speeding
truck.
She stuck two fingers up at the rapidly
receding back of the vehicle. “Feckin’ eejit!” she screamed, not that it seemed
to slow him down at all.
She turned back to me. “All right then,
Emma?”
I nodded, hoping that the extra calories
burned from my heart beating at twice the recommended rate would maybe qualify
me for the smaller bike the next time.
“Not sure he knew you were mad at him when
you only shot him a peace sign,” I said, when my breath returned.
She laughed. “Ah, you Yanks and yer middle
finger salute. This is our version—more of a Celtic Peace Sign, mebbe.
Trust me when I say this one has just as ripe a meaning.”
I nodded and filed it away. Susan was a
veritable font of local culture, and I felt a moment of gratefulness that fate
had introduced us at the pub. My headache had vanished, and now she’d taught me
how to swear in sign language. The beginnings of a true friendship.
The ride was fairly uneventful after that. I’d
clipped my room key to an outer zipper on my pack, and it jingled lightly as we
trundled along the gravel verge of the road. Outside Inverness, there was still
a skiff of snow on the ground, but the roads themselves were clear, and the sun
and ride combined to keep me warm. I paused and looked both ways at every
intersection, just in case, and Susan soon had us pedaling into the parking lot
at the gate of the battlefield presentation center.
The road leading to Culloden circled near
the actual battlefield before arriving at the entrance, and I peered across the
brown lumpy expanse, sure that Susan must be mistaken. I could see sheep
wandering about, but how could anyone possibly fight a battle on such an odd
and uneven surface?
We rolled our bikes up outside, and Susan
expertly locked them together on an otherwise empty bike stand. “Ye can niver
be too careful, aye?” she said, tapping the side of her nose.
I tapped back. One more cultural lesson
learned. It was turning out to be an amazing day.
11:30 am, March 15
Inverness, Scotland
Haven’t got my laptop with me, so jotting
quickly here in my notebook, and will copy to the blog later. Remember to make
a short post to note the change of plan. I still hope to try to follow Claire’s
footsteps wherever possible, but this is a chance I can’t pass up. The
proximity of Culloden Battlefield, and the opportunity for a personal guide has
brought me here a bit earlier than I had thought. I’m sure to learn so much,
and it’ll probably mean I save a bit of money, too, not having to double-back
the way Claire did .
I jammed my little spiral notebook into
my pack after making the notes. I’d post to the blog again when I returned to
the hostel. By then I’d probably have a ton of interesting facts to add. Susan
had turned out to be the best part of the trip so far; a walking Wikipedia of information.
But as I waited for her to come back from
the restroom, I found my thoughts turning to the drop in comments from my
Japanese fan club. I mean, this trip was supposed to be for me, after all. But
my self-confidence had been really shaken by the sudden cyber-silence.
What did this say about me? Just who was I
making this trip for, anyway?
I grabbed my notebook again.
Also, remember to leave a note to HiHoKitty
and the other commenters from Asia: Make sure to say I’m truly sorry if
Rabbie’s remark about the feet offended anyone. To tell you the truth, it
offended me, too, and I was just trying to get that across.
Hoping they don’t give up on
support for my “Finding Fraser” quest. I have to find some way to say just how
important their encouragement has been to me. Whatever else comes of this trip,
I’ve learned that I really do enjoy the writing. I’d love to find some way to keep
it going, even after the journey...
Susan came marching out of the restroom
and slapped me on the arm.
“Why so glum, chum? This place is amazing.
And I’ve a few
truck.
She stuck two fingers up at the rapidly
receding back of the vehicle. “Feckin’ eejit!” she screamed, not that it seemed
to slow him down at all.
She turned back to me. “All right then,
Emma?”
I nodded, hoping that the extra calories
burned from my heart beating at twice the recommended rate would maybe qualify
me for the smaller bike the next time.
“Not sure he knew you were mad at him when
you only shot him a peace sign,” I said, when my breath returned.
She laughed. “Ah, you Yanks and yer middle
finger salute. This is our version—more of a Celtic Peace Sign, mebbe.
Trust me when I say this one has just as ripe a meaning.”
I nodded and filed it away. Susan was a
veritable font of local culture, and I felt a moment of gratefulness that fate
had introduced us at the pub. My headache had vanished, and now she’d taught me
how to swear in sign language. The beginnings of a true friendship.
The ride was fairly uneventful after that. I’d
clipped my room key to an outer zipper on my pack, and it jingled lightly as we
trundled along the gravel verge of the road. Outside Inverness, there was still
a skiff of snow on the ground, but the roads themselves were clear, and the sun
and ride combined to keep me warm. I paused and looked both ways at every
intersection, just in case, and Susan soon had us pedaling into the parking lot
at the gate of the battlefield presentation center.
The road leading to Culloden circled near
the actual battlefield before arriving at the entrance, and I peered across the
brown lumpy expanse, sure that Susan must be mistaken. I could see sheep
wandering about, but how could anyone possibly fight a battle on such an odd
and uneven surface?
We rolled our bikes up outside, and Susan
expertly locked them together on an otherwise empty bike stand. “Ye can niver
be too careful, aye?” she said, tapping the side of her nose.
I tapped back. One more cultural lesson
learned. It was turning out to be an amazing day.
11:30 am, March 15
Inverness, Scotland
Haven’t got my laptop with me, so jotting
quickly here in my notebook, and will copy to the blog later. Remember to make
a short post to note the change of plan. I still hope to try to follow Claire’s
footsteps wherever possible, but this is a chance I can’t pass up. The
proximity of Culloden Battlefield, and the opportunity for a personal guide has
brought me here a bit earlier than I had thought. I’m sure to learn so much,
and it’ll probably mean I save a bit of money, too, not having to double-back
the way Claire did .
I jammed my little spiral notebook into
my pack after making the notes. I’d post to the blog again when I returned to
the hostel. By then I’d probably have a ton of interesting facts to add. Susan
had turned out to be the best part of the trip so far; a walking Wikipedia of information.
But as I waited for her to come back from
the restroom, I found my thoughts turning to the drop in comments from my
Japanese fan club. I mean, this trip was supposed to be for me, after all. But
my self-confidence had been really shaken by the sudden cyber-silence.
What did this say about me? Just who was I
making this trip for, anyway?
I grabbed my notebook again.
Also, remember to leave a note to HiHoKitty
and the other commenters from Asia: Make sure to say I’m truly sorry if
Rabbie’s remark about the feet offended anyone. To tell you the truth, it
offended me, too, and I was just trying to get that across.
Hoping they don’t give up on
support for my “Finding Fraser” quest. I have to find some way to say just how
important their encouragement has been to me. Whatever else comes of this trip,
I’ve learned that I really do enjoy the writing. I’d love to find some way to keep
it going, even after the journey...
Susan came marching out of the restroom
and slapped me on the arm.
“Why so glum, chum? This place is amazing.
And I’ve a few
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