Countdown: 1 Day
Train ride, on Virgin Trains, was uneventful. Comfortable train, smooth journey, lasting only 3 hours, 15 minutes. Marred only by the fat guy sitting across the aisle loudly munching on crisps throughout the trip, and the guy behind me spending two hours shouting into his cell phone.
Was unpleasantly hot in London yesterday, and is cooler but muggy here. Room at the Hallmark Hotel, right next to the train station, is pleasant enough, and one half the price of the Hotel Russell in London. Would be nicer if it had air conditioning, but there's a nice breeze. I propped up one window with a Gideon's Bible; always knew I turn to it for inspiration.
Had nice lunch at the Prior's Kitchen on the grounds of the Carlisle Cathedral. Salad and mushroom quiche washed down with a Fentimen's Curiosity Cola, fortified "the botanical way" (whatever that means).
Like an dope, I didn't bring the right electricity converter plugs. So I'll run on battery or hope for Internet cafes along the way. The idocy never ceases to amaze.
Tuesday, June 30, 2009
Monday, June 29, 2009
Arrived London, thanks to TSA Vigilance
Countdown: 2 days
Arrived safely in London, staying at the Hotel Russell on Russell Square. Trip was uneventful, if being squeezed like a sardine into economy class can ever be uneventful. Going through security at Dulles, I got up to the scanning machines and was asked if I had a laptop in that carry one. "No m'am, I don't, but do you want me to pull out my Kindle?" "Kindle, what's that?" the tired looking thirty year old security guard asked. Somehow I, and the twenty something guy standing behind me, smirking, thought that TSA might be a little bit more up to speed on its security precautions. My Kindle, laptop, and the whole hiking kit got through okay.
Arrived in London at 11:30 in the morning, a wholly more civilized time to arrive than the 6:30 a.m. flight that I'm used to. I'm typing this at an Internet cafe (cheap) as opposed to the Hotel, which charges 20£ for an hour of Internet access.
Off to a pub tonight, with my Kindle, then off to Carlisle on the morning train.
Arrived safely in London, staying at the Hotel Russell on Russell Square. Trip was uneventful, if being squeezed like a sardine into economy class can ever be uneventful. Going through security at Dulles, I got up to the scanning machines and was asked if I had a laptop in that carry one. "No m'am, I don't, but do you want me to pull out my Kindle?" "Kindle, what's that?" the tired looking thirty year old security guard asked. Somehow I, and the twenty something guy standing behind me, smirking, thought that TSA might be a little bit more up to speed on its security precautions. My Kindle, laptop, and the whole hiking kit got through okay.
Arrived in London at 11:30 in the morning, a wholly more civilized time to arrive than the 6:30 a.m. flight that I'm used to. I'm typing this at an Internet cafe (cheap) as opposed to the Hotel, which charges 20£ for an hour of Internet access.
Off to a pub tonight, with my Kindle, then off to Carlisle on the morning train.
Friday, June 26, 2009
Way Out of My Comfort Zone
Countdown: 5 Days
Normally, when I'm taking a trip, even an international one, it takes about 35 minutes to pack. Suits, bowties, shirts, boom, boom, boom. This trip is different. Packpack, compass, mosquito spray, blister patches, hiking boots, and so forth. I'll also take my Chinese vocabulary cards, my Kindle loaded with a bunch of good books, even an old fashioned deck of cards. I started packing four days before the trip!
But, really, this is way out of my comfort zone. It is remarkable how our lives get stuck in day-to-day routines. Much of that is the comfortable zone of coasting--get up, read the paper, go to work, come home, eat, watch a little television, repeat month after month, year after year. Well, I'm determined to shake that up a little. I decided when I was about 50 (that's fifteen years ago for anyone who is counting), that I'd like to try new things every few years. So I took up the piano (still at it), cooking (until my wife said no; later we hired a marvelous personal chef), wrote some books, attempted to learn Chinese, and now this.
Life's been a little chaotic this year, and now it is time to get out of the house and try something totally different. So off I go! Starting Monday, June 29, when I arrive in London, I'll post daily about my adventures (let's hope that there is wi-fi or at least dial up in the hinterlands of northern England).
Normally, when I'm taking a trip, even an international one, it takes about 35 minutes to pack. Suits, bowties, shirts, boom, boom, boom. This trip is different. Packpack, compass, mosquito spray, blister patches, hiking boots, and so forth. I'll also take my Chinese vocabulary cards, my Kindle loaded with a bunch of good books, even an old fashioned deck of cards. I started packing four days before the trip!
