From Source to Sea (well, almost)

Chantelle: I should really have written this sooner, but other things have eaten up my time a little.  Due to the delay, we shall need to cast our minds back five weeks, a time when it was incredibly sunny and the pollen count was stupidly high.  June 13th was suppose to be TH6 but by Friday evening two of the team we out of action and it looked as though the whole thing was going to be called off.

That was until both Martin and I decided to ask each other if perhaps the two of us could do a long-distance walk instead.  Within the hour a walk had been planned: the Itchen Way was our route, tracing it from its source at Hinton Ampner to the mouth of the river by the Itchen Toll bridge in Southampton.

By the time we had managed to find a patch of grass along a small country road that we could fit Martin's car onto the sun was already beating down on us rather mercilessly.  I always find the first 5-10 minutes of any walk a bit of a struggle as I settle into a good pace, and with the sun as hot as it was I did wonder just what I had let myself in for.

As we continued through beautiful Hampshire countryside, watching the Itchen change from a trickle to a middling sized stream (and goodness, was it clear!) we realised that we may just have started off a bit late.  The pace picked up as the day cooled until we finally reached Winchester, our mid-way point, at about 5pm.  We didn't really have time to stop for too long as we didn't want to get caught out too late so after a 10 minute break, including the all-important sock change, we were off again.

My personal opinion is that the first section was the nicest of the two halves.  Don't get me wrong, much of the second half is pretty enough for the most part but some sections of the riverbank were eroding, there was more intrusion from traffic/concrete bridges/railway lines and then there was the Eastleigh sewerage works with the 'death by flies' section of the path as the sun started to set.  It was also near the end that we sustained a couple of injuries - I got gashed by some rather nasty barbed wire and Martin was attacked by a thin branch that was just at eye height.

We eventually made it to Swaythling (the old end of the Itchen Way) but found that the pub we were aiming for was no longer serving food so we headed onwards towards the Wessex Lane Halls where we could catch a bus to the town centre.  Now, I have to admit that Martin wanted to continue to the toll bridge but I didn't want to be caught that far down the other side of the river that late at night, especially as we'd walked 41km by that point.

It was pretty dark by the time we got to the Civic Centre (having marvelled at how much the buses had changed since we were both Southampton Uni students), but we still had a 2km walk back to Martin's flat (and my car).  About 10½ hours after we started, the walk was finished and a long drive home awaited me.

I think I'd definitely do the Itchen Way again, but maybe only the first half.

Next up: Team Geek tackle the Worcestershire Way.

Of Setbacks, and Training Hike 5

Ali: I promised myself - and everyone else, obviously - that if I completed our next training hike, I would be the one to write about it. I make it sound like a big deal, but it was.

The problem first came up during Training Hike 4. We were covering Stages 8, 9, 10 and 11, and I'd been traipsing along merrily enough until somewhere not far from the end of Stage 9 I was overcome by an incredible amount of pain in my calves. So I bowed out, disappointed, and left Martin and Chantelle to finish the hike.

A trip to the osteo and a bit of advice later, I set myself ready to do the Sarsen Trail with Chantelle, my husband Nick (first half marathon) and his dad (second half marathon). I got by all right on the first half, but at the 17-mile marker again I had to bow out for the same reason. This was getting rather silly.

Sitting in the car with Nick's dad on the way back from the event (he finished his half marathon no problem), we attempted to diagnose the problem and he said that something had definitely changed. A few rounds of pilates had sorted out the lower back pain I'd been having, true, but what else was there?

"You're not rolling as much anymore," he said.

And then: whammo. I walk all around London on tarmac and pavement all day long, no problem. What was so different about hiking about on chalk or sandstone? Shoes.

My trainers let my feet roll more, but my very sturdy-soled hiking boots didn't, because the soles were more rigid. An experiment was required.

Thus, Traning Hike 5.

I failed monumentally to be mature about this, and giggled most of the time we were sitting in the car park at Cocking Hill (*snigger*sorry) which was our starting point. This time we were covering Stages 3, 4 and 5, walking from Hilltop Farm to Littleton Farm, to Houghton and finishing off in Washington, giving us the goal of 30.1km.

Eventually at 11:15 we set off, having checked our backpacks, spread the OS map on the warmish bonnet of Martin's car, put on vast amounts of sunscreen, changed shoes andbade farewell - if temporarily - to Nick, who we left behind to eventually find himself some lunch.

The most significant thing about this walk was the fact that we were finally Four. After having done every permutation of Three, we were now a full team, making our way down the South Downs Way.

