Two old timers take on The Thames

Hiking up Ben Nevis? So yesterday.  Twenty four hours after Andrew, Clive and I completed our mountain escapade in the Highlands, the clock was already beginning to tick towards a second key event in my diary, the Thames Bridges Trek.  

In a previous blog I explained how it was that I came to sign up for this special fund-raising day, but perhaps it would be helpful to set the context again in this post?  A few months ago my lovely friend Paulette asked whether I'd consider accompanying her on the Thames Trek, a 25km zig-zaggy walk across 16 bridges, to raise money for St Wilfrid's Hospice in Eastbourne. The hospice has provided outstanding palliative care to Paulette's husband Jeremy, who has been living with progessive prostate cancer. It was such a good cause, and I agreed in an instant. Very sadly, Jeremy died two months ago - but Paulette decided that she'd like to continue with our trek challenge in Jeremy's memory.    

So it was time to pack my bags, bid a fond farewell to Fort William and leg it home to East Sussex.  I say 'leg it', but at that stage my quadriceps and calf muscles were begging for mercy every time I moved my legs in an upward or downward direction. And in truth, I was beginning to panic a little. How on earth was I going to cope with extended pavement pounding and multiple bridges in just two days' time?

I remembered what I'd said to Paulette a few weeks back. 'Come what may, I'll be on that start line with you' I'd told her. So I put my problem-solving hat on. For the next 36 hours, I nursed my legs through an intense programme of hot water bottles, bags of frozen peas and Radox baths, with the occasional gentle dog walk thrown in.  And I studied the Trek route to prepare myself a little. Although I'm not sure that was a wise idea. Oh my goodness, that red line looked so long.... 

Our Thames Bridges Trek day dawned. Paulette awoke to the ping of a good luck text from son Luke in Cape Town. I awoke to the realisation that my legs felt more, well, human. And after two days of wall to wall rain, the sun awoke to find itself uncluttered by clouds. Paulette and I squeezed into my battered old car, with chauffeur Andrew at the wheel. Butterflies were going absolutely bonkers in my stomach. Would we be able to find our way to the start of the event? Were our bodies capable of walking 25km within 7 hours? Would Paulette's daughter Antoinette and family be able to track us down en route? And was I too old to be wearing lycra?

First stop, Lucy's house in Wimbledon. Lucy and Andrew wished us good luck and made a beeline for The Ivy Cafe to enjoy a slap-up breakfast (on Dad of course), whilst Paulette and I headed empty-stomached to the tube station. An hour later, the two of us were primed and ready for action in Bishops Park, near Putney Bridge. We had 'It Takes Two' bibs pinned to our backpacks, St Wilfrid's Hospice logos emblazoned across our chests, and event passes draped round our necks. The butterflies had settled down and we were beginning to feel quite excited. Mixed in with the excitement was a wave of intense sadness at the thought that Paulette wouldn't be able to share this special experience with Jeremy, as she had originally imagined she would be doing - but every single step of the route would be taken with Jeremy in our hearts and minds.

     

The 9.30am start slot was announced and Paulette and I took our places with 298 fellow walkers. We were all given blue trilbies to pop on our heads. We warmed up with a lively zumba routine, which instantly exposed my lack of coordination.  And then we were off!  We pootled over Putney Bridge, shimmeyed by shops, moseyed alongside a market and promenaded past a park. Some keen and swift folk from later time slots began to overtake us. 'Just let them go' Paulette said 'We'll get there in our own time'. Wise words indeed. We fell quite naturally into a comfortable rhythm and pace, and our lungs weren't so hard pressed that we couldn't talk nineteen to the dozen.  Every so often we felt compelled to stop in our tracks and take photos of iconic landmarks.

   

After two and a half hours of walking, Paulette and I reviewed our physiological status. Feet? Check. Legs? Check. Backs? Check. Hips? Che.......oh dammit, time to 'fess up, I was beginning to notice a nasty niggling soreness in my right hip, a part of my body that's known to throw the occasional wobbly under provocation. It had behaved itself immaculately all the way and down The Ben. Would this trek prove to be, er, 16 bridges too far?  

