The 100 km hike from London to Brighton on the English Channel stands out among my memories. The hike is a charity event in which you try to walk 62.5 miles continuously in 24 hours, straight through the night, stopping only for meals and refreshments, and not for sleep. The reward was in not only completing the actual walk itself but also the experience of the time and effort spent in preparation beforehand.
My work colleagues identified and proposed the event as a summer challenge for the office. As they shared the idea just after my Ridgeway failure, I was skeptical about completing the distance. But blisters aside, I had enjoyed being out and about in the scenic English countryside, following the trail onward and onward towards the horizon. I had the sense of experiencing the part of the tale where our heroes step outside the Shire, or journey across Westmark, Westeros, or Shannara. (In the stories, however, miles melt away in mere sentences, much as if the trip had been by auto. Why didn't more of our heroes suffer blisters?) And so, along with a dozen others, I said yes, and then jumped into trying to improve my odds of success.
To tackle blisters, I turned to that fountain of knowledge, trivia, and controversy: the web. For the prior year's Three Peaks office challenge, I had picked up the practice of wearing a double layer of non-cotton socks, but that hadn't been sufficient for the Ridgeway. I disappeared down the online rabbit hole of strategies posted by hikers, runners, and others. There was a focus on what you put on your feet -- type of shoes, type of socks, use of tape (and type of tape), talcum powder, anti-perspirant. And, there were considerations besides your feet -- keeping the weight of your pack to a minimum, using hiking poles to shift effort to your arms.
I started with my gear. Special thanks to the staff at the Ellis Brigham Mountain Sports store in Covent Garden -- their expertise and guidance provided me with a properly fitting daypack, a hydration water bag (which I had never seen until the prior year, but the sipping tube looked way more convenient than stopping to pull out water bottles), and a comfortable pair of hiking boots, which have served me well on many, many hikes. From the closet, I pulled out the hiking poles from the Three Peaks. And, I purchased a variety of socks, tape, powder, and gel for my feet.
For practice, the office team aimed over two months to attempt a hike of 15-20 miles each weekend. South England is rich in outdoor trails and offered a range of different hikes that met our needs and were accessible by rail in under an hour from the London/Brighton corridor. The trails are well-maintained and marked, and at that time the Ordnance Survey topographic maps of England were integrated for free into certain online mapping tools. Every weekend a group of us would head out on the trail to build up our fitness, navigating by paper map and smartphone, and getting only a little lost, rather than horribly so.
For practice, the office team aimed over two months to attempt a hike of 15-20 miles each weekend. South England is rich in outdoor trails and offered a range of different hikes that met our needs and were accessible by rail in under an hour from the London/Brighton corridor. The trails are well-maintained and marked, and at that time the Ordnance Survey topographic maps of England were integrated for free into certain online mapping tools. Every weekend a group of us would head out on the trail to build up our fitness, navigating by paper map and smartphone, and getting only a little lost, rather than horribly so.
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| The Seven Sisters path on the English Channel |
On each hike I would try out a different technique for managing blisters, and I settled on taping my feet. I started with duct tape and then switched over to physical therapy tape just before the main event. With taped feet, well-fitted boots, good hydration, a reasonable pack weight, and the aid of hiking poles, I could cover twenty miles without suffering any significant blisters. (If only I had known this for the Ridgeway!)
The UK suffered a drought that spring, but for us that resulted in gloriously sunny and dry weather every weekend. We hiked along the North Downs and South Downs and chatted away the miles over a wide range of topics. Sometimes these were light-hearted: carports, spinning, music festivals, football, the three people you'd most like to invite to a dinner party, my inability to pay close attention to the contour lines on the trail maps. Sometimes these were more personal and touched on hopes, dreams, and fears. The camaraderie was remarkable; this extension of our office selves into our personal space didn't suffer from personality clashes, differences in walking pace, the irritation that accompanies exhaustion, or the 'ick' factor that could have come from people stripping off their sweaty socks in front of one another.
Thus, on the big day in June (at the weekend, and close to the summer solstice, to maximize daylight) our intrepid group of twelve was feeling fairly confident. While we knew we could have done more fitness-wise (none of us made it out for every practice hike), we were familiar with our gear and with our companions. And off we went...
The ensuing 100km were the most difficult physical experience of my life. We started strongly, smiles on our faces, and made decent time, keeping to the 24 hour target. (The only mishap was that I tripped over my own feet on a dual carriageway and saw my life flash before my eyes as traffic headed my way. I didn't complain about the resulting skinned knee.) But as the miles passed, fatigue and blisters began to weigh on us. Our stops became more frequent, and lengthened. By the time we reached dinner, halfway in, we were off the pace, our mood was low, and the sun had set. At that point, one colleague had planned beforehand to stop, and two others were forced out due to blisters. The remaining nine of us evaluated our status, and felt we could continue.
