Final Day: Saturday 3rd June

Unbelievably stiff this morning.

The strong NSAIDs did their bit last night to get me to sleep (after Heather insisting on reading until daft O’clock) but the old limbs don’t seem to want to move or bend in the correct way together. Look at walking: you stand up, put one foot forward , step off and bring the other foot past it until a stride is completed. That wasn’t possible for about 15 minutes until the bits of grit and fluff in my back, knee and ankle joints were worked out of the way tentatively. Nevertheless, after the whining was out of the way the main thing was: NO BLISTERS.

In the words of Monty Burns: “Excellent”

Today was going to be (like yesterday) a straight walk. Over relatively flat land but in the strong sun again. We breakfasted well in Chez Jackson and said our farewells and thanks to the clan for their incredible hospitality. HOn to the top of the bank outside Chollerford at Hillhead. It would be a straight run to Newcastle, almost entirely parallel with the Military Road and as straight as a die.

Heather left me to go home to check the post and put some of my smelly washing on (home was only half an hour away) So I set off on my own for the last leg. The going was wonderful – the paths wound either side of the road and through the odd copse to give relief from the sun. My Camelbak was replenished with the optimum Glucose/water/Irn-Bru mix (kidding) and importantly it was exclusively Eastbound to help my morale – no more of the need for crappy ‘short-cuts’ to ease to make things easier.

It’s incredible but after early suspicions that my legs would be a state today with the bandage on my injured ankle etc. things calmed down after half an hour of walking and I actually started to jog I felt so good! I gave it a good canter for half an hour, aware that it would probably shave about the same again off my finishing time, but the benefits were more than simply the time saved – I felt great. I allowed myself a little bit of self-congratulation and pride in doing this thing for the first time. Being a devout pessimist I don’t often do this, but it was a combination of relief and thanks to God/Allah/Krishna/Yahweh that I’d managed to get through since January unscathed.

The next couple of hours seemed to go very well – passing through the ancient gate that linked the wall up with the North-South roman road (now the A68) at Portgate and onward for another 5 miles or so. Meeting the occasional walker going the other way (I kept telling them they were doing it in the wrong direction but they didn’t listen) for a chat I was quite alone for the most part. By now, the sun was baking hot and I was dying for some relief. I made it to just outside the village of Harlow Hill at a reservoir and nature reserve called Whittle Dene. Thank God for a very handy twitcher’s hide. I gained access and lay on the floor for half an hour to take the weight off my ankle and get some shade. It was bliss.

I had arranged for Heather to meet me a few miles East of Harlow Hill at Heddon-on-the-Wall. This is at the end of what is known as the ‘West Road’ (the route of the wall going into Newcastle). We met for lunch. I needed a top-up of energy drinks, sandwiches and encouragement. My feet were starting to whiff a bit so a change of socks was in order. I had a good hour’s rest as progress had been excellent, despite the problems yesterday.

Heather left me again and promised to meet me near the finish along with her parents (Heather’s dad had promised me a bottle of Brown Ale at the finish). The west road was a bit of a slog after with Heddon, Throckley, a strangley-named village called Blücher and then finally Walbottle before you cross the A1 and into Newcastle proper.

I limped past Benwell and Elswick, Scotswood not being far away. I dropped down the hill towards the city centre and hung a left at Corporation Road and down another bank. There I came to the spiritual home of all Geordies: St James’ Park.

SJP
As it sits atop the hill overlooking the city it dominates the skyline whether you arrive via train or road, there is no avoiding it. The only stadium I have visited that does that to you from afar is Twickenham.

None other in England that I know of. After genuflecting I then moved onto the city centre and the main shopping areas of Blackett Street, Northumberland Street, Grey’s Monument and John Dobson Street.

The Monument

After swapping text messages with Heath, I arranged to meet her at New Bridge Street. There she was, waiting with the dogs and her dad, Gordon. Only a few miles left now (3 actually). Across Byker Bridge and up Shields Road to the Morrison’s supermarket where my sister, niece and other folk waited for me. I had a carton of milk for some reason here. Only 2 miles left.
These couple of miles were bloody hard work. Every little rest you have means your joints stiffen up a little more. With (predictably enough) a straight road to the Roman fort the last stretch was completed in slightly longer than my average time (it’s Heather’s fault really as she did this bit with me and couldn’t keep up with my shuffle…ha!ha!)
The Finish seemed to be a mixture of relief and was somewhat of an anticlimax for me. As I received an impromptu round of applause from my relatives (who had parked 150 metres from the fort (which was closed) I insisted that I complete the bally thing properly and touch the gates. Which I did of course.

Segedunum Front Gates

Many, many thanks goes to Sharon, Jade, Matchy, Gordon and Chris and of course Heather for the reception. Oh, and The Broon was fabulous, Gordon!

Job Done.