Back To My 'Ol Hiking Self

Not to sound too cliché but what a difference a day makes. After a bonafide do nothing day in Boscastle I set out the following morning covering the 17 miles to Bude feeling like my old self. Today I blew through the 16 mile stretch from Bude to Hartland Quay, considered to be the toughest section on the Southwest Coast path, feeling like a million bucks and hiking like a rocket. It was kind of strange in a way how much better I feel. It’s that dramatic. The soreness in my legs and knees is gone. Energy is up as well as the enjoyment factor.

There’s not much to Hartland Quay except for a beautiful rocky seaside setting and a couple of old buildings that remain from the days of fishing and trade. Sometime in the late 1800’s one of the buildings was converted into a hotel pub and that is how it remains today.

Of course the first thing I did upon arriving at the Quay was to hit the pub for a pint with fish and chips. I figured after that I’d hike up the road out of town to a farm with a campsite located a little less than a mile away. On the other hand, the forecast is looking grim and the hotel is very reasonably priced. I debated taking a room while I finished my pint. Not wanting to hike up the hill to a potentially blustery campsite I chose to get a room. The stunning setting and reasonable costs coupled with a very hospitable staff made deciding to stay all the more desirable. Also, a full English breakfast is included.

The hiking has been really good with sections of rugged steep trail cut between gentler slopes along a grassy cliff edge. The views are expansive with the sea always just to my left as I walk in a northerly direction. From Boscastle to Bude the skies were sunny. Today the skies were overcast and gray but it was still a decent day to walk. The wind? It’s always blowing at one extreme or another.

The weather is supposed to turn really bad tonight and last through tomorrow so I’m somewhat inclined to stay put if the weather is really bad. I have the time and it’s no fun hiking along exposed sea cliffs with severe weather. A little rain and wind is ok but they are forecasting a potential for hail and lightning which is somewhat and oddity for this part of England. Anyway, English forecast are notoriously fickle so I’ll see what it’s like in the morning.

Boscastle - Much Needed Rest Day

It seems kind of foolish not to walk when the weather is beautiful in England but when I woke up Tuesday morning that’s exactly what I felt like I needed to do. Despite clear sunny skies and what would be considered a five star weather forecast, despite an unrelenting chilly wind, I knew I needed a rare “Do Nothing Day”.

The hike from Port Gaverne to Boscastle offered some spectacular coastline hiking but sections of steep ups and downs with a stiff wind, that seemed to be blowing from all directions, had me feeling quite fatigued. Of course get re-acquainted to carrying a full pack wasn’t making things any easier and my legs and knees were feeling sore from the burden. I considered calling it a short day in the village of Tintangel but was put off by the overly touristy atmosphere. I continued on along the coast passing near the remains of a 7th century castle, hence the tourist attraction, stunningly situated nonetheless.

Five miles past Tintangel I arrived at my intended destination of Boscastle and chose to check into a hostel. The old fishing village of Boscastle is situated in narrrow river valley that feeds into the sea. In 2004 the village was hit hard by a flood but old world stone built engineering holds up well and today, aside of impressive flood photos posted in shops around the village, you would never know the area was more or less wiped out.

The hostel occupies one of the oldest buildings at the bottom of the village and it's one of the nicer ones I've stayed in. It's managed by the internation hostel organization known as YHA and they didn't hold back on the rebuild after the 2004 flood. Everything is top notch. I wound up sharing a roomy 5 bed room with one older fit retired gentleman from Bristol who is traveling around hiking sections of trail here and there. I've found the room to be very comfortable and slept great which made it easier to choose to stay another night.

Boscastle is one of those quaint seaside villages that's busy during the day with tourists popping in and out but after five it gets very quiet. Today I did well by holding true to my intention of resting. I visited the famouns Witchcraft museum which happens to be located next to the hostel. It's a very nice and extensive museum with a strange vibe and a large collection of items. One of the more interesting items on display is Allistar Crowley's silver chalice.

After the museum I had a full English breakfast for for lunch then took an hour long nap. Taking a nap in the afternoon and actually sleeping is rare for me. Tomorrow is supposed to be a nice day for walking and I should made it to my next stop at Bude without a problem. On Thursday the weather is due to change with clouds and rain moving in.

