Friday, 22 September 2017

A Ten Mile Odyssey

Today I fancied taking a walk out along the Trent Valley Way as far as my little legs would carry me, out to Collingham and possibly beyond, a real all dayer, a big adventure, using my online OS map on my phone to see me safely on my way, to listen to clever radio all day, and return tired but improved.

I of course always fail to remember my impatience.

I cannot do anything slowly; walking steadily somewhere seems alien, it takes too long out of the day, it doesn't burn enough calories. I had barely taken a step out of my front door when I immediately began to make a trot, and then a jog.

A jog was all it was going to be, I'm not running with any freedom at all at the moment - not like I'm an Allyson Felix like gazelle of an athlete at the best of times - and I soon started feeling a bit sore. I kept on going, dodging the stretch of river now claimed by scrap dealing fishermen, and ran under the bypass into Winthorpe and beyond.

The Trent Valley Way starts as an off track route just out of Winthorpe, and follows what I'm guessing is a disused railway embankment along the side of the Trent. Being worn grassland it is a lot easier on the body to run on, but there are some muddy bits to catch you unawares and send you sprawling disgracefully down the bank. If you are unlucky this will involve sliding through dog mess as well.

I stayed on my feet today, but I knew I wasn't going to get any further than Holme Village, especially as my path was becoming strewn with more and more cowpats. Joy joy joy. Saving the long trip for another day, I turned off the route onto a footpath that led me into Holme.

Holme is a small village of less than 200 people and no facilities - no pub means no Si ever living there - but it is pretty enough. The church of St Giles is probably the most impressive small church in the area, with it's impressive fascia above the door, turret, and steeple.

Corn marigold is growing round the walls, and speedwell is out again on the pathway.

I returned by a slightly different route that took me around Winthorpe fishing lake. The concrete barge is a legendary fixture, now part of the landscape to the extent it has trees growing in it. But again, it is a sterile place, for for fishing but not much else, with only a solitary gull out on the water.

I was getting very creaky, and my trot back to town was very laboured. I ended up doing 10 miles.

I felt I had earned my Aldi Sunny Delight!

Si

All text and images copyright CreamCrackeredNature 22.09.17
















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