A Jog Around The Loop: The Lindsey Loop, August 2011

A quiet obsession started over three years ago at a remote kissing gate in rural Lincolnshire. Running from Spilsby to Alford on a windswept December's Friday afternoon, I'd made my way steadily through the shoe-sucking plough of the arable land the other side of Mavis Enderby and reached the fence that marked the highest point of this part of the route. On the other side, dark clouds rolled threateningly across the mid-winter sky. Rain was falling over Horncastle, but the views over Hagworthingham and the Furze Hill Reserve recharged my flagging spirits. Sunlight pierced holes through the clouds and fell in shafts of laser light on the hills before me. 'God's Light' I'd called it as a kid. I couldn't wait to carry on.

Treading down the nettles at the kissing gate, I noticed something I'd not seen before on my journeys through this area. An off-white plastic badge was nailed to the wooden upright. It looked as though it had been there for ages. On it was a large figure '8' and the words, 'Lindsey Loop'. Never heard of it, I thought as I shut the gate and trotted down to the valley bottom without a second thought.

A good friend of mine was recently explaining the idea of 'saliency' - that phenomenon where once something becomes relevant to you, you seem to notice it everywhere when, before, you'd never noticed it at all. Once you drive an old VW, it's amazing the number of other old VW's you see on the road - that's the same idea - and I guess it must explain what happened over the next year. Out by myself in the most remote of places, I'd chance upon a finger-post with a distinctive arrow sticker - The Lindsey Loop. My obsession grew, and as I purchased route notes, plotted on maps and began to recce small sections over the subsequent months, I started to dream of a continuous run over the whole Loop. At 96 miles, it seemed feasible that a 24 hour round would be possible. It was ironic, therefore, that another 24 hour round - The Bob Graham - took me over for a while, and The Lindsey Loop was put on the back burner.

At the start of this year, I mentioned to my mate, Leon, that I'd thought of having a stab at The Lindsey Loop sometime. He replied that a club relay over the route would make a cracking day out. The seeds were set.

In March, the day after an operation that I knew would curtail my running for the best part of three months, I realised that my plans for a good performance in July's Lakeland 100 would be overly optimistic. Although disappointed, I was buoyed by the thought that a go at The Lindsey Loop for the end of the summer would certainly be possible. August Bank Holiday weekend was pencilled in. Also, I realised that planning a club relay of the route would be a perfect way of recceing the whole Loop, as well as giving me something to get my teeth into whilst I couldn't run as much as I wanted. The Kid was whispering again. I knew he'd get his own way.

On June 11th, Mablethorpe Running Club completed The Lindsey Loop in 19 hours and 21 minutes. All ages and abilities took part in the long-distance relay and it was a great day - one of the best.

Now, there was only one paragraph left to complete this particular chapter. I just hoped I could write it.


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The Lindsey Loop is a 96 mile long-distance recreational walk located largely in the Lincolnshire Wolds Area of Outstanding Natural Beauty. It links six market towns in East and West Lindsey, and is divided into eight sections with a choice of final section from Donington-on-Bain being either to Louth or Market Rasen.

The late Jim Cook of Lincoln Group, Rambler's Association had the original idea of creating The Lindsey Loop in 1983. Various routes were explored the following year, often with great difficulty, for, at the time, a large number of public rights-of-way were either ploughed out or obstucted by crops for year after year. After Cook's untimely death, his work was continued by Brett Collier.

Major Brett Collier was a legendary figure in rural Lincolnshire. He trained as a teacher but saw distinguished military service in the Far East before his capture by the Japanese when Singapore fell to them in February 1942. Singled out for execution by beheading because of his officer status, his life was saved when the executioner became unnerved. From Singapore, his unit was sent, in captivity, to Korea, from where Collier was sold to a mining company who put him to work below the sea off Nagasaki.

He was below the sea at Nagasaki at 11.02am on 9th August 1945 when the atomic bomb fell there, killing 150,000. It destroyed the entrance to the mine, leaving Collier and his comrades trapped by what they believed was an earthquake. They dug themselves out to emerge, unbelieving, to the sight of the sea boiling and the indescribable devastation. In support of his comrades mentally scarred or physically sickened by the effects of the detonation, Collier spent the rest of his life fund-raising for this cause.

It was in 1960, when he moved to Lincolnshire to lecture at Bishop Grot. College, that Collier took up the pastime of walking. He later published eight books promoting walking in the county, and was Secretary of the Lincolnshire Fieldpaths Society and President of the Lincolnshire Rambler's Association. Before his death in March 2005 at the age of 85, he was an avid leader of walks and scourge of path-blocking farmers, developers and ineffectual councils.

I am deeply indebted to this great man. On almost every long run I do in my part of Lincolnshire, I am reminded of the legacy of Major Brett Collier.


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27th August

We're driving through a thunderstorm towards Market Rasen. Lightning splits the sky over the coast whilst the scatter-shot of huge raindrops blur vision through the windscreen. The forecast for the next few hours is heavy showers. I'm hoping that this is the worst of them.

I've gone for a mid-afternoon start. That way, I'll be running the sections closest to me - the ones I know the best- during the night. It also means I can stash supplies and give Tam and the superheroes chance to go home and get a decent night's sleep.

I'm a little nervous. I've never travelled as far on foot before. I've drafted out a 23 hour schedule for Tammy, but I'm determined to run 'to feel' and make sure that I enjoy the day. I've kept everything seriously low-key. I've mentioned nothing to even my closest friends and best running buddies. The only expectations weighing on me are my own.


1. Market Rasen to Caistor

Photographs, kisses and away.

I jog round the back of St. Thomas' church, follow the road out of town, and soon I'm in the woodland near the railway tracks. The afternoon is bright and I settle into a comfortable shuffle.

The first section is easy-going. Route-finding is straight-forward and the running is mainly low-level. Soon, I'm at Claxby - a beautiful village overlooked by an imposing hill. I stop and have a short chat to a couple of walkers outside the Viking Way Hostel, and then follow the base of the ancient ridge towards Nettleton.

From there, a dog-leg loop takes me to Caistor town centre. I walk the steep hill up to the market place, determined to stick with my BG plan of walking the significant inclines, and arrive at the car to find Tam reading the paper and Lightning sat on a wall sketching the war memorial with a biro. Tam jumps as I tap on the door and says something like, 'You shouldn't be here for half an hour!' The schedule, I can tell, is not going to be worth much.


