road up toward Rannoch Moor Summit, with bare granite peaks rising on either side.

A roar behind us told me that we were about to be obliterated by some monster machine. As my heart went into double-time and I frantically searched for an escape route, the roar passed over us.

Arrow looked up and pointed. "Jet fighter."

I could see the plane too, flying low, snaking its way through the canyon, its engine noise reverberating off the rocky walls. "Must be RAF," I said. "The sound of freedom. If they don't scare us to death in the process."

I stopped at a wide spot in the road to let my shaking subside.

"I'm ready to drive now," Arrow said.

"Fine."

Arrow picked driving up quickly, even shifting left-handed, and I relaxed a little. She had good coordination, although occasionally I heard her chanting the mantra, "Keep to the left." We stopped to eat at a lunchroom in a village along the north shore of Loch Ness.

A woman behind a counter made us sandwiches and we chose to eat at an inside table, shielded from the cool wind. None of the few tables was vacant, but one had two free chairs. A man waved at the chairs and in an accent suspiciously like ours, said, "Have a seat."

He was older, with streaks of gray in his short hair, almost skinny. He wore glasses with aviator frames. We sat down and introduced ourselves.

"I'm Larry," he said, shaking both our hands. "I take it you're from the US."

"Los Angeles," I said.

"Me too, specifically Palos Verdes."

"Small world." We spent the next two minutes determining that we lived within three miles of each other.

"What an amazing coincidence," Arrow exclaimed.

Larry shrugged. "The first time I was in Athens I saw somebody wearing a T-shirt that read 'Palos Verdes High School Physical Education' in Syntagma Square."

"You must travel a lot," Arrow said, and when he nodded she added, "What are you doing here?"

"Walking." He noticed our looks of disbelief and added, "From John O'Groats to Land's End, northeast to southwest. It's a traditional British walk. Lots of people do it."

"Where do you stay?" Arrow asked.

"B and B's. Bed and breakfast places. The owners are the nicest people this side of New Zealand. And many of the rooms are newly remodeled."

"And what do you carry with you?"

"A fanny pack with water, a little food, a change of clothes and first aid. And my North Face and waterproof pants for rain and wind. That's all I need." Larry pointed to the seat beside him, on which sat the fanny pack. A blue jacket with a hood was draped over the chair. It looked high-tech with its zippers and drawstrings.

Maybe he could give us some information. "If you started at John O'Groats, you must have gone through Wick," I said, remembering the road map we were using.

"The day I started I walked from John O'Groats to Wick. I stayed at Mackays Hotel. It's more expensive than a B and B, but I was still jet-lagged and I thought it might be more comfortable. It was okay, but I've found the B and B’s to be just as comfortable."

"We have reservations at Mackays Hotel," I said. "Are the people friendly there?" Will they spill their guts to us?

"They're friendly, if a little isolated. The day I was there the local bagpipe band marched through town, wearing their kilts. Incidentally, some of the bagpipers are girls. I was watching on the street and struck up a conversation with a couple of locals. I thought I was in a time warp. They talked about the problem of blacks moving in. I haven't heard that in 30 years."

He didn't look specifically at Arrow and she didn't respond. I said, "Speaking of 30 years, we're attempting to look up some men who lived in Wick 30 years ago and we hope still do. Do you think the residents will help us?"

"They'll fall all over themselves to help you. It'll give them something to do. Some days the most exciting thing that happens here is a cat has kittens."

We chatted some more until Larry got up to leave.

"If I stop too long at one time I get sleepy and comfortable," he said, "and it's difficult to get going again."

"By the way, have you seen the Loch Ness monster?" Arrow asked.

Larry had been walking along the north shore of Loch Ness.

Larry laughed. "No. And since Loch Ness is the largest body of water in Scotland and so deep that the bottom has never been found there are plenty of places for the monster to hide."

"One more question," Arrow said. "Why do you walk?"

"Because I'm a lousy runner."

Mackays Hotel is a sturdy stone building near the Wick River. The intersection beside it is actually a small roundabout, as I discovered when I attempted to turn right into the side street and saw oncoming traffic waiting for me. A circle painted in the middle of the intersection designates it as a roundabout.

