This is my highlight from Day 4 of our recent trip to Scotland to drive the NC500 route.
The links for the itinerary and recap of this day are below. I hope one day you experience this magical route for yourself.
This particular highlight will remind you that planning for every eventuality cannot truly happen.
2 motorbikes crashed in Broar on the A9. Not only did they crash badly enough to be airlifted to the hospital but they crashed on the small bridge crossing the river Brora which runs off of Brora Loch to the west. This slicing piece of water divides Scotland in the east all the way to Lairg. It’s not something you need to know until the bridge is blocked. And here it was, blocked. I have tried since then to find out how the rivers are without any further news found. At our accommodation in Wick we met several people who were caught in the aftermath of traffic and we found out the two involved were American tourists. It is certainly not something you want to happen on your travels and I hope they are okay.
Now I mentioned our accommodation in Wick. From Brora it is an hour’s drive via a small stop off at the Whaligoe steps. We were making good time on our Day four itinerary (see link below) and were due to arrive early at our accommodation for 5pm (ish). And yet our detour from the crash was over 115 miles long! We left Broar at 3:45pm and arrived at our accommodation at 7:10pm. Now if you are a regular reader you may take an educated guess at my mood at the very beginning of this little problem.
This meant missing the Whaligoe Steps, one of the big highlights of the NC500, and potentially missing our check in at our accommodation. A night in the car was not something I was looking forward to. As we took the Sat Nav’s advice, we came upon a ford. No not a car, a river ford, with very visible wheel tracks leading into the water. Now Mr W isn’t particularly precious over his car, but upon my closer inspection from the suspension footbridge, I couldn’t see the riverbed and just could not risk it. Not only did we have Marv the drone in the car but my laptop, a lot of camera equipment, luggage and food. Oh and ourselves! We retrace the road back to the A9 and Mr W set about finding a new route to Wick. The Sat Nav presented us with a 3 hour detour and honestly my heart sank. A quick look at the news told us that the road had been closed since 11am and we made up our minds to take the detour.
We headed west from the A9 towards Lairg and joined the A836. Quickly the road became single track and the most difficult we’d faced under the tyres so far. Most of it was loose shingle and even though we had started the NC500 on that same morning, we had been blessed with normal roads so far. This introduction, although early, most definitely gave us an insight into what was ahead in our trip. The road itself cut through flat heathlands which were sparse albeit with the occasional swampy looking river. There was just nothing there. No cattle. No houses. Nothing. It was us and the four cars in front of us. It became clear very quickly at how the crash on the A9 was affecting the eastside of Scotland as traffic built up ahead and behind us.
The four cars in front of us became our ‘team’ as Mr W put it. The front car set the pace and to stop any delays in having to pull over in a layby for oncoming traffic we were all in this together. Occasionally one of the ‘team’ would pull over to give themselves from the twisting turning roads and Mr W would shout out ‘come on, team’ as we sped away. Despite the dodgy roads and the fear of actually crashing I could not stop laughing at his finding joy in the moment. My husband, the rally driver, was pumped up and exhilarated from the change in circumstances. His inner comedian bounded out with every bump in the road and I could not help but grin.
After a while with the time of arrival on the sat nav having changed dramatically and it becoming clear we would indeed make our check in time, we both started to relax. The roads became narrower, with blind bends as we turned onto the B873. On one side were the slopes of the mountains around us and on the other the road made way for steep drops the Loch Naver below. The waters were as black as night and yet as an Asda home delivery truck pulled around the corner I could not help but breathe a sigh of relief. If he was all the way out here, we would be fine. As people joined and left our team as we whizzed around the road Mr W whooped and cheered us all on our merry way.

We saw images of Scotland that we did not see for the rest of our trip. Men dressed in waders out in the rivers fly fishing. A lonely single Inn watching the road bursting into new life. Rain clouds passing over Loch Naver deciding on whether to meet its surface. We also whipped past our accommodation for the next night and I realised that we would be tracing some of this detour again in the morning. From Bettyhill right round to Thurso we found the double track roads had returned and the car glided onto our final destination as Mr W bade goodbye to our ‘team-mates’ as they went on to fulfil their day’s plans.
The relief was palpable as we reached our hotel and yet despite the interlude of doubt, worry and racing, I found myself in absolute awe of my husband. He had not panicked like I initially did. He took it for what it was. He took it in his stride and laughed at every challenge.
I am grateful for him. I am grateful for having seen a much more rural piece of Scotland than we had planned to see. I am grateful we didn’t attempt the ford crossing and stayed dry in our car.
This also means we have unfinished business in Scotland. Oh no! We shall have to return.






















