Loch Lomond, a.k.a. the devil’s playground. This was supposedly the flattest section of the West Highland Way.
Flat, my arse!
I mean, my arse is flat.
The path along the shore of Loch Lomond is full of ladders, boulders, rock walls, and all manner of obstacles. I mean, it was like doing crossfit while wearing an army pack.
Don’t even get me started on the bright and chipper “hikers” with their walking sticks and tiny daypacks. They sent their packs along with the shuttle service, while spending the night in a hotel bed. Their “Good morning!” as they sped past me every day did not a happy Chris make.
I had sweaty cousin Stu and the midges!
I was also having a bit of a flashback to the murderous Scot I had as a protagonist in my Scottish novella: Fell Runner. Only, I wasn’t running!
To be fair (something cousin Stu often said) he had to put up with sweaty me, too. Although I was also quite bloody, and started lancing the blisters with a pocket knife!
To paraphrase a favourite film, “I love the smell of cheese in the morning!”
I just wish it didn’t have anything to do with me and my feet!
Here’s Loch Lomond where I stuck my feet for long, long periods of time!