The previous day had worn me out so thoroughly that I barely registered the overnight thunderstorm and rain. This campsite has a superb drying room so perfect towel and socks this morning. I will emphasize that the socks had been washed, not just dry and stinky.
To be honest today was a day to forget. No sooner had I set off along the A9 than the fog descended, and it became thicker by the minute. That’s a poor combination of ever there was.
Half a mile gone, and I came across the museum of crofting. The café was open,so where else could I go?
After that it all became rather boring, except that listening for and sidestepping vehicles turned into a full time job. I did a little on road research to pass time .
Vehicles often came in groups led usually by a careful European or older driver taking notice of the poor visibility. Behind them was a string of locals, often attempting overtaking at any opportunity. Cars not in a queue did not believe in lights, although sometimes they might have one, and travelled at their normal speed i.e fast. Timber lorries, motorbikes and caravans shot past, but campervans were cautious, but then again that might be because they were hired.
Photo opportunities were seriously curtailed, but just to prove I’ve been there this is Latheron.
A rather spooky place.
The remains of an old railway line just outside Lybster. What a shame it couldn’t have been turned into a cycle way and therefore taken pedestrians and cyclists off the road.
Lybster is a curious place. I felt as if I’d walked into a film set or back into the 1940s. The fire station is above.
Main Street. Notice the Commercial Hotel to the left. I wonder whether it has lino on the floors.
Martin came to my rescue again today. He had passed me on the road earlier and issued me with a high visibility jacket ,and then collected me from Lybster at the precise moment the rain started in earnest.