Drumfrochar to Langbank via Gryfe Reservoir, Bridge of Weir & Barscube Hill

Th other morning upon exiting my tenement I held my finger to the air and decided against cycling down to the coast (into the wind), choosing instead to train it to Drumfrochar and cycle back (with the wind as a second engine and ally).

You can never underestimate the alliance of wind and wing. Cyclists are half-bird after all. And as every bird will tell you, it just ain't no fun flying against the wind. Flying with it, on the other hand...

And so, from Drumfrochar it was, up the Old Largs Road to the Gryfe Reservoirs and some beautiful desolation, on the back-way to Langbank...






















The greatest train station exit in the world!! (Drumfrochar)

The dirt track past the Gryfe Reservoirs and Corlic Hill (on left out of picture)...

No bicycles??? Really???? I honestly worry when cyclists are made out to be the problem, when there are cars all around us, dogs that shit everywhere, and people glaekitly staring into their stupid little 'phones'... Next time I pass this inexcusable sign I shall, in the spirit of Voltaire, pin a letter of protest upon it, telling these cycle-haters why they should be celebrating and welcoming cyclists and not banishing them.

 Take the road on the right (Gallahill Road) towards Barscube Hill.

Looking east from Barscube Hill...

Caught! Barscube Hill is notorious for accommodating passing rain showers coming in from the sea. Wonderful!

Looking north !!! The views north, west, and east are something else. At 195m, and in terms of panorama and quietness, Barscube Hill has to be amongst the top three hills  in the greater Glasgow strath. I am reminded here of Thoreau who whilst writing of the joys of such goliaths as Mounts Katahdin, Washington and other New England peaks, maintained that the greatest mountain he had ever ascended was the one just east of Concorde where he lived. I might say the same thing. And in the spirit of another hill-walking junky, Ralph Storer, you can keep your Alps and your Pyrenees, just 'give me the timeless sweep of a land that can encompass boggy moor, clinging heather, problematical rivers and ancient pathways. Those who complain about British terrain, like those who complain about British weather, suffer from a lack of imagination.'

The route down to Langbank could not be easier from here. It is down to the left and through the golf course just past the white buildings in the picture. There is a rough path all the way down.

Barscube Meditation