2. Caistor to East Ravendale

I've pencilled in a 10 minute refuelling break after each leg. On long runs like this, food and drink can be the key to failure or success. I stick to the things I've found work best for me - coffee, red Fanta, milkshakes, rice pudding and Irish stew. In addition to the breaks, I make a conscious effort to eat and drink every 30 minutes whilst I'm running. A few swigs of orange squash and a mouth-full of Haribos are my secret weapon.

This next stretch is a delight. After following The Viking Way to the bottom of the Nettleton Valley, I climb up to the Roman High Street on The Nev Cole Way and head in the direction of Rothwell. Rain's falling steadily, but I can see it will pass. At the road-crossing, a sight fills me with confidence. A rainbow arcs over the finger-post before burying itself in a cloud. Ever since I was small, I've always associated a rainbow with good luck. This is it! Someone's smiling on me.

On the track into Rothwell, a stout wooden post marks a sharp right turn. In June, as I'd jogged along this stretch with Leon at 2am at the start of our club relay, we'd laughed at the sight of a pair of flip-flops hanging proudly. I'm amazed, as I pass nearly three months later, that they're still there.

Soon, I'm over Jim Cook's bridge, through Cuxwold and onto a short stretch of road that I know very well near Croxby. A series of races starts and finishes on the brow of the hill each summer, with different dates consisting of either one, two or three laps of a tough, hilly course. Probably the longest running races of any in Lincolnshire, they're great events. The hill to the finish is legendary, guaranteed to mangle you as you run at your very limits. The words 'Heartbreak Hill' are painted at the very bottom of the steepest section just to remind you just how terrible you'll feel as you eventually cross the line. Running down the hill isn't nearly so bad.

Passing through the hamlet of Hatcliffe, I jog the short section of road that leads to East Ravendale and Tam's Caff. I'm well up on schedule, but the kettle's whistling and the chair's out for my arrival.

3. East Ravendale to Louth

As I start the next leg, I'm greeted by another rainbow - a second reminder that things will be fine. This is a tough section - a linear route straight to Louth with undulations galore. I'm up on schedule and glad to realise that I'll hit Louth before darkness falls.

I've run so far in my racing flats - much more cushioned than the shoes I've been using of late - but already there's some 'tiredness' in my feet. the top of my left foot in particular feels increasingly tender - the onset of some tendon pain perhaps. I resolve to change into my battered trail shoes at the next stop.

The commentary from the Liverpool v. Bolton game keeps me buoyant. Whilst I never listen to music whilst I'm running, I'm a sucker for 5Live. I'm reminded of last week's Paddy Buckley support. Dave commented that it's good to have someone with you who will just talk - even if it's total rubbish - to take your mind off the climbs you're taking on and the enormity of the task that lies ahead. The radio serves me in much the same way. Peter Allen, Danny Baker, Alan Green, Simon Mayo and Mark Kermode are just a few of my radio running buddies. They join me on most long runs, rattling on, keeping me company. Sometimes I'll listen, sometimes it's just noise in my ears - my mind's elsewhere - in the run, in the landscape or maybe miles away.

It's getting on - daylight's fading as the sun sinks behind me. The leg almost done, I run into Louth, through the town centre and out up the London Road hill. The Caff's open in the cricket pavilion carpark. I quickly get a tin of stew down and prepare myself for the next eight hours of darkness.

4. Louth to Alford

I leave the carpark after kissing Tam and the kids goodnight. It's around 9pm, but I won't be seeing them again until 5am tomorrow morning. They'll be back to their beds while I click off the next 40 miles in the dark by myself. This stretch takes me from Louth to Alford - a section I've run many times. I've arranges for Tam to leave a stash just outside Alford - enough food and drink to refuel me for the miles that follow. From there, I'll run to Spilsby where I'll pop into our factory unit and wolf down a coffee and some more stew. After that stop, I'll head to Horncastle, where Tam's Caff will be open for the morning shift.

All this running through my head as I head out of Louth. I think ahead to a tricky section between Snipedales Country Park and Horncastle that I've only run once and can't really remember. I'll need the route-notes and map for that bit, especially if it's still dark. Route-notes and map? Still in the Fell Wagon! I dither for a while, deciding what to do, and decide to do nothing. After ten minutes of worrying, I eventually stop, ring Tam and arrange for her to leave them with my stash. Panic over, I head into the gloom over Kenwick Golf Course and beyond.

Headtorch running is something I've grown to love. In the early day, I used to spook myself all the time. Now, I look forward to it - running in that bubble of light, like scuba-diving above ground.

The running's going well but my foot's getting increasingly painful. I get a support bandage out of my sack, take a couple of ibuprofen and hope it'll settle down (it does for a while, but remains troublesome right until the end.)

On the track between Alford and Well, I'm stopped in mid-run by a blinding light - a spotlight's picked me out and I stand like a rabbit in the headlights. Then headlights do appear - a 4x4. I'm used to being asked - politely or otherwise - by farmers what I'm doing on 'their land', so I presume this is just more of that. As the truck stops, a couple of heavily-built likely-lads enquire, 'What the f**k are you doing?' It's one o'clock in the morning. I give them my answer to a look of blank amusement. They're 'doing a bit of lamping' they inform me, and with that, I bid them goodnight and get off sharpish.


5. Alford to Spilsby

At the stile in Well, I recover my stash and hike to the top of the hill, past the church and towards the woods, thinking that banana washed down with chocolate milkshake is the long-distance runner's equivalent of the Nectar of the Gods.

This section is my home turf. Living near Alford and working in Spilsby, I run this way all the time - at 10 miles it's a perfect run-to-work distance and I'll do it maybe 100 times in a year. The familiarity is a comfort, but the odd thick patch of fog is disconcerting and the wet ground is doing my head in.

I'm glad to reach the Industrial Estate in Spilsby an hour later. I've pencilled in a 20 minute stop here to get myself sorted. 2am - over half-way, downhill all the way to the end.


6. Spilsby to Horncastle

I leave the factory unit a few minutes before I'm due, lock the gates to the yard and jog in the direction of the path that takes me past the churchyard and towards the playing fields. An eerieness pervades the Industrial estate - it doesn't seem right to be here at such an hour. I'm relieved a few minutes later when I'm back in my light-bubble on the track towards Hundleby.

