FRIDAY, JULY 5 9:48

Up at 6:30, blurgh, and down to breakfast. I secured two extra sausages in napkins in a plastic bag, because we had been informed that bringing a cold meal would hasten things on the way.

This was not explained.

After a magnificent meal of eggs, haggis, and a croissant - again, all dietary restrictions, all attempts at maintaining the old diet, all the rules, all the boons of exercise: FORGET IT - we set off up the street to a bus. It was large and comfortable, driven by a chap who called himself Wee McCafferty. It did not have wifi, he explained, because when it didn’t work people complained, so they took it out. It did not have a lavatory, either. Well, that’s why I had but one cup of coffee that morning.

The bus left at 8. It was expected to arrive at 8. In between: lots of Scotland. This nation is 30K square miles. Minnesota is 80K. And yet we do not have the cities or castles of bloody history or long-standing grievances or simmering resentment towards the Iowa-Wisconsin nation that absorbed us. Nor do we have the astonishing mountainous ranges formed when Minnesota was in tropical latitudes.

Or hairy coos. Or great lochs. Well, some great lochs, but none so great and narrow.

Eventually we ended up at . . . Loch Ness. Because of course. Look, I know it's a cliche, but it's fun to say you were there. Not many other Scottish lochs ever come up in conversation. Looking forward to dropping it in conversation, casually. Have you been? We were there. Lovely place. Ha ha no monsters, no one goes for that.

Standing in the river that empties into the great dark depths, the remains of - I think - an old bridge. Seems a bit tall, though.

It's older than my state.

Brief interval to grab food. I took advantage of the sausages I had brought. Clever lad. Found a gas station where one could find a fresh cup of coffee (Costa machine) and revived my spirits. Wife, of course, found a small shop where she might find a sweater or a scarf. Women's ability to find such things AND decide to spend 6 minutes there instead of queuing for the boat . . . why, at this point, is any man surprised. And why is the man queuing early? you might ask. BECAUSE A QUEUE HAS FORMED, that's why.

Big two-level boat. They run on the hour. Off we went. Black water, narrow Loch. We did not see Nessie, of course. But we saw goats.

Short video version of the day: the drive, the cliche, the Loch, a brief glimpse of the hallowed Dalwhinnie distillery, and a brief look at Pitlochry, a charming tourist town where tourists come to tour. Brief bathroom stop and time for a pint or ice cream. But not both.

When we got back we found a Vietnamese place to dine. Not in the mood for anything local. The view out the window, across the street, as the light crashed through the clouds:

Evening outside the hotel and station.

Phase Four, part Two. Perhaps the best!

SATURDAY, JUNE 6, 11:14 Off to Portion Four, Part Two. On the train now. We took the 11 AM, just as I'd planned.

Oh what's that, you had a plan? Yes. I am the living embodiment of Fred Thompson's factually questionable observations about the Soviet Navy.

My preference is to sleep late, have a leisurely breakfast, pack, go to the train station 15 minutes in advance so you can get two seats together and stow your bags. Arrive late, and the baggage area for our large bags is taken, and then I don’t know what you do.

My wife’s preference is to spend that free-floating 20 minute interregnum walking around somewhere, which means ten minutes away from the hotel, max. This goes against every fiber of my travel-brain. There is a departure from a specific place and we are walking away from that place. Why? To see something. Okay, got it, but I am not happy seeing these things.

Saw this. Seems typical of the town.

It was a church once, but it isn't anymore.

At the end of a distant street I saw it: literally something from a nightmare. From the dream compendium.

A parade.

In the dreams I am trying to get out of town, and encounter a parade. Well here it is. Not only do we have to stop and watch it, but when the timer goes off indicating we have traveled 10 minutes from the station, and need to retrace our steps so we can go up the lift, get bags, check the room, head down, check out, and go the platform - which, admittedly is in the same building complex. At this point I am informed by my pitiless tormentor that we must travel north a block, further away from the station, to follow the parade.

So up a block. The street is thick and thronged. When we get to the street where we are to turn south to get back to the hotel, there is another parade coming up the street, merging with the other one, bringing another mass of humanity moving in the direction contrary to where I am going.

In the end we made the train, which infuriated me because it proved her right, and I had nothing to worry about, but of course I worried about it every step of the way which is why I never do it. But you saw a parade! Something different!

This is hard to explain to crammers and dashers, but I don’t care. I count the experiences I had, not the ones I might have had if I’d just run fourteen blocks in another direction because I saw a neon sign or heard someone tootle a trumpet. Anyway, it’s a constant and I’m always in the wrong.

Didn't help that I woke in the middle of the night and started arguing with everyone who killed my column, crafting elevator speeches and withering remarks in the break room.

So that’s this morning! Cranky. I might ascribe it to being gone too long, and also not being all that cheerful about what awaits going back. It's been a marvelous journey and the best might yet to come. But sometimes you just want to be home again with a real hamburger. And a column.

BTW, the LOL in the picture above, means Loyal Orange Lodge.

Now to Portion Four, Part Three. Short Bleat today because Lord Allmighty, the next two will probably be epic, if all goes well. And perhaps even more so if it doesn't.

By the way, it's a good thing we caught the 11 AM train, because there wouldn't have been another until 11:13.