But, really, this is way out of my comfort zone. It is remarkable how our lives get stuck in day-to-day routines. Much of that is the comfortable zone of coasting--get up, read the paper, go to work, come home, eat, watch a little television, repeat month after month, year after year. Well, I'm determined to shake that up a little. I decided when I was about 50 (that's fifteen years ago for anyone who is counting), that I'd like to try new things every few years. So I took up the piano (still at it), cooking (until my wife said no; later we hired a marvelous personal chef), wrote some books, attempted to learn Chinese, and now this.
Life's been a little chaotic this year, and now it is time to get out of the house and try something totally different. So off I go! Starting Monday, June 29, when I arrive in London, I'll post daily about my adventures (let's hope that there is wi-fi or at least dial up in the hinterlands of northern England).
Here's a map of my walk, starting on the west coast at a village called St. Bee's and ending on the North Sea town of Robin Hood's Bay.
Friday, June 19, 2009
"Replacing Luck"
Countdown: 12 Days
"Note: In misty conditions it is essential that you take a compass reading from the top of Loft Beck to ensure that you do not wander off-route and end up in Seathwaite or Buttermere." There it was in stark red letters, from my day-to-day instruction packet from Contours. Take a compass reading. Well, I guess I'd better get a compass. Went down to my trusty Hudson Trail outfitters, bought a nice looking compass, with instructions given in 10 languages, including Japanese. The compass, from a Finnish company, Suunto, assures the user that he or she will be "replacing luck." I guess replacing it with sure footedness and correct bearings.
If I could only learn how to read the compass. "Place the long edge of the compass on the map between the starting point and your intended destination. The directional arrows on the baseplate should point to your target direction. Turn the capsule until the North-South lines are parallel to the coordinate lines on the map and the N on the capsule points to the North on the map. . . . "
Okay, this is going to take a few days to figure it out. "The local declination is given on the map margin either as easterly plus declination (E) or as westerly minus declination (W). When orienteering, the map direction is corrected by subtracting the plus declination or adding the minus declination . . . "
Of course, the easy, twenty-first century solution is to rely on the GPS system on my iPhone. But I like the simplicity (albeit mysterious to me right now) of the compass, which has been relied upon for centuries by intrepid hikers. This is still a work in progress, so let's see what happens. Let's just hope it isn't misting, lest I end up in Buttermere.
"Note: In misty conditions it is essential that you take a compass reading from the top of Loft Beck to ensure that you do not wander off-route and end up in Seathwaite or Buttermere." There it was in stark red letters, from my day-to-day instruction packet from Contours. Take a compass reading. Well, I guess I'd better get a compass. Went down to my trusty Hudson Trail outfitters, bought a nice looking compass, with instructions given in 10 languages, including Japanese. The compass, from a Finnish company, Suunto, assures the user that he or she will be "replacing luck." I guess replacing it with sure footedness and correct bearings.
If I could only learn how to read the compass. "Place the long edge of the compass on the map between the starting point and your intended destination. The directional arrows on the baseplate should point to your target direction. Turn the capsule until the North-South lines are parallel to the coordinate lines on the map and the N on the capsule points to the North on the map. . . . "
Okay, this is going to take a few days to figure it out. "The local declination is given on the map margin either as easterly plus declination (E) or as westerly minus declination (W). When orienteering, the map direction is corrected by subtracting the plus declination or adding the minus declination . . . "
Of course, the easy, twenty-first century solution is to rely on the GPS system on my iPhone. But I like the simplicity (albeit mysterious to me right now) of the compass, which has been relied upon for centuries by intrepid hikers. This is still a work in progress, so let's see what happens. Let's just hope it isn't misting, lest I end up in Buttermere.
Wednesday, June 10, 2009
Oh, Quit Whining . . . .
Countdown: 22 Days
Haven't been doing much walking at all in a week. The problem? Little nagging things, like a bruised toe nail and a twinge in the right knee. Sounds pathetic and silly, but not when I'm faced with going 30,000 steps a day. So I decided to rest up and not aggravate these little inconveniences.
In the mail, I got my packet of tour book guides (excellent) and walking map (more excellent) and itinerary from Contours in England. Devoured the very informative book on Wainwright's Coast to Coast in one evening. Looks like there is little walking on pavement, which is probably what has given my knee some problems. But reading through the guidebook and looking at the maps, I'm asking myself, daily: what the heck have I gotten myself into? Particularly when in big red warning letters, the itinerary says, be sure to take a compass reading at such and such point when it is fogging over, so that you don't get lost. Guess I'd better get a compass and figure out how to use it. I got GPS on my iPhone, but I'm not taking it with me. I'm too cheap to pay for international rates and don't want to get eaten up by roaming fees.
