FIRST STEPS
A POWERFUL VOICE INSIDE me whispered that I was being idiotic, that a man of 54 should have more sense. If I wanted to try walking 805 km from Plymouth to Edinburgh without the security of a wallet, I should have done it years ago.
I told the voice to shut up. The idea took root. As far as I knew, no one had done this before. A friend offered me Sam, her seven-year-old King Charles spaniel. “He’ll walk forever,” she said, “and people will like you.” Sam looked cuddly. Also, he would give me solace in hours of loneliness and I could snuggle up to him in the cold. I welcomed Sam as my companion.
For practical tips on wandering destitute I visited a Buddhist monastery 32 km from Cullercoats, my home town at the mouth of the River Tyne in northeast England. The monks advised me to carry an umbrella and wrap moleskin round my feet. “You will find the walk very hard,” one monk warned, “but eventually you will gain strength. It will be part of your journey through life, so you must do it.”
Day one. A 9:35 a.m. on Sunday, 26 July 1998, I set off from Plymouth on my odyssey. A small knot of fear gripped my stomach. I was entering an unknown world. For 14 km Sam and I were buffeted by thundering traffic on the A386 out of Plymouth, then we sought refuge in the spacious grounds of the Moorland Links Hotel. Without thinking, I led Sam in.
“Can I help you, sir?” asked the receptionist. I looked around. Sunday diners reclined in comfort, the smell of roast beef was in the air. I wanted to order a pint, but realized that from now on this was one of many places I could look at but not touch. I was a person apart, trapped in an invisible bubble of poverty.
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