As luck would have it, we had a scheduled halfway break coming up. So we slowed down our speed, crossed Vauxhall Bridge (Bridge 7) and made our way to the nearby Pleasure Gardens where we were ushered into a big marquee. In front of us were long tables groaning under the weight of croissants, Danish pastries, cakes, cookies, crisps, sweets and chocolates, and a smorgesbord of fruit for the virtuous. Pleasure Gardens indeed!! I knocked back a couple of anti-inflammatories and then gorged myself on a shed-load of starchy grub. Meanwhile Paulette deftly juggled a croissant, chocolate brownie, orange slice and her mobile as she attempted to track down Antoinette and family's current location. 

Back on the road, and to my immense relief my hip was firing on all cylinders again. Paulette's phone rang. Breaking news....Antoinette, husband Steve and their two daughters Zoe (13) and Mia (11) were on the train heading towards London Bridge and were planning to meet us towards Southwark. 'How are they going to find us?' pondered Paulette. 'Smart phones and apps Paulette, you'll see' I replied with more conviction than I felt.  

We strode towards Westminster Bridge (Bridge 9), where we encountered a plethora of famous buildings, a Lib Dem March for Europe, and hoards of tourists, many of whom gave our trilbies and bibs a long hard stare.   

We crossed the Golden Jubilee, Waterloo, Blackfriars and wobbly Millennium Bridges (Bridges 10 to 13) in quick succession. More iconic structures and swarms of overseas visitors.  

 

Paulette's mobile rang again. It was Steve, inquiring as to our whereabouts. 'We're coming up to a bridge' she replied helpfully.  Hmm....but which one? It turned out to be Southwark. 'Are you north or south?' asked Steve. Paulette and I looked at one another blankly.  But guess what, just two minutes later, there were Antoinette, Steve, Zoe and Mia standing in front of us - an absolute stand-out moment of our day and a very emotional one. 

Back to the job in hand, now accompanied by the fabulous Dale Henderson support team. After a minor unplanned detour at the Tower of London when the route arrows seemed to disappear (or was it that we were just chatting too much to spot them.....?), Tower Bridge (Bridge 16 - hurrah!) loomed before us. 

 

Once on Tower Bridge it was my turn to coordinate a family rendezvous. Texts flew back and forth. I learnt that Andrew and Lucy had moved on from the Ivy Cafe in Wimbledon and were now hanging out in the Southwark area. 'We're on Tooley St on your route - outside keeping a look out' texted Andrew. Outside what Andrew? Oh of course, a pub! Ten minutes later Paulette and I duly arrived at The Shipwrights Arms and our support team gained two additional tiptop members. 

One. More. Kilometre. To. Go. Our legs ached, our feet felt sore and my hip was throwing a minor hissy-fit. By now the route had taken us away from the majestic Thames and we were slogging it along unforgiving pavements and soulless streets. We yearned for Southwark Park, our ultimate destination. Another road. Another corner.  And then finally the end was in sight - banners flapping in the freeze, people cheering, inspirational music blaring.....yes, It Takes Two had made it!  

Paulette and I crossed the finish line together, big smiles on faces, aches and pains forgotten. We were awarded with medals, tee-shirts and a glass of fizz by cheery event staff. And we wrapped up the formalities by having our finishers' photo taken. 

Paulette and I gave one another a big celebratory hug and then raised our glasses very high to Jeremy. He would be so proud of Paulette's achievement. I'm very proud of her too. I think her decision to register for the Trek and to persist with her plans following Jeremy's death is testament to her strength, courage, resilience, warm-heartedness and zest for life and is also testament to Jeremy and Paulette's devoted relationship, spanning more than 50 years.

