...and miles to go before I sleep...

Arriving at the top of the wind blown Ivinghoe Beacon yesterday in full waterproofs, I finished The Ridgeway. Only another 932 miles to go from there.

The past few days have been characterised by mud mostly. I need someone to hose me down. For the two days after Easter I walked with a friend. I may have broken him, or at least put him off walking for a good while. It seems I saved the muddiest two days of the walk yet for sharing with someone else. 

Leaving Streatley youth hostel I thanked them profusely for their kindness and their massive drying room, for which you have to request the key every time as it's in the cellar - I think I will always be remembered as Drying Room Woman there. The Thames water level had risen even further as we left Streatley. It had been threatening very bad weather for Monday, so it was a relief to have mostly only light rain all day. The paths of the Ridgeway are narrower in the eastern part. In the tiny village of Nuffield the tiny church was open, offering a tea and coffee making station and cakes in the fridge - a generous shelter provided by unseen volunteers for those they will never meet. I had a tiny cupcake with tiny bits of blue glitter, and left a donation. We met a couple taking shelter too, walking the Ridgeway the other way. The woman, Louise, wanted to join me on my walk! They had done a practice run for their walk, camping in the last snow storm. I took my beanie off to them. 

All afternoon we were circled overhead by red kites, at one point counting twelve at once. I'm used to seeing one or two at a time in Leicestershire, flying high, keeping themselves to themselves. Here they are brazen, relaxed, often just strolling through fields in full view. I worried for a field of very new born lambs. 

The following day got muddier again all morning. There never seemed to be a bench when we needed one. I considered remaking some of the abundant signposts into seats. At Chinnor - chin up - I started singing to lift the spirits. All I could think of was the song about the hippopotami. My companion left me at lunchtime - as planned, not because we had fallen out - and I then took a detour onto the Chiltern Way. It was a pointless detour, it turned out, but lovely nonetheless. And not as muddy. The Chilterns are wooded, quiet, undulating, and beautiful to walk through. I came to a field of Herdwick sheep, miles from their natural home, and they all curiously followed me up the hill, expecting something, questioning who I was and why I was there. 

Yesterday, the Ridgeway took a higher route again, along wooded ridges into Hertfordshire. I watched the rain mist creep at intervals over the vast flat view below, covering and then revealing in turns the towns and villages. In Aldbury Nowers woods I found a poem nailed to a tree. It was Robert Frost's 'Stopping by woods on a snowy evening'. This was one of my Granny's favourite poems, and I could hear her voice reading: 

'The woods are lovely, dark and deep, 

But I have promises to keep, 

And miles to go before I sleep, 

And miles to go before I sleep.'

I sat on a bench and watched the view completely disappear, and knew it was the time to put on all the waterproofs. The wind got up and out onto the unsheltered Pitstone Hill it was suddenly very wild. Ivinghoe Beacon ahead was mistily visible. The rain came and went and came again, in turns, blowing over in high winds. To the east was another large chalk figure on a hillside. It looked like a lion, which made me wonder about the Neolithic wildlife of Britain, until I looked at the map and realised it was by Whipsnade Zoo. I reached the Beacon, barely able to stand up in the wind. The views were huge and wide, coloured by the ever changing light, sometimes disappearing. I sat behind the viewpoint, sheltered from the wind, and had a little whisky to celebrate this minor milestone. A small girl in pink muddy wellies appeared, her dad bringing up the rear. She told me she'd had a car picnic, and then off they went east, her declaring 'Follow the white lion!'. 

Below the Beacon I arrived at the campsite early in the afternoon and struggled to put up the tent in the wind, spending then the afternoon and evening sheltering from the rain showers, making tea and writing. This is when I love my tent. It's small but it's all I need. 

This morning dawned bright and sunny, no clouds in the sky, the planes to and from the London airports passing over, the sheep calling in the clear air. I walked a flat and gentle 3 hours, joining the Grand Union canal, into Leighton Buzzard. It was warm, relatively - I still had my wrist warmers and neck warmer and body warmer on, but no coat, and the sunglasses came out too. A balmy 10 degrees. 

I'm now on the train home. This was planned. I will travel back down to Leighton Buzzard in a week and a half and rejoin the path where I left off. For now I'm to be a liturgist, musician and singer for the next week or so, doing some real work - a conference for Diocesan Spiritual Advisers and a recording rehearsal next weekend. I've walked 341 miles (although it's probably a little more than that due to my rushed route planning). I haven't got lost, everything connected up, and I'm still in one piece, just. For now, my knee will appreciate the rest, whilst I get my brain to do some work instead. I didn't believe I would get this far, and on Palm Sunday morning in Somerset, I was ready to give up and go home. But I didn't. When you are far from home with only your rucksack for company there are only two choices - give up or keep going. No one else is going to do it for you. 

I find that I am sitting in a 'Contemplation Seat'. I don't know if it's helping the writing. I have learned much and have much to be grateful for from the last four weeks. One of these is to expect the unexpected, and sometimes it will be very lovely. Another is about meeting strangers, passing through their lives, and experiencing their kindness because it is the most natural thing for them to do. 

For now, I am looking forward to sleeping in my own bed. Not many miles to go until then.