Dream big.

Wendover – Princes Risborough

The Ridgeway leaves Wendover with a subtle (then decidedly not-so-subtle) incline along a row of houses, until you reach the gate to Bacombe Hill. I plodded along until it dawned on me there was a massive chainlink fence blocking my way. A multitude of signage explained that construction of the HS2 rail line required Ridgeway users to temporarily pass round the back of the houses and access the trail from the opposite side of the gate. Despite the clear signage and two walkers who’d just parked up eyeing me quizzically, I continued shuffling toward the fence, silently willing it to allow me passage because it’s just over there, please don’t add mileage yet.

After a brief exchange of pleasantries, the walkers explained where the diversion disappeared around the corner, so off I went in that direction, walking beside a whizzy new section of road that somehow felt entirely out of place in this gentle, quiet town. Its presence made me painfully aware of just how long I’d been coming and going up this trail with that singular goal in mind. And here that same journey in that same place was, for most, little more than a nice day’s jolly up a local hill.

Eventually I made it round the bend (stop laughing), passed through the gate, and finally began my ascent, gleefully discovering the same spongy consistency underfoot I'd felt all day rather than the typical dry sharpness the hill usually delivers. I spotted the bench up top which looked like a good spot to stop for lunch, and arrived to find it dedicated to one Tim Howden, who ‘loved this walk’. If I hadn’t decided to stop here from the mere presence of a bench, the inscription below convinced me it was the perfect spot, with the cheerful motivation for walkers to ‘Go for it!’

Seems Heavenly Tim also had a say in my journey that day.

It started drizzling again just as I finished eating, and as soon as the chill took my coffee from hot to not, I made quick business of getting back on the move. I became a fair bit colder than I expected to when I stopped, which would also come back to haunt me for the duration. Seems 23 years away from home puts you markedly out of practice, and I can confirm that my Chicago street cred for weather tolerance has absolutely gone the way of the dodo.

Fortunately Coombe Hill made short news of the chill, with its long, steady climb. I passed two women on their way down as I was ascending, which left me alone in the quiet company of the awe-inspiring monument at the top. A stiff breeze was setting sail to a rainbow-patterned something-or-other seemingly attached to the top of the monument, and I spent the duration of the climb trying to determine whether it was a balloon or flag while calling the fools who’d put it there all kinds of things that weren’t anywhere near their given names.

I followed the curve of the hilltop round to the left with its gently rising gullies, then welcomed a favourite descent, after which the trail eventually crosses a strip of road and dips back into the trees along the South Bucks Way. Down the steps I went, and onward to the ever-winding and increasingly gloopy Linton’s and Goodmerhill woods.

Because my luck is my luck, I discovered near about this point that I’d have another passenger on this journey (let’s just call her Aunt Flo) who received a particularly technicolour barrage of expletives complete with audible eyeroll, before I got back to the business at hand. Fortunately my timing was impeccable, as I quickly encountered a cyclist working hard to pedal up the next steep hill as I was beginning my long descent to Chequers. ‘I had to stay on,’ he laughed, ‘someone’s watching me!’ to which I responded ‘just keeping you honest!’ We passed with a grin and down I went.

I actually snorted with laughter as I reached the gate passing through the estate, and spent longer than I should have trying to discern who the current Prime Minister was who used this place as a holiday home? In the four years I’d been attempting this trail, we’d gone through three PMs. Still, joking aside, it’s sure felt like they were all very long-serving, considering how this journey has made me feel all this time.

The path up to the woodland had always consisted of multiple strips of narrow singletrack, somewhat sharp at the edges, which has been a bit testing underfoot for me. To my huge surprise and continued joy today it was a good three feet wide, all flattened and endowed with that beautiful damp mud surface which made the ascent a breeze. I spotted warning signage about tree felling as I passed through the gate up top, and once I determined there’d surely not be anyone working on Easter Sunday, I turned to see an incredible obstacle course of mud puddles awaiting me. Let’s just say I’m glad there wasn’t anyone around to hear the groan and mutterings. Despite wearing waterproof socks, I’d been trying to keep my feet as dry as possible so far, as it’s just that much more comfortable. But this was the first time I said to hell with it and went straight through – the choice was either wade through it or slip off the utterly pointless log bridges scattered about and I wasn’t quite in the mood to mangle my shoulder again.

