I can't quite believe it, I really can't. We’ve walked from the South Coast of England to the North Coast of Scotland. We're both still alive, still talking, still able to function and, most importantly, still walking. With only 60 miles left to John O'Groats, I’m beginning to wonder what changes I might have to make in order to readjust to normal living.
The obvious change will be no longer spending 12 hours a day outside, exposed to the elements and walking nearly a marathon every day, and I genuinely think that I’m going to miss both. There’s a real joy in feeling like you’ve achieved something every single day, and more so in knowing that it’s part of a much bigger achievement. It might be quite a difficult habit to break, too, as will taking an extraordinary interest in weather reports, and pretending to know what certain clouds and colours in the sky mean. I certainly would anticipate quite a bad reaction from anyone who discovered I'd dug a hole in their living room carpet, used it as a loo, and then popped a plant pot over the top of it, and if I were to turn up to restaurant smelling like I do today, I think I might find myself alone pretty quickly.
Someone yesterday asked if were lovers of the ‘great outdoors’, which made me examine my experience of it over the last 9 weeks. Part of me thinks that we haven’t experienced it a great deal, as ludicrous as that sounds, tramping along with our heads down, mp3 players turned up, and trying desperately to keep putting one foot in front of the other in order to meet our targets. Compared to Ray Mears, 2 months walking with a fridge strapped to my back and a windproof jacket from a charity shop doesn’t really constitute to an ‘outdoors experience’ - we’ve not once had to drink sap from a tree for sustenance, or catch and skin a wild boar. Of course, we have experienced nature in most of it’s extremes, but only as far as England and Scotland’s worst - and in July and August at that. Perhaps I’m being to harsh on myself - it’s been far from easy, and I wouldn’t want anyone to underestimate how sore and exhausted we both are.
The last rest day we had was back in Fort William, between the West Highland Way and the Great Glen Way. Liam did what any normal person would do on a rest day: he rested. Margaret Rose was kind enough to put us up there, and from her front room Ben Nevis was visible. To me, that seemed like a challenge, and so off I went up Britain’s tallest mountain. Retrospectively, it perhaps wasn’t my brightest idea yet, but the views made it absolutely worthwhile.
Our friend James did our final day along the GGW, to Inverness, and witnessed some of the new and exciting games I’d invented to keep Liam busy. The first, called ‘how many’, involves me asking Liam mathematically impossible questions, and falling about laughing at the faces he pulls, trying to work them out. A sample question might be:
“Liam…. Liam. LIAM!”
“what.”
“How many cows do you think there are in that field, as a fraction of a percentage compared to other fields?”
“…………..$*?!……..”
Another excellent game was born when I found a box of Weetabix on the ‘free shelf’ at a Youth Hostel in Invershin. The rules to this are simple: eat a dry Weetabix as quickly as possible whilst walking. I set the bar at 1min 11sec, but was eventually beaten by one second - I think the beard has given Liam special powers (although how gutted would you be to discover that you’re beard’s special powers amounted to being able to eat dry food quickly??)
See you all in a week or so!
Alex x
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