Well, there it is. Over 500 miles, over 600 arguments, 700 beers and 800 Cows, and we've made it. And so my mind begins to contemplate what lies ahead of us, and what we've left behind. Certainly behind me lies one of my water bottles, both of my pedometers, flat walking, Freda's cooking, Wolverhampton, Praa Sands (including the beach, the surf, and the sun), and some of my clothes. In front of me lies the Highlands, the Loch Ness Monster, more heavily armed cows, Rain, Rain, Storms, Rain, Rain, and deep fried batter. Turning back is beginning to look attractive...
But, as Liam would say, '....well....it'll probably be alright...if you like....'. This evening I am writing to you from Settle, in Yorkshire, and those of you know that know Liam and I will know this village is an old friend - and so far we're being treated as such. Kindly, Ian Brooke (aka a nice man in the pub) has sorted us somewhere to stay tonight, and we're chuffed to have been bought drinks and directed to Settle's phenomenal curry house. This week has included some of the sternest hills we've encountered, a 26 mile Pennine Way endurance, and - frankly - not enough pubs, so we're very glad to see some familiar streets.
We must quickly mention, too, that Linda Walker and her husband came and kindly bought us dinner on Tuesday, and that today we're on the charity's homepage. Have a peek at our sun burnt mugs, and take that opportunity to be in awe of all the work that is being done to help the children of Belarus.
Missing you less and less now,
Alex!
Friday, 30 July 2010
Thursday, 22 July 2010
Severe Weather Warnings
S**t! The Met Office website today does not make for good reading. Heavy Rain. In fact, they've skipped from pleasant Green (no severe weather) straight through to Dark Orange (be prepared), missing out the slightly less ominous, and more useful, Be Aware. Well, we are aware now. I am also critically aware that I've lost my waterproof jacket, so today is looking like it might become known as Wet Thursday.
A lot has happened since I last wrote on here. We've now finished out journey along the River Severn, which was a genuinely lovely place to walk. Worcester is beautiful - we were lucky enough to have our walk straight past the Cathedral - and headed up to Stourport. Our accommodation in Stourport was the Mayor and his wife's house, who kindly took us out for dinner. I'm afraid to say, however, that we were probably not the best of company, having completed a 45-mile stint in 2 days.
I have invented some new exciting games, too, although I think Liam is less sold on them. The first one is called 'Puddles', which involves me jumping as hard as possible into puddles, as close as possible to Liam. He, in return, has invented a game called 'Punch', as a counter-measure. We're getting along beautifully!
We were very kindly put up in Wolverhampton by family friends, who not only put up with our smell and snoring, but also fed us up and - most important of all - took us out on Friday night to see the Bright Lights! I can't imagine what people will have thought of Liam and I throwing shapes on the dancefloor in walking boots, tracksuit bottoms, and almost matching t-shirts. George kindly suggested that people probably thought we were on a theme night - I'd hate to know the title of that theme...
Injury-wise, things seem to be hardening up. My left knee has a slight twinge, and (after a pretty sharp curry) I also had to walk 21 miles with bowed legs. Blisters, for the moment, seem to be a thing of the past - however I was slightly concerned yesterday to discover that the bottoms of my feet now appear to be made of wood. Liam's calf injury is a distant memory, and by tomorrow we hope to be in Derbyshire, where the serious hill walking begins. That is, of course, all dependant on whether or not we drown today....or tonight....in our tent.
Our list of people that must thank for their kindness is growing rapidly, and we will thank you all properly in due course. Liam sends his love; his beard is beginning to look magnificent. His hat, however, is ridiculous, and stinks. It's almost ruining the walk for me. He has just reminded me, however, that it keeps his head dry - along with his waterproof jacket. HUMPH.
Missing you all, and - as always - we'd love to hear from you!
walkonethousand@gmail.com
Alex x
A lot has happened since I last wrote on here. We've now finished out journey along the River Severn, which was a genuinely lovely place to walk. Worcester is beautiful - we were lucky enough to have our walk straight past the Cathedral - and headed up to Stourport. Our accommodation in Stourport was the Mayor and his wife's house, who kindly took us out for dinner. I'm afraid to say, however, that we were probably not the best of company, having completed a 45-mile stint in 2 days.
I have invented some new exciting games, too, although I think Liam is less sold on them. The first one is called 'Puddles', which involves me jumping as hard as possible into puddles, as close as possible to Liam. He, in return, has invented a game called 'Punch', as a counter-measure. We're getting along beautifully!
We were very kindly put up in Wolverhampton by family friends, who not only put up with our smell and snoring, but also fed us up and - most important of all - took us out on Friday night to see the Bright Lights! I can't imagine what people will have thought of Liam and I throwing shapes on the dancefloor in walking boots, tracksuit bottoms, and almost matching t-shirts. George kindly suggested that people probably thought we were on a theme night - I'd hate to know the title of that theme...
