Day 23 - Taking the Ayr

Dumfries to Glasgow

I’ve been looking forward to today’s run through Galloway. I first visited Dumfries and Galloway some years ago as a journalist and it made a huge impression on me. I found it to be quietly beautiful and unlike anywhere else in Scotland, a country of rolling fields, forests and heathery tops, of steep granite cliffs washed by rough seas, wide estuaries, tall pines, gorse-flecked moorland, even tropical palm trees. I mean, why wouldn’t you want to come here? 

And yet so few people do. When I wrote about it previously I called it the Forgotten Scotland and I think that’s as true today as it was then. It’s a bit off the beaten track, I suppose, and the only travellers who pass this way are generally those en route to the Northern Ireland ferry crossing from Stranraer. But today I am going to fulfil a desire to travel right through the heart of Galloway to the sea and I’ve chosen an absolute peach of a day for the purpose.

I pick my way carefully through the traffic to Whitesands, a broad area by the river where according to the history books they once used to strangle witches but where today the local buses congregate. I'm early for my bus so I stand and gaze at the river for a few moments when it occurs to me that I should perhaps be travelling by water instead of bus, in celebration of William Symington, a local inventor who proved that a steam engine could be used to power a boat without it bursting into flames and sinking. He carried out a successful trial on Dalswinton Loch near Dumfries in 1788 and went on to become the builder of the first practical steam boat. Good man. Without his efforts, the Mersey Ferry might still be rowed by monks.

Articulated coach, Dumfries

I turn round to face the road once more, just in time to see what appears to be an ordinary coach disappearing up the road but with another identical coach wedged half-way up its tailpipe. What?

I look again. By this time, it's turning the corner into Buccleuch Street and I can see that the rear coach is not a coach at all but just the rear half of a coach joined to the coach in front by a sort of curtain.

This peculiar looking vehicle, I realise, is an articulated bus – that is, a bus with another half-a-bus attached to the back via a pivoting joint. These vehicles allow their manufacturers to get around strict regulations regarding the maximum length of a single decker – generally 14m – to produce one measuring a socking great 18m in length. Just one of these can carry the equivalent of two ordinary bus-loads of people, thus saving money on road tax, tyres, drivers's wages, diesel and mechanics. You can see why operators would like them.

In London, though, they proved deeply unpopular partly because they replaced the revered Routemaster and partly because they took up so much space on the Capital's crowded streets. Then in 2007, the London Evening Standard published figures which showed that the capital's bendy buses caused twice as many injuries to pedestrians and cyclists as any other bus in London. There were complaints about passengers riding for free by sneaking on at the back, and a spate of engine fires led them to be dubbed 'Chariots of Fire' for a while. 

The origins of the bendy bus are strictly continental. The earliest examples date back to the 1920's but it wasn't until the 1960's that the bendy bus was first put into routine passenger use in the city of Budapest. In 1979 the first artic emerged onto UK roads as an experiment in Sheffield to see if they could be operated safely. They were legalised in 1980 but by then the operator realised that ordinary double-deckers would be less expensive and less bother all round and the experiment was abandoned.

South Yorkshire bendybus - pic: John Carter

By 1985, though, South Yorkshire came back for more and purchased a fleet of 14 artics for their City Clipper and express services to Meadowhall. It took another 10 years before another British operator followed suit with Stagecoach leading the way in 1996. Their fleet of articulated coaches – one of which has just disappeared round the corner – were bought to operate express services between Glasgow and Ayrshire. As far as I can tell, these coach-and-a-half's are the only bendy coaches in Britain. They're certainly peculiar looking things.

I take my place at the bus stop and begin waiting. The Service 500 to Stranraer is expected any minute. Big number, that. Sounds strong and businesslike, so it's bound to be a classy modern double decker offering fabulous views across the countryside from the top deck. I can hardly wait.

Imagine my sense of dismay, then, when a rather tatty single decker shambles noisily up the bus stop and rattles to an uncertain halt. It's a 500. What? No, surely there's some mistake. This bus is no vintage, but its still pretty ancient. To enter, you have to clamber up via a veritable cataract of stairs – OK, two steps, but it looks a lot more. There isn't anywhere to park a buggy or wheelchair, presumably because you'd never get them up the stairs and there isn't even a luggage rack. And what's that interesting smell? 

500 to Stranraer... a bit underwhelming

My 500 service to Stranraer bears all the signs of a vehicle that had been stored at the back of a garage for a couple of years as a spare, and has only been pressed into service because the elegant, leather-seated super-bus which Stagecoach had intended to use had been taken out of service at the very last minute to have its Wilton carpets cleaned. Yeah, that's the reason - it must have been an emergency. I can't think of any other reason why they'd want to put a former poultry shed on such an important bus service as this.

With my rucksac wedged onto the seat beside me, we are soon breezing through the Galloway hills, a countryside rich in texture, with heather-topped gorse-flecked hills overlooking lush fields of lazy Friesian cows and their delightful local cousins, the pretty Belted Galloway.