I won't bore my faithful readers about the details, nor whine incessantly about whether I can do all this. Let's just see where this all leads.
Haven't been doing much walking at all in a week. The problem? Little nagging things, like a bruised toe nail and a twinge in the right knee. Sounds pathetic and silly, but not when I'm faced with going 30,000 steps a day. So I decided to rest up and not aggravate these little inconveniences.
In the mail, I got my packet of tour book guides (excellent) and walking map (more excellent) and itinerary from Contours in England. Devoured the very informative book on Wainwright's Coast to Coast in one evening. Looks like there is little walking on pavement, which is probably what has given my knee some problems. But reading through the guidebook and looking at the maps, I'm asking myself, daily: what the heck have I gotten myself into? Particularly when in big red warning letters, the itinerary says, be sure to take a compass reading at such and such point when it is fogging over, so that you don't get lost. Guess I'd better get a compass and figure out how to use it. I got GPS on my iPhone, but I'm not taking it with me. I'm too cheap to pay for international rates and don't want to get eaten up by roaming fees.
I won't bore my faithful readers about the details, nor whine incessantly about whether I can do all this. Let's just see where this all leads.
Tuesday, June 2, 2009
I Should Have Little More Confidence . . .
Countdown: 30 Days
My confidence is not bolstered by all of my friends. I was at a party Saturday evening, talking a little about this hiking adventure. My friend Carol, who is considerably younger but who has had knee (or hip) replacement surgery, sends a chill down my spine by talking about how we all wear out at a certain age (and lord have mercy if I should give out at mile post 120).
But then I look at my sister Marilyn, who is gently pushing 70, fit and trim, who for years has thought nothing of getting on her bicycle and putting in 80-125 miles. Her husband, Dick, a super jock ever since high school, is even older, and has pedaled his way across the U.S. at least 13 times. Perhaps there is hope. One step at a time.
Sunday, May 24, 2009
Not the Smartest Thing I've Ever Done . . .
Decided to stretch my legs on Saturday, so I went on a 15-mile walk, from my home in American University Park to the King Street metro station in Alexandria, Virginia. A little bit about my hike, then about my stupidity.
It's Memorial Day weekend, and that means tourists, families, flag waving, and Rolling Thunder. I walked down Wisconsin Avenue, through Georgetown, to Washington Harbor. Pleasure craft (bikinis and beer) were parked four deep, tour boats were whisking out-of-towners (mostly families) out for an excursion on the Potomac. It looked like a couple thousand people were jammed into the harborside, including a gaggle of middle age men and women all sporting Hawaiian shirts. Everyone was having a good time.
I then walked to the Lincoln Memorial and the Vietnam Memorial. Parked on the far western reaches of the Mall were thousands of motorcycles, nearly all of them Harley-Davidsons, and contingents of riders, the Rolling Thunder folks, buzzing up and down Constitution Avenue. (Over on Twenty-Third Street, across from the State Department there were several big vans that had carried the motor bikes to Washington; so obviously not everyone wearing "'Nam" patches from far off California or New York, had biked in). Quite a few bikes sported big American and MIA (Missing-In-Action) flags. Lots of patriotism, black T-shirts, battle patches, and more than the usual amount of facial hair, leathery skin, tattoos, and pot bellies.
A panoramic view from the World War II Memorial westward toward the Lincoln Memorial gave a glimpse of the tens of thousands of people, many from immigrant families, out on the Mall, enjoying the day. I then walked past the Tidal Basin, the Jefferson Memorial, then across the Fourteenth Street Bridge and the Potomac River to Virginia. I then went southward on the bike and hiking path that takes people all the way down to Mt. Vernon. A lovely walk on the hiking path, except for the intrusion of nature. Swarms of gnats, about every hundred yards, greeted hikers, and must have caused havoc for bikers, many of whom surely inhaled their share of little fuzzy insects.
I stopped for a few moments at the base of National Airport's glidepath. There a couple hundred people, mostly kids and their fathers, were gathered to plane spot. Every ten minutes or so a plane would zoom perhaps a 100 feet above us as it approached the landing strip. Great fun, I guess, if you are a nine-year-old kid. (Yes, the official name of the airport is Reagan National, but no one consulted me on the name change, so I, like many other old Washingtonians who see no greatness and find little to celebrate in the name"Reagan," will simply call it "National.")
