Tuesday 15 October 2024--We're northbound today, to Craigellachie, a stop we make more years than not. Start east out of Drymen on the A811, intending to meet the A9, but cut a corner on minor roads to avoid whatever traffic might be lurking near Stirling. We pick up the motorway near Dunblane, but proceed only a few miles before diverting again, on the A822, to avoid traffic and roundabouts in the vicinity of Perth. The route takes us into Crieff, where we stop for a coffee break. I've been here once before, to pay a visit to my old whisky forum pal, Kenny, in 2007. I don't really remember much of the town, outside the market square. Just now I'm finding the high street a bit dire. We're looking for a bank with an ATM, and there is none to be found. I have, in the past few years, gotten quite used to contactless, cash-free travel; when I went to Norway, I got a couple hundred dollars' worth of krone at the start of the trip, just to be safe, and then had to make some effort to spend it in the last couple of days. This spring, in Ireland and the Netherlands, I didn't bother at all. Did I really go to the bank at home to purchase traveler's checks before a trip, way back when? Seems like a different lifetime. We would not bother with the ATM now, except that one of our hosts down the road has asked that we pay in cash. We finally find a machine in a supermarket a couple blocks away.

Notwithstanding my impression of the high street--honestly, it might just be the gray weather--Delivino is a very nice deli/café, with suitable refreshment.

Off we go north on the A822 again, passing through the scenic Sma' Glen and the town of Aberfeldy, rejoining the A9 just south of Pitlochry some time later. From there, it's about two hours to Craigellachie. The Highland scenery is increasingly attractive, but the long two-lane stretches of the busy motorway are very frustrating, which is why I haven't come this way in some years. It's the fastest route, though, by quite a bit.

Arrive at 4:00 and check in at the Highlander, then settle in for a pint before dinner. We recognize Billy, the barman, from previous visits. He's a good lad, with a laconic drawl and stolid demeanor that remind me of some northern New Englanders I've known. He'd make a good Mainer. I've been wiping out early every evening, and I feel particularly draggy tonight...I'm in bed at 7:30.

I awaken at 11:00 to find that Ron has not yet retired. Dress quickly and pop downstairs to the bar, where I find him in wobbly conversation with Tatsuya. The bar has already closed, but Tatsuya allows me a half. I'm sorry to have missed most of an evening in a favorite pub. Jet lag symptoms, and my response and recovery, seem to mutate slightly every year, like some weird sort of flu.