A Summer of New Beginnings

by Lisa Hobman

  Once she had checked into the site and her tent was set up, Zara sat on the picnic bench right beside where she had pitched. Once again, the view of the water spread out before her like a huge living canvas. She brewed up some coffee on her little foldaway stove and relaxed, eyes closed for a moment.

  ‘Hiya. Are you cycling the NC500?’ A voice with a Geordie accent dragged her from her trance-like state. She blinked her eyes open and looked up, shielding her eyes from the sun. A woman clad in bike leathers stood over her, her dark hair tied in a ponytail.

  Zara squinted and adjusted her hand. ‘Erm, hi. Yes, I am.’

  The woman nodded and squatted beside her. ‘Thought so. Look, me and my friends are touring the Highlands on our motorbikes. We’re here for the night and thought we’d head into town; find a pub with some live music. We thought we’d invite you. We saw you arrive and presume you’re on your own, seeing as we didn’t see anyone else turn up with you. Us girls have got to stick together, eh?’

  Zara glanced over to the group of five women who were sitting outside a cluster of tents. Their bikes were lined up beyond, all shiny and silver with huge chunky tyres. The women waved and so Zara waved back. ‘That’s really nice of you. But I don’t want to impose.’

  ‘We insist. You get yourself freshened up. I’ve stayed here before and the showers here are really good. We’ll have a bite to eat and then we’ll set off. Carrie’s doing a barbecue, if you fancy a burger. Although I must warn you, she’s a veggie so there’s no meat.’ She rolled her eyes. ‘But anyway, if you can’t stomach meat substitute just come over anyway.’

  Zara smiled. The thought of a veggie burger that she didn’t have to cook or buy sounded fantastic. ‘Deal. Thanks again.’

  ‘No problem. Oh, I’m Joan; the one with the blonde hair is Carrie.’ Joan held out her hand and Zara shook it.

  ‘I’m Zara.’

  ‘Good to meet you, Zara. I’ll introduce you to the rest of the gang when you come over. Now go get a nice long soak under that hot water, lass. You look like you deserve it.’ Joan stood and walked back over to her group of friends.

  14

  Joan had been right about the showers. As Zara stood under the pounding hot cascade she could have fallen asleep on her feet. It was only the promise of food that dragged her back to reality. She dried and rifled through her bag for dry clothing.

  ‘Hmm, what should I wear tonight? Leggings and a base layer, or maybe a base layer and leggings just to change it up? Ooh, I know… leggings and a base layer.’ She huffed and looked forward to the day her outfits could be varied again and not weight dependent. She dropped her towel and wash bag back at her tent before making her way over to the gang of biker women.

  ‘Ah, here she is. We thought you’d washed away.’ Joan laughed.

  ‘Oh, yes, I know, sorry about that. You were so right. Those showers are incredible.’

  ‘They are. Anyway, grab a burger and I’ll introduce you to the rest of the gang. Not that we’re an actual gang. Don’t be thinking that. It’s not like Daughters of Anarchy or anything.’ She burst out laughing and Zara joined in. She tried to picture the group of women before her on the hit US TV show. Somehow it didn’t quite work.

  ‘Zara, I’d like you to meet Carrie – she’s the one who cooked for us tonight.’ Zara nodded and smiled at the blonde woman. ‘Next to her is her wife, Melody.’ Melody was dark-haired and olive-skinned. ‘Then this here is Claire.’ Claire was petite with chestnut hair and sparkly eyes. ‘I’m Joan, obviously, this is Jan and, finally, this here is Sally.’ Jan was around forty and had fiery red hair whilst Sally was tall and slim with short mousey hair. Everyone seemed incredibly friendly and Zara felt right at home immediately with them.

  ‘So, tell me how you all came to be up here on your motorcycles. Is it a regular thing you do?’ Zara asked, intrigued.

  ‘We get together as often as we can and usually have one week a year where we go off and tour somewhere new. But this is our second time doing the NC500,’ Jan informed her.

  ‘And the great thing is, it gives us a break from the men in our lives.’ Sally laughed. ‘Well, with the exception of Carrie and Melody. But they don’t seem to mind spending so much time together.’

  It was Melody’s turn to laugh now. ‘Yes, they keep telling us we’re still in the honeymoon phase but we’ve been married since 2014 and we were together around five years before that.’

