Solo Walk
I've woken up with feet that aren't sore or swollen at all this morning. That won't do, so I've devised a plan.
After a couple of nights in Holyhead, we're now headed eastward to Caernarfon. Eileen is doing the sensible thing, taking transit to our new destination. But I've found a much more strenuous way to accomplish the same task: take the train part of the way, then walk the remainder with my pack along more of the Wales Coast Path.
We had a rest day yesterday in Conwy, so I want to stretch my legs. I'm curious about my pace with this pack weight and new shoes. But above all, if I'm honest with myself, I want to see a progress bar fill in. The entirety of Wales has a path, the Wales Coast Path, and its app has a GPS feature to record how much of the 870 miles I've walked. I want to make the numbers go up.
My plan is partially foiled right away. For the most efficient and scenic version of my trek, I need to get off in Llanfairpwllgwyngyllgogerychwyrndrobwllllantysiliogogogoch (yes, really). When the train conductor asks our destination, I bluff using the shortened name I've seen on Google Maps: Llanfairpwllgwyngyll.
"What?" Despite my confidence, the conductor finds my destination unclear.
"...you know, the one with the really long name," I backpedal.
She nods, "Oh, Llanfairpwllgwyngyllgogerychwyrndrobwllllantysiliogogogoch." She just rattles it off like it's nothing. "Well, this train doesn't stop there."
We must have boarded an express. Luckily, I'm adaptable. I get a ticket for Bangor, one stop further on.
I had planned to walk the path northeast to the bridge (the oldest modern suspension bridge in the world), then southwest to Caernarfon, because Bangor is a bigger city about an equal distance away. But it's not too bad for walking. Within fifteen minutes of leaving Eileen to find her bus, I've crossed through a college campus and onto a forest path high above the expressway I'll need to parallel. I can hear the cars below, but the birds are louder. Bluebells and ivy blanket the oak forest.
There's a bit of a road walk, but there's sidewalk, and then I'm into a huge arboretum that follows the coastline. There is a huge stone wall between me and the water (keeping out the sea?), but the park maintainers have come up with some clever solutions: I eat my lunch on a bench that has been elevated, along with a footrest, several feet above the ground. It's just perfect to see over the wall, so I can watch kayakers and dinghy sailors while trying local convenience store staple chicken tikka sandwich.
The walking is several hours, but my body feels good. The new shoes seem to have fixed the knee issue, and are now sufficiently worn in to not raise blisters. I feel the weight of the pack in my hips, but nothing injurious. There's a bus that parallels my whole route, and I've promised myself I'll bail to it if the walk feels like too much on my body.
But my body feels good, and it's a fine sunny day. I smell and then see an expanse of wild garlic covering the forest floor, delicate white flowers dancing above broad elliptical leaves. Another walker's poodle dives into a roll on the gravel that looks so satisfying I'm nearly tempted to join. By the water, the stones in the ditch are grey skipping stones, almost thin enough to break in my fingers.
I'm a little tempted by the bus option by the time I reach Y Felinheli, but there's a sweet-salt smell like fresh clams in the air and I want to see the strait open out into the ocean. Rocky shores fade into sandbanks; sails luff as a sloop bobs on gentle riptides.
The end of my trail almost surprises me. Our new lodging is just a block or two from the trail I'm walking, so I walk up and text Eileen to let me in.
It's nice to have a walking day, and I'm pleased with my pace: 3.7 miles an hour is fast walking even without a pack. More importantly, I've just logged eleven and a half more miles — together with our walks on previous days, I can count the Wales Coast Path 4.2% complete.
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Bonus: Mother’s Day Collection
