Tomintoul has a night life?

The windiest roads I have ever been on are undoubtedly on route from Dufftown to Braemar.
Away from the main town to town roads, this twisting, turning, up and down setup is sickeningly curvy.

As I've said before, I never, ever get travel sick.

But yesterday, as we were travelling to Braemar for the first part of the Caledonian 100 walk coverage, I thought my guts were gonna get up and go.
I could barely turn my head to speak to Nikki as I sat hunched against the window in the back of RE8, cross-legged on the stretcher and staring fixedly at the countryside bouncing past outside.
I came so close to lurching forwards for a sick bowl, or yelling out to Steve to stop the vehicle.
The worst part was when we reached what one colleague calls "the end of the world," when the road peaks and the view on the other side disappears from sight, as though the road really does stop abruptly, with nothing beyond it. Breaching that rise feels like you're about to nose dive off of, well, the edge of the world!
To couple with this, there was a particularly nasty bridge which rose rediculously high in the middle. Put it this way; a long vehicle with low suspension would not get over it, and end up being a see-saw. That didn't help the stomach situation either.
And I think everyone in RE8 felt exactly the same way about it all - just ill.

Never have I felt so ill when on the move, but I guess there's a first time for everything!

Anyway, at Braemar we met the early shift crew, who we were lucky enough to be going home to their beds after their very early start. We were due on until midnight, so we had a little way to go yet before we could get such a pleasure.
From Braemar, Nikki and me grabbed a ride back along the road (this time we split up between RE2 and the mini bus, so we got front seats - not too bad on the sickness front, thankfully) and were lovingly ditched in Tomintoul to act as base for the duration of the evening.

What a long evening it was.

We prioritised our needs; firstly, after our stomachs had settled, we needed food.
Being in Tomintoul meant easy access to shops (although, for those who don't know Tomintoul too well, shops are few and far between) so we managed to grab ourselves some pitta bread, cheese, coleslaw and crisps. Sorted.
Ok for food and water, we introduced ourselves to the crew running the event, and liased with them for a while.
A bonus was having decent toilets near by, so that was the basic necessities covered.
Just what to do for the remaining seven hours?

What better way to use your time (in between chatty phone calls with the Boss and Caitlind in RE8) than to learn another language?

So Nikki sat back and, being rather fluent in Italian, began to teach me how to say a few sentences.
For example; Amo Crotche Rosso Britanica (spelling might not be accurate, but you get the jist - now work out what it means...)

And so this continued on for the majority of the evening - along with a few spins about the town in RE2 - until the crew and RE8 arrived not long before 9 o'clock.

Now, we had been warned by some of the organisers that Tomintoul had a bit of a youthful night life.
For something to do (and can you really blame them?) many younger residents liked to go about keying/coining/scratching and graffiti-ing cars.
"Keep your medical supplies locked up," we were told. "And keep an eye on your vehicles."

Vigilantly, Nikki and me kept our eyes peeled for anyone looking to snoop about either RE2 or the mini bus, hoping that the BRC logo was official enough to keep them at bay.
When RE8 arrived with our fellow team mates, the so called scallywags appeared as if on cue.
Apart from loudly commenting on our presence in the square, they did nothing except play football and curse a lot. I was quite amazed that Tomintoul had complications with it's night life, or that it even had a night life at all; surely it's not something every small village has?
This particular night life was a pretty dysfunctional family unit, and it was sad to see; the youngest couldn't have been older than two years.
All out in the cold at 9 o'clock at night.
Sights like that make you wonder where the idea of family went wrong, and why some people are allowed and are able to breed, while others who desperately want a child to love and care for can't.
It's that kind of logic in life that fires me up inside; it just doesn't make sense.
If I ruled this country, I'd make it law to have folk like that castrated...

Sorry, let me put my humanitarian head back on...... there.

