The Long and Winding Road tha-a-at leads to my front door – 14th March 2014 - from St. Albans City Centre to my front door in Western Way, Dunstable - through Redbourn, past Flamstead, Markyate and Kensworth, and then through Dunstable

A Friday training walk is a bit unusual for me, but as my work diary was empty for the day, I decided to try and squeeze in a bit of pavement walking training.

Up until now I’ve been trudging around over the hills, through the fields and along the vales of the local countryside – and there is a fair bit of that to choose from around here thankfully – but it is going to be equally important for me to get a bit of long distance pavement and road walking in. The first 80 or so miles of Big Dave’s Little Stroll will be on an A-road that runs from John O’Groats to Inverness, most of which will involve leaping onto the verge to avoid getting squashed by the traffic as there isn’t a decent path. Walking on solid tarmac for any lengthy duration is a very different prospect to hill walking. The advantage is that the path is usually pretty level and obviously easy to follow, but the disadvantages are that it is extremely tough on your feet – think blister central – and on your joints.

I left the house at 5:30am - kissing Super Wife goodbye (who had woke me up a half hour earlier with tea, water, Juice Plus tablets and hot muesli – thanks Lorna) – and wandered down Luton Road, around the back of Sainsburys, past the DW Fitness Gym, across the busway and up Court Drive to the series of bus stops there. My plan was to catch the number 34 Centrebus to St Albans and then walk back – simples.

Whilst waiting for the bus to arrive at 6:15 I decided to take a picture of the Gary Cooper across the way, through the cold and fog of the morning. I tweeted using my phone, posting the picture and asking if it was too early for a pint. I’m starting to get to grips with Twitter now and it’s a great way of letting those who are interested know that I’m actually out and about training.  All of a sudden, a mildly aggressive woman, clutching some car keys and looking at me like I had just urinated into the face of a beloved family pet, approached me demanding to know why I was taking pictures of her! Trying to hide my amusement, I listened to her ranting for a few moments during which I managed to ascertain that she had been sat in a car parked in what I can only assume to be some sort of taxi bay with a parking restriction and had thought I was there to dob her in, or something along those lines. After pointing out to her that I was stood there in jeans, a couple of hoodies, with a small backpack and a pair of massive muddy hiking boots on; explaining to her that I was out on some training for a charity walk and had taken a picture of the Gary Cooper pub to post on the internet; and trying with every fibre of my being to try to not sound condescending as I asked her whether I looked like a parking inspector; this lady seemed to grudgingly accept that I wasn’t the parking mafia’s most covert operative ever and walked off, informing me with some venom that she was only there to collect her husband.

 

Stay classy Dunstable... stay classy.

I caught the number 34, sat very comfortably on a near empty bus right next to a radiator, relaxing and staring blankly out into the white fog as we trundled along through Dunstable, Markyate, Flamstead and Redbourn, then hopping off at the top of Catherine Street in St Albans. It wasn’t as foggy in the city centre but it was definitely still a bit chilly.

 

I set off down St Peter’s Street towards my chambers, past the Magistrates Court where I spend a fair amount of my time, and slightly down hill towards the Clock Tower.

 

I could see the top of St Albans Cathedral, golden in the morning light, sticking up from the rooftops of St Albans and paused to take a couple of pictures. There was hardly anyone around despite the fact that it was now 7am, with only a crew of scaffolders whistling away merrily and a few early morning gents out walking their small but beardy terriers.

 

Turning right and north up Verulam Road, past the Royal British Legion, over the roundabout and onto Redbourn Road – which I discovered is a damn sight longer than it appears when you’re nipping along it in the morning dangerously close to the legal speed limit.

 

It is also immediately apparent that quite a few other drivers believe the limit to be about 80 mph on the straights as they shot past within a metre of the kerb.

 

Some fantastic houses down that road though! If I ever end up in a career that actually pays well I’ll be snapping up one of those.

 

Onwards up Redbourn Road, passing the old run down pub at the end of Punch Bowl Lane – which incidentally looks like it’s finally being done up – and ever onwards down the tarmac trail over the River Ver, past the Chequers Pub and over the roundabout into Redbourn.

