The author.

Ben Birdall is the author of Tuscany by Vespa and Vespa Valdera Tour, published by Arteventbook, www.arteventbook.it, Pisa. The Distilleries of Scotland by Vespa will be published next year in conjunction with the University of Appledoorn, the Netherlands.

Had a vague idea of doing it for some time, but it was more of a kind of pipe dream. A dram dream, more like. But then, by the start of the summer I had told so many people about it that started to believe it myself. I live in Switzerland now, though a Yorkshireman by birth, and had the idea on the tour round Oban a couple of years ago. I would take my 1979 Vespa 50 and start on Arran the youngest distillery in Scotland, go round the islands as far as Skye, then come down to Pitlochry, cross into Speyside, spend a few days there before scooting up the A99 to Orkney and the northernmost Scotch distillery of them all, Highland Park. I’d try and do some sketches and painting along the way, and, naturally sample some of the local produce. Around sixty distilleries, a thousand miles in three weeks, more or less. Simple-ish.

The preparation started. A cousin of mine who runs a business university in the Netherlands helped me to contact the distilleries and they all seemed willing to show me round, sometimes the managers, sometimes the lead tour guides, sometimes the production staff, once even the owner’s daughter. I put a thread on the Vespa Club of Scotland forum to see if there were any mechanics around my route. I got a message from Greame, he didn’t know of anyone that far north. So, it won’t have to break down then.

I costed it. Far too expensive. It would take me too long to ride the Vespa up to Scotland from Switzerland, but then to rent a van to just park it up for three weeks would be too expensive. No one hires out Vespas up there either, and anyway I would have to do it on my own classic 50. The trip was off. Then at Vespa rally I met Daniel who works for a trucking company in Austria, Gerbrüder Wiess. He said he could fix it with his boss. And for far less than renting a van, he did. The costs dipped into reality zone if I camped and cooked for myself. The trip was on again.

How to strap a Vespa to a pallet

Taking the Vespa to Austria, about 60 miles away, I saw it off on a truck. Flying into Glasgow a couple of weeks later I am almost amazed to find it in perfect condition at the Davies Turner depot in Cumberwauld. Weird.

On I get. Soon I am crossing by the Ardrossan ferry to Arran, still feeling weird. The rain starts and doesn’t show much sign of stopping. The Isle of Arran distillery was set up in 1995 and a claimant to the title of newest distillery in Scotland, which in an industry prizing age above all things I suppose is no great claim. Then it is on to Campbeltown, scene of biggest whisky calamity ever. From around 30 in its heyday, this small area rivalled Speyside in the nineteenth century but now only three survive, Springbank, Glengyle and Glen Scotia. The distillery managers of each show me round, and like a responsible drinker, I take away miniatures to sample on the campsite in the evening.

The Ayr Honest Men in Campbeltown

Passing the quays I am flagged down by a group of Vespa riders. These are the Ayr Honest Men on a scoot to Tarbot. I wonder where the Ayr Bonnie Lasses are. They invite me to the disco that evening in Tarbot but over the hilly one-track road from Claonaig I only averaged about 15 mph and so I know I won’t make it. On the flat, I can get up to an average of 20 mph, but since I am a painter, that means I won’t miss any nice scenes to sketch this way.

Next day, it is the ferry to Islay, smoky whisky capital of the civilized world. The rain keeps up. Hardly a baptism of fire, this is the Hebridean baptism of pretty traditional water. I am shown round Bowmore, Bunnahabhain, even learn how to pronounce it, Bruichladdich where I taste that sod of smoking peat in the mouth that goes by the name of Octomore, and where I drink a glass with James Brown, local policeman, lighthouse keeper, fisherman and farmer of the very Octomore farm where the cutting water comes from. Caol Ila is shut for renovations, but all the others, the big 3 down south, Laphroig, Lagavulin and Ardbeg, and even neighbouring Isle of Jura, let me in for a look around.

Islay.

In the evenings I call in at the Lochindaal Hotel bar. The barman tells me of how he sold the record breaking bottle of Bowmore 50 year old for over £20,000, and has the newspaper cutting to prove it. Four brummies befriend me, they are camping in a converted black burger van while they pick up prime bottles of Scotch from the distilleries for one of them who is suffering from motor neurons. That is their mission. He thinks it is his last trip, they have been on the road a while and are dressed like extras from ‘Lord of the Rings’.

‘Are you on a mission too?’ they ask me. ‘With that Vespa you look like you’re on a mission.’

‘Sort of.’

I explain how my Vespa and what brought me from the Alpine climes of Switzerland to the rugged southern Hebrides.

‘Are you an alcoholic?’ they ask.

‘No.’

‘Are you wanted by the police?’

‘Not yet.’

The Real Highlander.

By ferry again via Oban to Mull, not to see the famous harbour village known to a generation of children as Ballymory, but to visit the distillery known to many generations of wiser parents, Tobermory, then across to Kilchoan and a long ride up to Skye. I take the precaution of buying a petrol tank in Tobermory, and glad I did or it would have been a long push. The Vespa can manage about seventy miles on a full tank, although to tell the truth I don’t really know. This ’79 50N came out in Italy without a speedo or petrol guage, which, along with wing mirrors, indicators and even a stop light were just optional extras. When I imported it to Switzerland as I moved there from Italy the only modification they made me do was to fit a stop light. Not sure what DVLC would make of it, though.

