Driving under 2 hours north from home and speeding along farm pastures, I thought my eyes were playing tricks when I saw the little patch of pink in the distance. As we neared the pinkness (to confirm that it was pink), the dry and almost-lifeless town we rolled up to called Lochiel, bore no tourists and attractions. Nothing and no one, but a sculpture in the lake resembling the Loch Ness — made out of tires — and all that prettiness.

It makes one feel almost special and rewarded for stopping by; as if you’re the first to discover this special place.


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