 

I’ve only ever hurtled through Redbourn on an early nineties, high emission, barely still mobile bus. Some of my ancestors hailed from the village, the Deamers, but that was over a century ago.  Basically, I’ve never really bothered to go exploring in that direction, despite living my whole life just down the road.

 

Shameful.

 

Wandering down the High Street and then onto Dunstable Road, I must say, Redbourn looks very nice indeed.

Quiet. Old. Big houses. Local shops. Quaint fire station.

It’s like stumbling across a real life Pontypandy.

I managed to attract some dodgy side glances from the older generation as I trundled along which initially unnerved me... then I realised I’d started singing to myself at a volume just under a normal talking voice. Cringe factor – high. The Long and Winding Road of all things... a McCartney Beatles classic. Realisation having now having occurred... did I stop? Did I hell. With a mental shrug of the shoulders I strolled out of Redbourn having entered into a particularly Lutonian rendition of the second verse.

From there it was further north, but downhill, past the Hertfordshire County Showground to junction 9 of the M1.

I managed to pretty much inhale a banana on the move as I went.  I had to get my jog on to avoid getting flattened by a motorway maintenance lorry on the slip road to the M1, but it wasn’t long before I was back to cruising along in plod gear past the Harvester at Flamstead on the A5 towards Dunstable.

It was around this point that, having just past the now dilapidated Chequers Pub at the foot of Chequers Hill at about 7 miles into the walk, I started to become aware of the wear and tear on my feet. 7 miles into one of my usual training walks is barely the warm up, but today, although all other aspects of my body were still firing on all cylinders, the balls of both feet were starting to swell. It was also at about this point that the weather started to hot up – beautiful and sunny, but not so comfortable when you’re wearing a hooded fleece, over another hooded jumper, over a t-shirt tucked into your jeans. I wasn’t going to stop for a break yet though, or even a bag reshuffle as I was moving along at a steady rhythm and I wanted to reach at least Kensworth before stopping for a break. I downed a few super strength Ibuprofen, and carried on plodding, squinting into the sun.

I past the pink facade of the strippers pub on the A5 at about 9:30am – it used to be called the Waggon & Horses when I worked the pubs, but I think it’s now called Junction 9. As a kid I remember my dad taking us to the Waggon & Horses when it was still just a regular pub – if I remember rightly it had a pretty decent play area behind it and some rabbits and other small animals in hutches – a fantastic place for the grown-ups to have a pint in the sun whilst their Fanta-ed up kids played outdoors. Now it’s a strange little place where women strip down to nothing for the princely sum of a £1 coin being put into a pint glass by whoever happens to be around. Don’t get me wrong, I’m not judging! I put a few £1 coins into those glasses many moons ago... but it’s funny how a place can change so radically.

From there it was onwards past Markyate and across the A5 via a painted subway to a lovely little building at Church End.

 

Then left along the A5 towards Kensworth, past Cell Park, a fantastic historic house set in 70 odd acres, which I have always loved and dreamt about owning – and which is conveniently now on the market for just over 4 million pounds sterling. I may just have to put in an offer...

Past the Packhorse at the foot of Lynch Hill and the various caravan sites that lay along this stretch of road – I had planned to stop here to have another banana, refill my water bottle and take my fleece hoody off – but for some inexplicable reason I didn’t and just kept on plodding on in the direction of Manshead School on the outskirts of Dunstable.

 

I past Turnpike Farm, which is a beautiful little farmhouse with a selection of outbuildings and pretty trees, right next to some lovely open fields running up the hill towards Caddington.

 

Unfortunately, it is also right next to the A5, which as I was finding out first hand, was a polluted, grimey, gritty place to be – especially in the warm weather.

 

Not much further along I reached the edge of Dunstable, where they are currently building a ream of new houses right next to a brand spanking new Holiday Inn.

 

A little further still and I was at the flats at the top of Southwood Road in Downside – which is where I lived until I was about 6 years old, albeit in the taller blocks of flats further down the road towards the Blows Downs. The flats at the top of the road looked pretty good, all done up in there green and yellow cladding shimmering in the sun. It was here that I finally stopped at a bus stop (useful seat for resting your pack on) so that I could finally take my now sweat drenched fleece hoody off and re-jig my pack about.