For that period of time in Tomintoul, we had two casualties. The first wasn't even on the walk; a coach trip party had over-run the hotel beside us that night, and as most of them came from English villages where the concept of ER vehicles in the town wasn't a common one, we sparked a bit of interest and, as it turned out for one woman, a bit of a convenience.
The injury - minor. She had stubbed her small toe on the dresser in her bedroom, and had taken off the nail. I feel gooey just thinking about that, eugh...
But her husband had been on hand to wrap it up in a plethora of plasters.
"I thought it would be best to get it checked out," she reasoned as she sat in RE8 with her feet up on the chair, "just to be sure."
Her husband had a actually done a grand job of cleaning it up and sticking on plasters (yes, not hard to do) and for that reason no further intervention was needed in treating the injury; the bleeding had stopped, and that was all that mattered.
Contented with this answer, the woman left as a happy and fulfilled customer.
So happy in fact, that her husband returned with a donation, which was incredibly nice of him and his wife, and if they ever happen to come across this post (you never know with the internet these days) then thank you again.
Even though it was the hubby who did all the work.

Our second casualty was in desperate need of a massage, else his legs would not have carried him much further than the edge of the town. So Nikki finally made use of her therapeutic care skills on duty.
See, we are quite the multi-talented and skilled team.

A third casualty did come along, but for what I can't quite remember as Nikki and I had to set off for the next check point in Nethy Bridge.

After answering some questions from a particularly drunken party of coach trippers, we set off along the dark, narrow, winding roads towards Nethy country.
This was pretty amusing as neither of us had no idea about where we going, which wasn't helped at all by the pitch black of night and a fuzzy map. And the curvy roads, which once again ascended and descended like a roller coaster track.
However, with my brilliant map reading skills and Nikki's driving talents we soon found ourselves on the right road to our destination. We could only pity the poor walkers who were having to pick their way through the dark along a hillside; if we found it hard on a road, they were definitely going to find it tricky.

Once in Nethy Bridge, we had to find the Nethy Bridge hotel.
That found, we then had to find the Revack Suite, which had been set up for the weary walkers.
In natural Nikki and Saz style, we entered the building from the deliveries entrance, and ended up in the wrong suite on the other side of the hotel. In a way, this was quite good as our advice was needed from the bar manager.
He had dislocated two fingers while playing rugby earlier on that day. The conversation ran something like this:
"Have you had someone take a look at the injury?"
"Yeah, a sports medic did."
"Did he pop them back in place?"
"Yeah."
He had also bandaged the hand and splinted the fingers, which was an added bonus.
"So, is it just the pain that's the issue?"
"Yeah."
"You taken pain killers?"
"Yeah."
"How about ice? You want an ice pack?"
"My mate had deep freeze, but that's worn off a bit. Ice packs annoy me."
"Ah. Right, if it's still bothering you, perhaps make an appointment to get it checked out further."
"I have. I'm seeing my GP tomorrow."
"Ah."
That's all the bases covered. So the final suggestion?
"You got ice behind the bar? Cos ice in a napkin placed on the injury every now and then might help it, you know, keep the heat down and prevent any further swelling."
Simple as - he had the situation pretty much covered.
So for that, he showed us the right way to get to the Revack Suite.
What else did the lad think we'd be able to do? Wave a magic wand over his hand and remove all evidence of dislocation? All pain?
Although that would be handy... no pun intended...

So there we were, just the two of us, stuck at Nethy Bridge Hotel until midnight when the Aviemore crew would come to relieve us, take us back to Tomintoul and let the four of us get away home again.
With a few more spins around the town, a spot of liasing with the checkpoint crew and the hotel's night porter, and the occasional phone call from the Boss, the time soon passed.
Soon, the Aviemore gang had rounded the corner and were ready for the big swap.

Riding in the back of the car to Tomintoul tweaked the stomach again on many a bend, but I knew it was going to be nothing like the ambo ride we had waiting in store for us.
Thankfully, by the time we had said our hellos and goodbyes between the teams, we were all too tired to focus upon the windy roads. I'm quite glad I find sleeping in RE8 easy, and thanks to my trusty iPod, I was dozing in no time.
I could still feel my stomach swinging between my other vital organs, but sleep helped to numb the awareness slightly.
And as Nikki had also opted for sleep, the back of the ambulance had become quiet =]
(apart from the usual technical bumps and grinds of the equipment, of course.)

So yet another late finish for the RC team this weekend.
Thank heavens that someone invented something called an energy drink.