Editor’s note: This small pamphlet has been photocopied many times since Richard wrote it, probably around 1994. It was the basis of an article in the One Earth Magazine. The pamphlet inspired Michael Hawkins to write a play to honour the Richards (Richard Coates and Richard Adams), both were stalwarts of the Findhorn Foundation’s Transport Department. We provide it here as a pdf flipbook as well as the text in full.

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An unabashed journey of personal nostalgia and inspiration – so there!

Sitting here in the lounge at Traigh Bhan, I find myself musing on the “Erraid/Iona Run,” the weekly drive from Findhorn to the west coast and back. I have been doing my share of these over the last 16 years and have experienced great joy, much beauty, lots of adventures, and the blossoming and passing of many wonderful friendships.

Many things have changed in those years. Our vehicles, the roads, the number of drivers, the ferries, etc. When I first came to the Foundation, I worked in the Transport department, so I was intimately involved in the servicing and preparation, and sometimes recovery and repair of the buses, as well as driving them.

Two buses did most of the runs in those days. Bluebus was a blue Ford Transit 15 seater and Brother Henry was the first new white Mercedes bus we bought (Not the present Henry.) This one joined the Foundation in March 1978, just a month after I did.

Bluebus ran on petrol—vast quantities of it—and was very fast. You actually had loads of power to overtake. He did 14 miles to a gallon. By comparison, Brother Henry did 21 miles per gallon of diesel. Nowadays, we carry less people and put all the luggage inside. In those days, a 15 seater carried 15 people and all the luggage was on an enormous roofrack, covered by a waterproof (on a good day) tarpaulin. On more than one occasion, I remember glancing in the mirror and seeing a backpack disappearing in the distance, necessitating a wee recovery excursion.

Brother Henry was a delight. He was a 22 seater, somewhere in between our present small and large buses. He cost us £8,000 to buy new. The engine was fast (for a diesel) and he was easy to drive. This bus got badly smashed up twice on this run before finally going to the great scrap-yard in the sky.

We also had a large car called the General which was used when there were only a few people going out. This was an Austin 1800 painted matt (a sort of grey/brown colour popular with the army.) When I joined the Foundation and the Transport Dept., my first assignation was to “Get the General through it’s M.O.T.” Not an easy one as he seemed to have no brakes left at all. But we made it through eventually, the General and me.

Over the years, we have used many buses, mostly new Mercedes. The small ones were Heather, Easby, and Rose and large ones were 3 different Henrys, Hamish, and Frances. Some of the bigger ones had power steering, some not. One called Hamish, we had built with an extra fuel tank as there was a difficulty finding petrol stations open at the times we needed them. The “Road to the Isles” service station at Fort William used to close at 6 pm in the winter.

One week the driver, Harold (Do you remember Harold Armstrong? – He drove this run a lot) telephoned me at Cluny at 1 am on Sunday morning to say that due to ferry problems he was still on the road and had reached Inverness after 20 hours and was out of fuel, with nowhere open.

These days we are (quite rightly so) much more careful about safety in the buses. In former times, it was quite common to have someone sitting on a box or backpack between the seats, especially if they were unexpected late arrivals at 5 am on Saturday morning.

It’s very expensive to buy things out on the islands, so our buses carried a lot of things as well as people. Apart from taking food to Traigh Bhan and some for Erraid (for example, the orange trees on Erraid never produced much fruit, and their cows’ milk was not of cheddar or Edam quality) we would throw on half a dozen straw bales to fill up the bus. (More occasional seating there, too.)

The roads have changed a lot. The first stretch to Inverness used to wiggle through Auldearn and of course through the middle of Inverness itself, which is now a pedestrian precinct. Lots of minor improvements have happened down the Loch Ness road. One night in the winter of 1982, great piles of earth slid down the hillsides onto the road along by Loch Lochy and we had to slalom in and out of giant molehills. That is the part where they have since piled great rocks into the edge of the loch and built a fast, wide, straight new road down by the water.

The road from the Fishnish ferry to Craignure on the Isle of Mull was a mud track for some years, running through a forest while they were building the metalled road we use now. By the way, that whole area was forested right down to the ferry jetty. It has been cleared in the last 5 or 6 years.