The weather was perfect, which was nice for a change on a Bank Holiday weekend: the sun was out, the wind was cool and the ground was dry and easy. Stage 3 is a lovely lightly-rolling ridgewalk lined thick with trees. Some bits of it gave us welcome shelter and it served well as a good warm up. And in my trainers I hardly felt anything, so it was all looking good. We eventually clocked the 8.3km in 1 hour 47 minutes, finding the car parked at the end of the lane near a small green.

Enough to set up an impromptu picnic!

Martin, with his back to the camera but sunglasses inexplicably on the back of his head, Mark, me, and Chantelle.

We took this time to have a look at the terrain map that Trailwalker had provided us, to see the long, long climb uphill, which was followed by another long, long climb uphill. I had some hesitations about doing that much climbing in my trainers, so I swapped back to hiking boots, to continue with the experiment.

The nice thing about scaring yourself with these terrain maps is that often when you get there, the climbs aren't as violent as they appear to be. I'm not saying they were easy, but they just weren't as forbidding. Either that, or we've come a long way since nearly smacking into Beacon Hill back in Stage 2 and thinking, "We have to walk that?"

Meet Bignor Hill.

Quite nice, isn't it? Chantelle and I had just caught up to the boys, who were busy learning about the local wildlife. There are also lots of pieces of Roman history dotted about, one of which is Chanctonbury Ring, which we'll go by on our next walk.

What was nice about walking as Four finally was that we essentially walked in pairs, which meant someone always walking with someone, and this made everything much easier and more enjoyable. I'm pretty sure we got to a point where it wasn't so much a training hike anymore as it was four geeks wandering about and talking all day. Which was great, and something we very rarely get to do anymore. I think we covered the usual things: gaming, movies, TV shows, comedians we'd been to see... and somewhere for whatever reason Chantelle and I educated Mark and Martin as to what Toreador from Carmen sounded like.

But hey, we're just doing what geeks do. Which is be generally, intellectually silly.

Stage 4 had a section that hairpin-turns on itself and led us up onto a path on the side of a hill, which gave us such a spectacular view that we could see white cliffs far off in the distance. And with all the fields of yellow the English countryside never looked so good. Unless you're hayfeverish.

Experiment-wise, let me just say this: about two or three kilometres to go, I was deeply, deeply missing my trainers. My calves were starting to seize already.

But we got to the checkpoint with no further issue:

Stage 4 was 9.3km long; we did it in 2 hours and 20 minutes. A very nice time indeed.

Another break later - and time for me to swap shoes again whilst fighting off a cramp in my stupid leg - we were off with the darkening sky above us.

Stage 5 opened with a long, long, swear-worthy climb. The boys waited for me and Chantelle at the top of the climb, holding the gate open like the gentlemen they were, after which I ravenously ate an apple and lost a cereal bar, which Chantelle - bless her - actually ran back down the hill to find. She didn't have to go far, but still.

The climb was steep enough that when the ground finally evened out we went at a good clip. There was more ridgewalking here, though not quite as sheltered as Stage 3. Martin, Chantelle and I concluded the Stage 9 was definitely the best ridgewalk as it was the most pleasant and had the best views, and I think Mark was a little sorry he'd missed that one, moreso since based on our event start time we'd be doing Stage 8 some time in the night!

I had to have more breaks in between this time, not having slept well the night before and cursing the decision to wear the hiking boots at all. Clearly trainers was the way to go, all the way. They fared well enough on ths climbs, after all. We also sorted out a better walking strategy, because the boys often got so far ahead that they would stop to wait, but by the time Chantelle and I had caught up, they were ready to walk again, which meant we didn't get a stop.

Luckily this was taken on board quite well - at least I hope so; I was rather grumpy when I said as much - and we started evening out the pace and stopping together. Stage 5 was probably our most realistic walk, as there were a number of 5-10 minute breaks and the pace was steady.

It wasn't long before we were talking about food, and we navigated our way to where the checkpoint would be on the actual day - a field by the road, which was currently empty and with the gates locked - and started hunting for Nick. We found him and he led us up a hill to the car park, where we took the day's last photo:

Now that you see the height difference, you may agree that I may be allowed the occasional utterance of, "This isn't £%*&ing fair."

We finished our last stage for that day, 12.5km, in 3 hours and 30 minutes. Overall we were very pleased with our times; they were all neatly under the estimated times given to us for those planning to achieve the full 100km in 30 hours, so we were doing well and getting better at it.