Tired from having driven almost 300 miles, and still suffering from eight hours of jet lag, Arrow and I decided to eat at the hotel rather than venturing forth into the village of Wick. The food was good, if unimaginative, and there was plenty of it. We would not starve. Judging from the girth of some of the people we had seen so far, none of the population was starving.

As we tried to compensate for our sleep-debt by filling our stomachs, I said to Arrow, "I notice you didn't say anything when Larry talked about the black problem. You didn't take offense, did you?"

"Of course not. He was just reporting; it was nothing personal. And I've heard it all before. Perhaps he was warning me I might hear some talk like that. But so far the people seem very nice."

That wasn't surprising. I had noticed that Arrow charmed almost everybody on contact. "What do you think about his plan to walk the length of the UK?" I asked.

"I think it's exciting. And isn't he handsome."

"That's right, you like older men, don't you." The look Arrow gave me convinced me to change the subject.

After dinner we saw a sign in the lobby advertising a show to be held that evening in the hotel. It featured singing and dancing and, best of all, it was free. We agreed that this was a good chance to meet some people.

"I suspect that this is a substitute for pub night," I said as Arrow and I slid into a bench seat of one of the long tables at a ninety-degree angle to the front of the large room. The room was filling up fast with whole families, and most of the men went and purchased drinks at the bar as soon as they were settled.

"Elma told us about these get-togethers, remember?" Arrow said. "She used to sing here."

"I guess nothing's changed. I'll get us a couple of pints."

When I returned, a man was sitting next to Arrow on the bench and talking to her. He hadn't wasted any time. I looked around to see if he was there with anyone, but no wife or girlfriend was in evidence. He appeared to be in his thirties. His cheeks were redder than his thinning hair. I was glad to see that his waistline was expanding-not that I was feeling any jealousy.

"Karl, this is Jock," Arrow said, as I put down the mugs.

He reached in front of Arrow to shake my hand and said, "Glad to meet you, Karl."

I replied in kind and asked, "Can I get you a drink?"

For answer he lifted his own mug, which was half full. Before I could say anything more the room hushed. The emcee, another well-fed man whose name was Mackay, welcomed everybody and introduced the first singer, another Mackay.

The young woman had a nice voice and I could picture Elma singing in her place, except that she made two of Elma. I said into Arrow's ear, "Is everybody here named Mackay?"

She passed the question along to Jock, who laughed and shook his head, indicating that he was not.

The traditional Scottish song received a rousing round of applause; I'm sure everybody in the room had learned the words while still in diapers. Ms. Mackay sang several others, on the mournful side, and was followed by more singers and some kilt-clad dancers.

The small band struck up a tune that was a signal for members of the audience to get up and dance. They did a round dance that involved changing partners frequently. I was trying to figure out the steps when Jock asked Arrow to dance.

I'm sure she had never done this dance before, but she picked it up fast and obviously enjoyed herself. Men glanced at her while pretending not to; women stared more openly, partly because she was the only dark-skinned person in the room and partly because she looked striking in her short curls and blue dress.

After the song ended Arrow and Jock returned to the table and sat down. The three of us talked, half-shouting to be heard over the din of the crowd. We told Jock we were in the UK on business, without being too specific, and said that we had promised to attempt to look up some people for friends of ours. We bounced several names off him until he reacted to one.

"Aye, Michael McTavish. He lives over by John O'Groats."

Jock verified that his age was probably late forties. It appeared we had a hit.

"Could you tell us how to get there?" Arrow asked.

"I'll do better than that. I'll take you there tomorrow."

"Don't you have to work?"

"It's Saturday, my day off."

The band started to play again. Arrow stood up and grabbed my hand. "Come on, Karl. Get up. I want to see you dance."

"I've never done that before," I protested.

"I'll show you how; it's easy."

By this time I had drunk most of my pint and it didn't matter so much if I made a fool of myself. I resisted only slightly as Arrow dragged me to the dance floor.