Injury-wise, things seem to be hardening up. My left knee has a slight twinge, and (after a pretty sharp curry) I also had to walk 21 miles with bowed legs. Blisters, for the moment, seem to be a thing of the past - however I was slightly concerned yesterday to discover that the bottoms of my feet now appear to be made of wood. Liam's calf injury is a distant memory, and by tomorrow we hope to be in Derbyshire, where the serious hill walking begins. That is, of course, all dependant on whether or not we drown today....or tonight....in our tent.
Our list of people that must thank for their kindness is growing rapidly, and we will thank you all properly in due course. Liam sends his love; his beard is beginning to look magnificent. His hat, however, is ridiculous, and stinks. It's almost ruining the walk for me. He has just reminded me, however, that it keeps his head dry - along with his waterproof jacket. HUMPH.
Missing you all, and - as always - we'd love to hear from you!
walkonethousand@gmail.com
Alex x
Monday, 12 July 2010
Cows
EDIT: we will be on Stroud FM (stroudfm.co.uk) at 12 tomorrow.
'Harmless' and 'friendly' are two words we've heard being used to describe our beefy buddies in the last week or so, and I would like to dispel the myth: Cows are mean, psychotic, plotting, country-side guerillas who take great pride and pleasure in watching exhausted, sun-burnt walkers panic.
Their fun begins as the intrepid adventurers approach the entrance to the field. It seems that they design field entrances to test a walker's fitness and agility, by placing a massive variety of climbing apparatus that would be more at place on an SAS assault course (in place of gates), in amongst the tallest stinging nettles on the perimeter. Their tactic is first to lure the walkers into the field, and so pretend to ignore them as they clamber over the style. Then, as they aim for the far-side gate, a Sentry Cow makes eye-contact. It's a special type of eye contact. Many of the other Privates appear to sit about uninterested in the walker's presence, but they are. Sentry Cow then makes his move, and the battle is on.
His first tactic involves a lazy climb to his feet, whilst maintaining the dreaded eye-contact, and a slow amble towards the enemy. Privates then begin to look over, and the cold sweat begins to build on the small of the walkers' backs. All the cows are now looking, and shaky murmurs of "don't worry, Liam, they won't do anything" amuse the Cow Army greatly. They all rise to their feet, and follow their Sentry. The mooy laughs are almost audible, as one or two pick up the pace and the colour fades from the walkers' faces. A couple of specially trained 'terror-inducers' then begin to run, and include a couple of their Special Moves - the Brown-Pant-Jig - whereby the Cow, who (probably) weighs a tonne, jumps (again, probably) thirty feet into the air in order to increase the panic, and messy pants.
The walkers, now at a sprint, jump at the nearest fence. Not over it, you'll notice, but at it. This pleases the Cow Army, and - assuming one of the walkers yelp or get tangled/shocked on the fence, their mission has been achieved. They celebrate by gathering around the bruised and embarrassed trekkers' escape point for a good look, making sure that - despite the fact you've got away (and avoided certain death) - you get the message that cows are in charge, and that farming them may well have been a massive mistake for mankind. Vegetarianism is the way forward, if you wish to survive the Beef Revolution of 2023. See p21 of todays's Daily Mail - 'Cows kill man, 47, in stampede horror'. Heed me.
Other than cows, we've had a brilliant week. We've reached 250 miles, and Gloucester, and I'm writing to you from Painswick. We should easily arrive in Upton in time for the Blues Festival this weekend, and welcome visitors. We've had the most amazing reception, including Ada (I've never been so full in my life), Helen in Glasto, Patrick, Cathy, and the Grimsteads in Bath (that's not a band) and now Arthur and Andi in Painswick. We're also making an appearance on Painswick Radio tomorrow at 9.30, to chat about our cause.
Retrospectively, we have so many places to thank, and will do in due course.
Thanks for keeping up to date!
Alex
P.S. We really loved your little emails of encouragement - so feel free to get in touch: walkonethousand@gmail.com
'Harmless' and 'friendly' are two words we've heard being used to describe our beefy buddies in the last week or so, and I would like to dispel the myth: Cows are mean, psychotic, plotting, country-side guerillas who take great pride and pleasure in watching exhausted, sun-burnt walkers panic.
Their fun begins as the intrepid adventurers approach the entrance to the field. It seems that they design field entrances to test a walker's fitness and agility, by placing a massive variety of climbing apparatus that would be more at place on an SAS assault course (in place of gates), in amongst the tallest stinging nettles on the perimeter. Their tactic is first to lure the walkers into the field, and so pretend to ignore them as they clamber over the style. Then, as they aim for the far-side gate, a Sentry Cow makes eye-contact. It's a special type of eye contact. Many of the other Privates appear to sit about uninterested in the walker's presence, but they are. Sentry Cow then makes his move, and the battle is on.
His first tactic involves a lazy climb to his feet, whilst maintaining the dreaded eye-contact, and a slow amble towards the enemy. Privates then begin to look over, and the cold sweat begins to build on the small of the walkers' backs. All the cows are now looking, and shaky murmurs of "don't worry, Liam, they won't do anything" amuse the Cow Army greatly. They all rise to their feet, and follow their Sentry. The mooy laughs are almost audible, as one or two pick up the pace and the colour fades from the walkers' faces. A couple of specially trained 'terror-inducers' then begin to run, and include a couple of their Special Moves - the Brown-Pant-Jig - whereby the Cow, who (probably) weighs a tonne, jumps (again, probably) thirty feet into the air in order to increase the panic, and messy pants.
