Dunfermline to West Rigg

The central belt is a wasteland of council estates and identikit suburbs, dockyards and endless industrial units, arterial roads with their verges covered in discarded packaging and stony faced residents coping with the daily grind. The thin towers and sweeping structures of the Forth Road Bridge smile approvingly at this progress and are a major milestone on this journey.

As soon as I found the correct escape route from Dunfermline, the roadside pavements disappeared and I was forced into the road by tall hedges. In the early morning gloom and driving rain, as commuters dashed over blind summits, I hugged the greenery and hoped for salvation. This came in the vast council estates of Rosyth, although I felt a little out of place with my backpack and walking boots. As I crossed the A90 I could see the orange glow of high wind warnings and speed restrictions above the traffic heading for the bridge.

Luckily the footpath had not been closed and after finding a safe way through roundabouts and slip roads I was fighting a vicious cross wind high above the firth. Two steps forwards, one step sideways. The bridge is a magnitude of scale larger than any other bridge I've tried to walk across and progress seemed interminably slow. I lost a race with a navy ship and as the southern shoreline approached I was able to spy on tiny people and their vehicles doing the rounds far below.

By now I had been walking for several hours without the usual privacy afforded by the countryside, and the pressure on my bladder was beginning to take over my thoughts. After weeks of being able to go when and where I wanted, this was an unexpected problem. The toll services marked on the map seemed to be an obvious solution but I found only new construction and became enclosed by houses. I found another old railway line now cycle path and tried to put myself far enough away from the various dog walkers to avoid attention.

The railways cuttings took me though the towns and industry without showing me much of it. Even the oil depot was hidden behind a wall of earth. Sheltered from the elements, it was almost pleasant. When this ended, the patchwork of motorways and industrial estates continued to a pleasant village on a canal. During lunch, I watched pensioners struggle against the wind to get into the pub.

I was forced onto busy roads to skirt around a country club before entering the small town of Balerno. Soon I was lost in the maze of a modern housing, choosing the gennels that appeared to go in the right direction. After this slow progress, it was rapidly going dark when I found the lonely lane into the hills. It has been a long but necessary day, the good walking through the Southern Uplands and Pennines is my reward.

(Wikipedia Image)