Thursday 25 June 2009 - Balloch to Lockerbie

Balloch - Dumbarton - Glasgow - Abington - Beattock - Lockerbie

Our genial host offered every conceivable component of a full Scottish breakfast, including haggis, and virtually ordered us to try them all. My only criticism could be that the porridge was made with rolled oats and not oatmeal in the proper Scottish way.
Following John Smith’s suggestions, we joined a cycle path at a bridge not far from the B&B. We had a pleasant ride through Dumbarton and northern Glasgow, for a while in the company of an Australian couple who were touring Scotland. All went well until John suddenly stopped alongside the Forth and Clyde canal. When I caught up with him, he was staring forlornly at his deflated tyre.
Paul and John began repairing the puncture while I waited round the corner at Dalmuir drop lock, which as a passer-by informed me is the only one of its type in the world. The canal drops into a pit as it passes beneath the A814, so I assume the water is pumped back up into the canal as the level falls to allow traffic to pass under the road.
The puncture seemed to take an age to repair, and when Paul and John got going again I found out why - a second one had followed a few yards after the first. Amazingly, these were the only punctures incurred during the entire ride. Crossing the road, we continued along the cycle path where we soon began to encounter difficulties common to all urban cycle paths - they’re fine if you know where they lead, but if you’re strange to the area you have to rely on signposts which as often as not are missing or have been turned the wrong way round. We soon found ourselves in one of the numerous labyrinthine “schemes” where we asked directions from a couple of local Rab C. Nesbitt types. One of them, despite his advanced stage of inebriation, was very helpful and advised us to keep as close to the Clyde as possible. This proved to be sound advice and before long we were heading towards the impressive architecture of central Glasgow and into the city centre.
Crossing the Clyde by one of the several bridges, we stopped at a sandwich shop but were defeated by the lunchtime queues. We decided to continue, although we weren’t really sure where we were going, and eventually found ourselves in Pollock Park which we exited into another sprawling estate. This, we soon realised to our horror, was in the south-west of Glasgow. We needed to be in the south-east. All three of us were hot, lost and bad-tempered. I hadn’t helped in the latter respect by my sarcastic reply when Paul asked me if I thought we were going the right way. “No”, I had replied. “We should have gone via Arran.” This was a reference to my expressed preference for avoiding Glasgow at the route-deciding stage, which had been overruled. I felt obliged to apologise for my scathing comment, although I still tittered inwardly, and we decided to head back on ourselves and search for the correct route.
Eventually we escaped the concrete jungle and began to see green open space again. We followed the line of the old Carlisle road, now the B7078, through the outskirts of the metropolis and into the inaptly named Lowlands.
The remainder of the day’s route was bleak but traffic-free, the adjacent M74 now serving as the main north-south artery, and we made steady progress through Lesmahagow and Abington and up to Beattock, with panoramic views of the remote Southern Uplands, finally sweeping down to Lockerbie where after some searching we located our accommodation, the Queens Hotel.　
It had been a particularly trying day and we were relieved to be able to relax and unwind in the evening with a drink and meal in the hotel lounge. My chicken korma, though a little on the mild side, hit a spot I'd been missing since leaving Derby as in contrast to my usual diet I'd eaten no Indian food thus far, and was beginning to yearn for the spicy masalas I use almost daily in my own cooking.