Day 53 - Pentland Hills to Linlithgow

  The first two hours of last night were spent with me either frozen or having a heart attack when I thought someone might be approaching. It would be one thing to be found on a bunk in an official bothy and quite another to be lying in the center of the room on the table. At one point there were loud bangs outside the door and shuffling desperately out of my bag I inched towards it arranging my best welcoming but guarded expression. Subconsciously or not I'd also made a note of exactly where I'd put my knife. When no one entered I finally tensed and opened the door scaring a whole lot of poor sheep seeking shelter under the bothies porch.

Pentland Hills

  These were not my only visitors I had that night and between very little bouts of sleep I spent a

Bothy in the Pentland Hills

good deal of time throwing my sandals, pieces of clothing and small objects at the rats who were eating my food and climbing onto the table beside me. As I'd grown up having rats as pets I couldn't bring myself to throw things directly at them and was simply aiming to scare away. They would shuffle off but within half an hour they would be back and I would be woken my the scuffling and movement of my food bags as they broke through the packaging. Then I was too hot, then the table underneath the crappy foam mat was painfully hard. I have a lot of built in padding but I couldn't lie on my side without my leg going numb, or bones digging into me. Never has my small tent looked more comfortable. Next bothy I see I'm walking straight on by.
  Unsurprising I left earlier than usual, finding my half eaten wraps with bite marks along the rim as proof of last night's visitors. Once I left the place I felt myself instantly relax, and the weight on my shoulders ease- ironic as I'd just donned my sack. I climbed back to the path and felt suddenly euphoric, possibly because of the lack of sleep. I'd also not quite realized that last night I was actually scared and it wasn't till I was far enough away that I admitted just how much.
  The Cross Boarder Drove Road (CBDR) carried on down the hills to Harperrig Reservoir, an easy path with some pretty views. Phone signal reached me which was a lovely surprise and I took the chance to ring home and catch up on events. At Harperrig I found an outside tap and refilled my now empty water bag, I felt a little guilty at stealing the water but I wasn't going to knock on peoples doors at 8am and risk waking them up. This diversion, mainly caused by the large number of cows on my original route, meant I left the CBDR earlier than intended. From here I followed a series of roads, and worked hard not to be run over by the ridiculously fast cars passing. One upside is that Stephan Fry was on Desert Island disks and utterly charming, keeping me entertained for the next 45 minutes. Made friends with a few horses although the biggest wouldn't come and meet me.
  Next I joined the Leyden Road for several miles before taking a break in yet another garden center for a sausage and bacon bun and a rather good milkshake. Then a short but pretty stint high up along the Union Canal and a horrible struggle through the Industrial Estate on the edges of Broxburn. It was a rough area too, and I spent a while stumbling around a dump/bike park trying to re-find the path. When the route went into an over grown field I groaned thinking back to my struggles through the farm land on the edge of Bridgewater a month ago. I saw the land raised two or so meters on the edge of the field and I decided to scramble up through the brambles to have a look. The canal came into view before I reached the top and a lovely flat path running alongside it.
  I struggled on but found the next 8 or so miles long, painful on my souls and
boring. This is very unfair as the canal is actually very pretty and the land around it charming. It was, however, a relief when I reached Linlithgow. A big Tescos provided me with a range of reduced foods for dinner, a bean salad, a slice of quiche and a potato salad. After a rather long walk through town and up to the campsite I dropped my stuff and knocked. No answer but after consulting with a caravan person I pitched my tent and showering collapsed down for dinner and an episode of two of Buffy.  The M9 is along the campsite and loud, even with the empty caravan sits blocking a little of the traffics roar. Just a few more days the West Highland Way!