Menoquisitive [men-oh-kwizzy-tiff]; following one's nose

Left things off last week as Mac1 and I were hunting for Bearsden.

There's a story to Bearsden. Not to do with this trip. A Mac History story. When I was but three months into this life, my father got an assignment to work the line across the Clyde (electrical engineer - big pylons, very long lines) from Erskine to .... Bearsden. Mother didn't want to be separate from father. They bought the first of the caravans we were to live in for the next five years. It was not a large unit. Enough for them and a bub. They planted it in a field (this was the theme of those first five years) a little away from the farm buildings. On a hill. Along came one of those West coast winds which carry the rain horizontally. Over went the caravan, with mother and me inside.

To this day I have a bit of an issue when riding buses or cars, not driven by me, which tip over to a certain angle. It's not panic. Just paralysis.

No trouble with that on this trip. I was driving and, despite the rain and the need for headlights, wind was minimal. Yes, darkness had fallen pretty much as we saw the first sign for Bearsden. We followed it of course. Which, it turned out, was not the best plan.

Firstly it was a 'B' road. That is to say single track and possibly hadn't seen a maintenance vehicle since it was laid in 1920.

Secondly it didn't take us to Bearsden, but, instead, to Milngavie (pronounced 'mul-guy'... Yes I know, but what to do?) It could have been worse. It might have been Drymen (Loch Lomond) before we realised our disarray. As it was, the sign saying Milngavie Rail Station had us reassessing. A couple more miles along we found a suitable turning place and headed back into the town, during which time Mac1 had pinpointed a 'cross route' to reconnect us with the our plan,

You will note that by this time, indeed some time back, there were absolutely no 'Fudge' opportunities, no stop and gawp at scenery opportunities, no 'what a braw wee toon' opportunities. That sunset we were so certain must surely have happened, albeit invisibly, was long past.  It was dark. Pitch, most of the time. Even with headlamps.

Our half hour detour North of the plan was remedied by the 'cross route'. Which landed us twenty minutes South of our plan, as we hit Clydebank all of a sudden; traffic, lights, roundabouts, mayhem. No worries. Now we got on the main trunk road and onto the Erskine Bridge. A fine piece of engineering that. If you can see it. Affords a grand view of the surrounding scenery, I have been told. Taking that on trust for now.

Are you needing that map again, just to see the 'plan'? Click to biggify it - it will reward you with showing the names mentioned (except Milngavie, but believe me, it is somewhere upwards of Bearsden, take your pick as to how far upwards).



Glory of glories, we joined the M8 and it was home territory again.  I can drive that blind, which is handy given the depth of darkness. It is also a blessing that the Dunoon ferries run until midnight. We reached in time to catch the 9:45pm

Four hours of 'interesting' road trip. What was wonderful is that Mac1 is of the same temperament as myself for exploring. There were no regimented 'this way that ways'  or 'you missed its'; instead, lots of giggles and reminiscences of earlier adventures. Quite literally as we were unpacking the car, the phone rang and it was father, concerned he hadn't heard from us. We could almost see him shaking his head and grinning down the phone at his two elder offspring and their antics.

We hit the hay early. Which was a good thing, because we were ready to grasp the exceptionally fine day which dawned on the Saturday.... and LOTS of Fudge-work...