Well, at least I felt I was.

Nick took us all back to Cocking Hill (*snort*honestly, sorry) car park where Mark had to head back home, and the rest of us went off into the nearby market town of Midhurst in search of a good pub.

And man, did we find a pub. Regular pub prices, astounding food. Martin had been waxing lyrical about sausages and mash and red onion gravy, and lo! There was. I got a steak that was actually pink in the middle, and between us a lot of drinks were consumed. It's been a long, long time since I downed two pints of Coke the way I did that night.

As we walked back to our cars, shivering in the cold night wind, I had a horrifying thought.

"Dudes. We're gonna have to walk in this cold on the day. On the night sections."

Martin said, "Yup."

I guess it's time to shop for the long underwear.

A Stone's Throw Away (but have you seen the size of the stones!!)

The Sunday before last (4th May) last me and Ali (along with Nick and his dad, Roy) tackling the Wiltshire Wildlife Trust's Sarsen Trail. Martin was supposed to join us as well, but his car rather thoughtlessly dropped its exhaust just outside of Salisbury so he had to wait for the RAC man instead.

It was with a little bit of apprehension about the weather that we set off from Avebury at 7:30am (I'd had to walk the second half of the trail in the rain last year which wasn't great) but we had bearly left the village before it started to brighten up. In next to no time, the weather had turned from grey and rainy to bright and sunny.

It was a pleasant walk, we even managed to stop at the 3 mile mark for a quick picture before plodding onwards:



The wind was blowing in our faces at this point - hence the odd expressions!!

Before long we had made it to the edge of the Vale of Pewsey and the awesome sigh that is Rybury Camp (Early Neolithic causewayed enclosure) with All Cannings in the background:



It was particularly lovely walking into All Cannings, having had a quick glimpse of the Kennet and Avon canal, because the people were all so friendly. There was even a sign taped to a caravan telling all the participants of the trail that we were doing really well. I mean, how sweet is that! After a quick stop so that Nick could get a bacon roll, we were on the move again.

Heading out of All Cannings, the usual route deviated somewhat (apparently some individual had made the byway the trail usually took inaccessible!!) by about a mile and a half all of which was road walking; not much fun on the old feet. We got back onto the usual route eventually and then had the 'fun' climb up Redhorn Hill to the half way point. My old trick of backwards walking helped me to keep going up the road and Nick and Ali matched me with every step. Eventually (to the relief of all) we made it up to the top after 12 mile and 3½ (ish) hours of walking.

After signing in and grabbing a quick bite we swapped Nick (who did very well indeed) for Roy and continued along our merry way. The second half of the trail is not quite as picturesque as the first one as it's a walk along one the tank road through Salisbury Plain - well, I suppose it could be interesting for someone with a love of signs telling you that if you deviate from the path then you might go "BOOM" but I'm not sure that appeals to most people. To Roy's dismay we also failed to see any tanks and had to settle for pictures of tanks on warning signs.

The terrain along the tank road is rather undulating and by this point Ali's calf muscles were making walking agony. Still, she kept going for 5 miles in pain before we had to force her into a landrover - it's a real credit to Ali that she wanted to keep going despite being in so much pain (I don't think I would have been so determined). Thankfully, we seem to have worked out the problem was and will be testing theories on the next walk!!

Roy and I continued along the trail (perhaps taking some of the little hills at too quick a pace) which deviated again at one point so as not to disturb some rare birds that were roosting along the usual section of the trail. From my own point of view, the last 2 miles were the hardest. I think the problem is by that point you can see the end point (Stonehenge) and you walk towards it but then turn at a 90º angle and have to walk away from it before turning back again. I fully credit Roy for encouraging me to keep going for the last 3/4 of a mile (by which point I'd done about 26 and 3/4 miles with no prolonged break from walking; I was fast running out of steam).

We got there eventually though in just under 10 hours. Thankfully there are no pictures of me at the end because I probably looked a right state! After all that walking, a well-deserved ice cream was in order before the drive back to Avebury to pick up my car. All in all, I would say it was a complete success as we all walked farther than we had done before. Congrats to all!

Next up - the team finally walk together somewhere on the South Downs!

Independent study

Martin: Right. Hi. Is this thing on?

A little history, to begin. Way back at the dawn of time, Prometheus fenced fire to mankind and got nailed to the wall for it. A little after that we started experimenting with piling rocks on top of one another, inspired perhaps by the wall. Thus, eventually, through progression of trial and error along two extended and parallel paths, Stonehenge and the internal combustion engine.