The towns and villages we pass through – Castle Douglas, Gatehouse of Fleet, Creetown, Newton Stewart – all share the same simple, distinctly Scottish architectural style, with low granite or white-washed buildings topped with steeply sloping roofs strung along a single street, with strings of cottages behind. You see exactly the same linear layout all over Scotland and if nothing else it means you can never get lost popping out to the shops.

From Gatehouse of Fleet we run down to the Solway Firth where the green fields are replaced by acres of sand flats and still blue water. We climb onto the tops of huge, unseen cliffs and into rounded hills, then it suddenly changes again and becomes maritime and windblown with stands of stately oak giving way to a mottled heathland of birch, rowan and hazel.

Ayrshire coast

Then we are into low-lying Stranraer with its busy little streets and its ship's funnels sticking up over the roof tops. I’d expected the main embarkation point for Northern Ireland to be busier yet it somehow retains the feeling of a fishing village rather than a major coastal port.

It's a quick change here to the No. 60 bus to Ayr which heads up the coast by means of the steeply wooded and achingly attractive Glen App. I’ve never been to Ayrshire before so I am totally unprepared for its spectacular coastal road, much of it running only inches above a rocky volcanic beach. From here you get a succession of jaw-dropping views across the sea to the Mull of Kintyre, the remote mountains of Arran and to Ailsa Craig, the strange, breast-like rock jutting out of the sea. This is one of the most scenic roads I’ve travelled on so far and I am beside myself with glee because I’m not driving and I can take it all in.

We roll eventually into Ayr, a town which bears the distinction of being the birthplace both of Scottish parliamentary democracy - Robert the Bruce held his first ever Scottish Parliament in 1315- and the modern road thanks to local man John McAdam, one of our greatest transport heroes without whom we’d still be shambling along mud and gravel tracks. 

John McAdam

As an adult, John McAdam earned his fortune in America as a merchant during the American Revolution before returning to Scotland and becoming drawn to the problems of turnpike construction. Roads were in a pretty poor state during the 1790’s but McAdam realised that they would be a lot more durable if they were raised above the level of the land and built with a camber to allow rainwater to run off. He also pioneered a method of construction which placed the largest rocks at the bottom, progressively smaller stones above and the finest gravel rolled on top – a process later referred to as ‘Macadamisation’ and widely adopted throughout the world.

However, McAdam’s lasting fame arose from his experiments in mixing his top layer of gravel with coal tar before applying it to the road. In a single bound he had invented the durable road surface which we all now take for granted and which today still bears his name – tarmac, a shortened combination of Tar and Macadamisation. 

Today’s roads are essentially made in precisely the same way he devised more than 200 years ago. Almost every inch of my journey so far has been made on road surfaces devised by this clever Scot, and for that I’m heartily grateful. If I’d been travelling on gravel tracks instead, I’d probably still be in Shropshire... 

From Ayr, my intention had been to catch a bus up the coast and along the Clyde into Glasgow, but I spot something that quickly makes me change my mind. It is a huge, streamlined double-decker coach, a monster of a thing with futuristic curved windows and six, yes six, headlights. It looked half as long as the High Street and bellowed like a railway engine. And best of all, it had Glasgow X77 emblazoned across the front. It was a Neoplan Skyliner and it was going my way. 

Neoplan Skyliner

I don't normally get excited about particular models of buses but the Neoplan Skyliner is something of a rarity on British roads now and an impressive sight by anyone's standards. A massive 12m in length and around 4 m in height, it still manages to move its considerable bulk with a certain swagger and with serious haste. It's a real mile-eating monster. 

I remember first seeing one at the British Motor Show in Birmingham in the early 1980’s and I still recall people around me standing in mute amazement at the sheer scale of it. For a start, it had three axles which was unusual at the time, plus it was the first full double decker coach that I suspect any of us had ever seen. And did I mention how big it was? It looked enormous and made British coaches look decidedly old-fashioned. Later, I began travelling on them on express services between Tyneside and London, enjoying such hitherto undreamed of luxuries as air conditioning, waitress service and an onboard toilet. It was almost as good as flying. No wonder they called it the Skyliner.

Stagecoach were one of the first companies to buy Skyliners for their long-distance coach routes and gradually more and more began to appear on British roads. Passengers fell in love with their comfort and quietness – with the engine located all the way downstairs, and with the cabin decked out in loads of acoustically-baffling soft furnishings, top deck passengers could barely hear anything but the wind. Operators, of course, loved their huge carrying capacity.

Ayr bus station

A series of high-profile accidents caused people to look at the mighty double decker in a new light, though. The first occured in March 2003 in the Czech Republic when a Skyliner overturned at speed, killing nineteen passengers and injuring thirty four. Barely two months later another overturned, this time in France, killing 28 passengers. French accident investigators suggested that their drivers should receive special training because of the vehicle's relative instability. Neoplan also introduced an electronic stability control system which applies the brakes to each wheel separately in a bid to prevent overturning. 

But a few years later another Skyliner overturned, this time on the M25 near Heathrow Airport, killing two passengers immediately with a third succumbing to their injuries six months later. This was much closer to home. The resulting investigation concluded that the accident was caused not by anything inherently wrong with the vehicle but because the driver was travelling too fast – he was later charged with three counts of causing death by dangerous driving and received a five-year prison sentence. 

