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“£20 for an early check-in,” they said, at a resort in Kenmore at the foot of Loch Tay at the end of day six of our hike. Or, about £14 for beverages from the bar while enjoying this view of Loch Tay from the patio. We opted for the obvious and saved £6 while waiting.

​We climbed up to this loch, which was created by a dam. From here, the water rushes downhill through a tunnel to a hydroelectric plant. Throughout the journey, I’ve been impressed by the scale of the engineering; yesterday, we followed an abandoned hillside railroad, and on another day, passed a Victorian aqueduct built for Glasgow’s water supply. While this dam dates from the 1950s, contrails stretching across the sky offered a nod to even newer technologies.

This isn’t the kind of weather we reasonably expected in the Highlands at this time of year: blue skies and temperatures rising to the low 70s as we hiked to Killin for the night. With no rain forecast for our entire trip, our rain capes remain in our backpacks, and we’re left to enjoy the superb scenery.

Our entire hike today, from Callander to Strathyre, was on a rail trail. We followed a fast-flowing river and a long loch surrounded by wild hills. Along the way, we passed waterfalls and mossy banks. Large slices of cake and a pot of tea sustained us at the end of the trail before we checked into an inn for the night.

The terrain was wilder today as we walked from Aberfoyle to Callander: all moorland, lochs, and rolling hills with great views. We agreed that some of our photos look like something off chocolate box lids, almost too picturesque, but that’s how it looked.

Glimpsed layers of countryside from an often wooded trail on day one of our Rob Roy Way hike along the southern edge of Trossachs National Park. Tonight we’re in Aberfoyle with seven more days of walking ahead. We can still walk as far as we ever did, it just takes us a few more days.

We’re now in Drymen, near Loch Lomond, joined by two UK friends, ready to hike the Rob Roy Way for the next eight days. Dinner tonight was at a pub originally owned by Rob Roy’s sister, a thematic start to our adventure.

Our walk today held quite a few surprises. At the Glasgow Necropolis we happened upon the grave of William Miller, the ‘laureate of the nursery’ and author of Wee Willie Winkie. Behind it, Glasgow Cathedral dominates the skyline.

OMG, etc. Glasgow (Scotland) is hopping tonight. We arrived today and were originally planning on a quiet beer and a light bite for dinner, but the city had other ideas. We took the opportunity to ride the delightfully diminutive subway to a slightly quieter neighborhood instead. As a kid, I absolutely loved riding the Glasgow subway, and I still do.

After an ELL session on Malala Yousafzai with an adult learner, I went to the nearby Minneapolis American Indian Center for a bison melt. Lawn signs out front promoted candidates in the upcoming tribal elections.

I finally got around to seeing “Crossing the Line: The Passport Re-Imagined” at Open Book, just three blocks from our home. Here, the artist has produced passports for migratory birds; the painted eggs represent individual birds, while the cloth satchel serves as a “nest” to hold the eggs and passports. On my own travels, I’ve often been in awe of migratory birds, especially at Farewell Spit on New Zealand’s South Island, where we observed bar-tailed godwits that migrate 7,500 miles to Alaska.

Cycling through the U, I paused for these magnolia blooms. Behind me, a pair of wild turkeys gobbled in precise unison, inching closer to each other with every call. A raptor flew overhead with a twig in its talons, and over at the local eagles’ nest, the mother was shifting her weight, settling in for yet another season.

With a bit of help from light rail and a friend and his truck, we cycled trails east of St. Paul, including a nicely refurbished section leading to Battle Creek Park. We both almost stalled out at a couple of points as we tracked this stream uphill.

One of the advantages of being a senior is that the consequences of being arrested are far less severe than they were when I was young. I no longer have an employer to fire me, and I can comfortably afford a lawyer or a fine. Besides, I look harmless. With that in mind, I secured my bicycle and clambered up a railroad embankment. I carefully crossed two live tracks to get a closer look at a dozen vintage coaches, including these from the North Pole Express. And nobody stopped me.

​I had to go to the tool chest for a rubber mallet to help me chop this rutabaga without losing any fingers. If I were doing this in the UK, I would call the veggie a swede or a turnip. Here in the US, however, the term “turnip” is reserved for the smaller white variety. Right now, the rutabaga and four other types of root veggies are assimilating themselves into a lamb stew.

Set up trackers for our upcoming trip: D and T for our backpacks; 1 to track a cardboard box we’ll check in at MSP then mail from Glasgow. The rectangular tracker goes in my wallet. (The total weight for the four devices is 1.5 ounces, 43 grams.)