We crossed the Forth road bridge arriving at the Premiere Inn in time for a dinner. Since the evening before I had been suffering from a pretty darn painful back spasm. Something that comes from time to time, but this one was not going to let go any time soon.
Be that as it may, I wasn't going to let it stop me and headed out at 9pm bound for the village of Craigrothie. We lived there when I was about 4. It was my first school and just about the farthest back that I can clearly remember.
Anyway, I had to get there first. My attempt to download the area around Fife from Openstreetmap had clearly failed, so that I had nothing more than the most rudimentary base map to navigate with. It was windy and unlike Norfolk, either up or down, but never flat.
The map was good enough and despite the sometime considerable discomfort, I made the most of the tail wind that blew me up the inclines toward Cupar and Craigrothie.
Nothing had changed. The little village school was just as I remembered it. Our house of solid chiseled rock, as immovable as the hills that surrounded it. I checked in on the tiny burn, where we used tickle trout as youngsters. I can't imagine leaving my boys to go play in a stream at less than 5, but we were never in. I wonder that my mother knew where we were half the time. The school of hard knocks. No doubt where the groundwork for this adventure all began.
WInd or no wind, the return journey was pretty much all downhill and by the time I got back to the hotel, it was gone 11, but with another 30 miles in the bag. Not bad after driving all the way to Scotland with my brother on the back of a night shift.