Obviously I'm a little more tired than usual but I know how fast I can snap out of it. I attribute my uncharateristic fatigue to flying overesas already tired, jet lag, and just plain getting used to carrying a pack again for a bunch of miles. Also, not to mention how much much a chilly wind can take it out you.

Hiking what I consider to be an average pace of 15 miles a day puts me in Minehead, the end of the Southwest coast path, in 10 days. However, I am planning 12 to give me a little buffer. I have plenty of time and can take as long as I want but I like to keep up a consistent rhythm of sorts. A long distance walk goes better with some kind of consistent routine.

Well, I guess I'll head up to the Cobweb pub for a pint and call it a day. I can go weeks without a beer at home but find it difficult to go a day in England witout a pint in a pub.

A Lovely Day

My campsite located on a farm just outside of Padstow was great and provided the best night’s sleep I’ve had since leaving Houston. I awoke with a stiff leg and sore right knee but brushed it off as being part of the break in period as it’s proving to be. Once I got moving, the muscles loosened from an awkward hobble to a normal walk. Perhaps I’m feeling my age a little but I’ll deny it as long as I can.

Today was a one of those days that reminds me of why I am doing what I’m doing. The skies were crystal blue clear with a slight chill in the air. Breezy winds kept me on my toes but were not knocking me over. Rocky black cliffs sprinkled with green falling into blue white washed waves bathing rocky shores with trail hugging steep sided hill equaled splendid views all the way. Spring flowers added a plus.

After covering 18 miles a day the first couple of days I decided to cut it a little shorter. I inquired at Port Isaac on a place to camp and was advised to check with the pub in neighboring Port Gaverne. At the pub I had a pint and talked with a couple of young Australian girls working the bar. One had actually been to Houston on her American road trip and related her enjoyment of traveling Texas and commented on how friendly the people are. The girls checked with a local man about a place to camp and I was directed a few minutes up the street to a farm that allows camping for 5 pounds. A flat field sheltered from the wind, a toilet with a shower, and a tap, what more do you need?

After setting up camp and getting a shower I returned to the pub for fish and chips where I almost passed out from the days physical activity combined with relaxation and pint. As far as the weather goes it looks like I’ll have a couple of more days like today until any risk of variable English weather returns. Hopefully luck will be on my side and I’ll have nice weather for the tougher bits later on.

Back On The Southwest Coast Path, England

Jet lag did a number on me this time flying over to the UK. I spent two daze walking around London and visited Royal Albert Hall, Hyde Park, Green Park, and took a couple of photos of the guards at Buckingham palace. On the second night I met my friend Kylie for a couple of pints at a pub and a Gourmet burger. London is as expensive as ever.

After two nights in London I caught the train out of London, Paddington to Truro. From Truro I hopped a bus to Perranporth and found a windy campsite for the night. I caught a break from the wind at a nearby golf course bar and struck up a conversation with a guy who was a buzz by recently seeing the Foo Fighters in Manchester with 65,000 other people. He pulled out his I-phone to show me surprisingly good and stable footage. I turned in for the night still feeling out of sorts.

The next morning I got to walking. Within few miles of choppy steps getting use to the pack again I slowly started to feel like my old self again. 18 miles later I wandered into Mawgan Porth and found a small compact campground called Magic Cove. All of the sites were full but the owners were very nice and asked another couple if I could camp just off the side of their site. The couple didn't mind at all and quickly offered me tea while asking where I was from etc. I finished the day with Fish and Chips and a pint.

Today I put in another 18 mile day feeling remarkably like I did last year except for some soreness reminding me that I haven't carried a pack and walked the miles since last September.

Tonight I'm camped in Padstow. My site is very nice and sheltered from the wind. The temps have been chilly in the 50's and the wind has been pretty fierce. The upside is that it's sunny. No rain.

Naturally, I'm feeling pretty tired this evening. More lively posts to come.....