  Joan rolled her eyes. ‘I get the feeling they’ll never tire of each other, those two. It’s sickeningly sweet.’ She grinned and nudged Carrie with her shoulder.

  ‘Right, ladies, I don’t know about you but I’m ready for checking out some proper Scottish music,’ Jan yelled and followed this with a whoop.

  The others clinked beer bottles together and Zara wolfed down the delicious bean burger she’d been munching on. She could’ve eaten another but didn’t want to be the party pooper.

  The group walked into Ullapool and it didn’t take long to find a pub with a live band playing bouncy music that had Zara nodding along before they even walked in the door. The pub was alive with an almost tangible buzz as the group entered. They shared wide-eyed glances, each grinning like the Cheshire Cat as they made their way to the bar. People clapped and whooped along with the musicians, who were clearly enjoying themselves. The band on stage were a three-piece comprising a fiddler, an accordion player and a guitarist who could make his instrument sound like a variety of instruments, including a drum. A gathered throng at the front, close to the small raised platform being used as a stage, were twirling each other round in time with the music as the rest of the crowd watched and clapped along.

  Zara couldn’t help the grin that spread across her face as she soaked up the atmosphere and watched the packed pub full of enthusiastic dancers and singers enjoying themselves.

  Joan nudged her. ‘Bloody brilliant, eh, pet?’

  Zara nodded emphatically. ‘Oh, yes, it’s incredible. What an atmosphere.’

  Before she could even take a drink out of the glass she was passed by Carrie, an elderly man grabbed her by the hand and swept her to the makeshift dance floor.

  She squealed and laughed before shouting over the music, ‘I’ve no idea what I’m doing!’

  The man leaned a little closer and replied, ‘Dinnae fash, lass, just follow my lead!’

  She tried her best as the man, who was spritely to say the least, swung her round and twirled her this way and that. The result was that she almost looked as if she could dance. At the end she was thoroughly out of breath but grinning like an idiot. She hugged the man and thanked him.

  ‘You didnae do too bad, lassie. You’re a natural,’ he told her.

  When she got back to her new friends they applauded her and she was enveloped in a group hug as they told her how fantastic her dancing had been. Her ego was boosted even if they were just being kind. The band announced a short interval and in a few minutes the pub was filled with the sound of more contemporary music coming over the sound system.

  ‘So, what’s your story, Zara?’ Melody asked, her head tilted to the side.

  Zara shrugged, still a little out of breath. ‘My story? I don’t really have one.’

  ‘How come you ended up all the way up here on your tod? You sound like you’re a long way from home.’

  Zara explained to the intrigued group the whys and wherefores of her trip to the Highlands and somehow managed to mention Josh in the scheme of it all – not just the fact that he had been the sales person to ensure she got the correct kit.

  Sally shook her head. ‘Well, he sounds like an idiot, honey, and to be honest you’re better off out of it. It all sounds too complicated and love shouldn’t be like that. You need to look for a man who knows his own mind before he decides to drag some poor unsuspecting woman into his drama.’

  Zara smiled briefly. ‘Nah, I think I need to just swear off men. I was better off before when I was without one.’

  ‘Damn right,’ Carrie chippe
d in.

  ‘That doesn’t mean she wants a woman instead, Caz.’ Joan laughed.

  ‘No, I know that, you daft bat. I just mean she doesn’t need a man. That’s all I’m getting at. I mean, look at what she’s doing. She’s all alone in the Scottish Highlands on a bloody pushbike. She’s a rock star!’

  Joan nodded. ‘Carrie does have a point there. You are brave. And you must be bloody strong-willed, Zara. I don’t think I’d have agreed to it. Probably would have lost my job instead. And I don’t mean just because you’re female. I think anyone who does something like the NC500 on their own must be either mad or have a will of bloody iron.’

  ‘I think stubborn probably covers it,’ Zara said with a cringe.

  ‘Well, I’m going to give you my mobile number. We’re going home tomorrow but I’m sure the rest of the lasses would love to hear from you. You know, to find out how you get on.’

