A Glasweigan Guardian Angel

We had an early start from Carlisle. Excellent full breakfast and with two full stomachs we set off. The wind was (temporarily) gone and we arrived in Scotland via Gretna at 0855. At the anvil in the smithy we renewed our vows to stick together through thin and even more thin until JohnO'Groats or perhaps even until the train station in Wick.
We stopped for tea and food in Lockerbie (the staff did not have the same presence as they did south of the border but we remain hopeful and unbiased). As we got back in the saddles again the wind remembered that it was there to blow and preferably against our direction of travel. We fought on and gradually the ancient God of the wind (Flatus Maximus?) realised that by now Paul and I are Hard Men (velominTi apprentices) and will take no nonsense. So we gradually got a sideways push and then a tailwind as we made it up past Moffat.
We decided to aim for Glasgow and made it trough Hamilton (every time we saw a kid with hands in his pocket we feared that he would throw stones at us but our fear was completely unfounded). In fact  we were embarrassed by the arrival of our new Best Friend and personal Guardian Angel, Bobby (G.A's have no surnames but he did go to university with Charles Kennedy, no angel!). Booby arrived on his Chariot of Steel - he had been out on a wee trip doing 60'ish miles. He suggested to take us through Glasgow avoiding death traps and traffic hotspots. We had a super route laid out for us which included 40+ minutes on beautifully tarmac'ed roads along the Clyde, cycleroute 75 (by the way the general quality of the road surfaces in Scotland, home of the inventor of asphalt, MacAdam, is atrocious. Bobby told me that in the time leading up to the Referendum a lot of roads are suddenly resurfaced!). We reached  the centre of Glasgow safely and then continued west wards along the Clyde. By then it was pitch dark and we sought temporary refuge at the Beardmore - originally built as part of a Private Hospital set up. We had by then clocked up 111 miles and felt that we deserved some luxury. And here we are , the steaks and chips are down, the Belhaven ditto (owned by Greene King in B St E) and the pudding will be washed down with a tumbler of Leffe.
Bobby has advices us on the route for our further travel and I am sure that he will be watching over us form his seat on the top of Mount Velominatus.
Loch Lomond calls!