It's 3:30 Am In Houston But I'm In London

The time between now and then passed rapidly ending in a foggy hue that woke me spinning a few times in the early hours. Nauseated by fatigue. Hard drive set steadfast on the game that makes money, known as my job, has left me wondering where the last nine months have gone. It's a competitive world and the only way forward is self-motivation, hard knocks, a little luck, and a bit of fun. At times I can be distracted and over focused almost to a fault. In turn it leaves me feeling disconnected from friends and other interests. However, the bank account is in good shape for the time being. There's always a trade off of some sort or another.

In the past nine months I made three trips to Colorado relating to family. Twice I drove the 2,000 mile round trip and once I flew.  On my most recent drive to Colorado in April I finally made a short side trip to Capulin National Monument. I've driven past it for 30 years without stopping. It's a small dormant volcano in northeast New Mexico. A road circles the mass rising near the top where a one mile hike loops the crater rim exposing fantastic views all the way around. At the time it was a brief stop, a highlight, a reminder of another life put one hold.

It's 3:30 am in Houston but I'm in London and its 9:30 am. I'm drinking a coffee looking out from a second story window at double decker buses on a narrow two lane one-way street lined with local shops, a KFC and a McDonalds. I really shouldn't be drinking coffee but it seemed like a good impulsive decision.

For assorted reasons I was a little apprehensive taking off for this trip but the flight was fine if not a bit long. The direct United Airlines flight from Houston can't be beat for logistics but the quality is not very good. Economy seats are tight and not very comfortable. The flight attendants do as little as possible and none seem particularly cheery. American carriers in general rank low when it comes to service these days and the morale at United seems to be particularly negative.

Upon arrival I took the Underground from Heathrow and dropped by the hotel I'm booked at for two nights. Hotels.com gave me a reasonable discount and the ratings were pretty good. It's located in part of London I haven't stayed before. It's close to the tube at Earls Court and walking distance from many worthwhile attractions. Check In is 2 pm so I'll fight the jet lag until the evening when fatigue either keeps me up tossing and turning or sends me into a deep restful sleep. You never know with jet lag.

The idea of this trip is to pick up where I left off last September. I'll return to Truro via train on my way  back to the Southwest Coast Path. From Truro I'll take a local bus to Perranporth, walk down to the beach, and find the path that leads 200 miles north to Minehead. In doing so I'll complete the final section of the 630 mile Southwest Coast Path of England. This will mark my third trip on the route which I will be completing in three sections. I have plenty of time which allows me the option of a relaxed pace if I so choose.

Checked Out... Checking Back In...

To say I've been over focused would be putting it mildly. I think “checked out” would be more accurate. Fortunately, in a fundamentally constructive way of sorts. Being the all or nothing person I can sometimes be I've put most all of my time and energy into work and making money.

The intentions of my last post faded like the morning mist off a lake the moment a hot summer sun hits it. Distraction found it's way into a tight fitting monocular focus albeit the occasional blunder. Small success ascended by relatively larger success deepened the drive to keep pushing. I've been more or less content with the process. Why not? How could I devote much time to think about anything else?

The end of 2014 saw me on a couple of trips to Colorado to visit family and friends. One being Christmas. Immediately after my return to Houston in September my mother came down for a visit. Aside of that, Tuesday night bowling league and some sort of daily exercise, usually a run, I've more or less haven't made time for anything else.

I can't say it's been the healthiest choice except on the fiscal end of things. A silver lining in the arena of creativity is that I have been making time for the guitar and my playing seems to have improved quite a lot.

While visiting a good friend in Colorado last fall I was taped singing and playing off the top of my head. Improv. Last week he sent me a clip to ecourage me to persue my creative potential and to stop stiffling myself within the ABC's of sorting nuts and bolts. I had completely forgotten what I had done and felt inspired by it.

The passing of time has been very disturbing to me as of late. Everyone says time passes faster as we age but I believe there is more to it than that. I can't believe how much more I use to get done in a day compared to now. It doesn't compute. Perhaps it's the million and one distractions we are potentially bombarded with each day or a quantum physics riddle in an ever expanding universe that has no end nor a beginning. How can anyone have an exlplanation for it? I feel an urgency to either call it or get on with it. Middle age is a funny thing. It's a time where one can just sort of settle and say, “Well this is what it is and it's ok”, and be satified with what it is, or, one can feel an urgency to quit wasting time and build the damn castle, lay down the perogative, or bet it all on one hand of Black.