The walkers, now at a sprint, jump at the nearest fence. Not over it, you'll notice, but at it. This pleases the Cow Army, and - assuming one of the walkers yelp or get tangled/shocked on the fence, their mission has been achieved. They celebrate by gathering around the bruised and embarrassed trekkers' escape point for a good look, making sure that - despite the fact you've got away (and avoided certain death) - you get the message that cows are in charge, and that farming them may well have been a massive mistake for mankind. Vegetarianism is the way forward, if you wish to survive the Beef Revolution of 2023. See p21 of todays's Daily Mail - 'Cows kill man, 47, in stampede horror'. Heed me.
Other than cows, we've had a brilliant week. We've reached 250 miles, and Gloucester, and I'm writing to you from Painswick. We should easily arrive in Upton in time for the Blues Festival this weekend, and welcome visitors. We've had the most amazing reception, including Ada (I've never been so full in my life), Helen in Glasto, Patrick, Cathy, and the Grimsteads in Bath (that's not a band) and now Arthur and Andi in Painswick. We're also making an appearance on Painswick Radio tomorrow at 9.30, to chat about our cause.
Retrospectively, we have so many places to thank, and will do in due course.
Thanks for keeping up to date!
Alex
P.S. We really loved your little emails of encouragement - so feel free to get in touch: walkonethousand@gmail.com
Monday, 5 July 2010
How to cross Bodmin Moor badly
I would like to think that the following instructions are by far the most comprehensive on the internet to date. The level of misery you can achieve is comparable to waking up on Christmas morning, aged 13, to find Santa has brought you a 14 tonne bag of crap and a pair of gloves full of used needles.
1. Buy as many maps as possible of the moor. Get ones that include farms, fences, footpaths, and contours. Buy TOO MANY maps, even.
2. Buy a compass, that is accurate to one eight-millionth of a degree.
3. Prepare mentally, by summoning up all of your common sense, into a tingling sensation above your eyes. You should feel like shouting 'I'M READY!!', and beating your chest. But wait, you're not done yet...
4. Burn the maps. All of them. Throw some cash on the fire, too, just to make you feel worse.
5. Align your head between a door and its frame, and slam the door as many times as possible. Get a friend to help, if you start to fade at all. Make sure ALL common sense has deserted you. If the door frame starts barking, you've done a good job.
6. Push the compass up a cow.
7. Set off
Of course, you could always do what we did:
1. Walk 20 miles in 'light' (heavy) rain.
2. End up in minor injuries with Liam's pulled calve muscle (although a man named Josh did give Liam a 'sport massage', which Liam said was 'cool'. I'm saying nothing...)
3. Stab a pen-knife into your blisters, then smother them in Savlon.
4. Not plan a proper route (this could be a key one, I imagine).
5. Set off.
But all of this sounds very negative! We're still having a blinder of a time. Here are a few of the good things...
- the views across the moor
- a cow in a hole
- no cars
- the kindest b+b owners putting us up, despite the smell
- Josh
- free sandwiches from a concerned canteen worker at Bodmin Hospital
- reaching the 100 mile mark, and the end of Cornwall
- feet starting to adjust
- encouraging emails from you all
- a day off
- Spain and Holland looking like they could meet in the final (our chosen teams)
Missing everyone, and clean clothes.
Alex
1. Buy as many maps as possible of the moor. Get ones that include farms, fences, footpaths, and contours. Buy TOO MANY maps, even.
2. Buy a compass, that is accurate to one eight-millionth of a degree.
3. Prepare mentally, by summoning up all of your common sense, into a tingling sensation above your eyes. You should feel like shouting 'I'M READY!!', and beating your chest. But wait, you're not done yet...
4. Burn the maps. All of them. Throw some cash on the fire, too, just to make you feel worse.
5. Align your head between a door and its frame, and slam the door as many times as possible. Get a friend to help, if you start to fade at all. Make sure ALL common sense has deserted you. If the door frame starts barking, you've done a good job.
6. Push the compass up a cow.
7. Set off
Of course, you could always do what we did:
1. Walk 20 miles in 'light' (heavy) rain.
2. End up in minor injuries with Liam's pulled calve muscle (although a man named Josh did give Liam a 'sport massage', which Liam said was 'cool'. I'm saying nothing...)
3. Stab a pen-knife into your blisters, then smother them in Savlon.
4. Not plan a proper route (this could be a key one, I imagine).
5. Set off.
But all of this sounds very negative! We're still having a blinder of a time. Here are a few of the good things...
- the views across the moor
- a cow in a hole
- no cars
- the kindest b+b owners putting us up, despite the smell
- Josh
- free sandwiches from a concerned canteen worker at Bodmin Hospital
- reaching the 100 mile mark, and the end of Cornwall
- feet starting to adjust
- encouraging emails from you all
- a day off
- Spain and Holland looking like they could meet in the final (our chosen teams)
Missing everyone, and clean clothes.
Alex
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