This Bank Holiday is a Great Idea

Day 5: Moville to Derry

Distance: 18.9 miles (105.3 total)

Total ascent: 905ft (8295 total)

Time: 6 hrs 45 mins

Three cheers for today's St Blaise Day Bank Holiday. The lovely barman at Annie's was quite right, the road from Moville to Derry is not what you'd call a hiker's dream. On the other hand, compared to the eight miles from Inveraray to the end of Loch Fyne it's pure bliss. That stretch of road is not the widest and it hosts three main forms of traffic: empty timber lorries hurtling towards you, full timber lorries hurtling away from you, and tourist coaches heading every which way. Me, I frequently found myself hurtling head-first into the roadside bushes just to avoid all that fast-moving metal. Anyway, the traffic today wasn't too bad at all which I found puzzling, and then I remembered - it's a Bank Holiday Monday! So, on reflection, I've decided that this February Bank Holiday is altogether a Great Idea.

It was a bit blowy and rained for most of the leg, but not heavily. 

I've tried to steer clear of anything approaching 'aches and pains' territory but I'm afraid today we have to go there. Something happened to my left shoulder and arm about seven miles into the day's walking. I fiddled with the straps on my rucksack, did up the chest strap, undid the chest strap, walked with my torso more or less perpendicular to the tarmac; it felt like everything I did to fix it just made the pain worse. Usually when I'm walking I can see a hurt coming (if that makes any sense); a blistered toe will have been niggling for a day or two before it become properly painful. My dodgy shoulder came out of a clear blue sky, well, a gloomily grey sky. It was time to stop. Ibuprofen was taken (if you're having trouble getting Ibuprofen in Berkamsted at the moment, it's because I've got most of it in my rucksack), there was a liberal application of Deep Heat, and Midday Prayer was said. To my joy and delight, although my shoulder was still painful it was far better than it had been. To take my mind off the niggle I sang. I sang a lot. I sang loudly. I sang for miles. There's an Instagram link below for any of you who'd like to enjoy my healing vocalisations.

Walking into Derry felt a bit odd. It's less than a week ago since I first arrived here, but already it feels like a lot has happened, a lot has changed. Partly the oddness comes from walking through a city dressed for a DofE expidition. I also had a sense that this was now a second beginning; it was like the past five days were something of a prelude. I don't know.

So there I am, walking through the outskirts of Derry all dressed up for the Great Outdoors. It was raining sporadically, cars were queueing at every junction, they had their lights on. Each time I found myself leaning on a lamppost waiting for the little red man to turn green I could see people looking at me, thinking either, 'Where the hell did he land from?' or 'Who did that to his head?'. I was in good spirits and just ready to get to the hotel. 

Bogside murals

Why it happened I don't really know, but at one crossing as I leant against a lamppost I suddenly found myself thinking, 'You're not a bad person.' Then I was crying; not great big heaving sobs, just a simple flow of tears. Five minutes later I found myself laughing at the sight I must have presented to those bemused motorists waiting for their lights to change: bald, backpacked, balling. Changes of mood like that could be a sign that I'm finally cracking up, and I wouldn't want to entirely discount the possibility: if you'd had nobody to talk to for five days but me, don't you think you'd be struggling too! 

But no, I think that maybe plasters are being pulled off so that healing can happen. Sometimes it hurts when you pull off a plaster.

Speaking of things that hurt... enjoy! https://www.instagram.com/p/DFnlcJFtIt8/

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Thanksgiving: my hotel room is a floor higher than the one I had last week, so I can see the River Foyle from my window.