 

I downed about a litre of water, inhaled a banana in less than 20 seconds and made a couple of calls – one to my good friend Alex, toiling away in chambers and valiantly resisting the urge to run to the nearest beer garden in this beautiful weather, and the other to Lorna, who I knew was likely to still be at my sister in laws with Niamh only a few streets away. As luck would have it she was nearly done there so I hobbled over to Graphic Close to meet her – the blood now rushing back into my feet and making me realise that I was probably going to lose my first toe-nail to the cause.

 

Lovely.

From Graphic Close I strolled beside Super Wife pushing Niamh in her stroller, chatting away to each other as we went down High Street South, then up Great Northern Road, past Sainsburys up Luton Road and down the back streets to home. All in all, I’d done about 15 miles since I had set off that morning – so nothing too strenuous – but a valuable foot toughening exercise nonetheless.

As fate would have it, I ended up having to walk another 1.5 mile round trip later that evening due to the fact that the boys (our dogs) had run out of food and the baby needed some more supplies from Sainsburys. As we are currently without a car (battery issues today... don't ask), that meant carrying a 15kg sack of kibble on my shoulder for three quarters of a mile home – which can’t hurt as a bit of additional training! 

 

 

Can you spare a few quid in support of the MS Society, Macmillan Cancer Support and Help for Heroes?

 

Donate by clicking here - http://uk.virginmoneygiving.com/bigdaveslittlestroll/

A few titbits of information on... the Severn Way, the Bristol to Brecon Walk, the Community Forest Path, the Samaritan’s Way South West & Monarch’s Way (Footpath Nos. 17, 18, 19, 20 & 21)

It’s typical that on the first weekend with consistently decent weather I’m under instructions to rest up! As there is no long distance training walk to write about this weekend, I thought I’d continue to give you all the low down on the next stage of my planned route on the Little Stroll. In the last instalment we had meandered south for about 145 miles along the Offa’s Dyke Path, criss-crossing in and out of Wales until we got to Chepstow so we’ll pick it up from there... at the Severn Bridge.

 

Now... when I say the Severn Bridge, to those of you who drive, I mean the old Severn Bridge – the one that carries the M48 and more importantly for this route, National Cycle Route 4. Once over the bridge we're back into England and it’s onto the Severn Way, a mammoth trail that runs for 223.9 miles along the entire Severn Valley from the sea... and which I will only be following to just past the newer Severn Bridge carrying the M4 to Severn Beach, before turning south-east on the Bristol to Brecon Walk heading in the direction of Easter Compton. It’s a shame really as I’ve heard great things about the Severn Way... but you can’t walk the length of every scenic footpath on this route otherwise you would never reach the end!

 

In a similar vein I’ll only be on the Bristol to Brecon Walk for a relatively short distance, until it connects to the Community Forest Path, although technically the two routes coincide for several miles thereafter... but who’s being picky? The Community Forest Path looks a beauty. It’s a path that follows a route around Bristol using footpaths, tracks and some sections of rural lanes providing a variety of landscapes with views of the Mendip Hills, Severn Estuary and the Severn road bridges. It takes in Ashton Court, Blaise Castle and the Clifton Suspension Bridge.

 

I’ll be joining the Community Forest Path near Easter Compton and following it anti-clockwise across the fields, over the M5, into Henbury in Bristol and right past Blaise Castle. Blaise Castle is not in fact a castle at all but a late 18th century, Grade II listed mansion; immortalised by the fact that it was described as "the finest place in England" in Jane Austen's novel Northanger Abbey.

 

From there the route will take me through the Sea Mills area of Bristol, onto Clifton, where I’ll come to, and have to cross, the magnificent Clifton Suspension Bridge. The Clifton Suspension Bridge towers 245ft above the high water level of the River Avon below and spans 1,352ft... so, true to form, I will no doubt be jogging across it, singing loudly and trying not to look down!

Once across the bridge my route will touch the edge of Leigh Woods, before heading across the fine Ashton Court Estate and past Ashton Court itself, another splendid mansion house that resides within Bristol.

 

From there it is a good distance south across the open countryside to Dundry, past Dundry Hill, which is where I footpath hop onto the Samaritans Way South West - a route devised by Bristol RA to raise funds for the Samaritans through sales of the publication and based on youth hostels along the way. Although I won’t be sampling any hostels, it looks like a fantastic route through the Chew Valley.

 

From Dundry my route will take me past Chew Hill, until I reach Chew Magna, a village close to the northern edge of the Mendip Hills (a designated Area of Outstanding Natural Beauty – the village itself was designated a conservation area in 1978). Chew Magna has long been the largest village in the district, and can trace its importance back to Saxon times. So, where other than such an historic and beautiful place to stop for a customary pint of ale and a hearty lunch... it would be rude not to!

 

From Chew Magna I’ll trudge ever on, further south-west still, past Woodford Hill and then at some point hopping onto another footpath, the Monarch’s Way, which I will follow until Compton Martin. The Monarch's Way is a 615-mile (990 km) long-distance footpath in England that approximates the escape route taken by King Charles II in 1651 after being defeated in the Battle of Worcester. It runs from Worcester via Bristol and Yeovil to Brighton, but alas, just as was the case with the Severn Way earlier, I will only be following it for a matter of miles. Once at Compton Martin, it’s back onto the Samaritans Way South West, where I’ll turn westward towards Charterhouse and the infamous Cheddar Gorge.

 

Can you spare a few quid in support of the MS Society, Macmillan Cancer Support and Help for Heroes?

 

Donate by clicking here - http://uk.virginmoneygiving.com/bigdaveslittlestroll/

Thunderous support from Storm Gym - Big Dave's new Expedition Sponsor

We are delighted to announce that Amir Subasic and his Storm Gym in Luton are now officially on board as Expedition Sponsors!

 

It's fantastic to have yet another pillar of the local community willing to give up some of their time, effort and expertise to help one average bloke achieve something spectacular for three fantastic charities - the MS Society, Macmillan Cancer Support & Help for Heroes.

 

Storm Gym is Luton’s first and only full time Mixed Martial Arts Center combined with a Fitness Gym. Their motto is "REAL TRAINING – REAL RESULTS" which ensures that you get the most out of training with them… Amir is hoping to help Big Dave shift some weight, become stronger and healthier, plus way more disciplined.

 

As many of his students will attest to -  “if you can survive STORM then everything else is a child’s play”. Let's hope so!

 

Amir has posted up on his Facebook page: "I am very Happy to announce that STORM GYM will officially sponsor Dave Redmond for his 1000+ Miles Charity Walk in the form of some "unique" STORM GYM training methods I believe I can help Dave prepare fully for his up and coming task...it will not be easy but what is?!"

 

Many thanks to both Amir Subasic and Billy Schwer for helping to train Big Dave physically, mentally and nutritionally for his epic task - true champions! 

Can you spare a few quid in support of the MS Society, Macmillan Cancer Support and Help for Heroes?

 

Donate by clicking here - http://uk.virginmoneygiving.com/bigdaveslittlestroll/

Tramping about without a map (unintentionally) – 1st March 2014 - from my front door in Western Way, Dunstable to my mum’s front door in Loring Road, Dunstable - via Caddington, Woodside, Slip End, Markyate, Kensworth and Church End

This weekend I decided to set off from my front door to let Super Wife have a much deserved lie in.

In actual fact it made no difference to her because our little bundle of joy woke up less than joyful a few minutes before I left the house at about 5:15am. Laden with only a small rucksack containing two bottles of water, a towel and a banana; and with a camera, a phone, my maps and another water bottle in my coat pockets; I trundled down Luton Road in brisk early morning air and lamp light towards Station Road. Along the way I took a sip of the water from my pocket, keen to keep completely on top of my hydration this week.

 

At the end of Station Road where it turns around a corner and becomes Great Northern Road, there are a couple of footpaths at the foot of the Blows Downs in Dunstable. When I was a pupil at Priory Middle School in Britain Street in the early nineties, Mr Miller would march a troop of us up to these paths for cross country circuits and proceed to growl at us for dawdling along those muddy tracks in his slightly nasal gravelly tones. One of the paths goes immediately left along the new busway, the other straight on towards Downside. This morning’s training route took me straight ahead and so off I ambled, into the darkness, along a very muddy path.

 

It was as I was approaching Half Moon Lane on my right hand side, the glow of the street lamp blinding me; that I realised that somewhere between my front door and this point, I had lost the first of my four double sided maps. I had separated it from the others and placed it in my left pocket with the water bottle and can only surmise that having taken the bottle out for a swig of water, I had dragged the map out with it. I apologise profusely to all and sundry for my absent minded littering, but at the time my mind was less concerned with that issue and more concerned with berating my own stupidity. There weren’t enough curse words in the dictionary to describe how much of an eejit I was feeling, but I gave it a good go! Suddenly aware that I looked like a muddy, rambling, wild man with Tourette’s, lurking at the end of a respectable residential street, I struck out to my left along the track that runs in the general direction of Hatters Way.

 

The track there runs parallel to the bus-way for a good distance, slowly angling closer to it until you may as well be walking on the laid path of the bus-way itself. It then turns slightly right and up a few undulating hillocks that pass a hill that as kids we called “the Bulldog” I suppose because it sort of resembles one... I’m not sure to be honest. I remember many a middle school holiday spent playing elaborate games of it in the woodlands round there with Ian Knock and Luke Blackburn, or practising improvised karate moves or running round in camo gear with BB guns with Terry Clough. Complete tearaways but great fun!  Today the path was a mixture of mud and chalk; the going wasn’t too bad but it was still by moonlight. Across a field following what appeared to be the footpath but resulting in a fence at the end of it where some woodland began; so downhill to what was definitely a footpath. Or at least I knew there definitely was one under the foot of water that entirely engulfed it shimmering in the darkness. Straight through that - no fancy pants-ing it this morning – until I could see the roundabout at the end of Hatters Way and began the ascent uphill.

 

This was where my memory skills were really tested. My recollection from the map was that the path I needed – as there were several – was the one that headed almost perfectly south, uphill towards Caddington; the idea being that I didn’t want to emerge from the fields too early at Chaul End Lane but a lot later at Folly Lane, near the village green at Caddington. I managed to find the most likely culprit and made good headway along it through some woodland and along a few field edges until I reached Caddington Golf Course. I vaguely remembered that at this point my route was supposed to take a sudden right turn. The waymark post seemed to be directing me through the stile in the hedgerow and further south and in the first emerging light of morning there seemed to be a path my side of the hedge running right along the field... so I took that one. About a few hundred metres up this “path” I realised it wasn’t a path at all but simply the edge of the ploughed field. Splattered in mud up to the thighs I never the less continued to the end of the field and emerged through the hedgerow onto a wide track almost 6 inches deep in what I can only describe as silt (later, when I got home, I would discover that if I had simply gone through the hedgerow where the waymark post was, I would have been directed right and would have walked along a far better path that ran almost parallel the entire distance. Ho hum!).

Starting to worry that I was now entirely lost I climbed a nearby mound of grass, next to some heavy plant equipment owned by Magees, got my compass out, looked at the map that I did have and decided I needed to head southeast. So back down the mound, jumping over the rubble strewn ditch, though the silt track past the land moving equipment and gated enclosure, jumping a small stream onto, what I now know to be Caddington Golf Course. Having walked east for less than 20 metres I then came across the waymark post for the path I was supposed to be on, so having wasted the best part of 15 minutes I was now back on course.

Off I trundled across a track in a south easterly direction and then along a small stream, or the like, across the golf course, then fields until I finally emerged, caked in mud but massively relieved, in Folly Lane. A nice old bloke confirmed where I was with a chuckle and so, with morning light now fully upon me, I strolled down towards Luton Road and The Chequers pub in Caddington.  

At this point realised that although I may have finally found myself “out of the woods” in a physical sense, I was far from “out of the woods” in the sense of the old adage. I had never really spent any great time in Caddington before. Sure, I knew where it was in relation to all the other towns around it, and I’d driven along Luton Road hundreds of times going from Dunstable to Luton or vice versa, but I don’t know any of the other street names and I don’t know where the schools are. What I did know is that the path I wanted started at a road or close called Five Oaks.

My first attempt to find it took me in a circle around Hyde Road and back onto Luton Road where I had started. I then asked a nice man with an incredibly small dog if he knew where it was. He said that he didn’t but then seemed to direct me back down Hyde Road with instructions to “go through the garages as there might be a footpath there.” Being a cynic, I essentially waited for him to walk out of eye-line and then started walking across the green to try the next road along. I then bumped into another old man who told me if I was headed towards Slip End my best bet was Heathfield Path, which – you’ve guessed it – was down Hyde Road on the right hand side. He basically walked with me to the path with a newspaper under his arm, chatting away to me about the charity walk I was training for and the fact that his granddaughters husband cycled that same route from John O’Groats to Lands End a few years back. Wishing me well and shaking my hand, we parted ways at Heathfield Path.

Now, I wasn’t to know this, but once I gone down this path and reached a road, I should have turned left down that road as in fact, that was Five Oaks and at the end of Five Oaks there was a footpath that would have taken me between Caddington Village School Juniors and the School for Early Learners, past Heath Wood and then South-east past Woodside Home Park, along Grove Road until I reached the cross roads in the middle of Slip End.

But I didn’t turn left... oh no... no map you see.

I went straight over the road, then alongside Caddington Village School Juniors, then across several open fields, following the footpath and the south-easterly direction of the compass, through Woodside, across Woodside Road and then onto Markyate Road. At this point another kindly gent pulling out of his driveway pointed out that if I were to turn left I would get to Slip End crossroads and if I turned right I'd hit the A5. I had essentially emerged parallel to my planned route but about 500 metres south west of it... not too bad considering I had no map. In fact I was now dead opposite the footpath that I would have taken on my planned route heading towards the outskirts of Pepperstock and Limekiln Plantation so I decided to crack on from where I was rather than head off course just to go to the crossroads for nostalgic reasons (some of my family hail from Slip End and I got married at the little church there).

So I rambled on, along a mud and stone path to the Limekiln Plantation, which is essentially a large bit of woodland, and then spun sharply southwest at the very end of Half Moon Lane in Pepperstock, along a wide dirt track. Before long I came across the Delta Force paintballing centre, which I had no idea was there, but which looked very cool indeed. Despite the fact that it was still early I could hear the repetitive popping of paintball guns so I can only assume that some people like there simulated warfare for breakfast.

I should say at this point that I am trying very hard not to become a whinging blogger, but...

Can someone tell me if there is a reason why a lot of our footpaths and bridleways are absolutely littered with broken bricks? I can understand the idea of hardcore being laid to reinforce what would otherwise be a mud slide but I’m actually talking about three quarters of a brick sticking out the ground here. It’s a bloody nightmare to walk on unless you’re constantly looking at your feet and where’s the fun in that I ask you? Rant over.

At the bottom of the track and the subsequent road I came to the familiar sight of the A5 and the footbridge over to the new build houses at Markyate.

I felt like a proper hobo soul as I slowly trudged along the High Street of Markyate, past the beautiful old shop front of Prudens, Master Bakers, with mud caked up my jeans to my crotch, steam coming from my jacket caused by my body heat in the cold morning air, and with condensation literally dripping from my moustache and beard. By this point I had covered just over 8 miles.

I felt like the part of the old Hovis advert that the director wouldn’t want you to see. A part that was always left artfully out of shot, and the thought of it made me smile. The sight of this smiling mud yeti noticeably caused a terribly middle class, middle aged lady to jump into her sporty MG a little faster than I suspect she had initially intended, managing to just shut the driver’s door as I thundered past in my boots. I turned uphill at Cavendish Road and then right onto the footpath past a school and a couple of football pitches.

As I trekked across the fields leaving the sleepy village of Markyate behind me and drawing ever closer to the village of Kensworth, my energy levels began to flag a bit and I started doing something that has become an ever increasing feature of my walks of late... singing to myself.

I'm not talking about a little murmuring hum or low level whispered few bars as I meandered onwards.

Oh no.

This was more of a full on, barrel-chested, unashamedly loud, rendition that would have made any Welsh Male Voice Chorister proud in terms of sheer projection, if not musicality.

The problem is...

I’ve clearly been spending a lot of time entertaining my one year old daughter, as today’s Big Dave’s jukebox selection was one of the tunes from The Adventures of Elmo in Grouchland. So there I was, a hulk of sweaty, steaming, beardy bloke; trudging through an open muddy field, singing “together, forever, come rain or shine...” on repeat, which I have a deep, underlying suspicion is a song sung by a little fluffy red monster to his best friend,  who is incidentally a blanket. I also strongly suspect that I may have been grinning inanely whilst swinging my head and arms about like a muppet... in more ways than one.

Second moan of this blog... farmers who decide to block footpaths officially marked on ordnance survey maps with either electric fencing that extends too far, clearly intentionally positioned debris, or copious keep out signs that are designed to confuse the walker and obscure the useful signs that actually aid in them keeping to the correct access. I came across such area just before Kensworth. I can tell you that after walking all four sides of a large paddock, being watched intently by the equine residents therein, before returning to my waymarked entry point, re-checking my map only to discover that I was right the first time... I was ready to head-butt the first person in a body-warmer, jodhpurs and willies that I had seen.  I instead, swore profusely as I followed a muddy field edge through a gap in a hedge onto Lynch Hill.

Then it was up Common Road through Kensworth itself, experiencing a similar feeling to Markyate, as I smiled and “good morning-ed” each villager that I passed with vastly varied responses.

Then I struck out north on a footpath that lay between Spratts Lane to the east and Hollicks Lane to the west. Down and up a vale of sorts towards Church End, which in the bright sunshine of the morning, hazed slightly with the last remnants of the morning mist, looked magnificent.

I emerged onto the last part of Hollicks Lane by a very pretty little church.  Just before I got to the church I turned west along yet more field edges, past some woodland and then, out of nowhere, there was Kensworth Quarry!

At the risk of confirming my complete buffoon status, I had no idea there was a whacking great quarry there. I have walked across Dunstable Golf Course and the Dunstable Downs countless times, have driven down Spratts and Hollicks Lanes to Church End on numerous occasions. I used to hang out down Mentmore Park when I was in upper school with Katie, Lara, Skye, Bush, Meg, Carrie and the rest of the gang... less than 50 metres away! Yet, I never knew it was there. It’s not just there... it’s mahoosive!

From there it was steeply downhill down some man made steps running along the fenceline of the quarry, through some trees and then slowly uphill touching the edge of Slough Wood (where I stopped to refill my water bottle and inhale a banana).

Then the footpath moved close to Isle of Wight Lane and across another lane leading to the entrance of the quarry; through another patch of woodland and then onto Whipsnade Road at the top of Dunstable Downs. It was at this point I realised that I was at the top of a footpath that used to form part of the cross country course from my Queensbury School days which instantly brought memories flooding back of racing my old school mate Daniel Fox down a gravel track towards the top of Canesworde Road at the far end of that path.

Feeling far less energetic today at this point then I did as a gangly fifteen year old, I walked along the now familiar laid track along the top of the Dunstable Downs in the lovely sunshine, starting to regret having started out with two t-shirts, a hoody and an overcoat on. I could see the Regiment Fitness crew and their class out again doing their stuff to my left near the Hut and there were dozens of people out walking their dogs and kids trying to fly their kites on a near wind-free morning. It was a very cheerful stroll to the Five Knolls and then down to West Street and onto the Green Lanes.

I was sorely tempted to spin off from the footpath towards Spinney Crescent as I had done last week and I had one eye on the time as I had my mum looking after Niamh for me so I could get out and train. I resisted the urge, however, spurned on by the sunshine and a desire to add at least another mile to the tally if I could.

So I carried on along the Lanes, past Weatherby and the end of the Beecroft Estate, until I reached a big sign marking the Totternhoe Knolls and Lanes.

If I’d had more time (and another banana) I would’ve been tempted to crack on to the Knolls themselves but instead I turned my sights northeast and across a field and then diagonally slightly further east to the point where the track heads towards the back of the now ill-fated Brewers Hill Middle School.

I followed the field along to the end of Frenchs Avenue and then followed the (not so) new cycle track past Dunstable Town FC’s Creasey Park and onto Brewers Hill Road. From there, for anyone who doesn’t know, it’s a short stroll up to Ashcroft, across Westfield Road and down to my mum’s place on Loring Road.

I was pretty over-heated by the time I got there, which was sometime between 12:15 and 12:30, but I was relatively pleased with this 16.6 mile training walk. If I had been on the actual End to End walk I would have had another 9 or so daylight/walking hours, which would have meant I could have stopped for a hearty lunch and a few hours rest before carrying on for another couple of hours to do the other 5.4 miles required before setting up camp for the night.

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