To date, our 'It Takes Two' webpage has received £1851 in donations, an amazingly fantastic total that will be hugely appreciated by St Wilfrid's Hospice in Eastbourne. Paulette and I are truly grateful to everyone for their generosity and for all the support and encouragement we've received. 

This blog has been written in loving and fondest memory of Jeremy Dale Roberts.

If you would like further information about St Wilfrid's Hospice, do please visit our JustGiving page  https://www.justgiving.com/fundraising/paulettedaleroberts

Three take a hike up Ben Nevis

'A large percentage of seeming incapables reach the top of Ben Nevis'. So remarked a certain William T Kilgour, who worked in the Observatory on Ben Nevis's summit in the late 19th century.  William T's views on female climbers were especially disparaging. 'The fair sex must do their own sweet will on Ben Nevis' he declared, 'Along with the broken-winded and the rheumatic'.  Hmm....what would William T have made of our little trio of Ben Nevis hikers, combined age of 190 years, infiltrated by the fair sex and each of us latent broken-winded rheumatics. It's a dead cert that he'd have ranked us as incapables.

But I'm getting ahead of myself. My story begins on a grey September morning, the day after my brother Clive's 60th birthday. Six months previously, Clive had agreed to celebrate the start of his seventieth decade by trekking up Ben Nevis with my husband Andrew and me. And so it was that the three of us arrived bright and early at Ben Nevis Inn, renowned Ben base camp, where we had been instructed to rendezvous with our guide Eve - a member of the fair sex who, as we would later discover, possessed extraordinary reserves of resilience, tenacity and diplomacy. The plan was to ascend Ben Nevis via the Mountain Track, also known as the Tourist Path. 'Don't be fooled by the name' said Eve, with a small glint in her eye, 'It's going to be a tough and strenuous walk.' Andrew gripped his walking poles. I straightened my beanie. Clive chewed hard on his gum. And thus began our quest to conquer Ben Nevis.

The first stage of our trek was a relatively gentle one. The weather was dry and calm. The views were glorious. Our legs were full of spring. Our spirits were high. My big toe felt recovered from the evil wasp attack. Life was good. We soaked up Eve's impressive knowledge on The Ben's history and geology.  

We reached a section of the path where a helicopter was hovering overhead. Its task was to deposit huge containers of boulders for the purposes of building a smart new track. We all noticed with some trepidation how the containers were partially blocking the current pathway. 'That won't be much fun to negotiate when we come back down' said Andrew, ever the pragmatist. 'Oh it'll be fine' said I, ever the optimist. Clive chewed harder on his gum. 

We eased our way cautiously past the helicopter delivery section and soon found ourselves moseying along a very nice flat path. Clive confessed to feeling a wave of relief. 'That was tough going' he said. 'How much further is it to the top?' A shadow briefly crossed Eve's face. 'Er, we're not halfway yet Clive' she ventured cautiously. 'And it's going to get tougher' she added for good measure.  Half an hour later we reached the Red Burn, which is indeed the halfway point - hurrah! Time to replenish our water bottles with some authentic Highland H2O.

Whilst we paused for breath and chomped on indigestible breakfast bars, Eve prepared us for the next section, known as the zig zags - eight stretches of steep and stony track of varying lengths. We set off again. The weather started to close in. It rained. It hailed. It blew gusty gusts of wind. It may have even sleeted. It was certainly getting more chilly. In some weird way, it all felt rather exhilarating, whilst simultaneously deeply unpleasant. We kept climbing steadily upwards. One. Step. At. A. Time.  

After 90 minutes or so, Andrew and I finally reached the end of the zig zag section. But dear oh dear, where was Clive? Eventually we spotted a familiar tall figure emerging slowly from the mist. I'm not going to lie, dear reader, Clive didn't look too chipper. 'I don't know if I can do this any longer' he gasped. 'You need to eat something' said Eve. 'I don't feel like eating' retorted Clive. A polite stand-off ensued. I'm afraid I wasn't having it. Big sister waded in. Two pieces of Yorkie bar later (I didn't quite resort to force-feeding tactics, promise), Clive was back on track - just. True grit had prevailed. 