By then, however, the public had grown wary of the Skyliner. Although National Express’ 12-strong fleet were withdrawn from service whilst the investigation was carried out, along with Stagecoach’s much larger fleet of 50 or so, very few ventured back into regular service after the investigation, despite being given a clean bill of health. Most were sold off to smaller operators and within a few years the Skyliner was something of a rarity.

Until now. Not only are there two of them parked side by side in Ayr's bus station, there seems to be a steady stream of Skyliners coming and going and apparently enjoying a renewed lease of life on the relatively short-haul express service between Glasgow and the Ayrshire coast. This presents me with an unexpected opportunity to ride on this unique bus one more time, so I alter my travel plans and quickly take my place in the queue.

Boarding time at Ayr

I am surprised at the crowds waiting to climb aboard; this is clearly a popular service. Finally, I climb into the Skyliner’s hushed interior and find that despite being one of the last people aboard there is still plenty of room. I’d forgotten just how big these vehicles are. 

As most of my fellow passengers are fairly elderly, the downstairs is the first part of the bus to fill up, which is lucky for me because it means that upstairs is almost empty and I  am able to bag myself that all-important front seat!

What follows is an exhilarating, almost silent air-cushioned ride all the way to Glasgow along busy A - roads and motorways, past the huge Prestwick Airport and through greying countryside which transforms gradually into urban street. These are still fantastically quick, smooth and luxurious vehicles and the journey has been a real treat.

After the stillness of Galloway and the soft breezes of the Ayrshire coast, Glasgow feel big and noisy, but I love its earthy vitality and it is a pleasure to be out on its streets.

I wave good bye to the mighty Skyliner at the equally mighty Buchanan Street bus station, Glasgow's main bus terminus and easily the largest bus station in Scotland. With its 57 platforms, a sophisticated left luggage facility, wireless internet, a lounge and a restaurant, I've honestly been to airports less well-appointed than this. The station marks the end of today’s travelling so as I pass the serried ranks of Skyliners, bendy-coaches and other distinctly odd-looking vehicles, I pull out my camera and grab a couple of shots just to remind me what it all looks like.

“Oi! Stop thaht.”

Kelvinside... now I'm for it.

I turn to see a loud red face in a uniform. Someone has clearly upset him, poor fellow, but it’s not immediately clear who.

Oh, god. He’s not shouting at someone behind me, he’s shouting at me. And he’s pointing to my camera.

I’d been warned to expect this. Photographing a bus might seem a fairly blameless activity but the authorities have sometimes taken a different view. After all, for all they know I could be a cold-hearted terrorist, though I'm not sure if a slightly balding man in his fifties in jeans and a Gateshead Millennium Bridge T shirt exactly fits the profile of your archetypal angry young radical. Still, you clearly can’t be too careful.

It is by no means uncommon for camera-toting bus enthusiasts to be accosted by traffic inspectors, and sometimes even police officers, and asked to explain themselves. One bus spotter of 40 years was eventually forced to give up his hobby because of the constant interference, and in another case a bus spotter was actually arrested as a possible paedophile just because he was taking photographs of school buses. In London, an innocent Austrian tourist declared he would never visit Britain again after being made to empty his camera of all his holiday snaps just in case his photos of Vauxhall bus station, the architecture of which he admired, might have proved useful to the enemy, whoever they are. I’ve heard similar stories from Brighton, North Wales, in fact right across the country. It’s sad.

By law, it is not illegal to take photographs in a public place such as a bus station, but under Section 44 of the Terrorism Act 2000 police officers may randomly stop someone without reasonable suspicion if they believe the area is a likely target for a terrorist attack. After the London transport bombings of 2005, everyone was understandably a little more aware of unusual behaviour and a little less prepared to dismiss it as innocent eccentricity.

Slowly, though, reason is beginning to prevail. In Manchester, after numerous complaints about heavy-handedness, the local transport authority issued formal guidance to bus spotters on sensible behaviour whilst photographing buses. Staff, too, are becoming more enlightened. One operations director reminded his staff that that it is neither unusual nor against the law for bus enthusiasts to take photographs of buses, especially at busy bus terminals .“Remember that bus enthusiasts take pictures of buses,” he helpfully pointed out. “They are not interested in the driver and are doing no harm in pursuing their hobby”. 

London is gradually climbing down off the top of the wardrobe, too, after the Metropolitan Police issued written instructions to all police officers and PCSOs telling them what they can and cannot do when they discover anyone taking photographs in a public place (you'd have hoped they might already know.).

But not in Glasgow, apparently, where the Passenger Transport authority specifically bans photography in their bus stations on safety grounds. 

Suitably chastened, I make my way out into Glasgow's grand city centre. This is the last major city I pass through so I'm intending to make the most of it. 

I'm going for a curry.

NEXT: Glasgow – Callendar – where I take a ride on the Clockwork Orange and get my first faint whiff of the Scottish Highlands.

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