I wrote these posts in September and October 2018, reflecting back on a walk from Cardiff to London via Gloucester and the Thames Path that my friend Ged and I took three years before.
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3 years ago. Last minute route-planning over breakfast. First day of walking Cardiff to London via Gloucester and the Thames Path. Circuitous and so worth it.
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3 years ago. Day 2 of walking Cardiff to London. On this day, I loved the light and the sky. And locals singing to us in the pub. And camping in the pub garden. (And in the morning, birds.)
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3 years ago. Day 3 of walking Cardiff to London. On this day, I loved waking up in a pub garden. And laughing with the otherwise shy but generous owner about who in the world would walk to London. And a scarecrow, lounging on a bench in Mathern's village green, waiting for autumn. And looking out over Chepstow after walking the long hill that winds up and up and up from Mathern. And meeting kind strangers who came to find us again after we'd walked out of town. And crossing the wide and whirling River Severn into England and thinking about history and water and borders. And getting picked up by a friend to spend the night in Bristol, a city we wouldn't otherwise see. And a delicious homemade dinner and new friends and a walk to the pub to play a game of skittles and to have a beer, or two, and talk about everything under the sun until we finally headed to bed so we could, a few hours later, sling our packs over our backs, tighten the hip straps, and set off again, this time in the rain.
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3 years ago. Day 4 and 5 of walking Cardiff to London. Over these two days, I loved laughing through the downpours. And long (dry) pub lunches. And learning the difference between water-proof and UK-proof and also how to properly pronounce both my first and last name when in England. And cows and their sweet, gentle curiosity. And the light on the pines. And the way water acts like the perfect mirror. And the people we met along the way- in gardens, over tea, at farmhouses, alongside their narrowboats. We were the recipients of so much kindness over these two days, especially when I was in pain. Writing about everyone would require a book. I hope to write it someday. But for now, the reason I'm sharing these little snapshots, three years later, is because of Claire Wineland. I didn't know Claire, but I had a lot of respect for her as a fellow spoonie and also simply as a human. Despite all of the pain and uncertainty, Claire was dedicated to honoring the life she had. Living with a chronic illness is often really hard. At times, it can be awful. But like any kind of pain, illness exists alongside beauty and joy. When Claire was in the hospital for cystic fibrosis, she decorated her wall with the universe. She said we have to realize that we're part of something bigger. When I'm walking, and my legs feel the pain of a thousand knives, swans still take flight alongside me, the flap flap flap of their feet and wings as they first glide along the water and then slowly lift into the sky. When my feet feel like shattered glass, the sun still sets in the distance, painting everything gold. I'm trying, with these posts, to take the time to go back, and through the experience of one long walk, honor all of the wonderful things that exist alongside pain. The something bigger. The best stuff of our precious lives.
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3 years ago. Days 6 & 7 of walking Cardiff to London. Over these two days, I loved the green and the way it popped against dark gray clouds. And laundry hanging on the line, and chimneys, and garden houses, all pieces of the worlds we were passing through. And so many kind people, again, guiding us, walking with us, sharing stories, laughing. And my body and the way it felt strong up the hills, along the canals, and through the trees. And how grateful I am for it. And the cafes that welcomed us. And the homes that welcomed refugees. And the winding forest and finding a way out of it just as the sun left the sky. And the new friends we walked into as we walked out of the woods. And the dinner and conversation that followed and flowed until the pub closed. And the pub owner who, after some initial skepticism, shared a drink and a laugh and agreed to let us camp in his field. And the rain and the tap tap tap against my tent. And my tent, for a night, a little home in a dark field on a long walk.
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3 years ago. Day 8 of walking Cardiff to London. On this day, I loved waking up in my tent and hearing thunder and rain and then a bird and then two and then a chorus. And the warmth of the sun as the storms fell away. And the coziness of my sleeping bag. And then slowly, drearily realizing we'd lost power on our devices *and* lost our maps, which led to a day of asking school teachers, and dog walkers, and pubs goers, and plumbers for directions. And there were a few twists and turns. And also a few hills. And lots of country roads. And horses and cows that looked like paintings. And a sweet pup, which made me very happy. And we arrived, just before the sun began to set, at The Thames Head inn, pitching our tents beside a beautiful field before ducking inside to eat ridiculous amounts of food. And I couldn't wait for the next day, to find the source of the Thames. Because I'd never found the source of a river before. Because it felt like we were stepping into history.
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3 years ago. Days 9 & 10 of walking Cardiff to London. Finding the source of a river was magical. To stand where the Thames begins, where it's barely visible, and to picture the legendary waterway that flows through London - it's pretty awesome. This sign post, right by the source, made me laugh, because it felt like we'd already walked 184 miles. But I was happy to see how far we had to go, because I was falling in love with the trees and the soft grass under my feet and the morning dew and the sense of anticipation that came with each step and bend in the path. These two days also gave us time with Ben Arthur and Simon Arthur, who waited for us alongside the Thames Path even though we were quite late and who shared meals and a visit to the pub and their home with us. They're two incredibly kind, funny, and thoughtful humans, and I'm so grateful for the time we had with them. Traveling alongside the very beginnings of the Thames, we watched it grow, under tree arches and through villages, from a trickle to a stream. The grass was bright from summer rain, and autumn leaves spread out over old buildings like blankets of red. And with the fog sitting in the distance, it often looked like we were walking into a dream.