Within thirty minutes, we were at the summit. We found ourselves enveloped in a thick layer of low-lying cloud. All around us fellow walkers were emerging and disappearing into the mist, like shell-shocked nuclear bomb survivors. We picked our way gingerly across the crunchy uneven shale.  In front of us were the ruins of a one-bedroomed hotel and William T's Observatory. It was a very spooky and surreal scene. 

 

Eve led us to the summit monument and we climbed up a small flight of steps to its top. We took the obligatory selfie and checked our watches. The ascent had taken us 4 hours and 15 mins - not bad going for incapables.

All of a sudden......whoosh.....the breeze picked up, the clouds rolled away, the mist cleared, and for a precious 90 seconds or so, Ben Nevis deigned to reveal its stunning views to us. Knowing, as we did, that the summit shrouds itself in cloud for 355 days of the year, we felt truly privileged to have witnessed this, and we instantly forgot about the fact that we were damp, frozen, stiff-fingered and tired-legged.  

And so to the descent. Eve warned us that the going down would be every bit as challenging as the going up, indeed it was likely to be more difficult. She wasn't kidding. I'm not going to bore you with too much detaiI. But I think it's fair to say that the terms rheumatic and broken-winded became increasingly meaningful as the hours passed. The zig zags were very hard going, but the most tricky section - as Andrew had accurately predicted - was the helicopter zone. The track was steep, slippery, uneven and narrow-ledged, and worse still, we were expected to leg it quickly down the track between 'copter drops, which were at 2 minute intervals. Clive had a couple of nasty moments. Thank goodness for Eve.

One other apparent cruelty was inflicted upon that beloved younger brother of mine. Every time he caught up with his speedier companions, they had the audacity to simply whizz off again, leaving him no time to recover. Although......when Clive and I compared notes 3 days later, it turns out that he had far less leg stiffness than Andrew and me, which leads us to conclude that it doesn't pay to do the stop/start method of descent.  

On the pluser than plus side, the weather improved as we descended, and we were treated to some wonderful scenery (Eve took the photos below - perfect screensavers both).

Finally, after five gruelling stretched-out hours on the descent, we arrived back at The Ben Nevis Inn, looking rather less bright-eyed and bushy-tailed than 9 and a bit hours previously. My legs felt like stiff jelly and my hair had turned to stiff jelly, but there was nothing stiff jelly-like about my sense of achievement. Andrew was delighted that his 'poli poli' approach, honed on the slopes of Kilimanjaro last year, had borne results again. And Clive? 'That was the most difficult thing I've done in my entire life' he announced somewhat darkly, a minute or two after the photo below was taken. Eve wondered whether he'd ever talk to us again. But Andrew and I had a sneaking suspicion that after a few pints, he would feel more mellow. And guess what? We were right. Scafell Pike beckons.  Maybe think about doing a bit more training first bro?

I can't begin to say how grateful we are to the fantastic Eve at Abacus Mountain Guides for leading us up and down majestic Ben Nevis. Without Eve, I'm quite sure we would never have reached the summit. She made the whole experience totally safe, hugely satisfying and a lot of fun too. I'd like to think she doesn't consider us to be a trio of incapables. And I feel quietly confident that William T Kilgour would be very impressed by Eve's mountain guide skills, fair sex or not. 

I woke up the following morning feeling stiffer than a stiff board in Stiffkey. 'Never mind' I thought smugly to myself, 'I don't have a mountain to climb today.' And then I remembered that I had 16 miles and 16 bridges to cross in just three days' time.  Whoops. Did I make it to the Putney Bridge start line? Now that would be telling. I'm afraid you'll just have to wait for the next installment....

