June 22, 1991: Glasgow to Milngavie
I pose in front of Glasgow’s Kibble Palace.
On Saturday, June 22nd, 1991, I left the house at 9:20 and made my way to Euston Station. Just after I arrived at 10:00 or so Gavan (at the end of his first year at Harvard) emerged from the crowd in his University of California cap and his “Yale Sucks” t-shirt. I sent him to buy some liquid for the journey and bought a copy of the Sun – to provide us with some amusement on the long journey north and, more importantly, to sop up the moisture of wet boots.
We had seat reservations on the 10:15 Glasgow train and we found the correct positions after a search of Car F, where any rational system of seat numbering seemed to have been abandoned long ago. I was nursing a slight toothache, after visiting the dentist twice, and I couldn’t help but remember riding with Jay on our expedition to the Appalachian Trail in April, when I first felt a twinge of discomfort from the selfsame molar. Now the expedition was a far more ambitious undertaking – for Gavan and I were planning to conquer Scotland’s West Highland Way, a nine-day trek requiring 106 miles of walking!
The train journey was quite a bore, particularly as we were traveling over such well-remembered ground: Milton Keynes, Rugby, Crewe, Preston. I had a British Rail cheeseburger, microwaved to a temperature that burned my tongue, and a Diet Pepsi. A seedy gent on his way to Oban sat down opposite us, interrupting our intense conversation on theology. He was wearing a rainbow button with “Give Peace A Chance” written on it. He came alive as we began to pass the Lake District on our left and we chatted a bit about our various travel plans. He stank of major b.o. and Gavan and I concluded that his motto would better read “Give Soap A Chance.” He was becoming increasingly nervous as our train sputtered to unexplained stops in the middle of nowhere and his chance of making it to Queen Street Station in time for his connection evaporated. My interest in the journey revived as we travelled through unfamiliar sections of Scotland, nearing Glasgow at last. We were scheduled to arrive shortly past 3:30 but we were an hour late.
Gavan had had a late night and was recovering from jet lag, having arrived from the West Coast of America only on Tuesday. He headed for the loo while I watched our gear and loaded film into his camera. For the convenience of its passengers Glasgow’s Central Station had provided no places to sit down whatsoever. We used a set of steps to adjust our packs and Gavan put on some tape. He did this because I wanted to walk the seven miles or so to Milngavie, the official start of the West Highland Way, following a suggestion by Tom Hunter, one of the founders of the route, in his original Constable guide. We were an hour late in this venture, and we were not making a very rapid start now. It was just before 5:00 when we ventured into the last of the shopping crowds outside the station.
We looked for some more adhesive tape in a nearby Boots but I couldn’t find the kind I like. Gavan needed a belt to hold up one of the two pairs of grey cords he had borrowed from me and I directed him into the Oxfam Shop on Renfield Street, but he was ejected just as promptly by one of the charity workers – anxious to close shop. He had a little better luck at the British Home Stores at the corner of Renfield and Sauchiehall Streets. I waited outside with his pack, taking the first photo of the trip as the shoppers strolled up and down Sauchiehall’s pedestrian precinct. I was determined to use this as an exit from downtown, after hearing the street’s name mentioned enough on episodes of Taggart.
When Gavan emerged with his £5.95 belt he complained of feeling faint and we went into a large chemist across the street. Finding no cold milk, he settled for a can of caffeine-free Diet Coke and two candy bars. I at last located the adhesive tape I was looking for. We then walked west among the shoppers, Gavan sipping Coke and chewing on a bag of Skittles while I ate half a Bounty bar.
As we left downtown behind us we crossed over the head of a motorway and headed north on Woodlands Road, following a trail of orange and blue Irn-Bru cans in the gutters (“Made in Scotland from girders, unpronounceable too”). After passing Queen’s College I noticed a chap, washing his car with a Miniature Schnauzer in tow, so I had to go up and say hello. He thought we were looking for the youth hostel and seemed quite incredulous when I told him we were walking to Milngavie – at least I got the local pronunciation (Mullguy) right.
I think I failed to take the most direct route up to the Great Western Road and we found ourselves strolling in some residential back streets of no great charm. It was briefly sunny but there was a lot of cloud about. Fortunately there were no worries about daylight at this time of year, in spite of our late and sputtering start. The Great Western Road was again choked with shoppers and traffic. We saw a road sign to Crianlarich, our destination for Wednesday, here 52 miles away. We escaped all this bustle by crossing the road and entering the Botanic Gardens. It was warm enough for me to take off my U.C.L.A. sweatshirt here. Gavan took some photos of me standing in front of the huge glass house called the Kibble Palace.
The Walkway goes beneath one of the many Kelvin bridges.
In my map case I was using some xeroxes from Hunter’s book and a Bartholomew’s map of Glasgow. We were directed to a pedestrian bridge over the river Kelvin, in deep woods now, and asked to turn west along the Kelvin Walkway, a pleasant suburban riverside route. Once or twice a light rain fell as we completed this section but we were protected by foliage or the abutments of several interesting bridges and it was never necessary for us to don raingear. We encountered a number of kids on bicycles and Glaswegians giving their dogs a ramble, passed under the tower blocks of Wyndford, and reached another bridge. I was a bit confused by the suggestion that we needed to cross to the other side here, and we crossed to the other side of the river, ending up in an industrial estate on Skaethorn Road – when all that was required was for us to get to the other side of the road that was here crossing the bridge.
A large number of bored teenagers were lounging about looking for mischief as we neared Dawsholm Park. As we crossed the Dawsholm Bridge and began to climb some steps into the park I recall that Gavan was describing some unhappy family problems – a factor that frequently lead to bouts of depression on this trip. We were supposed to follow some yellow signposts here but it was a bit difficult to spot them and a number of times I had to guess what direction we should head. There was no one else about, except for a few foraging squirrels. In the end, we made all the right moves and emerged, after quite some climbing, at the park entrance at Islay Road. This put us back on pavement as we began a long trek north on Bearsden, Switchback, and Milngavie Roads.
Gavan in front of our Milngavie b&b
The views of the hills to the north were cheering but I found the pavement to be quite hard on my feet, which hadn’t worn boots in a long time. We peered into the yards of Glasgow’s suburbia as I checked off an endless list of side streets on my map. There was a large roundabout to negotiate at Canniesburn but at last some of the landmarks on the map prepared by our b&b hosts began to emerge, particularly after we took the A81 bypass around the southern perimeter of Milngavie itself (though we never found the tennis courts, seeing only a pile of rubble where the club was supposed to be located). Gavan convinced himself that we were being pursued by a gang of Scottish toughs only to discover that it was just scouts marching to their meeting place on Strathblane Road – a block before the Barloch Guest House appeared at last on our right. It had been a lovely evening in the end, sunny and still warm enough to wear only a t-shirt, but I was glad when the trek came to an end at 8:30.
Mrs. McGregor showed us to our rooms and then gave us some advice about where to eat in the village. We got cleaned up a bit and headed into Milngavie’s pedestrian precinct, selecting the Panda Chinese Restaurant as the site of our first evening meal. This was quite good. We each had a lager, Gavan grateful to be back in a country where the drinking age was 18 again. I phoned Dorothy from the restaurant and we returned to separate rooms at about 10:30.
To continue with the next stage of our walk you need: