Lost highway

It’s not good weather for bikes, so I take the bus. Today the 101 from the Garvald turning. Variety, so they say, is the spice of life. They probably weren’t thinking about bus services.

On the way home, I busy myself on the laptop. The windows are opaque with ice, so there’s nothing to see anyway.

Eventually I wonder how far we’ve got. “We’re just leaving Dolphinton,” says the driver.
“Let me off here, please. I meant to get off at Garvald.”

I stot back along the A702, crunching through snow, hunkered against the cold. It’s not much more than a mile to the car, and the night sky is crystal clear, but I’d rather be at home in the warm.