Return of the blog

Hang on a minute, what's going on? Didn't I say last Christmas that I was bidding farewell to my sixtyat60 blog?  So how come I'm suddenly subjecting you to a comeback performance? Is there a stash of new posts waiting eagerly in the wings? I think I'd better explain sharpish.

Four months ago, my lovely friend and shiatsu therapist Paulette asked whether I'd be willing to join her in a 25k trek along the Thames to raise money for St Wilfrid's Hospice in Eastbourne.  I felt a whoosh of excitement.  Fund-raising? Challenge? Nice long walk? Endless views of flowing water? Frankly it was a no-brainer. Within half a nano-second I'd signed on the dotted line.  But in truth my number one reason for saying yes to Paulette was because she and her husband Jeremy were absolute stalwarts throughout the year that I was doing my own challenge (see selfie below, taken inexpertly by me whilst the three of us were navigating the Seven Sisters for Task 2), and it gave me a huge sense of pleasure to be able to return the favour, especially given the special charity concerned. And so with our trek now just 7 days away, it seems only fitting to rekindle the spirit of sixtyat60 and post a blog about our forthcoming adventure.

You may be wondering why Paulette has decided to fund-raise for St Wilfrid's Hospice.  Since the beginning of this year, St Wilfrid's has provided outstanding palliative care to Jeremy, who has been living with progressive prostate cancer - and they've also offered expert advice and support to Paulette.  The skilled and compassionate Hospice at Home team enabled Jeremy to remain at home throughout his illness, and when he died very peacefully seven weeks ago, he was in his familiar surroundings, with Paulette and family at his side. The trek that Paulette and I are doing is an expression of thanks and gratitude from Paulette to the hospice and its wonderful staff.  

So....what exactly is the Thames Bridges Trek? It's part of an annual weekend event organised by Action Challenge. Participants can run, jog or walk their way along various sections of the Thames. The Thames Bridges Trek route takes participants across no less than 16 bridges from Putney Bridge to Tower Bridge.  Paulette and I will be setting out from Putney Bridge at 9.30am next Saturday, 9th September, and aim to cross the finish line by 4.30pm - 7 hours of relentlessly hitting the tarmac, interspersed with plenty of chin-wagging, people-watching and Thames-viewing. What's not to like?

There's one potential tiny obstacle. You may perhaps remember that my brother Clive joined Andrew and me for the last day of my epic Wales Coast Path walk (Task 5 in my sixtyat60 challenge)? Clive was so inspired by the experience (despite a tricky moment when we encountered a squall 3 miles outside Bawth and Clive's leather city shoes frankly weren't up to the task of helping their owner to stay upright) that he couldn't wait to have another crack at some serious hill walking. And so it is that next Tuesday - er, yes, that's just 4 days before the Thames trek - Clive, Andrew and I will be legging it up Ben Nevis to commemorate Clive's 60th birthday. I've promised Paulette that I'll stick to the path, wrap up warm, take industrial quantities of sunscreen/midge repellent and obey our guide's instructions at all times. I'll be on that startline at Putney Bridge in a week's time, come what may!

Mind you, that 'come what may' attitude of mine has really been put to the test this week, courtesy of an evil and highly antisocial wasp, which released its existential pent-up anger by stinging my big toe in several places as I was pottering around the kitchen in my flip-flops on Monday morning.  Oh my goodness, the pain, the curses, the itching, the throbbing, the mega-itchy itching. Did I mention the itching? Ah well, first-world problem or what? Palace's failure to sign up a striker or goalie by the end of the transfer window is far more serious. Two types of antihistamines, one steroid cream and endless ice packs later, I think I'm finally beginning to win the battle. Ben Nevis, prepare yourself to be conquered next Tuesday.   

  
I promise to post a follow-up blog to let you know how I and my trusty challenge companions fare over the next 7 days. And in the meantime, if you'd like to read more about Paulette's and my Thames Bridges Trek, do please visit our JustGiving page at https://www.justgiving.com/fundraising/paulettedaleroberts