Chateau du Loir to Tours – Matters Over Mind

To prepare for my longest slog in over 6 years I had a bad night’s sleep, worrying about things I can’t control. Things that normal people shouldn’t lose sleep over. I’m in the oldest 14% of the UK population and should be concentrating on dignity, peace with oneself and reconciliation with the past. Looking forward to a long and lovely sunset. Not whittling about absurd, self-destructive ………things. Is that the limit of your vocabulary after 69 years of accumulation? Things?

Anyway!! Let’s get back to some semblance of normality. Whatever that is.

Because of my broken sleep, when the alarm went I conked out, so my long day was just made two hours longer. Breakfast woke me up a bit. I can’t say that I hit the road running, but I was grimly determined. Walking through delightful countryside in one of the best countries in the world and all I can manage is grim determination. Idiot, idiot, idiot.

It was 27 miles to do today fool, not 26. After a couple of miles I crossed the Loir, not to be confused with the Loire, which remained 25 miles away.

The main road to Tours was very busy, with lots of lorries blowing me about. At the earliest opportunity I struck out into rural tranquility. And saw more troglodytes.

As well as long abandoned train stations and platforms.

The road became a lane, became a path. A well-trodden path, this walk. But to add some deviation from pathed practice, the path became a stream.

Luckily this story was an abridged version.

From self-destructive to self-congratulatory in one easy move. This looks like the cave is dugout rather than naturally made.

Great houses were spread along the route and little to no traffic. Any rain seemed confined to periods where I was walking under trees, and a cool breeze provided the perfect temperature for a laden walk.

The forests provided rain cover and, when the sun was out, sunlight protection.

Even the smallest villages had clothes washing facilities for yesterday’s people. Providing cover to get my underpants off and apply anti-chafing cream to my sore thighs.

You have to get your head down and try not to think of the distance left to walk. When you’ve been walking for 5 hours and not got halfway, and your chafing is making you walk like John Wayne, you need to focus on the next 100 metres or you’ve lost your head to defeat.

Only check how far you’ve covered and which way you need to go as infrequently as possible. That way you keep your charge on your iPad or iPhone as long as you can, and you see a noticeable distance in the ground you’re covering between checks.

Break out the gin, it’s sloe time!

Walnut time too in a month or so. Break out the whip?

It was turning cold and, as the sun began to sink, I thought I should get a bus or a taxi for the last 5 miles and come back tomorrow to finish it off. I wasn’t feeling strong enough and I’d been walking non-stop for 9 hours. I pulled into a village PMU and asked for a Perrier (great for hydration), a beer and a taxi. I got the first two but neither the landlord nor his customers knew of any taxi company. They pointed me towards the bus stop, where the shelter had been smashed, the timetable ripped off the wall and it stank of stale piss. No it wasn’t Rotherham. Maggie rang the hotel for me and told them I would be later than expected, and reluctantly I set off on foot again. Getting slower with each passing mile. After more than 11 hours walking I crossed the Loire into central Tours, but it took me another half an hour to walk the last half mile. I was too tired to take photos – this is a tourism stock photo.

I sat on somebody’s doorsteps for a rest and I had to ask a young couple to pull me up! Rucksack and all. But I made it to the hotel. 27 miles in just under 12 hours. I bought some cooked chicken and a melon at a corner shop and the night porter gave me a bottle of his own wine. He carried my rucksack up to my room. Good lad.

I’d done it and ate my scran and drank my wine with my eyes closed, but feeling pretty good.

Night night.