The ferries have improved a lot. The Mull ferry was a 6 vehicle boat which you had to drive on and reverse off—great fun to watch some of the holiday-makers getting their caravans and trailers knotted up trying to back off.

The worst conditions I can remember were when the wind and current were so strong that the ferry engines could not hold the boat onto the pier for long. So they got us to reverse on at Lochaline and then they went across to Fishnish and came in above the landing stage. As the current pushed up past the sloping concrete road, they dropped the front ramp and 2 vehicles nipped off quickly and then they’d circle around to let the next ones off. It’s an interesting feeling in a 22 seater when your front wheels are on the land and your back end is on the boat being pushed sideways by a gale. (In case any of you are wondering whether to cancel your upcoming trip to Iona or Erraid, I am going back to the days when the boats were much smaller and less powerful, so panic not!)

The first ferry at Corran used to be a 6 vehicle thing. In the middle of the boat was a giant turntable. The operators had to get the vehicles balanced just right because, before they started off, they would release a couple of catches and 2 men would push the whole cardeck around to face the opposite direction so we could drive off forwards on the other side. Again, this has been replaced by a much bigger boat. That first crossing, even though short, goes over a very hairy bit of water. At certain tide-changes and wind conditions, they often stopped running. Then you had to drive back to Fort William and drive many miles along Loch Eil and up the other side of Loch Linnhe. This is a narrow, twisty road, but an absolute delight in May or June when the rhododendrons are prolific.

Another variation is to not take the first ferry at all and bash on down to Oban and take the big boat to Craignure on Mull—much more expensive and you have to book in advance in the summer.

There are other little variations one can take. If you know you’re going to be early for the next ferry, why not spend the time exploring? The Kingairloch road between the two ferries is very pretty, but the road is a little narrow for the big buses – not much room to put a wheel wrong. Then there is the north loop on Mull, driving along under The Burg (The Burg, by the way, is the line of steep cliffs facing west running up the west coast of Mull. You can see it very clearly from Traigh Bhan if you look across the sound.) Superb waterfalls. You can encounter rocks in the road that have rolled down off the cliffs and you need to ignore the grass in the middle of the road.

Speaking of waterfalls, you pass many driving across Mull, which of course vary in their appearance according to recent rainfall. Some 15 miles into the return trip there is a town – well, village – well, a pub and a house or two, called Pennyghail. If you turn off here to the south on the road to Carsaig, you will find some wonderful waterfalls on the way down to the sea. In this place, the powers that be have seen fit to install a public telephone beside the pub, right beside a large one, so you can hardly hear anything. Why??? I dunno. Anyway, it’s a lovely drive, but it is a cul-de-sac, so you have to come back again. There are lots of these little dead-ends, roads or tracks leading to a farm or village with fascinating names like Kinlochteagus or Laudale.

Back on the mainland, if the traffic is heavy on the Loch Ness road, you can turn south at Spean Bridge and come through Newtonmore and Aviemore and then up over the mountains from Carrbridge. Slower but pretty, well worth doing in September when all the heather turns bright purple just for a couple of weeks. (All the tourist shops in Scotland carry this postcard showing the mountain heather in such a glorious colour. I always thought it was exaggerated in the printing or at best artistic licence, but for those 2 or 3 weeks in September, it’s true!) Or you can turn right at Fort Augustus and come back on the south side of Loch Ness, slow and windy, but a nice change. Careful though, we lost a bus in a ditch on that road.

In years gone by, I have had to wait up to four and a half hours in a queue at Fishnish for the old 6 car ferry. I remember one day sitting in that line when an obnoxious semi-drunken man in a large Jaguar jumped the queue when someone in front of me did not move up fast enough. I did some quick calculations and reckoned that this idiot had not gained an earlier boat, but would be one of the first on my ferry rather than the last. And, of course, as we had to reverse off that ferry, I waited patiently until the other side, backed off the boat, turned around quickly and then proceeded all the way along those little single-track roads (where you can’t get past anybody unless they pull over) with his big Jaguar flashing his lights and sitting on my back bumper. (There is justice after all!)

If you ever get worried about the speed our buses can travel on little roads, bear in mind that your driver is sitting up much higher than a car driver and can see much better. You also get a bit more respect from others when you are driving a large bus. (Have you ever noticed how many bank managers sit in smart leather chairs much higher than the one they offer you?). Those passing places on the tiny, single-track roads might seem small, but the guys who drive the local buses on Mull drive 45 seaters very skilfully and get their enormous vehicles nicely tucked in to allow others past.

Iona is a great tourist attraction and many people visit in the summer. The one or two, mostly empty buses that run across Mull in the winter each day, increase to 8 or 10 full buses in the summer. Pilgrims in their hundreds pour off the ferry from Oban to Craignure (pronounced Craginure!) and climb on the extra buses Bowmans have hired for the summer, bounce across the island, pile onto the Iona boat, walk up to the Abbey, take a few snaps, buy a few souvenirs, and off back to the mainland to continue “Doing Scotland”. The reason I mention this is that if you meet a large bus coming the other way in July or August, you may meet 8 more behind, so don’t get too impatient. (Well, in the western isles, don’t get too impatient – period. We used to estimate times for jobs or journeys on Erraid, and then add X% for the “Erraid Factor”).

I get a peculiar satisfaction in driving on those roads with the wide bits for passing. When you pull over into the passing place and wave a hand of “Thank you” to the person coming the other way, there is contact that does not happen when you drive on other roads. The universe says, “Hey, slow down, there’s a person. Smile. Smile good morning. How’s your adventure today?” There’s a camaraderie involved.

And when both drivers can time it perfectly (This takes trust!) so that one sweeps into the passing place just in time for the other to pass and can nip out again without the need to slow too much, there’s a warm feeling of satisfaction. Even though you don’t know the other driver, you shared an experience and a trust. A bonding happened with another person. It sort of feels like “Things are right with the world” and only God can stage manage things like that! The joy of timing. Can you understand the spiritual perfection and inspiration that exists within driving?

On one or two occasions when I have been in a hurry, say when the ferries have problems and we have to get to the jetty by a certain time or not get home that day, I have found that with a little prayer and concentration, every time I met someone coming the other way, they have dived into a passing place and we have sailed on unhindered. It’s amazing, when I trust. It’s amazing how well life works when I can get myself and my fears out of the way.

Whenever I hit the first bit of single-track road in the area known as Morvern between the two ferries, it always takes a few minutes to adjust myself. I usually think to myself that this part of the road is narrower than the rest, but in actual fact, it’s just that I have to “tighten up,” to be aware that there is now no spare tarmac. On big main roads there is always a bit of spare road, a bit of leeway, but not here!

One of our present buses has power steering, which is good as it makes the job easier and less tiring, but on the other hand, it also makes it easier to steer a few inches off course without any effort. You need to be careful. In some ways, I prefer not to have the power steering on these small roads.

There is a place about half-way across Mull where you have good vision ahead and a long straightish run downhill, out of the Glen towards Loch Scridain where you can really get motoring. Half-way down, the hills on either side just finish and a great wind often comes in from the north, taking you unawares from the right side if you are not careful. No time for dreaming.

One Saturday, I got a phone call from Giles Chitty (Remember Giles?) from up on the Grantown road (he’d taken the Newtonmore way home) where they’d broken down. He’d been tanking along at 70 MPH (112 KPH for those who don’t think in Fahrenheit!) when all of a sudden – no drive – no connection between engine and wheels. So they stopped, and as they pushed the bus up onto the grass bank to clear the road, one of the double back wheels gently moved out and fell off, half-shaft and all. This could have happened at 70 MPH (or even worse, at 112 KPH). We have always been well protected. Uncle God is up there next to the driver.

There have been a number of crashes over the years, some of them serious, but I do not know of anyone with worse than cuts and bruises, even though buses have turned on their sides, hit big rocks or trees and ended up in ditches. Once or twice, buses have been written off (Totalled!).

