From Helensburgh the road immediately crosses into the Highlands at Loch Lomond, famed in song. Ben Lomond's bald frosted head rises above knobbled moor and skirts of forest, reflected in the still waters.
Two miles from Tarbet on Loch Lomond, the road skirts the head of Loch Long, a canoeist breaking the mirror-smooth surface.
Loch Long:
Over the Rest and Be Thankful pass, crowded round by rugged hills, tiny Loch Restil cupped in their bosom; and down to the shores of Loch Fyne, the distant white houses of Inveraray, the Campbell Camelot, glinting in the sun.
A stop at Loch Eck to admire the reflections, ducks and a shag flying low over the waters, round kisses of fish breaking the surface amongst the smell of fallen leaves.
Still Loch Eck:
Finally, the sea again and Holy Loch at Dunoon. The destination is just a few miles from Helensburgh in a straight line, but the road is six times as far as it is forced round the heads of the lochs. Reading this back I just counted six lochs too, not four. Away from the forests and hillsides the sea is choppy, and we stop near Toward Point to breathe in the sharp tang of rotting seaweed and ozone as the childhood memories come flooding back.
Sea at Innellan:
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