In some ways I know exactly what it's like to be a mule with blinders. A mule can plow a lot of soil thus get a lot done but there's so much more going on in the periphery. Although I have a tendency to be self absorbed I don't think that has been much the case as of late. On a base level I've simply been taking care of business.

As of now I am trying to switch gears and come up with a plan for the rest of the year. Otherwise it will be 2016 before I know it and I'll be wondering whatever happened to the to do list I wrote up ten years ago. Well, at least there are a few check boxes.....

Back With The Sax - Realigning

The flight home was easy and on time. The plane had plenty of empty seats with the seat next to me being one of them. I watched 4 movies on the 10 hour trip to Dallas where I switched planes for a short hop to Houston. Everything went smoothly.

It’s already been a week. It goes without saying that Jet lag has had me on a roller coaster ride of energy levels and mood swings but it hasn’t been too bad. Naturally, I’ve already begun to fall into the same old patterns as always but it feels different. I shopped an estate sale this morning, just one, in search of a little inventory. My heart wasn’t into it and I was off my game which equaled missed opportunities as a buddy scored big. I would have been better off staying home. The old patterns are not bad patterns, they’re just limiting.

I guess I halfway went to simply run into a few familiar faces on the circuit of buying and selling old stuff. I stood in the shade of a large stunted palm tree with a small group. A light breeze helped as we were all trying to escape the near 90 degree heat with high humidity at nine thirty in the morning waiting for the sale to open at 10. Steve and I talked vintage audio. Brian, a half way retired photographer, talked about shooting an Indy car race. Two unfamiliar faces were there to buy a comic book collection of 4,000 at a bargain basement price. A record guy I only see occasionally asked what I thought the records would be like judging by the photos. Everyone commented how the summer was hot but not as bad as other summers.

After 4 months of being out of the pickin game coupled with a lukewarm interest I didn’t really have much of a chance. I didn’t buy much and really felt like I should have been doing something else.

Whatever one puts their energy into is what one becomes. When I travel I’m Todd the “World Traveler”. When I dive into my usual work I’m Todd “The Picker”, a modern day term for those of us who buy and sell antiques and collectibles. There is only so much time in the day and what we immerse ourselves in can have a profound effect on shaping our life.

So, what if I were to take a gamble of sorts by suspending who I currently am to make way for what I can become. In other words, suppose I were to dust off repressed talents and prioritize things a little differently. How is that I can effortlessly lace up my shoes and go for a run on a daily basis while I put off writing for another day or let a year pass without learning at least a few words of French. Change and re-prioritization can be very difficult when one’s current circumstances are not bad. Habit locks one in. The questions to ask are, “Is this it?”, or, “Can I do better?”. 

In some ways I feel a subtle buzz of sorts. It’s partly due to the fact that I just got finished traveling for almost 4 month and partly due to an exciting realization that I’m actually in the process of turning the page and starting a new chapter in life. The hardest part is letting go of familiarity and all of it’s comforts. It’s very easy for me to do when I travel but at home it’s a challenge. Sometimes it’s necessary to simply hang it out there for a while. However, you have to stick with it over period of time to really give it a chance, to see what happens. You never know who you might meet or what doors may open.

I spent my last two days of travel in London. On the final day I met up with the wife of a friend who passed two years ago.

Erik was someone I knew while attending the Evergreen State College in the late 1980’s. For about a year we hung out a lot. We played in a band together, spent time on his boat, went out for live music, etc. etc.,. He was an incredibly creative person who I shared time with during the most creative period of my life. There were many philosophical conversations on the twice weekly drives to a house on a lake for band practice with two others. We only played original material and the chemistry between the 4 of us was exceptional for music. Two of the guys were totally committed to giving it a go. Erik and I were kind of half in, half out. The band didn’t last but I often wondered what would have happened given the explosion of attention the Olympia/Seattle area got in the early 1990’s. It will forever be a question in my mind as I was too young at the time to realize how rare it is to be in such a creative collective. Anyway, Erik was a big part of it and he played the Saxophone.