My legs feel surprisingly good. There's a little tiredness but no stiff at all. Jogging is no problem and I'm pleased with the pace. Dotun Adebayo  is my witching-hour radio running buddy and the sound of his voice takes me back to a previous life when I'd regularly drive through the night, struggling to stay awake to his show. Things are much better now.

After an hour or so, I push through the kissing gate where this whole adventure was born. There's only darkness on the other side tonight, and for the first time on the run, I lose the trod over the fields and end up at the stream in the valley bottom at the wrong place. I instinctively know I'm too far left, and after skirting right, I eventually find the footbridge and the continuation of the path. It's 3am - my brain knows that my body should be sleeping and decision-making isn't easy. Minutes later, a lack of concentration means I'm off-path again. I've missed a right fork and hit the ditch at the field's edge instead of hugging the tree-line by the Furze Hill Reserve. I can't be bothered to back-track. If I jump the ditch, plough through the waist-high nettles, I'll be back on course in no time. I make a run for it and clear the water, but, in the darkness, fail to realise a barbed-wire fence is hidden by the grass on the other side. I'm now impaled on it, like road runner in the coyote's wicked trap. I pull myself off it and inspect the damage. Lots of cuts on my thighs, knees and shins, but the waterproof jacket's ok - it better be - it cost me a bomb. I know the legs will look after themselves, and head, bleeding but not bothered, in the direction of the Snipedales Country Park.

Out of the Park. I arrive at the section I'm most wary of. A long path across ploughed fields will eventually lead me over a farm track and to the main road into Horncastle. This was hard to follow in daylight, nevermind in the dark. Take a bearing - no problem - but I've no compass with me. I pause and then jog off in the direction I think is right. Ten minutes later, I'm lost. It's dark, I've no features to help me out, so I just keep going. Before long, I spot the lights of a grain store and head in that direction. Once there, I pull out the map and try to get an idea of where I am. I get my bearings, find the farm track and run down it for a few minutes before the angel on my shoulder prods me and makes me stop. I pull out my map, pissed off now, and realise I've come the wrong way. Twenty minutes later, I'm back on path, but increasingly glad of the signs of morning, and really pleased to meet Tam and the superheroes outside Horncastle.

7. Horncastle to Donington-on-Bain

Scoffing down some rice pudding by the Fell Wagon, I try and do some calculations. I'm well under 23 hour schedule. With  less than 28 miles left, and Tam back in tow, I decide to get rid of my sack and push things on a bit. Under 21 hours would be great. I know things are going ok - my feet have had it, but everything else is alright. I get rid of my jacket, put on a dry long-sleeved top and get off.

When you've run all the way through a dark night, the morning is a revelation. Circadian rhythms are stirred, the body and mind are alerted and your mood automatically improves. The path winds through the most beautiful section of the entire Loop and I travel, enlightened, through the dawn towards the new day. Mist hangs low in the Wold's valleys and the rising sun stains the hills a glorious shade of gold. I run, alive, awakened, through a dream.

Through Belchford, Ranby, Market Stainton - picture postcard perfect - and finally to Donington-on-Bain. One foot in front of the other. A breath. A heartbeat.

8. Donington-on-Bain to Louth

I take my last break at Donington outside the village shop and I know I'm almost there. 13 more miles and this part of my journey ends.

The Lindsey Loop is unique to the other Lincolnshire long distance paths in that it has two alternative endings. From Donington, you can continue back to Market Rasen. Plotted on a map, this looks the cleanest line and completes the figure'8' of the loop,

You can, however, choose to end your trip at Louth. In his guide, Brett Collier describes this alternative as 'a truely delightful section' and 'a superb day's walking.' It's this choice I go for.

Leaving the village, a steep climb brings me out of the valley, opening up the most magnificent views on all sides. A twenty minute slog through deep plough temporarily dampens my spirits, but once I'm at Grim's Mound - a Bronze age barrow on the track to Calcethorpe, I'm moving well again and I know that the running is good from here on. A glance at my watch, and I know that a sub- 20 hour round is on the cards. I don't want to ruin the last few miles with a race against the clock, but part of me can't help myself. I stretch my legs and pick up the pace.

A few miles on and I arrive at Welton-le-Wold. Jogging through the village to the spot I know Tam will be parked in, Lightening comes bounding towards me. 'Dad, can we run from Hubbard's Hills with you?' I'm glad he's asked. Having my two little superheroes pace me for the last mile will be the perfect end to the trip.

This thought sustains me as I go through the woodland and up the last climb of Jack's Furze. For the first time, I see Louth in the distance and I'm reminded of Brett Collier's words - words I've read so often I can recite them from memory:

'...as you walk downhill, all the way from Jack's Furze towards the magnificent 295 foot, crocketed spire of St. James' church and then along Hubbard's Hills footpath at the end of your Lindsey Loop walk, you will certainly have a feeling of accomplishment and a wonderful memory of the Lincolnshire Wolds area of Outstanding Natural Beauty to treasure and recall all your days.'

I race to the bottom gate of Hubbard's Hills and weave through the Sunday strollers to the carpark at the top end. My welcoming party puts a  big smile on my face. In addition to Tam and the kids, Leon's made it back from the Lakes in time to join me on the last mile with his youngest daughter, Alice. It feels right that they should be there.

We jog the last mile, chatting, laughing. As a teenager, I'd daydream at the end of a run of storming into the Olympic Stadium, the end of a titanic marathon duel. As I entered the arena, the crowd would be standing, cheering, screaming - witnessing and applauding my momentus world-record breaking feat of endurance. This whole scenario plays again briefly through my head, but I realise I've discovered something infinitely better. For now, the arena is all around me. Its architecture is described in route-notes and Ordnance Survey maps. its structure is forged from hills and valleys, and held together by rivers, streams, hedgerows and bridleways. it's indescribably beautiful.

As all five of us enter Louth market place, there's no standing, cheering, shouting. A few people are shopping, a couple are sitting on a bench. We sit on the steps of the War Memorial and wait for Tam. There's no medal, goody bag, no free technical t-shirt. Instead, there's a handshake, a kiss and a 'You did it Dad!'

I stop my watch. 19hours and 50 minutes. Then I sit for a while with my friends and family, and take off my shoes.

