The Highlands, Scotland
I had the expectation (have no expectations is a good overall principle to follow) that Scotland would be one of the most beautiful places in the world. As it turns out, I had just come from one of the most beautiful places in the world. Scotland looked like a lot of dull green hills in comparison. I did stop at some sort of Trump golf resort (the man has them all over the world, you just sort of end up at them from time to time), and then stayed in a really nice house of a really nice Scottish woman for one night to rest and recover from onsetting exhaustion.
I say onsetting because one night of rest does not compensate for the amount of exhaustion one accrues by riding a motorcycle so many hours so many days in a row. But I continued on my way to the famed Highlands nonetheless. What I remember from my attempted journey through the highlands was this: it started to rain early on. It became clear that my exhaustion was not relieving, but actually compounding. And conclusively, I had neither the physical energy nor the professional liberty to venture into some of the most unique places in the world, in spite of being only a few hours ride away. Instead, I briefly stopped at Loch Ness to check for the monster, stayed a night at Inverness to wait out the rain, and proceeded on my way out of the highlands the following morning.