This article was produced in association with GT.
For one of those brief seconds that somehow feels like an eternity, no one says anything. Andy was the first in the door and as a result is the closest to the axe. After the axe I can only see a hardback copy of Tolstoy’s War And Peace and a tin of haggis, each of which may just cut it as a makeshift (if somewhat unlikely) weapon.
As it turns out, the two bearded men bedecked head to toe in khaki, are actually two pretty nice guys who’ve got the National Express up to the Scottish Highlands from Bristol and aren’t a physical threat after all.
Bothy etiquette is an odd thing. We’re offered a share of the bounteous haggis and the fire the pair have built is warming but there’s still light, the rain’s off and a night’s worth of small talk can still be avoided by saddling back up and rolling to the next bothy. Are you on a racer or something?” Bloke Number One asks me, confused. “I am, yeah, sort of...,” I mumble swerving the opportunity to try to describe the GT Grade parked outside. In fact, GT doesn’t fully know how to describe it having plumped for the slightly dry ‘Enduroad’ banner on its website.
Half way through the night Andy nudges me awake and before I can utter anything he puts his finger to his lips before turning to the sound of another person’s breathing coming from somewhere deep within the dark...
Bothy etiquette
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