If we had not been working as a team, or if I had been a solo hiker, then I would have stopped there at dinner in Felbridge, tired and discouraged. Possibly my teammates would have done the same. As cliched as it sounds, a key driver for all of us to continue was to help each other to succeed and achieve the goal that we'd set out with and had shared with our donors.
And that team spirit kept us going. First, through the night in Sussex, putting one foot in front of the other, hunting for the glow sticks marking the path, until the sky finally lightened at 4:30, lifting our spirits. (While I may be hard-driving, I have never been one for all-nighters. I felt dead on my feet in the dark.) That morning, we split up to allow one group to press on and another to fall back. We had our eye on ensuring that everyone was ready to tackle the steep ascent up to the top of the South Downs, 250m up (yes, I know, tiny compared to the heights of the PCT, but believe me, it's a challenging ascent after 90km of walking). At the top of the downs, we ran into a fierce wind, drizzle, and cold, and as we made our way down to the coast, my group broke apart completely, reduced to pairs and singletons.
28 hours after we started, I arrived at the finish line with one of my colleagues. We missed the 24 hour target, but it's difficult to articulate the thrill we felt at reaching the end and seeing the coworkers, friends, and family that had gathered to meet us, and then in turn being able to meet our friends who were behind us. Among the group that set out from Felbridge, all nine of us finished, with some tears and a few missing toenails.
At difficult times since then, I have thought back to the London to Brighton experience as a source of strength, a vivid memory of being part of a team that collaborated to painfully achieve more collectively than we would have accomplished individually, and that enjoyed a few laughs and pints and got to know one another along the way. (To all of my colleagues involved -- all I can say is thank you, but that falls far short of articulating just how rewarding the two month experience was for me, and how much I enjoyed your company.)
I had ended up with only a few blisters on my feet after 100 km. I took my learnings on hiking and navigation and have continued to apply them and enjoy the great outdoors, taking a day away from football in Dresden to wander the Malerwag in Germany; completing another section of the Ridgeway; walking 48 miles in one trip around the Channel Island of Jersey (again, an office charity event); making a last minute hike up from Aberdeen to the top of Victoria Peak in Hong Kong with a stuffed elephant in my bag and a PDF map downloaded onto my phone.
From time to time I looked aspirationally at long-distance hikes, perusing the other National Trails in Britain (the South West Coast path is still tempting) and leafing through opportunities in Spain and Europe (I had visited Santiago de Compostela previously, though via Ryanair rather than the Camino de Santiago trail, and had memorably suffered several days of food poisoning, stuck in a hotel room with Under the Dome as my sole company). Not surprisingly, then, when I heard that Wild had shot up to the top of the bestsellers' list due to its book club selection by Oprah Winfrey, and that the book was about hiking the Pacific Crest Trail, I turned to the web to investigate just what this PCT was all about.
The trail sounded intriguing. Throughout my life, I had spent significant time in California visiting relatives, and I loved the state's beauty. At the start of graduate school, I went camping for a week in the Olympic Peninsula in Washington with a small group of classmates and experienced some of the best weather and scenery I have experienced anywhere, ever: daily temperatures in the seventies (mid-twenties in Celsius, and yes, chilly for India), sapphire skies, no humidity, and amazingly no bugs. (I'd acquired the giant rucksack that caused me so much grief on the Ridgeway on sale at REI in Seattle on that trip.) 2,650 miles was obviously a long journey, however, and would require a dedicated stretch of time that I didn't have. Still, the PCT was back home in the U.S., in the gorgeous scenery of the west, and the trail stuck in my mind and moved to the top of my aspirational, "maybe one day" list of long-distance hikes. I printed out Halfmile's two-page PCT overview map and would look at it from time to time.
Time passed. As I noted in my previous post, my thinking and priorities changed, and I began to consider: what if I actually tried to hike the PCT?
Now, I am planning to make the attempt. And I imagine my thoughts will turn back to the London-to-Brighton experience more than a few times along the way.
The UK suffered a drought that spring, but for us that resulted in gloriously sunny and dry weather every weekend. We hiked along the North Downs and South Downs and chatted away the miles over a wide range of topics. Sometimes these were light-hearted: carports, spinning, music festivals, football, the three people you'd most like to invite to a dinner party, my inability to pay close attention to the contour lines on the trail maps. Sometimes these were more personal and touched on hopes, dreams, and fears. The camaraderie was remarkable; this extension of our office selves into our personal space didn't suffer from personality clashes, differences in walking pace, the irritation that accompanies exhaustion, or the 'ick' factor that could have come from people stripping off their sweaty socks in front of one another.