Which explains quite succinctly why I was sitting by the roadside two Sundays past, waiting for the man in the van to come tie my exhaust pipe back to the rest of my car. While I was doing that, Ali and Chantelle were registering for a merry jaunt from Avebury circle to Stonehenge itself, no doubt laughing merrily at my misfortune.

In an attempt to compensate for my automechanical failings, this Sunday just gone I struck out into the vasty primordial wilderness we call the New Forest. The objective: a 50k round hike, taking in all the major sites of learning and nightlife the forest had to offer – Ashurst, Beaulieu, Buckler's Hard, Lymington, Brockenhurst, and Lyndhurst.

As half the distance of Trailwalker itself, this seemed a reasonable test of my mettle, and I duly set off at nine o' clock that morning. Lacking a support crew, I loaded myself down with all the necessities: water, frusli bars, socks, kendal mint cake, plasters, sunscreen, map and security blanket.

Things got off to a bad start almost immediately. On recommendation from one who shall remain nameless, I had invested in a pair o' pairs of Thousand-Mile Socks, modern marvels of chiropodaic engineering. Within a hundred yards I had my boots off and was fiddling with a wrinkle in the lining of the right sock; having exorcised it, I strapped back up and continued.

Ordinance Survey, through the medium of their maps, would have you believe that the New Forest is awash with clearly delineated trails. This is not true. What you get is a wide, trackless plain, awash with gorse and other prickly inconveniences. Occasionally there is a pony, which stares at you as if judging your nutritional value. But for the most part, the only way to differentiate an Official Path^TM from a goat track, say, is to head down it and get lost. This happened a lot in the first five kilometres, and at one memorable moment I found myself stranded on a slowly sinking clump of turf amidst the sort of marsh that claims not only lives but souls.

Despite the carnivorous equines and will o' the wisps seeking to lead me astray, somehow I made it to my first checkpoint, eight kilometres down the line. By this time, thanks to my miracle socks, I had a blister the size of a grapefruit on the ball of my left foot. Some cautious conservative instinct had led me to bring along my solid, reliable, old-fashioned hiking socks just in case; with something approaching desperation I taped up my feet and pulled on the good ol' boys.

Onwards, with little bubbles of contentment rising up from my soles. The sun was out in force by the time I passed through Beaulieu, circumnavigating the motor museum. From here to Lymington I was on the Solent Way, an official footpath that at the very least ought to have meant I could put my compass away. And so it was; following the signposts between Beaulieu and Buckler's Hard, I strode past hordes of casual walkers and grew much pleased with my racing pace.

At the 16k mark I checked the time, and found to my utter dismay that I was barely dawdling along at 4k an hour. Not only that, but in the noontime heat I'd drunk almost half my water already, and my boots were sloshing over with sweat. Stripping off my sodden socks I hung them over a fence to dry, and wiggled my piggies in the sun.

Thus it progressed for the next two checkpoints, walking for eight kilometres at a time before stopping to reapply sunscreen and dry my softening, blistering feet. Between Bucker's Hard and Lymington I was apprehended by a confused motorist who spied the map around my neck and nearly ran me down in his eagerness to be shown the way. Having steered him straight, I watched bemused as he promptly drove off in completely the wrong direction. Ah well. Clearly the petrol fumes had addled his brain. Whereas I, out in the burning sun for six hours now without a hat, was thinking clearer than I'd ever been.

The real problems set in after the 32k checkpoint, a bus stop on Brockenhurst where a denim-clad yokel gawped at my bare and unsightly toes. With my socks dried and reapplied to aching feet, I stood up. Sat down again. It seemed some kind of wasting disease had settled in my thighs, perhaps a hitherto undiscovered form of ebola chewing through the muscle? As I lurched down the pavement like something from Dr Frankenstein's lab, it occured to me that while I had probably drunk enough water, I had neglected the all-important salt and electrolytes; ergo massive cramping.

I staggered into a newsagent and necked the first bottle of lucozade I came across. After explaining that I really did intend to pay for it, and yes shoplifting was a very serious crime, and bartering for my freedom with the curious creature behind the till, I stumbled on. The cramps eased up after a while; whether that was due to the lucozade or my discovery that if I walked stiff-legged like the Terminator it reduced the pain, I'm still not entirely sure.