Going back to those early days, the drivers did not get paid anything, they just loved the drive, the adventure. I always said, “What more could I want? A full tank and the most glorious parts of Scotland to drive through for a day?”

Usually one person did the whole drive whereas now we have two pilots. Also, we did not need special licences in those days. Now you have to get a special one for buses with more than 17 seats. In those happy days, you could drive any bus on a car licence as long as you did not take money (“Ply for hire or reward!”). In fact, we ran a 45 seater and a double-decker, though not on the Erraid run, I might add.

We used to take a picnic with us. The driver would pack a box with a couple of loaves, butter, a big chunk of cheese, loads of fruit, bags of nuts, fruit bread, dried fruit, tubs of peanut butter (we had more Americans then!) 3 flasks (tea, coffee, and herb tea) which was for the passengers to munch on during the trip. You’d then have to fight the greedy buggers off the box so that a few crumbs were left for those on the return trip.

The only vestige of this that remains is (was) Stan Stanfield always bringing a big bag with him when he drove the run. “Anybody like some ‘Trail Mix’?”

I know that inflation has changed a lot of things and folk in the Foundation were a lot poorer in the ’70s and ’80s. When we dropped people off to come to Traigh Bhan, they were each given £2 extra for the week by the bus driver. Mind you, that could buy quite a few pints of milk (or cans of beer or chocolate bars) in those days. I don’t think you could buy alcohol on Iona then and so the last shop at Fionnphort (pronounced Finnafort) led to a mad scramble for “Treats and eats and Old Holborn tobacco” and the same for folk going to Erraid. When I lived on that wonderful island for 2 years (1981 – 1983), visitors knew to bring gifts for the natives. (Scotch and chocs.)

The odd cafés, restaurants, and pubs where we stopped varied over the years depending on the drivers and the desperation of the passengers. The “Little Chef” at Spean Bridge, Fort William railway station, the Craignure Inn for lunch, the Lochaline Hotel for coffee, the Woollen Mill café at Fort William, the fish ‘n chip shops in Kingussie, Aviemore, and Newtonmore and many more. Michael Dawson among others would not survive the trip without a stop for tea and a scone. Actually, a lot of these were pee breaks rather than tea breaks. And it’s a waste of time the driver saying, “Make it a quick one folks – cup of tea and a pee – we have ferries to catch – 15 minutes, please.” Half an hour later when everybody’s munching on their bacon butties, Danish Pastries or full cooked breakfast, any idea that this is a vegetarian community or that folks’ stomachs give a fig for the Caledonian-MacBrayne ferry timetable have gone out of the window.

Then there were the times when we’d race to be back through Inverness before 5 so that the passengers or driver could hop off and buy some good, cheap underwear in Marks and Spencers.

The weather’s always changeable. You can experience the lot in one trip; snow, fog, rain, sun, ice, wind. The east and west parts of this country can be completely different. You can take that windy road down Loch Ness and suddenly hit blizzard conditions or black ice and then come out of it just as fast.

As the seasons change, so does the light. Some days in December, most of the run is in the dark. It’s not dawn until Fort William (100 miles into the run!) and then it’s getting dark again by 4 pm when you get back there under the shadow of Ben Nevis. Can you imagine watching the dawn come up behind you as you motor, gently spreading its glorious colours upon the sky and landscape into which you are driving? It’s just wonderful! Then on the way home, seeing the sunset colours behind you, in your mirrors.

Animals! You’ll see cows, sheep, deer, and many birds of all sorts. In the spring, the lambs need watching carefully. Many get killed by vehicles, before they’ve had a chance to learn road sense. When the weather is snowy, the deer will come down out of the mountains to find food. You might suddenly meet Bambi and family as you power round that blind corner.

Something that I have adopted over the years, is to visualise or imagine in front of the bus a sort of invisible field of energy, the height and width of the vehicle, moving along in front of me, say some 30 – 50 metres ahead, to clear the way, to warn animals, birds, insects, and people of our approach. And every so often on the drive, I mentally reinforce it. It seems to work for me.

