Soapy in Skye
by Diane Ackerley (published in the Isetta Gazette November 1978)
This year we decided to go camping in Skye. By Istta bubblecar. Neil and I.
We became the proud owners of an Isetta RHD 300cc last summer, and spent a fortnight getting it through its MOT. Since then we have had numerous disagreements with Soapy's business parts; play in the steering, coupling fracture, carburettor trouble, leaking petrol tap, worn carbon brushes...... after all our experiences we reckoned we'd be fairly competent if we were unlucky enough to break down on some deserted mountain road in Scotland. Little did we know.
We set off from MAnchester, the back shelf tightly packed, and a rucksack stuffed in front of the passenger. The largest component of the luggage was the tools and spare parts. Tho leave without these would have been to court disaster. The first day passed without incident. On the second day, I discovered that Neil's navigational skill had suffered a slight abberation the day before. His logical brain had dictated that the A6 road should be followed by the A7. Hence, to my horror, we were headed towards Edinburgh, not Glasgow. A pleasant, if rather lengthy, detour followed. The next night we were camped above Loch Tulla, and were eaten alive by flies on waking the next morning.
The third day out we discovered that the 'luggage rattle' noise which had started when we left Manchester wasn't the luggage at all. In fact the hand brake cable bracket had come away from the mudguard, and the outer cable had been rubbing on the nuts of the rubber drive coupling. Eventually, the outer cable had worn through and a few strands of the inner cable were all that was left. So, to the strains of the highland pipes at Spear Bridge, we took the cable off and found three wedge shaped stones to replace it. Henceforth, parking meant stopping in gear, carefully aligning all three wheels, and jumping out with three stones. After the cable removing stop, we bubbled on towards Skye. After a few miles we realised that we had left behind a pair of yellow rubber gloves (used to preserve our hands in some degree of cleanliness) on the roof, and they had, of course, fallen off. Though disconsolate at the loss of these useful articles, we decided not to return for them as time was getting on. A few moments later we spotted a car behind us, headlights flashing. Peering through the side mirror (luggage blocked a direct view through the back window) we could just make out the sight of a pair of yellow rubber gloves being waved energetically from the following car!
Eventually, we arrived at Portree, where we stayed for a week, using Portree as a conveniently central site to tour from. Although the weather was disappointing for the sun seeking holidaymakers, it was typical Skye weather. Rain, drizzle, low cloud, mysterious mists. However, we were lucky. It cleared on several afternoons and we had splendid views of the Cuillin Mountains and a memorable glimpse of the Old Man of Storr through swirling clouds. That day was also memorable for another event.
After visiting Flore MacDonald's monument, we were motoring along the road to Duntulm Castle. We had been plagued by strange smells ever since Neil had fitted his latest hoover tube heater. However, this time the smell was more pungent. Suddenly, billows of white smoke appeared from beneath the driver's seat! We catapulted out of the car dragging the seat behind us. The seat burst into flames which we extinguished with an old shirt and water from the windscreen washers. The next minor disaster was when we realised that the battery had tipped up when we had removed the seat. Acid had leaked over the floor, and was eating the carpet! It must have looked a strange sight. A bubble car, blocking the single track road, surrounded by piles of anoraks, maps, tools, carpets, seats, kettle, sweaters, bags, and miscellaneous other objects (the usual gear carried under the seat when travelling). The cause of the fire lay sizzling on the grass, surrounded by bemused cattle. It was the handbrake cable, which had escaped from its rag covering and 'shorted' across the battery terminals, creating an electric fire. The terminals are now insulated.
Soapy was greeted with frank curiosity by the natives of Skye, as well as the other tourists. She was attacked by several confused sheepdogs. Garage attendants asked where the petrol went -
Our journey home was relatively uneventful except for a disturbing squeal which developed twenty miles from home. Soapy screeched embarassingly at every left hand corner. Inspection later revealed that it was due to the brake drum rubbing against the back plate. We also developed a wobbly back wheel, which has now been fixed.
One thing we did not do was run out of petrol, though it was a close run thing one day. We left Fort William with half a tank of petrol, confident of finding a petrol station at Inergarry, marked on our maps as a fairly large place. The one and only garage at Invergarry had closed down! Soon after, Soapy hiccoughed, and we switched to reserve. We knew we could go on for another fifteen miles. Sixteen miles came and went, 17..... 18...... 23 miles. Each mile seemed slightly longer than the last one. Never before had a petrol station been so gratfully sighted.
We covered a total of 1,500 miles, mostly at 50 miles to the gallon, and 40mph, and the only thing to break down was the handbrake cable. Soapy was very good at hills. The previous year, when we had been mastering Soapy, on holiday in Cornwall, we had terrible trouble climbing up some of the deceptively steep hills there. Now with better adjusted clutch and more driving skill, we rarely needed to use second gear. It really was an enjoyable holiday.
Now, where shall we go next year?