After last week’s exertions, I always knew this weekend was
going to be tough. Entering a race calling itself ‘The Hurt’, up and down the
hills of the Hurtwood, by Peaslake in Surrey, speaks for itself. In the
circumstances, I was happy enough to drag myself around the woodland trails at
a speed of barely over 5mph (or perhaps that should say 8kph since it was a 24k
race). I was surprised to find, when I looked at the results, that a third of
the field took even longer than I did. And yes, those hills did hurt – a lot.
On the Sunday I was booked in for the Kent Long Distance
Walkers Association’s Andredsweald Circuit, a 26-mile slide across the Wealden
clay. It took my tired legs less than two miles to go hopelessly astray in the
woods near Forest Row. It was one of those situations in which the route
description still makes sense if you go the wrong way. ‘Bear right at grassy
triangle,’ said the directions, ‘to join more major footpath (230 degrees).’ I
did: it was the wrong triangle and the wrong footpath but on the same bearing.
The directions said the tree line was visible 70 yards to
the left. It was. They said to ‘keep ahead on main footpath, rising inexorably’.
Up I went. They said to ignore footpath sign pointing ‘neither one way nor t’other’.
There was such a sign and I ignored it. I continued uphill as the route
description directed and I came across a junction (‘arrow on tree ahead’ –
there was one) where I went left as instructed.
I was supposed to come to a lane and then a road at this
point. I went a long way up a track that I convinced myself was the lane but
there was no mistaking the absence of a road. And because I thought I’d gone
the right way I didn’t go back nearly far enough to retrace my steps to where I’d
actually gone astray. It must have taken me half an hour to finally get back on
track; once you lose your bearings in woods it’s very hard to identify a clear
landmark to show you where you are.
I had to get back to London by 6pm that evening, and since I
didn’t want to be chasing the clock for the rest of this storm-swept Sunday, I
took this as an excuse to drop down to the 20-mile route. That gave me time to
rest and enjoy and some of the LDWA’s always-ample snacks and always-amiable
company at the checkpoints. And it saved my legs a little for my stage of the
Real Relay from Waltham Cross to Hertford on Tuesday.
Lost in France (apologies to Bonnie Tyler)
ReplyDeleteAfter last week’s exertions, I always knew this weekend was going to be tough. Entering a pub calling itself the ‘Ay Up Duck’, up the top of a hill in Penkhull, by Trent Vale near Stoke, speaks for itself. In the circumstances, I was happy enough to order a pint of Bass and drink it at a measured speed of barely 3 spm (sips per minute) or perhaps that should say 16 pints a night since it was a lock-in. I was surprised to find, when I woke up the following morning , that a third of my new found mates had not even managed to order a takeaway or even a cab home. And yes, that last short hurt – a lot.
On the Sunday I was booked in for the Staffordshire Pub Crawling Association’s Stokie Crawl, a 26 pub stagger along the D road. It took my wobbly legs less than 4 hostelries to go hopelessly astray on the dual carriageway near Hanford roundabout. It was one of those situations where the road signs make no sense whichever way you look at them. ‘M6’ said one signpost, ‘to earn £500 phone this number’ said the other. I did: it was a premium rate number and a busy motorway.
Other directions said ‘Keep Left’. I did. It said ‘Manchester 42 miles’. On I went. It said ‘No Pedestrians’ and I ignored it. I continued along the road as I had been directed and came across a sign stating ‘Services’ where I went left as instructed.
I was supposed to come to a concourse offering light refreshments, toilet facilities and collectables. I wandered aimlessy for a while between the facilities on offer but there was no mistaking the fact that I had inadvertently wandered into an overpriced, vaccuous excuse for an American shopping mall. And because I thought the directions were correct, it took me over an hour to regain my bearings - not before purchasing three meerkat figures, an AA map of Britain (1994 – special offer) and a family ‘grab bag’ of Skittles. It must have taken me at least an hour to finally get back on track; once you start looking at those special offers it’s difficult to drag yourself away. It’s very hard to decide which one to go for.
I had to get back to Stone by 6pm that evening and since I didn’t want to be arrested for jaywalking on this storm-swept Sunday, I took this as an excuse to hitch a lift home. This gave me time to sober up and enjoy some of the Eddie Stobart driver’s anecdotes of life in the fast lane (we laughed and laughed) and the always-amiable light flashing of other HGVs’ along the route. And it gave me time to recuperate for my stage of the Drink Stone Dry Relay from The Talbot to Langtry’s on Tuesday.