POSTSCRIPT

In the days that follow, The Kid awakens me at night, wiggles into my daydreams. He whispers, 'How fast could you get round supported, good weather, mid-June?' or 'Chris- have you ever thought of going round mid-winter? or 'How close to 12 hours could a two-man relay get?' 

'Keep On Burning?' he's saying, and I can't say 'Stop!'

It appears I may not be finished with The Lindsey Loop just yet?

The Coca-Cola Pipeline

We're sat under the canopy in the back yard as dusk blurs the sky over Adelaide. The sweet smell of barbeque and beer hang in the warm air. Tammy and Aunty Joan busily clear the table and end up in the kitchen, talking over something.

I stretch my legs out, lean back in the plastic chair and look on as the kids show off for Uncle Ron. Ellie's bouncing on the spot, eager to make an impression. Ron smiles at her and asks in his quiet voice, 'So, you're superheroes are you?'

Ellie laughs out loud. 'Yeah, Daddy calls us his superheroes,' she says, 'And I'm Whirlwind 'cause I'm good at dancing and I can spin round really fast.' She takes a step forward, legs akimbo, and pushes her right arm in Uncle Ron's direction, palm pushed flat against an invisible barrier. She moves her arm across the line of her body, pursing her lips to make the sound of a raging wind. 'I'm Whirlwind!' she shouts.

Archie's quickly on the scene. 'And I'm Lightning, Uncle Ron,' he says. 'I can run really fast. Like lightning, Dad says. I always beat him when we have a race.' He performs his signature move - Ralph Macchio's crane-position kick from the last scene of The Karate Kid - and then flops down onto the patio.

Uncle Ron's laughing. 'That's amazing,' he says. He looks across at me and winks. 'I'll tell you something else that's amazing, and it's only found here, in Adelaide.' He pauses. The kids are hanging on his every word. 'Have you heard of The Coca-Cola Pipeline?' They both shake their heads. 'Well, do you like coca-cola?'

'Mum and Dad let us have some on Saturday nights while we're watching Doctor Who,' Archie informs him.

'We have Maltesers too,' Ellie says, determined to have the last word.

'Oh right,' Uncle Ron goes on, 'Well, keep looking carefully in the next few days. You might see a big pipe running right through the hills. Goes on for miles it does, and runs right into the city. And do you know what's inside it?'

'Water?' says Archie.

Uncle Ron shakes his head.

'Coca-cola?' says Ellie.

Uncle Ron smiles. 'Yes, coca-cola.' Ellie looks over to me, raised eyebrows, making her eyes wide.

'We're very lucky in Adelaide to have a Coca-Cola Pipeline. The only one in the world. The coca-cola's made in a huge factory over the other side of the hills and it's piped right into the city. Every cafe and every shop has a special tap. Turn it on and what comes out?'

'Coca-cola!' shout the superheroes together. There's quiet for a moment, and then Ellie goes, 'Wow!'

Aunty Joan emerges from the kitchen. 'Another beer Chris? Ron - what have you been telling them?'

'Oh, nothing,' Ron says, and we both chuckle.


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A couple of days later, we're on the way back to Ron and Joan's house after an afternoon at the Cuddley Creek Nature Reserve. It's been a great day, but it's hot and the kids are tired. They're quiet in the back of the hire car. As we pass the sign for Tea Tree Gulley, Ellie shatters the silence.

'Mum! Dad! It's The Coca-Cola Pipeline! Look! Look!' She points over to the hills, and now Archie has seen it and all hell's breaking loose. 'Whoaa!' they're both shouting.

Tam pulls over and we get out the car and look over to the hillside. A huge concrete pipe lumbers inelegantly across its contours.

'Is that what we're looking at?' Tam says and shrugs her shoulders.

'Mum! Archie tells her, 'That's The Coca-Cola Pipeline! Uncle Ron told us. Do you know what it's got inside?'

'Water?' she says.

'No! Coca-cola!' Ellie yells.

'And it's the only one in the world,' Archie continues, 'It comes from a factory on the other side of the hills and it goes all the way to the city. And all the shops and cafes have a special tap and when you turn it on, coca-cola comes out!'

'Oh right,' says Tam and stares at me with that look - who's been winding them up?

'What?' I reply, 'Uncle Ron told us.'


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Towards the end of the week, Archie and myself are squeezing through a gap in the fence by a roadside to enter the Anstey Hill Recreation Park. 'Here we are,' I say, 'but take it easy - the first bit's really steep.'

In our week long stay in  the Adelaide suburbs, it hadn't been long before I discovered the Park. A few minutes jog from Ron and Joan's house, it featured a trail that climbed steeply to the 1,217 ft summit of Anstey Hill, before descending equally steeply to the road. I'd gotten into a routine of getting up early and doing 2 or 3 laps of the 4-mile circuit, before jogging back for breakfast. It was a great little run, and as I'd enthused over it one tea-time, Archie had asked if he could come with me before we flew back to the UK. I'd promised we'd do a lap on our last day while Mum and Ellie did some last minute souvenir shopping.

The sun's fierce - our last full day in Australia - the end of a glorious stay. The two of us jog and walk up the trail towards the summit. I think back to our runs on the beach over the last month - special times.

After posing for photos at the sign on the top, we're soon rattling down the trail on the other side. Suddenly Archie stops dead. Pointing to the left, he's caught up in excitement. 'The Coca-Cola Pipeline!' he repeats a few times. Following the direction of his gaze, I see the Adelaide-Mannum Pipeline running across the bottom of the adjoining valley towards a large water-filtration plant on the southern boundary of the Park.

'Wow, Dad! I can't wait to tell Miss Sheldon when I get back to school! It's a good idea int it Dad? Why don't other places have coca-cola pipelines?' He's going on and on, his face lit up, and I wait to get a word in when he pauses.

'Archie,' I say, 'It's not got coca-cola in it. There isn't a Coca-Cola Pipeline.'

Archie looks at me, silent suddenly, crest-fallen. And the silence seems to last forever. Eventually, his voice small, he says, 'I know that Dad. I was just tricking you. What's it got inside then?'

'Water,' I tell him.

'Oh, right,' he says and walks on by himself in front for a while.

I've a guilt inside me. I watch him walking alone and think of the excitement and innocence with which he approaches each day. Days where Santa Claus and the tooth fairy are still real. Where new things lie to be discovered at every turn. Days of wonder and magic, in a big world filled with friends still to be made and pipelines full of coca-cola. And, as I watch him, I feel a sadness and a pride - my little boy's growing up, and soon the world maybe might not seem so kind.