On Skye I visit Talisker, and a million midges visit me despite the Avon Skin-So-Soft recommended by the commandoes as a midge repellent. I think it only works if you keep on spraying it on your face, and only then because you drown them.

Lodgings for man and Vespa

From Skye it is another long ride and two tanks of petrol down to Fort William. Tomorrow I am to attempt my first ascent of Ben Nevis, so I book into the Youth Hostel at Glen Nevis. In the lounge a Stirling man comes up to me and asks:

‘Is that your Vespa outside?’

‘Yes.’

‘Hi, my name’s Graeme, I’m from the Vespa Club of Scotland.’

It is one of those coincidences that you will never forget. This is the Graeme that I had been chatting to on the Forum about mechanics and the lack of them up here. That’s the weird magic of Vespas. He’s staying at the hostel with his brother and their sons who are going up Ben Nevis tomorrow too.

Next afternoon I meet them as they are coming down. I have already visited the Ben Nevis distillery in the morning and am carrying up a miniature to taste it on the summit. It goes down far easier than I got up. My legs were seizing up with cramps for the last few hundred metres but on this clear day the unbeatable hundred mile views across the mountains to Skye, Mull and the Grampian mountains are worth it.

Before the ascent.

Next day it is up to Dalwhinnie, highest distillery in Scotland and down to Pitlochry and Aberfeldy, then up to Balmoral where the secret servicemen eye me from blacked out Vauxhalls as I pass by the royal residence. Her Majesty is in residence here for the wedding of her granddaughter, but I visit instead the distillery next door, Royal Lochnagar.

Then it is over into Speyside, with Glenlivet and Tomintoul before spluttering into camp at Aberlour. The Vespa is not going well. Fortunately there is a German vintage motorcycle expert in the next tent, Bernd, who is touring Scotland and Ireland, after a few weeks on Iceland. He is on a war-time BMW with sidecar, so big it is fitted with a reverse gear, and his girlfriend is on a Simson.

BMW rider lends a hand

Bernd thinks it is an air leak from the oil seal. Or even worse, the stator plate is on the way out. Not good. Not much chance of me getting up to Orkney at this rate. He cleans and sets the carburettor, which was pretty clogged up, but it seems to make little difference. Spark plug? I’ve used up all the spares. We burn the oil off them on the camping stove. See how it goes tomorrow.

I have four days in Speyside and visit as many distilleries as I can: Aberlour, Glenfiddich, Balvenie, Strathisla, Morltlach, Dufftown, Macallan, Glenfarclas, Knockando, Cardhu, etc., etc., the list is joyfully endless. But the joy is shortlived in Rothes outside Glen Grant as the Vespa gives up entirely.

‘Give it a dram!’ shouts the still man as he looks out the door.

‘I might try even that.’

I try everything: different plugs, tighten the fuel pipe, air mixture, wires, check the fuel lock. I even give the points a rub with a bit of sandpaper and, oh, it starts.

Still spluttering I make it back to camp. Bernd’s face suddenly lights up as I mention the points. He clans them and resets the gap. Not bad. Still sucking too much air. Takes off the air filter. Perfect! I go for a test drive and it is as good as new. What about the air filter? It is all gunged up with oil. Leave it off, Bernd recommends. You could clean it, but tomorrow the same thing will happen. Is this wise? What if a stone gets in? How will a stone get in?

Vespa doubles up as artist's easel

Time for a spot of painting, where the board blows into the river and a kindly salmon fisherman picks it up as it floats past him, his only catch of the day. No damage, it’s oil paint, so the water just drops off.

Leaving Speyside for Elgin, I find most distilleries on the route closed as it is Sunday, except the museum at Dallas Dhu, then camp at Findhorn, even happen on a Dougie Maclean concert there, and in the morning visit Ben Romach, Royal Brackla, through Inverness to Glen Ord, up to Dalmore and Glenmorangie. No stones in the carb yet.

Arriving at Glenmorangie.

Up to Balblair and Clynelish, and then fog.

Slow progress on the A99

Slow progress, but my progress is slow at the best of times, the only problem is that cars and trucks might not see me in time in this fog, but the cyclists who keep up with me are just about madder than I am. Then on to Wick and Old Pulteney. I have to get the first ferry of the afternoon or I’ll miss the distilleries on Orkney, and I am booked on the midnight ferry back south to Aberdeen tonight, the last one for two days, which would mean missing flights and the family holiday and, no, forget it, it’s not going to happen. But not actually getting in to Highland Park, the last hurdle, would make the whole trip a failure, or if not a failure at least a pretty disappointing end. A Vespa 50 is not exactly the best machine to be on in a hurry, especially if it is loaded up like a something out of a John Steinbeck novel.

The northernmost Vespa in Scotland

Just manage to get the ferry at Gills Bay to St. Margaret’s Hope. Things are going well. From there it is a fast-ish ride across the islets to Scapa for a quick tour by the stillman there and up to Highland Park, arriving just half an hour before they close. Made it! The tour guide says I’m late. Better late than never, I say. She doesn’t know how much I mean that.

( The 11 paintings done on the trip can be viewed at www.art.birdsalls.org.)

Ben Birdall.