Final thoughts - The Road to Nowhere

And so we did it. Fifty miles in rain, high wind, sunshine, among ferns and sheep, geese, marauding cows, horses. On precarious cliff edges, meadows, bridleways. Our boots could be used to gas cockroaches. We had a great laugh, met so many lovely people and were struggling to walk for several days after. We remained the best of friends, our levels of tolerance and understanding growing. We had quickly developed a sense of when the other was struggling and took measures to help and encourage each other. I’m not saying it made me a better person but I learned things. I saw that Helen is a much more gregarious and friendly person than I am, whose ability to tell a great tale is second to none. I found that I have a better sense of direction, and that I am much less of a drama queen than she is - surprisingly level-headed, actually! Who knew?

It gave me time out from a busy life to think - albeit about the pain I was inflicting on myself - and that was genuinely transformative. I learned that I am stronger physically and mentally than I thought. I learned that I love the outdoors, regardless of the weather and difficult conditions. I learned that things that seem incredibly difficult can actually be no more than pushing on. The experience had shown me that my tendency to give up on anything that seems vaguely difficult, fearing failure, was a misguided instinct. Having said that, as we arrived at our last hotel and I dumped my rucksack, I swore to myself that I would never do that again...

I suppose that it might be helpful at this point to say a little something about how we write this blog. One of us will kick off a section, write some stuff and put it up on the blog in a draft page. And then we read and interject and edit and eventually we post for you to read and hopefully enjoy. But when I read Rhian’s post, I didn’t want to interrupt her. Which is probably a first. She’s a very patient woman and when she says ‘friendly and gregarious’ she’s being nice, I’m just a gobshite really.

After the fish and chips and lots of alcohol the pain in our legs receded a little and we wandered back to our last hotel, slept the sleep of the exhausted and pissed, waking the next morning ready to catch the bus back to Carmarthen where Nick could pick us up and ferry us back to their house in Bridgend. We grabbed some breakfast on the way and boarded our bus, putting our rucksacks in the seat in front of us. The sun was shining, dammit, and as we pulled out of the bus depot the last week of walking unfolded in front of us, reversed and sped up.

A walk that had taken us most of the day from Llanrhystud was covered in less than half an hour. We drove past the sign for Morfa Bychan where wind and rain had driven us inland for safety. The bus carried on to Aberaeron, picking up shoppers along the way, discharging them into the brightly decorated shops of the High Street. We saw the Harbour Master in the distance where we had unexpectedly been taken for women of negotiable virtue and Rhian had made friends with Ian In Real Life, after years of them both teasing me via social media. Further on we could see the field we had clambered up and down without arguing. We sped past all the places we had met other walkers. And then the bus took a left and cut in land towards Carmarthen.

We’d done it. Every sodding step of the way from Cardigan to Aberystwyth.

I’d learned so many things. That 5 miles is a long way when it is pissing down with rain. That Frodo and Sam had good reason to find the Stairs of Cirith Ungol tough going. That three pairs of socks weren’t enough for a week’s walking holiday and that my boots needed to be burned to protect the health of the general public. That most people were fitter than I was, but this didn’t matter because all we had to do was put one foot in front of the other. That the world can be a marvellous place even when it is pissing down with rain and the path is asphalted with sheep shit. That stupid things happen and laughter comes from the oddest of places. I learned that time runs at a different speed when walking the path; that days could pass with no decisions to make and that this is a wonderful thing. And I knew, without a shadow of a doubt, that I wouldn’t have done any of this without the woman sitting next to me. Even if she was scared of cows.

‘Never again’, she said, looking at the walking pole that had broken in half, somewhere along the path.

I looked up, the bus was just coming into the car park of the hospital in Carmarthen, where Nick would be waiting for us.

‘It was good though.’

‘Your feet are rank and I’m aching all over’

‘Me too. Sorry about the feet. Major miscalculation on the sock front. I'm going to burn my boots. But at least I didn’t sniff’

‘True’

‘Carmarthen.’ I mused, ‘Shall we do that bit next?’

‘Oh, go on then.’

The End (I’ve always wanted to type that.)

The two of us on the beach leading into Aberystwyth. We had walked every sodden, blistered, sheep shit strewn mile from Carmarthen.