The arrival of new boots invariably promotes a passion for perambulation. [That's enough of the alliteration, thank you very much.] And so it has been with the new Scarpas, with over a hundred miles knocked off in two and a half weeks. Not all in the boots, but most.
The wonderful thing about comfortable shoes is that I forget that I'm wearing them. Over the years Phil and I have seen so many footsore Challengers to know that the opposite is true of uncomfortable shoes; they are devices of torture and the limping backpacker is in torment. They can only think about their feet. A well-shod walker, on the other hand, strolls about with an unencumbered mind, free to roam.
Latterly, my walks have become random affairs, turning left or right as the fancy takes me. My only directive is to ensure I'm back in time for tea.
All this fresh air has lifted my frame. After months of stooped inactivity I'm at last walking naturally again. I spent too many months worrying about my blasted foot and had started walking in a way to compensate for the Plantar Fasciitis; a sort of Richard the Third crab-like shuffle. I wouldn't wish PF on my worst enemy. Oh. Hang on. Yes I would. The bastard.
So, things are definitely looking up. And speaking of looking up here's a couple of pictures where I had indeed been doing just that.
|LILY HILL PARK SHELTER|