It's the journey rather than the arrival

About this time of year, it's our custom to undertake a modest little backpacking trip of about 25 miles from home to Harwich, two days walking and one night's camping. It's an unassuming walk along country lanes and field and woodland paths,much of it along the Essex Way. I really should do the walk in the other direction, from Harwich to home, but tradition dictates otherwise. The walk is a bit of a warm-up for the challenge, rucksacs loaded, a reminder of how to put up the tent, and a stretch of our legs.

Harwich, it must be said, is a bit of a dump, with a severe case of east-coast-itis, the incurable disease that afflicts so many coastal communities in this country - depressed, run down, seemingly permanently out of season. I know it's wrong to make sweeping generalisations, but there's something about many Harwich people (although of course there are some lovely people in the town),  a slow, we'll-just-do-the bare-minimum, kind of surliness, possibly caused by generations of in-breeding. Anyway, that's enough of my indefensible geographical prejudices, so on with the walk.

Bluebells and spring flowers were out everywhere on the way to the rather splendid Bromley Cross Inn for lunch

Following our exceptionally dry spring, the ground was rock hard, so coupled with a fair bit of tarmac, my feet were a bit weary

Our camping spot was at the Strangers Home pub in Bradfield, with a fine juke box and pleasantly drunk locals in, er.. fine voice

To try and replicate the wilderness experience on the Challenge, we pitched in as wild a place as we could find. Yes, right next to the bouncy castle.

No sooner was the tent up than Mt Softy arrived, sadly not selling ice creams, but just popping in for a pint

The tent is a Big Agnes Copper Spur, with a huge amount of space compared to our trusty old Nallo. Trouble is, I'm not quite so sure about how it will stand up to high winds.........

Day 2 was entirely along the Essex Way, along the River Stour and through lovely woodland

To the unusual church at Wrabness, with it's bell parked outside

and on to the woods at Ramsey, with more lovely bluebells, and one of my favourite benches

On to the Castle at Ramsey, complete with windmill

before the interminable trudge along the seafront at Harwich

before home on the bus and out for a curry.

So, that's it - we are fully prepared for the Challenge, having experienced everything the Scottish landscape might throw at us. Except the hills, bog, heather, climate and river crossings........

over the hill to the Netherlands again

For most of the past 10 years or so, our lovely Dutch friends Bert and Suus have kindly organised a Challenge reunion in Holland, each time in a different region. As we are 50% Dutch, we get invited along each time, and this year we visited Friesland - as watery and flat a part of the most watery and flat country on the planet that you could possibly find.

As usual we took the night boat over to Hook of Holland, on which I reacquainted myself with the joys of drinking Heineken. It's been a few years since I last had a pint of Heineken, and I thought I'd try it once more to see if my recollection still held true. Sure enough, it was still just as cold and tasteless as I recalled, and I suspect it will be another few years before I have another.

One of the many joys of going to Holland are the trains. Unlike their UK equivalents, they are invariably on time, spacious and comfortable. The Dutch have the knack of doing so many things properly - such as double-decker trains with a silent coach. Yes, no half measure "quiet" coach, but a silent coach in which talking is prohibited. There are few things in life that I'm quite good at, but one of them is not talking, so I heartily approve.

Bert and Suus had chosen an excellent location, right on the lake (Sneekermeer)

Everyone enjoyed the sunshine on the terrace, while pretending not to notice the rather seductive pose that Alva had adopted on the bench......

Bernie, in particular, had to avert his eyes

Next day we had a choice of activities - sailing, cycling , or a bit of both. Naturally, I went for the cycling option, taking advantage of the superb cycle routes in the Worlds Best Cycling Culture

At home there are generally three types of cyclists -

Those who enjoy cycling for the joy and fitness it brings - invariably lycra clad and increasing in number (that's me)

A small number of hardy souls who use cycling as a practical means of transport - commuting to work and so forth

Those cyclists whose bikes stand in the garage all  year, and come out once or twice a year in good weather

In Holland it's very different - bikes are everywhere, used for shopping , sport, commuting, and just pottering about on a superb network of separated cycle paths. There's just one drawback, though, and this is it.........

Yes, it's the Dutch bicycle saddle - armchair wide, fully padded, looking most comfortable until actually sat upon. I'm not sure if the British backside is very different from the Dutch posterior, but I just don't know how they put up with these saddles.

The bikes that Suus had hired for us were the traditional "sit up and  beg" Dutch types, which do look a bit girly to me.....

but, nevertheless, we had a fine days biking, with the inevitable coffee stop 

before Pete and myself rode back

So, after 35 miles of cycling, that could only mean one thing - going out for a night walk. Suus had arranged for us to join a mass walking event, in which around 500 locals do a 14 km walk around the lakes and dykes in complete darkness. The event reminded me of the famous Tim Vine joke about his holiday ("it was a once in a lifetime trip - I won't be doing that again"), and combined utter pointlessness with rather endearing charm. The event itself  was wonderfully well organised and all the Dutch turned up in their traditional hiking gear - leather jackets and jeans, skyscraper-tall Dutch men and strikingly attractive amazonian Dutch ladies striding through the darkness as if it was a perfectly normal way of spending the evening

Next day, for me, was more cycling in the south-west of Friesland, a wonderful day riding on the dykes and sea-defence walls. Much of the latter part of the ride was spent standing up on the bike, as my buttocks gradually and inexorably turned to minced meat, courtesy of another Dutch saddle...

and, of course, a stop for apple pie 

The Dutch are particularly fond of their flags

Our last full day was a trip to the Wadden island of Schiermonnikoog , as unpronounceable a place as you would expect in Holland. The is a nature reserve, and afforded a fine day of walking through heathland, beach and dunes - rather like Suffolk in fact.