It was no surprise that his wife Kylie would be an absolute pleasure to meet. We met in Hyde Park and had a drink by a pond. She knows several mutual friends through Erik that I’ve long lost track of. We caught up on a lot. In bits and pieces she told me of Erik’s 4 year struggle with complications following surgery to remove a brain tumor that turned out to be benign. It was not without symptoms and something had to be done. The dark segments of description were broken by funny stories of Erik and his unique inspiring way of looking at life.

When I asked Kylie about Erik’s Saxophone she said she still had it and no one was interested. I expressed interest. For me it’s one of those items that represent a lot. It’s an item from a time lost that reminds me of what could have been while inspiring me to somehow pick up where I left off to be better creatively than I ever was. Erik lived with eyes wide open. Listen to John Coltrane or Charlie Parker. The music is out there with all sorts of bent tones on a wild ride that always comes back to a perfect rhythm. The music is a little off center but right on time. It travels to outer space exploring new possibilities. A single note falls out of a clever reed and skips over triplets for an experimental ride that oddly but perfectly expands possibility. Inspiring and refreshing. That was Erik. His term for it was, “Shang a Lang”.

On my way to Heathrow to catch my flight I switched trains twice on the tube before meeting Kylie with the Saxophone. She spent the morning digging it out so I could bring it back home as a carry on. With watery eyes she passed it my way. I asked if it was ok. She said it was. I felt her emotion to be part of the process of letting go and moving on. I assured her I would take care of it and keep it in the archives. For me it’s a powerful symbol and an appropriate one at that. After all these years what are the odds that Erik’s Saxophone would arrive in my hands as I stand in a position of realignment. What timing…….

A Few Images From London

Two Nights In London Then Home - A Few Thoughts

I'm writing this post on the train from Truro to London. I’m paying 3 x more to ride the train than the bus because the train is so much nicer. In the UK trains are generally overpriced unless you get lucky or buy your ticket way in advance. I got a barely acceptable price on an advance purchase so it’s more for luxury than anything. Busses are cheap but can take twice the time, if not longer, and are inconsistent in quality. The bus will get you to where you want to go, eventually.

I’m happy to have taken on and to have done my proposed hike along the South West Coast Path but it wasn’t quite the experience I was hoping for. In part I think it was due to the fact that I had already been traveling for a awhile. It’s as if I kind of stayed a little too long at the party to really appreciate the walk as much as I should have. One real distraction, while hiking, were lots of the villages and towns along the way. It’s not that they aren’t lovely and nice it’s just that they were so packed with tourists. It was nearly impossible not to be an ear shot away from some screaming kid having a meltdown. Some places I couldn’t get out of fast enough. Also, there were lots of day walkers along certain stretches of trail which added to more distraction. Meditative and reflective moments were often interrupted with a step to the side or a barking dog that should really be on a leash. Everyone’s kid and dog is and angel in the parents eyes yet an obstacle to the passerby. By the end of the walk I vowed never again to travel in Europe during July and August unless I have good reason to do so. The best time to travel in the UK and Europe is mid-May/late June, or, September/October. I once spent 2 weeks hiking along the Welsh coast during late April and May with hardly seeing anyone. The villages were a treat and nothing was overbooked if I desired a B&B.

Right now I am really ready to go home. With all of the uncertainty and crazy stuff going on in the world it will be nice to be back in the USA. America really is geographically removed from most all of the world’s problems. American's love Canada even though some Canadians don’t think too favorably of the USA. The problems with Central America revolve around drug cartels. The only real political problems between South America and the USA are with Venezuela. Cuba is the odd one. Kind of an old issue that just can’t be dropped until Fidel Castro passes away.

What’s happening in the Middle East is truly scary and having been to Israel and Jordan it makes me even more aware of the uncertainties within the region. The Arab Spring turned out to be an autumn. The West really needs to be objective about the whole situation and realize that people in Arab world have customs and ways of thinking that are profoundly different. Whereas I believe most of the Arab Muslim people want nothing more than to live a good life and avoid any kind of conflict there is an element within the population that embraces radical ideology with a warrior mentality that the West has a hard time believing really exists. Look at where the West was 100 or 200 years ago. Look at what happened in Germany during WW2 and look at where Germany is now. Different societies are at different stages of cultural evolution in my opinion. Be very skeptical, discerning, and open to all sides of an issue before coming up with any conclusions. The problems of the Middle East are very complicated. Is Peace possible? I’d say maybe but not likely in the near future. It could take a couple of more generations. Until the violence stops and people behave humanely in an honest fashion there will be problems. Right now things are getting worse. And to think, it’s all in the name of God. How much more crazy can things get?

