My pointless trip up north to break the car was really just driving up and down the West Highland Way. I spent an awful lot of time looking at where the track is, even the bits I walked in the dark. I recognised the shape of land I passed over at 0200hrs, I smiled when I spied my Saturday night campsite across Loch Lomond, now with a boat moored at it. I saw where I missed the trail in Glen Falloch and ended up on the road instead. I looked across to steep sided Conic Hill where the tone of the journey really changed. I peered over towards Ba Bridge and up at the Devils Staircase, two points of totally constrasting emotions in my memory.
It really brought it all back, every step of it and how much I enjoyed it. I want to go again.