 Near white-out conditions made for tricky navigation.....

we came across an ants nest

and a scrounging jackdaw

before boarding the ferry back to the mainland

 A wonderful trip, organised, as ever, with military precision by Bert and Suus

the proofing of the Paramo

It's April, the height of the TGO Challenge preparation season rituals.


The run up to the Challenge is punctuated by a succession of events, each one reassuringly familiar over the past 15 years or so, and even after all this time the novelty doesn't wane.


Around February it's that twitchy time of scanning the rail company websites for the release dates of first the overnight sleeper tickets, and then the train home from Montrose. There are bargains to be had when booking  immediately  tickets are released, and more importantly, huge financial penalties for failing to do so. This year I've gone for the First Class option on the way home, for not a great deal more than standard class.


Then the Final Details arrive, and each year I scan for familiar names, and think of the wonderful Challengers that have passed away and are no longer on that list. Each year, being a bit of a saddo, I also find myself counting up how many on the list have completed more than I have, and each year that number gets a little smaller.


Today was a landmark if the countdown to the off - today was Paramo proofing day. I only do it once a year, and rarely can a chap have so much fun with a washing machine and a dryer, warm in the glow of newly restored and functional waterproof gear.


Now I know that Paramo is the Marmite of waterproof gear - some think it too heavy (its got a lot lighter over the past few years), others claim it isn't actually waterproof.


I have a theory about waterproof gear - there is no such thing. If it rains enough, you will, eventually, get wet, it's just a matter of time. So, if I am to get wet, at least it will be in something comfortable. For years I have been released from the tyranny of Gore-Tex, and there's no going back now. The trouble with Gore-Tex (and other similar laminates) is that it's like wearing a crisp packet, and about as comfortable and noisy. The laminate wears out, pointless in boots (leather boots can be proofed with wax, fabric boots offer no protection to the fragile laminate). I'm sure there are newer fabrics, but it's Paramo for me.


So, over the next week or so, I'll be working out how much food to take, where to send parcels, try to remember which way we'll be going, and if that's the same way I put on my route, putting the tent up in the garden for a bit of practise, wondering how many feathers are left in my sleeping bag, and buying a new pair of overly-priced, fluffy walking socks. Oh, and I might do a bit of walking.

Spring

Both the keen-eyed readers of these pages may have noticed that I haven't been blogging of late. There is a reason for this, and it's called Winter. This winter has been truly dismal - wet, grey, dark, the footpaths, even in sunny Essex, have turned to mud and the roads constantly wet and covered in potholes and debris. So, I haven't been blogging because I haven't really been doing much. Hardly any walking and no cycling to speak of.


It's not that I don't like Winter as such - in fact there are some aspects of Winter that I positively look forward to. The winter birdwatching round these parts is superb, and beautiful cold, crisp days are perfect for walking. The trouble is, there haven't actually been any cold, crisp days, just wet.



There are landmarks through winter that I subconsciously tick off, both good and bad



1. The last Sunday in October. Probably the most depressing day of the year, when the clocks go back and we inflict on ourselves the misery of late afternoon darkness. I know that, logically, Greenwich Mean Time makes sense, with midday falling more or less halfway between sunrise and sunset, but I just hate it.


2. Late November through to December. Just dark and wet. Christmas. Hideous. However, from now onwards....


3. December 22nd. The day after the shortest day of the year, a day to be savoured. From this day, imperceptibly, daylight hours are gradually lengthening, and hope is on the horizon.

4. Boxing Day. The day after Chriismas Day is a day for walking, and more importantly, it's not Christmas any more. Most importantly of all, I can now look forward to about ten months of turning on the radio or walking into a shop without hearing Shakin' f****** Stevens singing Merry F****** Chistmas Everyone. Christmas music is uniformly s***, and has no place in a civilised society.


5. New Years Day. It's not New Years Eve anymore, so I no longer have to pretend that I'm excited by the prospect of the clock reaching midnight, and it usually means a walk with the Stockwell Strollers.


6. Around January 6th. Its not my birthday anymore (each time I have a birthday, someone invariably mentions how old I must feel now that I'm a year older, and I invariably reply that I only feel a day older than I did yesterday. Annoyingly, the day after my birthday this year I came down with a severe dose of man-flu, and did indeed feel considerably older than I did the day before) and it's the end of the festive period school holidays - the state babysitting service has resumed and grumpy old men like myself can once again get out and about without tripping over families.
7. February 1st. I like February. It's a proper cold winter month, with the first signs of spring and just enough extra daylight to gladden the heart. As February becomes March nature does it's thing - Hawthorn bushes blossom by the roadsides, bulbs appear out of the ground, birds start singing and the distant sound of woodpeckers doing what woodpeckers do seems to be everywhere. The roads and paths start to dry out, walking boots are on, the bikes emerge from winter hibernation, and all is well with the world.
8. The last Sunday in March. Probably my favourite day of the year, the clocks go forward, it's not dark until about 8pm, spring is definitely here, and summer's just around the corner. Fantastic.
So, the last few weeks have seen a complete climatic transformation - dark wet days have been replaced by long periods of dry sunny weather, my cycling has resumed, and the dry roads mean the Bianchi has been put through it's paces. Some lovely rides on the superb Essex/Suffolk border roads, the Cycale season has resumed and I'm considerably fitter than I was a month ago. Happy days, and spring is here at last.