I meandered up to the next meadow which had usually been dressed with a smattering of poppies, and that, too, was little else than turned soil.

It’s all different this time.

It was the first time I said it aloud, but it wouldn’t be the last. The time of year, the weather, the underfoot conditions, the views, everything was different. And then I realised that of course it would be different, because this time it was actually going down.

I’d said that before too, but up until now I never truly believed it.

Onward I went through another favourite patch of undulating chalk hills, past the majestic backdrop of Pulpit Hill to the left, down into the lovely descent through Grangelands. As I watched a few runners dart off ahead of me, I remembered the absolute agony in my IT band on the last occasion I was in this place. Today, it would play up briefly, but not here. When it did, I’d slow down and extend my stride to release it. The pain would miraculously never return.

It’s all different this time.

When I reached the Plough Inn at Cadsden, I found it completely deserted for the first time ever, aside from multitudes of birds. I refilled my water from the tap I’d discovered as I was planning my logistics, and decided to rest a bit before tackling Whiteleaf Hill. That rest was probably one of my better choices, to be fair.

Not long after I started climbing, a scream from above stabbed me right in the solitude, and I came across a family with three particularly rambunctious kids weaving their way up ahead of me. Despite every effort to pass and escape the din, the lack of training chose right here, right now to gnash its teeth and I started doing my best Jason Voorhees impression. As flashbacks of the Pennine Way’s Laddow Rocks and its 40 minute mile came in fast and furious, I reverted to a technique I’ll just call walk four breathe four, which pretty much speaks for itself – I mean, if you could reasonably call what I was doing breathing.

Up top, the fingerpost looked a bit like a cross against the grey sky and there it felt as if I may have climbed straight to Heaven for all the work, but alas it was just another curve round before I was back on another Ridgeway descent with it’s devilish chimp trying to wangle my gears into submission. I gave it some appropriate words and a boot to the back end, and was soon weaving my way down the Upper Icknield Way towards Princes Risborough. I looked forward to passing the bin I’d spotted on a previous outing, as despite having done an incredible job of working my way through the bag of pancakes and cinnamon rolls strapped to my waist pack all day, it still needed managing.

I downed the final roll, deposited the rest into the bin, and wound my way to the road junction – another crossing that felt reasonably monumental. As I became too aware of the disappearing daylight, I decided to stop and kit myself out for the long night ahead. It was incredibly odd to be switching on my headlamp at this point – it had always been somewhere in Grim’s Ditch, some 17 miles in front of me – but there it went.

My thoughts turned again to Rukai. Again, without worry. I’d been checking the updates all day, and had been receiving photos and messages for the duration. He was having the time of his life, and so was I.

Getting close to bedtime, buddy. I love you so. Dream big.

I packed up my things and headed into the darkness.

___

Giants in my way, and they stand so tall
But you make me brave, and I watch them fall
See the arrows fly, but they can't touch me
'Cause you're on my side, you're my victory…

Bring the enemies on, bring 'em if they dare
'Cause you're just that strong, and I'm not that scared
They can knock me down, but you pick me up
Gonna hold my ground in the name of love…

I won't fear the attack, no retreat, no turning back
You're my shield to the end, you're my strength to fight again

You are my victory

So I'm gonna soldier, soldier, soldier on
So I'm gonna soldier, soldier, soldier on
Every day's a battle you've already won
So when the night is long, I soldier on.

- Soldier On, Apollo LTD

(4 / x)

Prologue: https://madmaxruns.blogspot.com/2024/04/in-search-of-inner-greatness.html

Part 1: https://madmaxruns.blogspot.com/2024/04/why.html

Part 2: https://madmaxruns.blogspot.com/2024/04/when-adversity-comes-calling.html

Part 3: https://madmaxruns.blogspot.com/2024/04/once-more-unto-breach-dear-friends-once.html

Part 4: https://madmaxruns.blogspot.com/2024/04/dream-big.html

Part 5: https://madmaxruns.blogspot.com/2024/04/the-big-chill.html

Part 6: https://madmaxruns.blogspot.com/2024/04/let-it-begin.html

Part 7: https://madmaxruns.blogspot.com/2024/04/keeping-faith.html

Part 8: https://madmaxruns.blogspot.com/2024/04/breaking-levee.html

Part 9: https://madmaxruns.blogspot.com/2024/04/of-rage-and-guts.html