I had nothing booked, just going to head north for a couple of days to sit on a rock and watch the world go by.
It was the annual call of the wild. Some folk go to the hills, mountains and rivers to listen to birdsong, deer bleating and snorting, Hielan' coos bellowing and even haggis rustling and grunting in the heather clad slopes, or it may be the soothing sounds of water trickling or rushing over rocky stream and river beds, or maybe it is the native flora which tickles their fancies. Not me – this time!
For me, the attractions are the sonorous serenades of high revvin' two strokes and the rhythmic beat of single cylinder four strokes plus other tunes played on a variety of internal combustion instruments, some more melodic than others, and dependent on the musician, or in this specific case, the person ‘hingin’ oan tae the haunelbars’!
Many nature followers and rustic devotees are no lovers or appreciators of things man made, especially if they emit un-natural sounds and oily whiffs, but that is precisely why thousands of other folk head for the Highlands in the first week of May each year. Not for them the mating calls and antics of the red grouse, nope, it’s the multi coloured metal machinery and the harlequin hued riders in their coarse protective garb and hard hats that are the big attraction – this is the annual gathering for the International Scottish Six Days Trial at Fort William.
Although a fan of all things motorised on two wheels, I personally am more of a ‘faller-offer’ than a motor cycle trials rider but I was captivated by this event on my first visit way back in the late 1970s. It’s one of Scotland’s biggest secrets. Over 300 competitors riding over terrain where normal folks would require crampons and ropes. The skills on display were breathtaking and yes, there were a few fallers-off, but of a higher calibre and much more stylish than my own, and which only made me appreciate the competition all the more.
The competition back then consisted of six days in the saddle, or on the pegs, whereby the riders would tackle around 30 Observed Sections on each of the six days. Simple eh? But these OS had been contrived by more devious minds than anything AI could come up with. The route masochists lay out these sections up, down, around and over tree roots, rocks, scree slopes, waterfalls, in fact anything that the more fiendish mind can conjure up using the natural terrain. The idea is to ride these sections ‘feet up’ without ‘dabbing’ for balance otherwise marks are lost. Also, there is very little public road use linking these off-road sections, more usually riding across desolate moors, bogs and more rocks.
On my first visit I was struck by the huge number of spectators, many of whom were furriners, and this despite the complete lack of general publicity for an event which attracted competitors from over 20 nations. How did they know it was on and more importantly how did they find the route?
The only Press folk I encountered were from the specialist press so I started making a few phone calls ahead of the following year. Armed with commissions from ‘The Daily Telegraph’, ‘The Scotsman’, ‘Glasgow Herald’ and BBC Radio I returned the following year to report on each day’s competition. I was even granted a riding pass by the then CofC Jim McColm so that I could follow the actual route and my admiration for the competitors grew even more.
Sadly it didn’t last. Newspapers even then were cutting back on copy and expenses. A week in the highlands was expensive for a freelance journalist while football writers were on double or treble the fees sitting on their backsides in a stadium. Besides, other activities were commanding more of my attention – rallies and motor races!
Ever since then, I have promised myself a return. Not to report, but just to spectate, to sit and watch and listen and join in the applause which rolls through the spectating groups whenever they witness a ‘clean’. The technology and competition has moved on since then but this event retains its innocent essence. The organisers have consistently refused any invitation to be part of any World Championship. It’s like the Mull Rally, unique in its appeal and challenge, and that alone summons the curious, the faithful and the adventurists.
It’s like a special stage rally but without a navigator, roll cage or weather protection. If you haven’t been it’s worth a visit. It is still my most favourite motor sports event and I will return. Next year, definitely, for sure, eh?
P.S. The photos are from 1984, back when the world was black & white!
#SSDT