Fifteen kilometres to go. By this time the sun was getting low, my shadow stretching out ahead of me. The trees seemed to form a forbidding wall to either side of the trail, pressing closer each time I took my eyes off them. In the twilight, one track started to look very much like another. I was alone, utterly alone; all the casual walkers were long since returned to their warm and comfortable sofas. Rising from the forest dark I heard the drawn-out howl of the hunting wolf.

Whatever people might say, I maintain that the abrupt short cut back towards Ashurst and my car was a simple error of navigation.

Knowing what the end looks like

Chantelle: Right, well it seems that it's fallen to me to write the first training update (not that I mind at all, you understand).  The Sunday before last Ali, Martin and I decided to find out what the 'home straight' would look like so our route took us from Devil's Dyke (aka checkpoint 7) to Brighton Racecourse (aka the end).

We were very lucky with the weather: it was sunny and warm, but not too warm.  In fact one of us ended up with sunstroke without realising it because the sun did not seem as hot as it actually was (yeah, want to guess who the numpty was?  Ahem).

We made good time to check point eight - I guess it helped that we could see Jack and Jill (two windmills) from quite a way off so we could actually see what we were aiming for.  We made such good time that we caught Nick unawares as he was munching through lunch which cheered us up.  After a quick lunch and a pause for a quick snapshot:

we were off again, heading along the longest stretch of our day's walk.  We ended up having a slight detour thanks to some rather confusing directions from the route booklet (involving a non-existant 'notable black post') but after some awesome map reading, rattling off a grid reference and making use of our team compass we were soon back on track.  This time Nick was expecting us and we met up with him at a gate just off of Juggs Road.

While we had two checkpoints to go, the next one was inaccessible to vehicles so we would just have to plough on through.  Which we did, the first stretch taking us up the rather sunstantial Castle Hill.  Martin decided it would be a good idea to run up it while I took the rather odd approach of walking backwards most of the way up it (sounds odd but it's easier than walking forwards and using tired quadricep muscles to do so).  We made checkpoint 10 in about an hour and decided to keep going without a stop.  The route to the End took us through more residential areas and eventually we spotted the racecourse.  Which was nice, but only then did we realise we had to walk _around_ the racecourse to the other side.

We made good time, overall, and I think we even managed to surprise ourselves.  The whole 32km/20 miles took us just over 7 hours which is not bad at all.  It was nice to find out that the last stretch is rather gentle - I'm sure our weary legs will be thankful for that towards the end of the event.

This coming weekend, we'll be ramping up the distance to 42km/26miles as we take part in the Wiltshire Wildlife Trust's Sarsen Trail.  Look out for our next update sometime next week!

Meet The Team!

Well, it took us long enough, but here we all are, and Welcome to Team Geek's blog!

We actually have a lot to talk about, given that we've done a fair few training hikes since we officially signed onto the challenge, but we'll get to that eventually. For now, come and say hello.

This is Martin, our designated Team Leader. This is because this whole thing was his idea, and it's all his fault. Well, no, not really. But actually, yes. Yes it is. It's his infectious sense of adventure that's got us all into this great big walking mess. We might still thank him at the end.

He's the only one of us who can use a compass properly. Thank goodness for that.

This is Chantelle, our resident archaeologist. She spends a lot of time around maps at the English Heritage and can spot a longbarrow from a mile away, so we pack the blinkers in case she gets distracted. You end up learning a lot when you're walking with Chantelle. Like why sunscreen is a good idea.

This small person is me, Ali. I'm the one who spends a lot of time staring at the OS maps constantly thinking, "We're walking there? Seriously?" I figured I was the grumpy old one, but it seems that my function is to express the true emotions of the team. So if you hear loud swearing on the South Downs, that's me performing cathartic release for Team Geek.

There is also Mark. I haven't got a solo photo of him on hand, but you'll meet him soon enough. He is potentially so laid back about this walk he might as well be floating on his back all the way down to Brighton. In fact, for Mark this whole thing is a walk home, given that he lives in Hastings and the rest of us live more westwards (Southampton, Swindon and London respectively). All right for some.

And this is Nick, our Support Crew. Well, our main support crew guy during traning hikes. He is also my husband. His job is to ferry us about and meet us as checkpoints bearing food, water and emotional support. He's rather bemused that the Support Crew handbook tells him that he should set up a gazebo for us, though he's well up for making hot bacon sammiches. Well, for the two meat-eaters of the team, at least. But as he's a decent cook, I'm sure he'll come up with something. 

We're very pleased to meet you, too. Hope you enjoy the trek!