Drymen to Glasgow

I set off at 9am for Milngavie, an outskirt of Glasgow, with the rain falling. The gorse was wafting perfume everywhere. Gorgeous. 

It wasn’t a difficult walk, flat and dry surface, but it was ok. Down one small valley was an ancient bridge, almost hidden in the undergrowth. A sign named it as Trolls Bridge. You can imagine them sneaking out at night!

Onward up the valley to Milngavie past the Glengoyne Distillery, which was tempting but too much of a diversion. Round the final hill on the route I looked back at the last vestige of the Highlands. 

The Way had another surprise. The weather had brightened and a dry afternoon was forecast but it did a U-turn and peed it down for the last hour of my walk. 

There is a park in Milngavie just before the end of the Way and the rain eased. As I entered it a bloke in a suit got out of a Landrover and got some bagpipes out of the boot. He’d come to the park for somewhere isolated to practise and started up when I was thirty yards away. The dark sky, the wet undergrowth, the mournful sound of the pipes (filled with pride, history and purpose), the ache in my feet and legs, the emotion of knowing I’d finished this 320 mile journey. It got me and I hid my face as I walked past the piper to mask the fact I was weeping.

The end, until the next beginning.