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3 years ago. Days 11 & 12 of walking Cardiff to London. Over these two days, I loved the birds that swept over and under the bridges that cross the Thames, repeating zigzag patterns like kites being pulled back and forth. And the gentle sound of the river, pushing forward alongside the reeds and wild autumn flowers that lined its edges. And walking on trails that were so full of green I couldn't help but touch the leaves as we passed by, the swish swish swish of my pants against the grass. And the way the light painted the countryside, slicing a line of gold along the fields. And the sound of rain on my jacket and the feeling of warmth underneath. And well-tended fields creating perfect horizons. And the river widening and boats joining. And being invited to jump onto one with a big-hearted family as they traveled slowly to the next lock. And skies that unfurled dark clouds and ushered in winds. And the way in which following a river requires patience, a line that curls up and down, circling back on itself, adding countless miles and in no way resembling the most direct route to London. But the river gained strength in those twists and turns. And so did we.
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3 years ago. Day 13 of walking Cardiff to London. On this day, I loved the way in which the river now felt like home, growing and changing, but still, a constant. And how sometimes, the Thames Path was no path at all, but simply a long walk across a field beside a river, with sheep and trees, both alive and fallen. And the way in which slow walks lead to good talks and how lucky we were to spend most of our day traveling with a mother and daughter who we met as we set off that morning. And how by complete coincidence, we ran into the family on the narrow boat we'd met the day before, climbing onboard like old friends, sharing tea and cookies and laughter and warmth. And the cool wind and how it felt like autumn. And the beautiful gardens alongside so many of the locks and how much patience and care they must have required. And the trees arching their arms over the pathway. And our hosts, opening their arms to greet us at a beautiful pub outside of Oxford, with wooden beams and low ceilings and peacocks on the roof. And after one of our hardest days of walking, with some of the worst pain I'd experienced, I loved that my body carried me to our destination. My body, like the river, my home.
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3 years ago. Days 14 & 15 of walking Cardiff to London. We took day 14 off to rest and enjoy Oxford but still managed to cover miles exploring the city, and I remember the feeling of discovering a place I'd heard of many times, and how the images in my head were re-written as the city unfolded, as we day and night-walked through Oxford with our host & his sons, bicycles flying by, ducking into narrow alleyways, taking in all of the buildings and the rush of people. I remember street lights and headlights and autumn leaves glowing as cars rolled by. And the next morning, I remember arriving back at Wolvercote, where we'd stopped walking two days before. I remember a cloudless sky as we hiked through fields beside the river, alongside cows and geese and people walking dogs, or dogs walking people, and a shore lined with trees. I remember old bridges carrying us across the water and wandering into Oxford, which looked both familiar and new, and winding our way through and out of town with the Thames. I remember couples on benches watching the world go by, and house-boaters tending to their rooftop gardens, and rowers splitting the river in two, and trees dripping with fall colors, and the path looking like something out of a fairytale, tunnels of green dappled in light. And after several miles, I remember ducking into the woods outside Abingdon to meet our next hosts and getting lost in so much mud. And what an absolute happy mess we were.
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3 years ago. Days 16 & 17 of walking Cardiff to London. Autumn was everywhere on the Thames Path, reflected like a watercolor in the river and in the giant London plane trees that left me in awe and in the leaves that swayed above our heads. The days were getting shorter and our walks were getting longer. Despite the pain, I didn't want them to end. When Ged and I planned this walk, I told her there was a possibility I wouldn't be able to finish. I hadn't done anything like this before, and I didn't know how this body that felt so strange and new would hold up. So we were prepared. But as the days grew shorter, so did the distance to London. Each day hurt. Some days more than others. My feet were a mess. My legs and back weren't much better. And we had several more days to walk. But I also felt strong for the first time in a long while. I was pushing through. I felt like spring.
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3 years ago. Days 18 & 19 of walking Cardiff to London. On these two days, I loved everything about the season: the painted trees, the gold flickering on the early morning river, the mist blanketing the water, and the leaves crunching under our feet. I loved the moment when Windsor Castle finally popped up from behind the trees like the best sunrise. And as we walked into town along the Thames, I hurt, but I also couldn't wait to keep walking the next day, to have the path continue to unfold under my tired feet, my sore legs, my full heart.
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3 years ago. Days 20, 21, & 22 of walking Cardiff to London. On the final night, after 3 weeks of wandering through Wales, over the Severn, along canals, and beside the Thames, we walked up to our end point in London: Tower Bridge. I'd been thinking about it for 300 miles. And it was beautiful, but when we finally got there, I didn't feel the extreme excitement I expected.
I think I knew, even then, that although we'd made it, and that was wonderful, the real magic was in everything that happened before that final moment. It was in the growth of the river from its source to the city. And the electric skies that brought rain and so much green. And the birds that woke up with the sun. And the sense of anticipation that came with each step. And the incredible people who welcomed us into their homes & pub gardens & meals & conversations. And the exhaustion and pure joy of walking through pain.
I started sharing these little snapshots, 3 years later, after learning of the passing of Claire Wineland in September. I didn't know Claire, but I had a lot of respect for her as a fellow spoonie & also simply as a human.
Here's what I wrote then: Despite all of the pain & uncertainty of living with cystic fibrosis, Claire was dedicated to honoring the life she had. Living with a chronic illness can be really hard. At times, it can be awful. But like any kind of pain, illness exists alongside beauty & joy. When Claire was in the hospital, she decorated her wall with the universe. She said we have to realize that we're part of something bigger. When I'm walking, and my legs feel the pain of a thousand knives, swans still take flight alongside me, the flap flap flap of their feet and wings as they first glide along the water & then slowly lift into the sky. When my feet feel like shattered glass, the sun still sets in the distance, painting everything gold. I'm trying, with these posts, to take the time to go back, and through the experience of one long walk, honor all of the wonderful things that exist alongside pain. The something bigger. The best stuff of our precious lives.