Yesterday I took a bus to the most westerly point on the trail, the village of Bowness-on-Solway. I would be walking to Wallsend, on the east side.
My welcoming room. |
I walked to the one pub in the village, The King’s Arms.
She served the Cumberland sausage I had ordered. She had warned me it was gluten-free: “If you don’t like it, I’ll cook something else for you.”
Next morning I fuelled up with a full English breakfast, settled up with the owners, then made my way to the nearby trailhead.
The trail went through a shelter. At least I would be protected from the slight drizzle for the first few feet of the hike.
I made my way out of the village and across lowlands that flood if there is an unusually high tide.
About a mile along the trail, an old guy was setting up a sign that informed me I had walked one mile and had 83 more before I would see Wallsend.
“Where are you from?” he asked. “How far away is that?”
I stabbed at 3,900 miles.
He then assembled the sign you can see at the top of this post.
He didn’t ask for compensation but I dropped a few “quid” into a collection box.
We chatted a bit, then shook hands as I excused myself to walk the remaining fifteen miles that would take me to Carlisle for the night.
Priceless photo. 83 should be a piece of cake
Yup, cake is fuelling my journey to Wallsend. Today I learned cake does not always travel well. It was a hot day, and a piece of "rich man's shortbread" at the top of my backpack was becoming molten, at least the chocolate and caramel parts. I managed to enjoy it, with minimal wastage.