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Highland Spirits
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BMW Rockster
Peter Starr
Summer 2004
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Photography by Chris Close
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Another day passed and yet there were more
distilleries to explore while putting mile after mile on the Rockster. The
well-surfaced roads provided plenty of switchbacks that encouraged spirited
riding, which helped me to accustom myself to the wide, flat handlebars. When I
first picked the bike up, I did not like its extended-hand riding position; but
the more I aimed the Rockster along the twisting Highland roads, the more I came
to appreciate its practicality. However, the servo-assisted brakes, great at
hauling the bike down from speed, did not inspire confidence when maneuvering
slowly in tight situations.
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Late that afternoon, I had an appointment at
Balmenach Distillery, nestled in the hills behind the village of Cromdale, about
five miles north of Grantown-on-Spey. Inver House, a small independent whisky
company with great ambitions for the single-malt, has recently given this once
boarded-up distillery new life. Dennis Malcolm conducted a personal tour of its
facilities, acquainting me with its traditional methods of making whisky.
Licensed in 1824, Balmenach is one of the oldest distilleries, hailing from a
time when illicit distilling was a way of life.
The next morning was
so clear and cold (“Aye, there’s a wee dusting o’ snow on the ben,” said one
local) that I was afraid of black ice on the roads. I very cautiously guided the
BMW back toward the A9 and north to Ballindalloch Castle. The road surface,
although delivering good grip, glistened in the filtered sunlight, making me
concerned that any little change in direction might result in an icy slide. On
the road down to the Castle, I was again brought to ground by the sight of a
farmer and his assistant herding cattle from one pasture to another, across the
road in front of me.
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“It’ll nay be a problem, stay exactly where you are,”
the farmer shouted. I waited with the engine turned off as he ushered the cows
out of the field and toward me. The lead cows, upon seeing my Rockster, were
sufficiently spooked—enough to jump a 4-foot-high stone wall into the wrong
field. Far from upset, the farmer laughed and said, “I did na’ realize I
had a herd of show-jumping cows!”
My last stop, Glenfarclas Distillery,
founded in 1836, is one of few that have remained in private hands. Glenfarclas
means “valley of the green grass,” and the name is apt, as its building stands
in the meadows at the foot of Ben Rinnes. Purple in autumn, when I saw it, and
snow-clad in winter, the ben rises up majestically behind the distillery. The
Glenfarclas visitor center features a marvelous Ships Room, which is fitted with
the original paneling and furniture of the Empress of Australia. The ocean liner
ferried passengers, troops and royalty to and fro between 1913 and 1952. A
fitting place to taste the subtleties of Glenfarclas’ fine product.
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