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| UPPER GLENDEVON RESERVOIR |
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| PATH? WHAT PATH? |
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| THE BEAUTIFUL OCHILS |
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| SEWAGE WORKS CAMPSITE |
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| A BRIDGE TO NOWHERE |
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| WEST FIFE CYCLE WAY INTO DUNFERMLINE |
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| TWO GREAT BRIDGES |
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| SARAH AND FINGAL AT ARTHUR'S SEAT |
I was exhausted
when I reached the Blackford Hotel after my 'walk too far' from Muthill. After
two pints of soda water and lime to rehydrate myself, I had a shower and went
straight to bed. My sleep pattern was disturbed and I woke up every few hours,
but finally arose at 7.00am feeling fine. A good breakfast made up for the
omission of the previous night's supper. The hotel staff knew that I had really
wanted a room with a bath in which to immerse my aching feet and legs. None had
been available at the time, but they kindly cleaned the bathroom of a room
vacated by another guest early in the morning and allowed me to have a good
long soak.
Suitably recuperated and with diary writing duties completed, I hobbled off south across the Ochil Hills in the direction of Tillicoultry, taking care not to jar my right leg too much. A path was marked on the map and, amazingly, one existed on the ground, although sometimes so indistinct I wondered if you really needed Scottish blood in you to see it. There was even an occasional sign or style to reassure me I was on the right track. It was T-shirt weather and the walk can be counted amongst the most pleasurable to date. The views of Upper Glendevon Reservoir and the steep-sided Ochil mountains were breathtaking, so I was happy to take my time. When I reached the top of Skythorn Hill, I was simultaneously excited to see the Lowlands ahead and sad that I would now be leaving the last vestige of the dramatic Highlands behind me.
After the final descent into Tillicoultry, I found a pub for the obligatory 'end of walk' beer and, with the help of a local, identified a place to pitch the tent - right next to the local sewage works. The complete change of environment had been remarkably rapid.
My right shin was quite swollen, but this had largely subsided by morning. I thus prepared my maps, broke camp and headed off for Dunfermline. It was a beautiful sunny day. I had walked for little more than a few minutes before I came to a place called the Community Internet Cafe Society. I popped inside for a cup of tea and to check my webmail. Polly, working there, saw my rucksack banner and took some mini-posters so that she could do some promotion on my behalf. For the third time to date, I left without paying, but this time at Polly's insistence. I will put another £2 towards the charities anyway.
I continued my walk past Gartmorn Dam to join another disused railway track near Clackmannan. Given my earlier experience with a disused railway track, I was cynically expecting this one to be yet another impenetrable mass of foliage. Not so. This was a full-blown tarmac expressway for cyclists, renamed the West Fife Cycle Way, and leading all the way into Dunfermline. There were even signs at kilometre intervals informing me of the remaining distance. I was able to maintain one kilometre every 12 minutes, even with the shin-split injury. There were, however, two negative factors about this path. Firstly, it is straight, uniform, lined with head-high foliage and really boring. Secondly, almost all the other users were on two wheels and whizzed past with their eyes firmly focused ahead, generally too frightened of falling off to give even a wave. With this lack of either visual interest or social interaction, I just put the headphones on and listened to music from my portable stereo as I walked.
When I arrived, Dunfermline seemed like many other towns and I wasn't inclined to stay. It was getting late so I needed to get out of the centre anyway to find somewhere to pitch the tent. I walked right through the town to the other side and, as luck would have it, came to a 24-hour Tesco where I could resupply right next to a sports field where I could camp.
Next morning, I joined National Cycle Network route no. 1 which would take me into Edinburgh. I picked up some anti-inflammatories for my leg from a pharmacy in Inverkeithing and stopped for lunch at the viewing platform just south of the Forth, which gave me time to admire the two magnificent bridges crossing this huge river. The contrast between the massively over-engineered but incredibly strong cantilever railway bridge completed in 1890 and the more delicate looking suspension road bridge opened by the Queen in 1964 is remarkable.
The final walk into Edinburgh was uneventful. I arrived at a car park near Holyrood House to be met by Sarah and her cocker spaniel Fingal. Sarah had offered me accommodation in Edinburgh after hearing of my trek through a mutual friend. We walked up to Arthur's Seat together, which delighted Fingal. The weekend was the start of the Edinburgh Festival so I could not have timed my arrival better.
Suitably recuperated and with diary writing duties completed, I hobbled off south across the Ochil Hills in the direction of Tillicoultry, taking care not to jar my right leg too much. A path was marked on the map and, amazingly, one existed on the ground, although sometimes so indistinct I wondered if you really needed Scottish blood in you to see it. There was even an occasional sign or style to reassure me I was on the right track. It was T-shirt weather and the walk can be counted amongst the most pleasurable to date. The views of Upper Glendevon Reservoir and the steep-sided Ochil mountains were breathtaking, so I was happy to take my time. When I reached the top of Skythorn Hill, I was simultaneously excited to see the Lowlands ahead and sad that I would now be leaving the last vestige of the dramatic Highlands behind me.
After the final descent into Tillicoultry, I found a pub for the obligatory 'end of walk' beer and, with the help of a local, identified a place to pitch the tent - right next to the local sewage works. The complete change of environment had been remarkably rapid.
My right shin was quite swollen, but this had largely subsided by morning. I thus prepared my maps, broke camp and headed off for Dunfermline. It was a beautiful sunny day. I had walked for little more than a few minutes before I came to a place called the Community Internet Cafe Society. I popped inside for a cup of tea and to check my webmail. Polly, working there, saw my rucksack banner and took some mini-posters so that she could do some promotion on my behalf. For the third time to date, I left without paying, but this time at Polly's insistence. I will put another £2 towards the charities anyway.
I continued my walk past Gartmorn Dam to join another disused railway track near Clackmannan. Given my earlier experience with a disused railway track, I was cynically expecting this one to be yet another impenetrable mass of foliage. Not so. This was a full-blown tarmac expressway for cyclists, renamed the West Fife Cycle Way, and leading all the way into Dunfermline. There were even signs at kilometre intervals informing me of the remaining distance. I was able to maintain one kilometre every 12 minutes, even with the shin-split injury. There were, however, two negative factors about this path. Firstly, it is straight, uniform, lined with head-high foliage and really boring. Secondly, almost all the other users were on two wheels and whizzed past with their eyes firmly focused ahead, generally too frightened of falling off to give even a wave. With this lack of either visual interest or social interaction, I just put the headphones on and listened to music from my portable stereo as I walked.
When I arrived, Dunfermline seemed like many other towns and I wasn't inclined to stay. It was getting late so I needed to get out of the centre anyway to find somewhere to pitch the tent. I walked right through the town to the other side and, as luck would have it, came to a 24-hour Tesco where I could resupply right next to a sports field where I could camp.
Next morning, I joined National Cycle Network route no. 1 which would take me into Edinburgh. I picked up some anti-inflammatories for my leg from a pharmacy in Inverkeithing and stopped for lunch at the viewing platform just south of the Forth, which gave me time to admire the two magnificent bridges crossing this huge river. The contrast between the massively over-engineered but incredibly strong cantilever railway bridge completed in 1890 and the more delicate looking suspension road bridge opened by the Queen in 1964 is remarkable.
The final walk into Edinburgh was uneventful. I arrived at a car park near Holyrood House to be met by Sarah and her cocker spaniel Fingal. Sarah had offered me accommodation in Edinburgh after hearing of my trek through a mutual friend. We walked up to Arthur's Seat together, which delighted Fingal. The weekend was the start of the Edinburgh Festival so I could not have timed my arrival better.