He turns round suddenly and asks, 'Dad, do you think we should tell Mum and Ellie?'

I think a moment and reply, 'What would you rather have mate? A pipeline filled with water, or one that carries coca-cola? Takes coca-cola to all of those special taps in all of those shops in that big city over there?'

He doesn't answer my question, but I know the answer. We continue our walk down the track, side by side, and then he turns to me and says, 'Maybe we'll tell Ellie the truth when she's a bit bigger.'         



     

'What's next?'

After a number of years of running infrequently, my passion was reignited four years ago by the notion of Empty Miling. Central to this concept is the intrinsic enjoyment of each and every run. Whilst not guaranteed to produce a dramatic improvement in running performance, it certainly is conducive to uncovering the unbridled joy involved in the simplest pleasure - moving from one place to another on foot.

Whilst adhering to Empty Miling, the deliberate irony in the phrase became immediately apparent. Empty miles were not junk miles, worthless miles - they were the most fulfilling running miles imaginable. Gradually, by embracing Empty Miling, the bedrocks of my running preconceptions have altered dramatically. Whereby I have always 'trained' for one future singular event or challenge, I now feel I have reached a stage where that idea is increasingly irrelevant. And, in turn, this new way of thinking has shaped 'What's next?'

For several months now, I've pondered an idea for next year which embraces this new way of thinking. 'Training' is a phrase that doesn't exist in pure Empty Miling since 'training' assumes the 'target race' is the most important run whilst 'training runs' are necessary to achieve this. 'Training runs' embody a negativity - no pain, no gain. 'Training' might be a slog, often unenjoyable, but necessary if the future goal is to be achieved. Empty Miling, however, assumes that every run is as important as the next, and intrinsic enjoyment of each run is the important goal. So, 'What's next?' doesn't involve a singular goal. Instead, what I have in mind is a year-long project - a year where the journey IS the destination.

So, what is it?

My project will start on the 1st January 2012 and will end on the 31st December 2012. It will involve a huge commitment in terms of time and support from my family. It will take me to paths less travelled and places never visited. It will test my endurance in ways I've never experienced, It will be the hardest thing I've ever done. Success is far from guaranteed. In fact, I think the odds are stacked against me. However, the project excites me more than anything else I've achieved in my running, and the challenge is mouth-watering.

My project involves the exploration of my home county, Lincolnshire, on foot. Over the year, I will attempt to complete all the Long Distance Paths that start, finish or pass through Lincolnshire. Using the LDWA database as my guide, I have compiled a list of paths that fit this criteria and have grouped them into short, medium and long categories. With the exception of the Hobbers Way, all of these paths will each be completed in one continuous run.


SHORT

Torpel Way - 11 miles
Bourne Blunder - 20 miles
Tennyson Twenty - 20 miles
Vermuyden Way - 20 miles
Wanderlust Way - 20 miles
Jubilee Way - 21 miles
Dave Milne Way - 22 miles
Belvoir Witches Challenge - 25 miles
Caistor Challenge - 25 miles
Gingerbread Way - 25 miles
Silver Lincs Way - 25 miles
Spires and Steeples - 25 miles
Caistor Challenge Alternative - 26 miles
Kesteven 25 - 26 miles
Linconshire Wolds Black Death Challenge Walk - 26 miles


MEDIUM

Belmont 30 - 30 miles
Grantham Canal - 33 miles
Water Rail Way - 33 miles
Humber Bridge Link Walk - 34 miles
Plogsland Round - 47 miles
Peatlands Way - 50 miles


LONG

Nev Cole Way - 58 miles
Danelaw Way - 60 miles
Jurassic Way - 88 miles
Lindsey Loop - 95 miles
Towers Way - 95 miles
Hereward Way - 110 miles
Nene Way - 110 miles
South Kesteven Round - 130 miles
Viking Way - 147 miles
Hobbers Way - 193 miles


The majority of these runs will be done solo.

The Viking Way may be covered by competing in the first Viking Way Ultra race, scheduled for Easter Saturday 2012. I'll give this option a little more thought however, as I'm not sure that racing a route fits easily with what I'm trying to achieve over the year.

The Hobbers Way, at 193 miles, is too long for me to attempt as a single, continuous run. Therefore, I plan to split this journey into a 4-day run, starting at the mouth of the Severn and finishing at The Wash, hopefully in the company of a few friends. This journey, an alternative Coast-to-Coast, I see as a fitting finale to my year of travel.

Whilst the short and medium paths will fit easily into the calendar, the long paths are what the success of this project hinges upon. Do-able? Time will tell.

Planning is in the early stages. The calendar wall-chart is ready to be tinkered with. The next few months are likely to be busy.

It's an idea I've thrown around for a while, and now, I guess, it looks like there's no going back.

Lakeland 50

www.youtube.com/watch?v=5qEGxTdCG9U


There's only one thing I'm concentrating on as darkness begins to envelop the Coniston Fells. 'Don't miss that cairn. Hit that small cairn at the path junction, take the middle path and it's plain sailing. From there, the faint trod soon gets better and before you know it, you're on a good track descending to the old miners road and then it's easy running to the finish. But where's that cairn?'

I know there's a runner on my heels. How far behind is he? I can't afford to go wrong now, less than 2 miles from the end. I stop, check my map, run a bit further - and then there it is - more a loose pile of stones than a cairn. I've cracked it! My energy levels rebound. I tuck the map and road book into my shorts and I'm off.

After a painful descent from the Fell top, I'm soon on the miners road. I check my watch. 9 hours 19 minutes. I can't stop grinning. Under 12 hours and top 50 I'd have been happy with. But under 9.30 and top 5 - it doesn't seem real. I remember Mark Hartell's time from last year - 9 hours 41 mins - Mark Hartell, Lakeland peaks record holder, 77 summits in 24 hours, mountain running legend. Granted, he's a few years past his best now, but I'm going to beat Mark Hartell's time - me, a jogger from Lincolnshire!

A couple of minutes later, I emerge onto the main road through Coniston and turn right towards the bridge. The entire beer garden in front of the Black Bull pub claps and cheers. I'm getting emotional. Turning down Lakes Road towards the finish line, I can make out Tam taking photos. Archie and Ellie run towards me. Archie's quiet but Ellie's yelling, 'Well done my daddy!'

