Time for some prehistory. As a founder member of the exclusive "Olympics, what Olympics?" sect, my flight from London 2012 was architected well in advance of Boris Johnson's exhortations to walk to work during the Games.
"So where are you going to escape the Olympics ?"
"I'm walking the Pennine Way."
"Oh. Right." Pause. "Who with?"
"On my own. But I expect I'll meet some people along the way," I add quickly to soften the impact.
Solitaryness is viewed at best as wilful, as worst as aberrant.Biographers of the essayist Michel de Montaigne observe that it was unusual for anyone to spend time alone in the sixteenth century. Fortunately, in his case, as there were many servants in attendance to assist him when he suffered his near-fatal riding accident. But curiously even in the twentyfirst century when a quarter of the UK population lives alone, elective solitude has a kind of stigma. So far, more than half the people I've encountered on the PW are singletons and appear as content as those in couples or groups, though I admit it's hard to be certain on the basis of a gruff "Hi". And that leads neatly to a question that has always perplexed me during country walks. Under what circumstances is it acceptable, or even required, to greet oncoming walkers? In the wilderness, the rules are simple: Hi or Morning or Howdy (strictly reserved for Americans) is mandatory. Conversely, once within the confines of a town, certainly in the presence of streetlights, acknowledging passersby becomes a hanging offence. The twilight zone is in the precincts of a beauty spot intersected by a footpath, where walkers and sightseers mingle and can sometimes be indistinguishable but have different expectations. Any thoughts on this knotty piece of etiquette gratefully received.
But I digress. I wasn't about to make the same mistake as yesterday so politely but firmly declined the proffered full English breakfast, and resolved to make this the pattern for the rest of the trip. Later, I found that my host had had her revenge: two rolls the size of frizbees crouched in my lunch pack.
The route from Torside first crosses a reservoir via an impressive dam then weaves though a wood, following the line of the water. There's something comforting about being surrounded by tall trees and I was disappointed when the path emerged into the bald moors. A steep climb was followed by more slabs which, although unsightly, enable one to fairly scamper along and I made good time. My first encounter with another PW walker was at a road junction where a dejected looking fellow stared at a map. Beside him was the largest rucksack I've ever seen, positively bristling with every sort of walking and camping accessory. Clearly he hadn't read Bill Bryson. His name was Lee and after only one night of camping was envious of my B&B arrangements. He was waiting for a friend so I pressed on. They caught me up later as I was dithering over an almost unambiguous fork in the path and we leapfrogged one another along the route for the rest of the day. At least I had justified my prediction about finding companionship along the way.
© David Thompson 2012
"So where are you going to escape the Olympics ?"
"I'm walking the Pennine Way."
"Oh. Right." Pause. "Who with?"
"On my own. But I expect I'll meet some people along the way," I add quickly to soften the impact.
Solitaryness is viewed at best as wilful, as worst as aberrant.Biographers of the essayist Michel de Montaigne observe that it was unusual for anyone to spend time alone in the sixteenth century. Fortunately, in his case, as there were many servants in attendance to assist him when he suffered his near-fatal riding accident. But curiously even in the twentyfirst century when a quarter of the UK population lives alone, elective solitude has a kind of stigma. So far, more than half the people I've encountered on the PW are singletons and appear as content as those in couples or groups, though I admit it's hard to be certain on the basis of a gruff "Hi". And that leads neatly to a question that has always perplexed me during country walks. Under what circumstances is it acceptable, or even required, to greet oncoming walkers? In the wilderness, the rules are simple: Hi or Morning or Howdy (strictly reserved for Americans) is mandatory. Conversely, once within the confines of a town, certainly in the presence of streetlights, acknowledging passersby becomes a hanging offence. The twilight zone is in the precincts of a beauty spot intersected by a footpath, where walkers and sightseers mingle and can sometimes be indistinguishable but have different expectations. Any thoughts on this knotty piece of etiquette gratefully received.
But I digress. I wasn't about to make the same mistake as yesterday so politely but firmly declined the proffered full English breakfast, and resolved to make this the pattern for the rest of the trip. Later, I found that my host had had her revenge: two rolls the size of frizbees crouched in my lunch pack.
The route from Torside first crosses a reservoir via an impressive dam then weaves though a wood, following the line of the water. There's something comforting about being surrounded by tall trees and I was disappointed when the path emerged into the bald moors. A steep climb was followed by more slabs which, although unsightly, enable one to fairly scamper along and I made good time. My first encounter with another PW walker was at a road junction where a dejected looking fellow stared at a map. Beside him was the largest rucksack I've ever seen, positively bristling with every sort of walking and camping accessory. Clearly he hadn't read Bill Bryson. His name was Lee and after only one night of camping was envious of my B&B arrangements. He was waiting for a friend so I pressed on. They caught me up later as I was dithering over an almost unambiguous fork in the path and we leapfrogged one another along the route for the rest of the day. At least I had justified my prediction about finding companionship along the way.
© David Thompson 2012
This is all very well, as my old mother always said, but your readers are desperate for you to reach the treacherous moorland wildernesses where the slimy quagmires wait eagerly to suck in your boots and lower body.
ReplyDeleteOnward and upward!
Good to see you're meeting folks on your walk :-) Wonder how many of them blog,..
ReplyDelete