As Dire Straits may say – “Calling Elvis, Is anybody home?” A cracking start to our day! Where the feck was he? Had he missed his alarm? Had he already headed for the stadium? Canary and Junior were buggered if they could find him.
A knock on the door, followed by a screech of some tyres, and he was back. 7am? Almost 6 hours after the party? Where had he been? All was to become clear when the smile on his face shone, and a giggling that can only be described as a naughty little girls’, came from the mouth of Elvis. You need not ask any more questions when that happens.
Finally we were all gathered at the stadium, and it became clear that Elvis wasn’t the only ‘giggling little lass’ on tour. We shall not disclose this information though, as it may harm, well, me! – Hey Bronson?! A-Hem, Anyway…
MFR reporters, and the lovely Lyndsey, were awaiting for the show to commence, and a few snaps from the local journalists made it all sink in that this was the start of something special. Uncle Albert was getting used to the bus, ITN was assisting in the ‘before departure’ preparations, whilst Elvis, Bronson, Canary and Junior all decided a game of football was the order of the day. Out with the tennis ball, and our early energies wasted.
We were cheered off by the few fans that dared to brave the cold morning, including some club representatives and fans alike.
Heading South from the main doors of the stadium, we took a Westerly direction to reach a still-sleeping Inverness. Through the City we went and onto the Old Edinburgh Road and thence to Daviot woods and the first ever Highland March Ambush.
ITN and Elvis were well in front of the rest, with the first 4 miles covered in less than an hour. Gringo Junior, being next down the pack, could not help in noticing the fluorescent yellow hat of ITN and was urged not to blow their cover. Bronson and Canary had fallen, after the stick and pinecone assault.
Recovery time was taken to admire the view, which we had been left behind. The idea of walking the opposite direction sparked fears of a Highland March 2… this was only day one… what had we done?
We continued out of the woods, and picked up the bus just outside Moy. UA was on hand with the refreshing ‘nana and water from whence we suffered our first dropout. It turned out that Bronson had not fully recovered from the assault earlier in the day, and was forced to retire just before the 10 mile point.
With Bronson left to entertain UA, the intrepid troops marched themselves all the way to Tomatin. The 400 yards sign clearly out of place, as another half mile finally brought us to a lunch stop at the fantastic Tomatin Inn.
The plan was to finish the day in Carrbridge, where the overnight stop was awaiting. The A9 our company for most of the day, Carrbridge never seemed to close in. The long and winding road created the impression “it’s only round the next bend”. Then the next, then the next, then the next…
We finally arrived in Carrbridge to sample what can only be described as an American style Hunting Lodge – something out of the Wild West. Superb! This destination too was muted as a potential stop for future Highland Marches.
ITN – Stop it! It’s bad enough we have all agreed to do this, but the opposite way next year, and planning where to stay already – be off with you…!
Drinks at the Cairn Hotel were well deserved, and much needed. Uncle Albert, being on the bus all day, was pleases to note the ales on offer, and deservedly sampled a few ‘light refreshments’… as we all did.