Anyway, the Middle East has been on my mind quite a bit so that’s why I addressed it in this post.

In the meantime it’s 2 nights in London then I’m homeward bound. Back to Texas, the Lone Star State.

Done - 300+ Miles - 20 Days - South West Coast Path

Zennor turned out to be nice stop. The  B&B was kind of quirky but nice and run by a an older hippy woman with a variety of funky vehicles parked around. Breakfast was healthy as she only served vegetarian.

From Zennor I planned to walk a short day to St Ives. I’ve been to St Ives before and recalled a nice campground. I figured I’d pitch camp early and spend the afternoon on the beach. Well, the campground turned out to be way overpriced at 15 pounds (26 USD for a walker with a one man tent). Normal price in England would be 3 pound on the low end with 10 at the top end). We are talking about a plot in an open field with access to a shower and toilet. Nothing fancy. No electricity assigned site or anything like that. The guy at reception was not very nice when I stated that I was on foot with a one man tent and if he was sure that was the right price. He responded in a true “Smart Ass” fashion that I didn’t have to pay it and wouldn’t find anything better in St Ives. Needless to say, I left.

I continued through St Ives and was glad I decided to pass through. There were too many tourists and the place really wasn’t very appealing to me. A little beyond St Ives is Carbis Bay. It’s a nice baech with not too many people. I asked around and found a nearby farm camp with basic facilities for 6 pounds. I pitced camp, went to the beach, and found a pint at a pub.

Carbis to Portreath was a nice walk that included an interesting section through sand dunes follosed by easy cliff top walking. The village of Portreath is not overly appealing with old but not very old plain styled buildings. It’s kind of a worn out fishing village but the harbor and beach aren’t bad. I noticed a small church and got permission to camp on the back lawn for the night.

The hike from Portreath to Perronporth marked my 20^th and last day of hiking. The stretch of trail includes some wonderful ciff top walking but the weather was pretty bad with plenty of rain, mist and clouds. Occasionaly views revealed a wild sea bashing into rocky broken cliffs. Sometimes the water would make odds sounds not too unlike barking. At on small isolated cove large waves broke close to the shore with high tide and red flag flying. Only a person without a brain would be foolish enough to go in for a swim.

I made it into Perranporth by early afternoon and had a celbratory pint for completion of over 300 miles in 20 days. It's a good accomplishment and pretty much par for such a distance walk. The last three days of hiking felt a lot easier. I think it just took me a longer time to get to the point where 15+ miles with a heavy pack would feel relatively normal. The only consistent complaint I had was sore feet. I never got any blisters or anything but there was a consistent soreness on the bottoms of my feet that just wouldn't go away.

As expected the time really flew by. In the end 20 days of hiking really doesn’t seem very long even though on the 2^nd and 3^rd day, with my pack feeling like a real burden, it felt like it was going to be a long walk.

From Perranporth I took a bus to Truro and found accommodation via Tourist Information. At first tourist information didn’t have much to offer and what they had was too expensive. I kept subtlety pushing the issue with the attendant not seeming to want to put out too much effort. With all official options exhausted she reached for an address book from a drawer and made a call. She stated there was a room in a house that was not an official B&B that had a room. It was not registered with tourist information but she gave me directions with an address. The price was exactly what I wanted to pay.

Just to the side of the old town cathedral is a row of houses. I knocked on the green door with a number 3 and was greeted by a very nice older lady. She didn’t offer breakfast but showed me to the room. The place was very clean and quiet. For me it was perfect and very comfortable. The home was definitely set for guests and my room, like most all accommodation in Europe, had a kettle for boiling water and supplies for making coffee or tea. I made a cup of coffee.

I left the path with about 200 miles left to complete the entirety of 630 miles. Too be continued sometime in the future.