Getting really pissed and coming home after midnight is hardly decent preparation for the traditional mountain walk, 12 miles of walking, up for about half an hour and then down for about 4. And from reading this you can probably tell how my knees and toes are feeling right now. Bloody rotten. For the first time ever all the walkers; my self and B and new recruit S, rudely woke our children too and dragged them up with us. Now I think i’m pretty fit, 3 miles a day pretty much every day when i’m at home is a decent effort but my God the pain my toes being pushed forward to the front of my boots relentlessly for 4 hours is an affront on my tender already blistered hobbit feet. Its a fairly straight forward walk, taxi to the bottom of the track, a yomp up to the top, 950m then back down a 1/4 mile because the top path is fenced off and pretty edgy, meaning on the edge of the Sakar Mountains towering over Akayaka, where apparently people throw themselves from and paraglide down. Then once we summit we walk down, down, down; 5 miles through the Bee woods and then 5 miles back along the hairpin bends of the scorching tarmac, the gaps in-between the bends offering a glimpse of an unrealistic shortcut from road to road down the hill.
The clickerty click of the pringles in S’s bag and the occasional shoulder squeak from my rucksack gave a rhythm to the yomp, my bag weighted down with 3 water bottles. The kids occasionally whinged but they are buff and hale more so than me and so really it was no trouble for them, setting to the one side the fact they’re still all in bed clapped out after the days exertions, and putting to the other side they are all still growing. So chips, toasties, scrambled eggs and beer followed as we lay broken in the restaurant, venturing gingerly to the toilet for the days delayed ablutions.
Funnily enough on the way down as the sun was baking down on our heads and we’ed all reached close to saturation point B’s son asked;
“Is this the same walk you did last time?”
“Why would you do it again then?”
It’s a good point well made I think.
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“Why would you do it again then?” asked Alfie in a quizzical way.
its like the appreciation of art, look, enjoy and repeat
unlike good wine
where loss of eye-hand coordination can cause the odd issue – walking releases different endorphins and creates memories to be cherished – not heads to be nursed.
ok ok what are others takes on what to say to a fine impressionable lad ? leve them below
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