I remember back in 1979/80 when our Essence group got stuck on Erraid. They tried twice to return, but could not get across Mull. The snow plough had run off the road into a ditch and the conditions were simply  amazing. It was the end of their programme and these good people were supposed to be back at their jobs in other countries. So we took a smaller bus over (that took two days) and then I drove the bigger one home. When the snow is that bad, you have to drive with the wheels sliding all the way (you get used to it surprisingly quickly) and you have to keep moving fast or you get stuck. (Well, that’s my excuse!) And there is no room to get a big bus sideways on those Mull roads. Also, when the snow plough is working, they only plough the road, not the passing places, so you carry a couple of spades in case you meet another vehicle and have to dig your way around each other.

We made it safely. It was a grand adventure. Coming around a bend and finding a whole herd of big deer (not Bambi – more like his dad and uncles) standing there staring at you (they get very brave when they’re hungry) and nothing under your wheels but snow and ice, you rediscover the art of “Speed-prayer.”

Mind you, life at the Foundation is about rediscovering prayer, no?

I remember doing the run once (“THE RUN” you notice. No other drive has the distinction of being called “THE RUN”) and a woman and her daughter got on. She was one of those good old English “Fussy” ladies. She had an umbrella, a pack-a-mac, a bottle of aspirin, a thermometer, and a hot water bottle … you know the type? Well, she told us all that she had these wonderful little homeopathic pills that could do absolutely everything; cure headaches, colds, coughs, angina, exema, migraine … and travel sickness … so if anybody wanted one? She was so insistent on the efficaciousness of these pills, that I asked (This is some years ago when contraceptive pills were still news.) if they stopped you having babies? We all laughed, well, most of us.

Well, half an hour later there was that ominous, pungent odour of recycled breakfast floating up from behind me … now who could that be? I pulled over by the loch to allow the lady out to clean up and get some air. It was not too bad, because, of course, she had a plastic bag in her pocket for just such emergencies (tucked in beside the parachute). While she was outside, somebody commented, “Well, the pills don’t seem to have done much good, do they?”. I replied, “Well, she hasn’t had a baby yet!”

Then there was the day I saw Nessie – the Loch Ness monster. Yes. We’d pulled over in the early dawn light to take a breath of air, and I wandered down to the water’s edge, and there, would you believe it, a row of humps moving along the water. “EEK!”

I listened, and there was a buzzing moving away and I realised that two motor boats had passed by going in the same direction. As the diagonal lines of waves from their wakes crossed, they each created a hump and of course the row of humps moved along at the same speed as the boats, even though the boats were out of sight in the early mist.

After spending the week on Iona and writing this, I was to drive the bus home. I had driven down in a big bus and was going home in a smaller one. My passengers included one of the CAP groups, one of the intakes of newer members. In those two drives, I got to know those people and enjoy them and somehow become involved with them in a fashion that does not happen elsewhere. I also thought, “…the old Foundation is getting some great people coming in!”

As we got on the bus, there was a sagging tyre. I have never had a flat on “The Run.” So we changed it, and took off on the north loop around Mull. Just beautiful. Some way round, I realised that I had misjudged the time and that we may be rather pushed to catch the ferry. Oh dear. Sometimes there are people on the bus who need to be back in Inverness to catch a particular train, and they are concerned about the time and traffic. Well, my friends, there are more serious matters than catching trains. For example, what if one of you is on KP that evening? (Kitchen clean-up!). This was serious! So we motored down the east coast of Mull at speeds that my driving licence does not allow me to divulge (not even in Fahrenheit!) and arrived on the jetty just to see the ferry on its way out. But … as has often happened, the captain spotted us, came back in, lowered his ramp and on we went. We were only 1 minute late, but of course the next boat would be another hour later. The guys on the ferries are great. (And they, no doubt, enjoy the bottle of Yuletide or Hogmanay cheer that we have usually blessed them with – for medicinal purposes only, you understand!)

I love “The Run”. I love this country. I love the adventure. I have struck up some of my most special friendships with people while waiting for ferries. When you’ve nothing else to do, why not open up and love people and share a beautiful adventure with them for a few hours?

Love Richard
P.S. In case you’re dying to ask: No, I have never had an accident on The Run!