With David's words "I wouldn't ride any faster than walking pace if I was you" still ringing in one ear I set off from the Loch Aorta Hotel.
It was only about seventy miles to one of the two bike shops in the West Highlands, Charlie would be following at a discreet distance to clear up any resultant mess if or when the back tyre exploded.
It must have been the additional weight of Isabelle and her face creams combined with the raw power of the vee-twin that had worn the until this morning still legal rear tyre through to the canvas in a single afternoon.
In the other ear the words "We shut at twelve on a Saturday" seemed to be in clear opposition.
The destination drew closer, the tyre wore thinner, the deadline fell nearer, the speed crept up, the nerves became more racked...
Then the "Welcome to Oban" sign came into view.
"It'll be a hundred and fifty pounds fitted."
Forget it, I think I'm going to shop around a bit.
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