I'm so happy, chuffed with myself. I cross the line and a female marshal links her arm into mine and leads me into the school. Through the reception into the cafeteria area - more clapping and cheering, and into the main hall, everyone on their feet. What a great feeling. I'm pushed in the direction of the dibber where I dib my tag and receive my official result. 9 hours 25 minutes. 4th position.

A guy grabs my arm and makes me stand on the scales for the compulsory weigh-in. He checks my wrist tag for my start weight and shouts over to the race doctor, '4.5 kilos down!' The doctor tells me to get as much fluid in me as I can. 'I'm ok,' I tell him, 'I feel great!' I give Tam and the superheroes a big hug, grab a styrofoam cup of flat coke and then the nausea hits me and I can't stand up.

Low blood pressure, I'm told. I'm escorted to a thick crash mat, where I lie for the next hour with my feet on a plastic chair. The sickness soon subsides and feeling like I'm lying on a king-sized bed in the most luxurious hotel suite, I close my eyes and think back over the day:

- Joss Naylor, the greatest fell runner ever, getting all of us 460 Lakeland 50 competitors started at midday

- 7 minute miles round the first 4 mile loop at Dalemain before our journey started in earnest

- 4 of us coming off High Kop too early at 15 miles, and having to bushwhack for an eternity through chest-high bracken

- the savage climbs out of Fusedale, Mardale Head and Kentmere

- the unrelenting heat, no escape all day

- the encouragement from the 100 mile competitors I passed during the day

- the smiling faces at the six checkpoints, flat coke and jelly beans

- arriving at Ambleside with 16 miles left to be greeted by Tam yelling, 'Get a wiggle on - 4th's only 3 minutes in front!'

- catching the guy in front with 10 miles to go but running scared for the rest of the way

- passing my BG Pal, Mark R., 5 miles from the end of his 100 mile race and promising him a pint at Coniston

- running straight through the last checkpoint, determined to hold my position

- and thinking, right now, that lying down never felt so good.

A great, great day.

Eventually, I have to get up. Mark R. enters the hall to applause - 29 hours and a bit - top 20 in the 100. I give him a few minutes to sort himself out. A bit later, I go over and congratulate him.

'Ok?' I ask.

'Been better. Been worse, ' he replies. I remind him that it was him mentioning the Lakeland 50 and 100 on a Bob Graham last year that set the seed in my mind.

He looks at me with a smile on his face and a glint in his eye. 'Well, we've done it Chris, ' he says, 'What's next?'   

We, the runners.

The news spread slowly, by word of mouth. Of course, we'd have all heard more quickly if we'd used The Apple Network, but all those transactions left a trace, and for all of the members of The Group, the consequences of such action were unimaginable.

No-one knew how many members The Group consisted of, or how it came into being. All that was certain was that The Group did exist.

The numbers were small and decreasing year on year, but while ever individuals retained a fierce, independent spirit and a need for transcendence - while ever individuals still wanted to live and not simply be sustained, The Group would survive.


The years since The Shift Of Power had been long and demanding. When News Corps had taken over the traditional means of government, we, the runners, had sensed dark days lay ahead, but we'd never envisaged the scenario we now encountered in our day-to-day struggle.

The rise of the Corporations had been inevitable. Now, all Consumers shared the same life-style. Since the mortgage system had collapsed and all property had been reclaimed, Consumers lived in a house owned by The Bank. They worked for one of the seven Corporations. Their earnings would be split in several ways. The majority of it would be deducted at source by The Bank. This would guarantee a roof over their heads.

News Corps would receive a share in return for providing Consumers with Entertainment and The Truth. (In the years since The Shift Of Power, the concept of the lie had disappeared. There were no longer any lies, only The Truth.)

Some of the credits earned through working for one of the seven Corporations would be spent on consuming products produced by the Corporations.

A small part of a Consumer's credits would be available for spending on Leisure. All Leisure took place in malls or gymnasiums, where access to Entertainment screens was available at all times.


It was in 2019, when the mountains were designated an Area of Forbidden Entry that rumours about The Group emerged. But it was the publication of The Adams Report, commissioned by TESCO, in 2020, that was the catalyst for the explosion of The Group's popularity. The findings of the report stated that 'the increased levels of naturally-produced chemicals inside the human brain, as a result of endurance running might have detrimental side-effects in terms of the propensity to consume.' Such findings, unacceptable as they were to News Corp and the seven Corporations led to immediate action. On October 21st 2020, running was declared illegal.


Members of The Group were encouraged to run alone and to stick to Out-Of-Bounds Wilderness Areas, where the numbers of Corporation detectives and News Corps hackers were more scarce. By such action, it was hoped, the possibilty of detention would be more remote. Increasingly, however, new methods of surveillance and Private Life Intrusion techniques had led to capture. And when detention centres were full, the Corporations had pioneered the practice of 'processing'. Through a combination of Electrical Cortex Stimulation and Positive Behavioral Therapy, an individual captured and detained as 'dangerous to society', or simply 'a runner' could be transformed into a model Consumer. A house would be provided by The Bank. A job would be provided by one of the seven Corporations. News Corps would enable said individual to experience the fullness of life through their provision of Entertainment and The Truth.


As members of The Group declined drastically through the 20's as a result of these measures, a mythical hero emerged. Cassady, it was said, had run over every peak in The Lakeland Zone. Having never missed a day's run in many years, he had somehow escaped detection. Stories grew about his feats in The North, most of them probably wildly exagerated, but inspiring nonetheless. In our darkest of days, here, at least, was a glimmer of light in an existence made unbearable.

But all lights go out. The news spread slowly by word of mouth. His detection, detention, processing.



And now I understand it will come to us all. I know that, but it makes little difference. For until my time is stolen from me, I will continue to greet the sunrise from impossible summits or the ocean's edge. I will continue to pay worship to the woodland tracks and forest trails. One foot in front of the other. A breath. A heartbeat.

And I'll rejoice in the shared secret - one that only we, the runners, truely understand.

That Feeling

1982 (14 years old)

Kid Jensen's smiling, surrounded by a group of starstruck young birds. Bubble perms and ra-ra's. 'Next up, it's Shalamar, A Night To Remember.'

