Finally, satisfied that they had well surveyed the roads of this most enigmatic land and that they would be well received upon their return, the intrepid crew headed southward.  In typical fashion they put themselves in the position of having to cover a vast number of miles to reach the last evenings lodgings. 
The Mysterious doctor of many names headed off the the west with Peter of Many Tools. It is assumed that they were able to discretely re-enter Edinburgh and that the doctor was able to re-establish his position within the community as a trusted, albeit mysterious, physician of unsuspecting toddlers and tots. Having seen many fantastic sights and having participated in nightly esoteric rites as part of their participation in the Scotland Tour both of these brave men would re-enter their lives as if nothing had happened. Not even those closest to them -- wives, children and pets -- would susspect that this journey was anything but another in a series of seasonal missions that their men were bound a determined to continue. However, as this report has duly revealed, their mission helped to re-shape the way Scotland and its roads are perceived by the International (Biking) Community. The myth that Scotland is a barbarous place of gravel roads with sheep dashing across at every blind turn would be dispelled by their work. It is rumored that upon hearing the description of Scotland's network of carriageways that Her Royal Highness is considering getting fitted for her very own Aerostich suit and custom made VTR 1000 Swamp Monster in preparation to experience first hand the exhilarating combination of magnificent roads and breathtaking vistas that is Scotland by Motorbike.
 
 
 

The final three set out from Ft. William by way of Glencoe (A81) en route toward Glasgow and ultimately the border. It seems that the powers that be in Scotland finally got wind of the infiltrators presence in their fair country. As the crew descended into Glencoe they were to have a most unsettling experience. As the ambitious American tells it, he was rounding the bend into Glencoe when he came upon a coach before him. As he could see right the way down the road for some miles he decided to overtake this coach on a sweeping left bend. As he tucked in front of the coach he saw a flash in the sky off his right shoulder. With a quick glance in that direction he found himself looking right into the cockpit of a Scottish warplane. The Jaguar was flying toward the group and within the cockpit the pilot was motioning for the team to pull of the road, dismount their machines and await the authorities. Without a moment's thought the team shifted down, throttled back and went screaming out of the valley. The American later reported that he could hear the jetplane's thrusters and saw, as he glanced back, that the pilot was engaging in some hurried maneuvers in order to re-acquire his targets. The team skillfully navigated through the glen each employing the full power of his machine and deftly evaded the air force trap.
 
 
 

After nearly twelve hours on the road the team of three rolled into the parking lot of the 3 Horseshoes Inn (Leek, Staffordshire) that would serve them for their final evening. Their faithful sherpa had secured an entire banquet table full of gruel and grog for the famished riders. Each of them thankfully ate their share and washed it down with much alacrity because they were now so very close to home. All the crew was ready to return to the reduced velocity and predictability of their normal lives. At least until they have all endured another rainy winter. All but RS who has taken on an ambitious schedule of speaking engagements wherein he expounds on the virtues of a belief system which was conceived during the Scotland Tour 1999. The philisophical underpinnings of RS's system instruct one on how to succeed and find joy under even the most peculiar of circumstances. The lengthy tenets and instructions of this elaborate philisophical system can be boiled down to the following phrase:
Don't dither!
 
 
 

The American sadly returned his machine to the generous folks at Fowler's of Bristol. He noted how well it fit him, how well it had performed, and remarked on the bike's amazing ability in negociating the bends. It was indeed a shame that he should have to return to the States without it. He was also stunned at the amount of rubber that had been worked off the back tyre. Oh well, he thought, if I can't take the bike, I'll take something to remember the trip by...and slipped a strip of frayed rubber into his Aerostich pocket, just for luck.