I stand on the cliff and watch the sea and the surrounding mountains for a few more minutes. It’s hard to let go. Eventually I turn around, hit the starter, and begin my day’s work. I don’t get very far. In the next little village the ice sign smiles at me and says “Come in, and get a ball, or two.” What am I supposed to do, the sun is laughing from the sky and everything is still somehow romantic … And on we go with curve slalom, it’s just a joy. At Healy Pass there’s Alpine feeling again. A solid 334 m high. Don’t think I’m trying to fool you.…

I have to keep this brief today. First, after three weeks I’m feeling, for the first time, a deeper fatigue that goes beyond the usual evening after a day’s tour. And second, I’m currently enjoying an indeterminate number of sunsets on a dream beach. At the end of a peninsula, on a slightly raised cliff, I sit with Laphroaig on my left and a cigar on my right, half‑in‑thought staring at the sea, grateful to be here, to enjoy this view, and to have made it this far. I’d love to share this moment, this feeling, with you, but that feeling can’t be captured with pictures alone. In cases like…

Dear experts, today there was pure nature pounding at my ears left and right, and left and right, and left and right … What a joy to be able to meander through this gem, oh what am I saying, a glory of nature. I lost myself in it. I sat on a stone and enjoyed the expanse on a high plateau, drifted aimlessly through valleys, and tried in vain to stop time. On the road to Galway I was ripped out of my dream. Too much civilization and heavy traffic. I then headed to the Burren to see some historic sights. However, as beautiful as drifting in Connemara National Park…

What a night! It will be the first one completely without sleep. As beautiful as a sunset over the sea may be—and camping with a tent and a motorcycle on the beach certainly radiates romance—but: keep your eyes open when choosing a resting spot. Never pick a spot on a rocky shore, especially not when wind force 6 to 7 is forecast, with gusts even higher. The roar of the spray sounded deafening to me despite earplugs. So while photographing the sunset and writing travel stories I didn’t notice it, but when I later spent some time in the bunk, I already started thinking about my “forethoughtful” site selection. For…

… chases away grief and worries. The AWO hasn’t even warmed up properly yet, when my nose registers a scent I’ve recently become familiar with. I lift my eyes and still see passing “lery”, which must mean something like Distillery. A 180° turn follows and soon I’m at the Visitors Center. Just a small room, not comparable to Laphroaig or Talisker. And yes, whiskey with an e! Ireland because. I strike up a conversation with the visitor manager and beg for a mini‑tasting of the good spirit that was placed in the visitor room exactly for that reason. Not bad, even if it doesn’t knock me off my seat. But, if…

I need a clear plastic sleeve, some tape, scissors, and an eraser! What sounds like it came straight out of an Olsen Gang movie belongs to the premise of the pioneer‑crafting afternoon “Today we’ll build a rain cover for a GPS.” When I leave Belfast in the morning, it’s already raining cats and dogs. That throws my GPS completely off, even with the screen locked, and after I’ve gotten lost three times without even having left Belfast, I hop on the scooter. I cancel my route through the little side streets after what feels like the 20th navigation failure and head for the nearest larger town with a petrol station,…

No rule without exception. No big cities with the AWO. Today is exception day and I go, or drive straight into the full. The time to the ferry is generous and so I treat myself to Glasgow. I know nothing about the city and I also don’t really know what I’m supposed to do there. But it’s just without a big detour to take, and so I bumble straight through. I set a point right in the city centre on the map, but paid attention to nothing else. The result: I get onto city motorways pretty quickly into the heart of the city, but miss a lot of what might…

I like to call it “motorbike hiking” when I meander along small roads through the countryside. Today it’s more of a “whisky hike,” with the premise of not wandering too far off the road afterward. One shouldn’t disregard the charms of the island itself, but today the priorities are different. In fact, I won’t be visiting every distillery, only the ones that lie on the way to Port Askaig. I’ll leave Islay again via Port Askaig today. I’ll start straight away with my home‑grown favorite, Laphroaig. The visitor centre is eerily empty, completely unlike Talisker. The latter probably benefits from being on a truly beautiful holiday island, so the foot…

6:30 is shown on the phone. It should have rung at 6:15. The day starts off well. Or rather, the far‑too‑early morning. Luckily I already packed last night and only have to throw on clothes. There’s a one‑hour morning ride over Skye to the ferry terminal. That has its charm at this time, but I have no patience. I just stare at the GPS to see if the arrival time still matches the check‑in time. It does, to the minute. Off to the ferry and first relax again. Today’s destination is the Kennacraig ferry terminal, to reach the most beautiful of all islands, at least for whisky connoisseurs that’s what…

One, maybe two hours. More sleep was out of the question. What do you do on a day when you feel broken from the start? First, take care of the motorcycle’s technical support. I need a welder or a welding machine to restore stability to the side stand. So I head to the bar and order a—no, not whisky—coffee and scrambled eggs. I explain my problem and the helpfulness is, as on Shetland, fabulous. A call from the barmaid, and five minutes later a young man with a welding machine is at the door. He’s missing the necessary shielding gas. The second call follows immediately and a middle‑aged man is…