History homework's on my lap. I put down my Parker pen, take a slurp of tea and rest the cup on the chair arm next to the empty bag of Nik-Naks. My mum looks at me disapprovingly and tuts.

The camera pans out and settles on the face of Jeffrey Daniel. His hair's in a classic wedge. He looks straight into the lens as if he's checking himself out in the mirror before a night out. One gloved hand pushes his fringe aside before straightening a white skinny tie.

I look over. Dennis and Alli are staring, saying nothing. Mum's disappeared into the kitchen.

On the screen, Jeffrey Daniel is imprisoned behind an invisible wall. He holds out his hands, presses them flat against the non-existent barrier and explores the surface to the right and the left, looking for a way out. Unable to escape, he hooks both hands over the top of the wall, pulls his upper body up and looks over.

I've never seen anyone dance like this. 'Mum, come and look at this,' Alli shouts from the lounge floor.

Jeffrey Daniel shakes his arms loose and bounces backwards towards a row of girls. One of them holds a jacket out. Without turning around, he slips both hands into the black bolero and smoothes it down. He bends his knees slightly, wraps two hands around a make-believe rope and heaves himself forwards across the studio floor.

Mum's in front of the tele now too.

Jeffrey Daniel jerks his body down into a disjointed limbo. When his back is touching the floor, he uses the invisible rope to pull himself up. But now he again finds himself trapped. His hands explore the walls of the invisible bubble, before he gives up and is tranformed into a human cyborg, every movement locked, robotic.

All of us are watching. Shalamar. A Night To Remember. The first time we'd ever seen body-popping.

The song moves to the instrumental break. Jeffrey Daniel turns sideways and puts up an imaginary umbrella. He forces himself forward into a raging wind, making little progress. And then a gust threatens to rip the umbrella from his grasp. It's blown behind him, his arm outstretched behind him too, holding on, and he's pulled backwards across the floor. His feet are stepping forwards but he's sliding backwards, walking the wrong way up a conveyor that  just isn't there.

'Wooaa!' All of us say the same thing together. It's the most amazing thing I've ever seen.

And in that moment, everything's changed just a bit. From now on, things will be just slightly different.

I sit in silence, unaware of the tide of excitement that a dance move would have at school over the next few days. Unaware that a year later, having been taught the move by Jeffrey Daniel, Michael Jackson would perform it at the Motown 25 show and the press would christen it 'the moonwalk.'
But kind of aware - that feeling - that this would now always be a key event on the timeline of my own personal history.



1993 (26 years old)

Just back from our honeymoon in Egypt. Cracking tan, the hair's longer than it's been for a good while. I'm wearing my new Blundstones - black, round-toed, tailored black trousers and a white cotton shirt I bought in Luxor. I look ace.

I guess it's a case of my mates rallying round. All of the stuff that's happened in the weeks before and after my wedding day. Den and Dom will be round soon to pick me up. Literally and metaphysically. We'll meet Paul by the boating lake. He's got a new girlfriend, Emma. I've heard she's cool.

It had all started three weeks ago with the latest issue of Cosmopolitan. As I'd laid on the settee in that tiny flat above the caff, The Girl From Australia had threw me over the magazine, folded at the page she wanted me to look at. 'What are you, Chris?' she asked me.

I'd looked at the page. One of those crappy quizzes. 'ARE YOU HAPPY?' Pick an answer - A,B,C or D - for each of the questions and add them up at the end. Mostly A's - your life was great, you couldn't stop smiling. Mostly D's - your life was rubbish, may as well give up.

'What are you?' she asked again.

'I'm not doing this,' I told her, 'What a load of old bollocks.'

'No. I want you to do it,' she persisted and I notice there's tears in her eyes.

'I'll be C or D. You know me. My glass is always empty.'

'I know Chris. Even when it's nearly full.'

'It's not easy being a pessimist,' I told her, smiling.

'It's not easy being with one,' she replied.

I go back to watching the tele. I know I'm a miserable sod, but living with me can't be that bad.

'I'm not marrying you Chris. I'm not happy. I'm going home,' she said. She's crying. She left the front room and went upstairs.

I finish watching Top Of The Pops. She goes on sometimes, I think, give her ten minutes and she'll be back down apologising.

There's a buzz around Corkys. You'd be surprised at who's got caught up in the rave scene - the drugs have mellowed the Top Boys and football casuals into huggable mates who'd rather kiss you on the cheek than smash your face in. We stand around drinking Coke, checking out who's out, before handing over notes for little white pills from the big guy in the cap down the corridor near the toilets. The night's for the taking. This is it. If only I could forget her.

This is the hardest thing I've ever done, I think, as I finish the list. Everyone who was invited to the wedding knows now. Knows now that she's left me a week before the big day. But they don't know why. Neither do I for that matter.

We walk down Lumley Road and past the Clock Tower. We can already hear the music from the Festival Pavilion. The Promised Land. We're heading for The Promised Land.

I'd still thought I could change her mind. She'd moved out, rented a room in a mate's house round the back end of town. She'd invited me round for breakfast. A strange thing to do on the day that we were supposed to be getting married. Must have something to tell me, I'd thought, probably changing her mind. I'd walked round, dressed in my wedding suit, clutching a big bunch of flowers. That should do the trick, I'd thought, knock her off her feet. Make her want me again. But she'd laughed as she opened the door and we'd eaten breakfast in silence.

I love this feeling. The tingles. I look at the others and they're the same - swaying, moving with the music, coming up, becoming a part of it. And then a big tune drops and we're on the dance-floor, lost in it, feeling it, eyes closed, smiling.

I'd seen her for the last time the day before the honeymoon. I'd talked Dennis into coming to Egypt with me, I said, but a romantic Nile cruise with my twin brother wouldn't be the same as one with my wife. She'd laughed as I told her and handed me our photo-album.

'I don't want that,' I said, thinking of all those shots of us happy together. 'I'll keep on looking at them, making myself sad on purpose.' I'd gone to push it back over the kitchen table, but she'd stopped me.

'No you won't,' she said.

She'd hugged me before she left. I'd watched her go down to the caff's back yard from my spot at the top of the fire-escape stairs. 'See ya,' I called, not believing this was happening, seeing all this above, as if we were actors in a film. Just before she reached the back gate, I couldn't help myself. 'Hey!' I shouted. She'd turned round.