Now, let me confess about my stupidity. Since it was quite muggy on Saturday, I decided to begin my walk around 5:00 p.m. This was a lovely time of day, and by 7:00 p.m. the sun setting over the Mall and the Potomac was gorgeous. But it got far less gorgeous once I was south of National Airport. The walking path has no lighting, it follows the contours of the highway, but in many places, it is enveloped by trees and bushes. In many places for the next two miles of walking it was surreal: I can barely see the pathway (although it has a yellow dividing line for the bike lanes), I am blinded by on coming automobile headlights, and although I can't miss hearing the roar of Rolling Thunder contingents as they head off to some bars on King Street, I'm feeling pretty much alone on the pathway. (My friend Rich later reminded me that there have been assaults and even a murder in that area). Another factor, even in near pitch dark, about 8 or ten cyclist drove past, and I had to yell at them to make sure they saw me. Stupid.
Anyhow, by ten o'clock, five hours after I started, I ended up at the Alexandria King Street metro, took the train home, and tired, thirsty, and with aching feet, enjoyed a Negra Modelo and nacho chips at Guapo's Restaurant at the Tenleytown Metro stop, just a few blocks from home.
It's Memorial Day weekend, and that means tourists, families, flag waving, and Rolling Thunder. I walked down Wisconsin Avenue, through Georgetown, to Washington Harbor. Pleasure craft (bikinis and beer) were parked four deep, tour boats were whisking out-of-towners (mostly families) out for an excursion on the Potomac. It looked like a couple thousand people were jammed into the harborside, including a gaggle of middle age men and women all sporting Hawaiian shirts. Everyone was having a good time.
I then walked to the Lincoln Memorial and the Vietnam Memorial. Parked on the far western reaches of the Mall were thousands of motorcycles, nearly all of them Harley-Davidsons, and contingents of riders, the Rolling Thunder folks, buzzing up and down Constitution Avenue. (Over on Twenty-Third Street, across from the State Department there were several big vans that had carried the motor bikes to Washington; so obviously not everyone wearing "'Nam" patches from far off California or New York, had biked in). Quite a few bikes sported big American and MIA (Missing-In-Action) flags. Lots of patriotism, black T-shirts, battle patches, and more than the usual amount of facial hair, leathery skin, tattoos, and pot bellies.
A panoramic view from the World War II Memorial westward toward the Lincoln Memorial gave a glimpse of the tens of thousands of people, many from immigrant families, out on the Mall, enjoying the day. I then walked past the Tidal Basin, the Jefferson Memorial, then across the Fourteenth Street Bridge and the Potomac River to Virginia. I then went southward on the bike and hiking path that takes people all the way down to Mt. Vernon. A lovely walk on the hiking path, except for the intrusion of nature. Swarms of gnats, about every hundred yards, greeted hikers, and must have caused havoc for bikers, many of whom surely inhaled their share of little fuzzy insects.
I stopped for a few moments at the base of National Airport's glidepath. There a couple hundred people, mostly kids and their fathers, were gathered to plane spot. Every ten minutes or so a plane would zoom perhaps a 100 feet above us as it approached the landing strip. Great fun, I guess, if you are a nine-year-old kid. (Yes, the official name of the airport is Reagan National, but no one consulted me on the name change, so I, like many other old Washingtonians who see no greatness and find little to celebrate in the name"Reagan," will simply call it "National.")
Now, let me confess about my stupidity. Since it was quite muggy on Saturday, I decided to begin my walk around 5:00 p.m. This was a lovely time of day, and by 7:00 p.m. the sun setting over the Mall and the Potomac was gorgeous. But it got far less gorgeous once I was south of National Airport. The walking path has no lighting, it follows the contours of the highway, but in many places, it is enveloped by trees and bushes. In many places for the next two miles of walking it was surreal: I can barely see the pathway (although it has a yellow dividing line for the bike lanes), I am blinded by on coming automobile headlights, and although I can't miss hearing the roar of Rolling Thunder contingents as they head off to some bars on King Street, I'm feeling pretty much alone on the pathway. (My friend Rich later reminded me that there have been assaults and even a murder in that area). Another factor, even in near pitch dark, about 8 or ten cyclist drove past, and I had to yell at them to make sure they saw me. Stupid.
Anyhow, by ten o'clock, five hours after I started, I ended up at the Alexandria King Street metro, took the train home, and tired, thirsty, and with aching feet, enjoyed a Negra Modelo and nacho chips at Guapo's Restaurant at the Tenleytown Metro stop, just a few blocks from home.
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