  ‘And to know you’re safe,’ Jan added. Zara was overcome with emotion. This small group of women who were, to all intents and purposes, strangers had included her in their evening when she was feeling homesick. They had bolstered her, made her laugh and ultimately made her forget that she was hundreds of miles away from everything and everyone she loved.

  The night ended in lots of singing and more dancing and Zara eventually climbed into bed with a smile on her face and a heart that felt lighter than it had in weeks.

  15

  The following morning, after she had typed up her notes on her tablet that had charged overnight, she joined the Daughters of Anarchy, as they had now become ironically known, for a breakfast of Carrie’s special porridge and honey. That woman could cook and Zara was going to really miss the food she made. The friends sat around chatting and laughing just as they had the night before and Zara was once again reminded how accepting they had been.

  Once she was showered and dressed it was time to wrestle with the tent again. Only this time she had an audience. She just got it twisted into the right size and shape when someone shouted, ‘Yeah! Go, Zara!’ and it pinged out again, meaning she had to start over. She forced down a scream and string of expletives as she ended up cramming it back into the bag any which way it would fit, and in the process she inadvertently tripped over the bike and chuntered at it again as if it were a living being. Yup, losing it.

  Once she was packed up ready to leave she went to say her goodbyes. Each of her new friends hugged her and reminded her what an amazing thing she was doing and how strong she was. Mobile numbers were swapped and assurances made that they would all keep in touch. Joan even tried to convince her that she should buy a motorbike and join them on their next jaunt.

  Zara laughed. ‘I don’t exactly have a lot of balance on Silver Dickhead so I’m not sure handing me something bigger with an engine is a great idea.’

  Laughter erupted. ‘I can’t believe you named your bike something so derogatory. It’s hilarious.’

  ‘And apt,’ Zara pointed out. More hugs ensued and she said goodbye before mounting SD once more.

  With her faith in humanity firmly restored Zara set off on the next leg of her journey. An approximately seventy-mile coastal trek lay ahead of her. It would include the Kylesku bridge and would then take her on to the day’s destination, Kinlochbervie. She was relieved that her companions had been sensible about the amount they drank as cycling this route with a hangover would have been an added nightmare.

  Thanks to the many hills on this particular part of the route, Zara made the most of the stops along the way. The road took her through the Highlands geopark. Who knew that rocks could be so fascinating? There were explanation boards on some of the stops and she made notes again to include in her article. The way she was going she might need the whole magazine to showcase what she had experienced – this in itself was a massive surprise to her and it was only day four of her cycle.

  Her dad was a Kiss fan and her song for the day was aptly ‘Rock and Roll All Nite’. Although, she didn’t know all the words so just mumbled and sang the tune in the bits she couldn’t remember. She did, however, make sure to sing extra loud on the choruses, seeing as she was on the road alone; she decided it was probably a good thing she was taking the trip solo as no one would want to put up with her caterwauling.

  Thirty-five or so miles in – although it felt like a hundred – the singing hadn’t helped her tiredness. She was more out of breath than ever so she stopped for a break and a bite to eat at a pretty fishing village. A mixture of whitewashed and granite buildings lined the water and she found a little bistro that served food and hot drinks. The view from the window was once again one that she would treasure. The early afternoon sunlight glinted on the water as it rippled with the slightest breeze.

  ‘Are you all by yourself, hen?’ the waitress asked as she placed down the steaming mug whose aroma made Zara’s mouth water.

  ‘I am, yes. North Coast 500 for a work project.’ She’d expected that she might have been fed up of explaining herself by now, but it hadn’t happened as yet.

  ‘Aye, we get lots of folks doing the same. Rarely do we get a woman on her own though. You’re a brave wee soul.’ That seemed to be the general consensus of opinion about her trip.

  Zara shrugged. ‘I don’t mind it really. I can go at my own pace without annoying anyone.’ She smiled.

  The woman leaned forwards. ‘Aye, well, here you go. A wee piece of flapjack for your next snack stop. Full of syrup and oats so not great for the waistline but essential for energy.’

  The flapjack smelled tantalising and looked delicious with its golden brown colour that was slightly darker at the edges, just how she liked baked goods. ‘Oh wow, thank you so much. What do I owe—?’

  ‘Och, nothing, hen. On the house. I own the place so it’s no bother.’

  Zara smiled warmly, once again surprised by the kindness of strangers. ‘Thank you. I’ll look forward to eating it.’