Thus, on the big day in June (at the weekend, and close to the summer solstice, to maximize daylight) our intrepid group of twelve was feeling fairly confident. While we knew we could have done more fitness-wise (none of us made it out for every practice hike), we were familiar with our gear and with our companions. And off we went...
The ensuing 100km were the most difficult physical experience of my life. We started strongly, smiles on our faces, and made decent time, keeping to the 24 hour target. (The only mishap was that I tripped over my own feet on a dual carriageway and saw my life flash before my eyes as traffic headed my way. I didn't complain about the resulting skinned knee.) But as the miles passed, fatigue and blisters began to weigh on us. Our stops became more frequent, and lengthened. By the time we reached dinner, halfway in, we were off the pace, our mood was low, and the sun had set. At that point, one colleague had planned beforehand to stop, and two others were forced out due to blisters. The remaining nine of us evaluated our status, and felt we could continue.
If we had not been working as a team, or if I had been a solo hiker, then I would have stopped there at dinner in Felbridge, tired and discouraged. Possibly my teammates would have done the same. As cliched as it sounds, a key driver for all of us to continue was to help each other to succeed and achieve the goal that we'd set out with and had shared with our donors.
And that team spirit kept us going. First, through the night in Sussex, putting one foot in front of the other, hunting for the glow sticks marking the path, until the sky finally lightened at 4:30, lifting our spirits. (While I may be hard-driving, I have never been one for all-nighters. I felt dead on my feet in the dark.) That morning, we split up to allow one group to press on and another to fall back. We had our eye on ensuring that everyone was ready to tackle the steep ascent up to the top of the South Downs, 250m up (yes, I know, tiny compared to the heights of the PCT, but believe me, it's a challenging ascent after 90km of walking). At the top of the downs, we ran into a fierce wind, drizzle, and cold, and as we made our way down to the coast, my group broke apart completely, reduced to pairs and singletons.
28 hours after we started, I arrived at the finish line with one of my colleagues. We missed the 24 hour target, but it's difficult to articulate the thrill we felt at reaching the end and seeing the coworkers, friends, and family that had gathered to meet us, and then in turn being able to meet our friends who were behind us. Among the group that set out from Felbridge, all nine of us finished, with some tears and a few missing toenails.
At difficult times since then, I have thought back to the London to Brighton experience as a source of strength, a vivid memory of being part of a team that collaborated to painfully achieve more collectively than we would have accomplished individually, and that enjoyed a few laughs and pints and got to know one another along the way. (To all of my colleagues involved -- all I can say is thank you, but that falls far short of articulating just how rewarding the two month experience was for me, and how much I enjoyed your company.)
I had ended up with only a few blisters on my feet after 100 km. I took my learnings on hiking and navigation and have continued to apply them and enjoy the great outdoors, taking a day away from football in Dresden to wander the Malerwag in Germany; completing another section of the Ridgeway; walking 48 miles in one trip around the Channel Island of Jersey (again, an office charity event); making a last minute hike up from Aberdeen to the top of Victoria Peak in Hong Kong with a stuffed elephant in my bag and a PDF map downloaded onto my phone.
From time to time I looked aspirationally at long-distance hikes, perusing the other National Trails in Britain (the South West Coast path is still tempting) and leafing through opportunities in Spain and Europe (I had visited Santiago de Compostela previously, though via Ryanair rather than the Camino de Santiago trail, and had memorably suffered several days of food poisoning, stuck in a hotel room with Under the Dome as my sole company). Not surprisingly, then, when I heard that Wild had shot up to the top of the bestsellers' list due to its book club selection by Oprah Winfrey, and that the book was about hiking the Pacific Crest Trail, I turned to the web to investigate just what this PCT was all about.
The trail sounded intriguing. Throughout my life, I had spent significant time in California visiting relatives, and I loved the state's beauty. At the start of graduate school, I went camping for a week in the Olympic Peninsula in Washington with a small group of classmates and experienced some of the best weather and scenery I have experienced anywhere, ever: daily temperatures in the seventies (mid-twenties in Celsius, and yes, chilly for India), sapphire skies, no humidity, and amazingly no bugs. (I'd acquired the giant rucksack that caused me so much grief on the Ridgeway on sale at REI in Seattle on that trip.) 2,650 miles was obviously a long journey, however, and would require a dedicated stretch of time that I didn't have. Still, the PCT was back home in the U.S., in the gorgeous scenery of the west, and the trail stuck in my mind and moved to the top of my aspirational, "maybe one day" list of long-distance hikes. I printed out Halfmile's two-page PCT overview map and would look at it from time to time.
Time passed. As I noted in my previous post, my thinking and priorities changed, and I began to consider: what if I actually tried to hike the PCT?
Now, I am planning to make the attempt. And I imagine my thoughts will turn back to the London-to-Brighton experience more than a few times along the way.