'What are we doing? What's going on? We love each other, right? Give me another chance. One chance. Go on. I'll change. I'll be whoever you want.'

That was what I should have said. But I didn't. I didn't say anything. I just stood there.

Eventually she goes, 'Chris? What?'

'Err.. when you going to bring my bike back?' Dumb words. The last words I ever said to her.

She'd shook her head and gone.

I stood, dazed for a while, and then went back inside. Sitting at the kitchen table, I reached for the photo-album. I pulled it towards me and opened it up. All the photographs of her, of us together, were gone. Four years gone in two short weeks. I closed my eyes and saw her. A crack appeared in the porcelain. I started to break.

Richard from The Aloof's on live percussion. He finishes his bongo solo and we're all going mad. A lull follows - the calm before the storm, a big tune on it's way. And the expectation, the whistles, the horns, the stamping of feet and the hands in the air. And when it comes, it kills us. Knocks us down while the piano riff smothers us. Chicago House. DJ International. Sterling Void and Paris Brightledge. 'It's All Right.'

'Generations will come and go.
But there's one thing for sure,'

A girl in front's wearing a t-shirt. A SMILE IS AN APHRODISIAC it says on it in 70's bubble writing. She looks at me and I smile, pointing to her shirt and then my face. She dances over, kisses me on the lips, and dances away.

'Music is our life's foundation, 
And shall succeed all the nations to come,'

I look across at Dominic. He's smiling. He winks at me and points after the girl. We both laugh.

'And it's gonna be all right...'

I look across at Dennis. He's smiling. We salute each other.

'And it's gonna be all right...'

I look across at Paul. He's smiling. He puts his arms around Emma and pulls her close.

'And it's gonna be all right, 
Cause the music plays forever on and on.'

And, in a moment - that feeling - I know it is. Hearing music on a timeless wavelength, never dissipating but giving me strength. The crack's disappeared. I'm unbreakable. And I know that a life fully lived is just a pile of good things and bad things. You can never have one without the other. And that's the way it should be, the way it has to be. But the bad ones won't break me. I'm unbreakable. It's gonna be all right.


2001 (34 years old)

It was a relief when I knew it was really happening. Thursday morning, 4 am. I'd been scheduled for a day teaching the Reception class. I loved teaching the older kids but those little ones did my head in. A baby on its way would be a good excuse to get out of it.

I'd laid in bed while Tam rang the hospital. It didn't happen like this on the tele. Come in straight away, the maternity nurse said, and be prepared for a long day. The Uno had started first time for a change, and a hour later, we'd been at the hospital.

Another adventure had begun. I viewed from the sidelines, back-rubbing and muttering encouragement. And just before noon a miracle happened. Where once we were two, now we were three. We became a family.

Sometime later, Tam follows the nurse down the corridor and I'm left alone with little man. I hold him nervously to my chest, his little eyes closed, his little head the most perculiar shape.

I'm overcome. That feeling. The same one I've felt just a few times before. My world's moved on its axis.

I can't stop looking at him. 'Hello Smasher,' I whisper, 'When you grow up, you'll be a superhero.' I know it's true. And when Tam arrives back and I hand him back to his mum, we look at each other for a long time, aware of the enormity of the moment, and I'm sure that she knows it too.


2011 (43 years old)

Over the previous three months, The Lindsey Loop had become my best friend, my favourite retreat from the everyday. I'd gotten to know her personality, her heartbeat. I'd fallen in love with her hidden valleys, her unique undulations through the Lincolnshire Wolds, her stiles, miles and byways. I'd sneaked away on spring evenings and visited her by myself, and on Sundays, I'd joined a gang from the Club and I'd showed her off, confident that everyone else would surely fall in love, just as I had. And they had.

Leon and myself had hatched the plan in February. We'd organise a club relay to cover the route of The Lindsey Loop, at 96 miles in length, the longest off-road footpath in Lincolnshire. It wouldn't be a day for bowing to the tyranny of Garmin or succumbing blindly to the god of The Training Schedule. It would be a day for moving from point A to point B on foot, a rediscovery of life's most simple pleasure. A day of running with Club members you didn't know too well, for having conversations and finding out that the guy you usually just say 'hiya' to is, in fact, one of the most inspiring people you're ever likely to meet. A day for enjoying the view, becoming lost in the moment. A day to appreciate the special magic of running.

The idea had been embraced with a passion that had taken me back. Everyone had wanted a part in this celebration. The excitement had become infectious.

The big day had edged nearer and nearer, and then was here, and now would soon be gone.

I'm stood by the cafe in Hubbards Hills, Louth. It's 7pm on a lovely June evening. As Club members arrive, meet up, chat and laugh together, I  cast my mind back over a fantastic day.

Our midnight start in Market Rasen.
Running those first 20 miles through the darkness.
The carboot cafe.
The crazy photographs, the brilliant company.
Following the relay as it wound its convoluted path through medieval sites and busy market towns.
The enthusiasm.
The laughter.
The atmosphere generated by the finest little running club I've known.
Ninety-five of the most enjoyable miles of my life.

And now, just one to go. A group of about 50 runners - all ages, all abilities, united in identity - have gathered together. We'll run the last mile into Louth town centre. It'll be a moment to treasure.

The gang gets going and I stick to the back. Our little girl settles into a jog beside her school friend. I look at her - Whirlwind - our second superhero. She's talking as usual, telling her mate that it doesn't matter if they're not at the front, it's the taking part that counts. She makes me laugh - that wise head on innocent shoulders. Lightning's up at the front. It's a lifetime away since I held him for the first time - won't even let me kiss him at bedtime now.

Soon, we're into the park and the snake of runners spreads out. The running's easy and the air is still. Tammy runs past, glances across, says something that I don't catch. But I hang back.

And that feeling returns. It's taken a lifetime of running to be here today. It's taken a lifetime of living to become who I am.

My family. My friends. And the one passion that has always stayed with me. One foot in front of the other, a breath and a heartbeat.

I think back to those defining moments of my life. Those times when things changed. That feeling. The feeling that's with me now. Jeffrey Daniel on Top Of The Pops, that night at The Promised Land, the birth of our little smasher.

And I look forward to tomorrow. To waking in the morning and knowing that things have changed again, just slightly.

Thankyous

www.youtube.co.uk/watch?v=END_WYdf8pw
www.youtube.co.uk/watch?v=fxodGkgnIa8