  Once she was refuelled and had typed up more notes on her tablet, she packed her things into her backpack and left, waving another thank you to the owner, who smiled and wished her lots of luck and good weather. She glanced at her watch and realised she had perhaps stayed a little too long in the comfort of the bistro with its friendly owner and welcoming atmosphere. Par for the course, I suppose, when everyone is so relaxed. It rubs off on you…

  Tackling more miles of rugged coastline that afternoon, Zara couldn’t wait to climb into her bed for a rest. At one point she pulled over onto a rough patch of grass and just stood, staring out at the white sandy beach beneath her, catching her breath. Could she maybe get down there? It would possibly put her even further behind schedule but it would be worth it. She fastened her lock round her bike and laid it on the grass before locating a very narrow path that descended through craggy rocks and finally reached the dazzlingly clean sand.

  She sat on one of the rocks and inhaled a deep breath, trying to calm her erratic heartbeat that was pounding from the descent. She had taken her map with her so she could figure out which of the beaches she was on; that way she could take photos and add it in to her article. She pulled the map out and examined the knotted spaghetti of road networks that circumvented the coastline and turned the map every which way but couldn’t quite figure out which beach it was. A man walking his dog was throwing a tennis ball from a long plastic catapult and she jogged over to him.

  ‘Excuse me! Could you tell me which beach this is, please?’ she asked, out of breath as she reached him.

  ‘Aye, it’s the beach by Clashnessie. Pretty, eh?’ The man smiled.

  ‘It’s gorgeous. Thank you for your help.’ She jogged back to where she had left her helmet and the map and scrutinised it once again. She wasn’t exactly off her route but she was behind schedule. To add insult to injury she had a stitch in her side so sat a few moments longer waiting for the pain to ease. A sudden, unexpected gust of sea breeze whipped the map out of her hand and took it flying across the rocks.

  ‘Shit! Shit, shit shitty shit!’
She clambered after it but it kept fluttering off as the wind increased. When she eventually grabbed it, the map was torn and wet from where it had landed in a rock pool. Why the hell hadn’t she brought a spare one? Stupid Zara. Her stitch had worsened from running and she had difficulty clambering back up the rocks to Silver Dickhead. Thankfully… or not… it was still there. She took off the lock and tried to cycle but the pain in her side grew worse so she got off and walked steadily for a few hundred yards until it became far too dangerous to go any further on the hairpin bend that lay ahead.

  She stopped again on another smaller grass verge and doubled over, willing the pain to subside. After what felt like an age, she lifted her wrist to find that her schedule had run away from her. She needed to get back on the road if she was going to reach her designated campsite before darkness fell. She pulled out her phone to check for signal in case she had to give in and call for help.

  Nothing. Nada. Zilch.

  ‘Ugh, you’re well and truly on your own now,’ she informed herself aloud – she had discovered during her trip that talking to herself made her feel less lonely and that fact alone was worrying. With a huff and a wince she climbed back on the bike and chuntered at it, ‘I bet if you could you’d be laughing at me right now, wouldn’t you? Yeah, well, you’re not… so… piss off. Oh God, I’m doing it again. I’m talking to a bloody bike.’ She began to pedal steadily, trying not to over-exert herself, whilst also being very much aware that her map was next to useless until it dried out and that finding her campsite was going to be tricky.

  Several miles on and the roads had quietened to nothing. It was an eerie feeling to be the only person on the winding road and nerves began to dance in her stomach. Just keep going. Just keep going, she repeated over and over in her head. But what if it’s appendicitis? I could die out here all by myself. Oh, God, this isn’t helping.

  She began to sing Nina Simone’s ‘Feeling Good’, hoping the positivity would rub off on her. But instead she realised she sounded rather like a cow giving birth on account of the pain. She passed more beaches, although the light was fading and she seriously regretted being bewitched by the one she had stopped at to get a closer look. Stick to the bloody schedule, you idiot. After around an hour and a half, not a single vehicle passing her, she was resigned to the fact that she was entirely alone. It was a sobering thought. All the pretty views in the world weren’t worth feeling this isolated. It was a feeling she had never really experienced back home and being out in the eerie dimming light of early evening simply compounded the sense of melancholy that had descended upon her.