Flogging a Dead Horse (The Icknield way Part 1)

I’ve been a bit slack in posting over recent months, and the ever growing pile of things I was planning to write about has made catching up with the posts a bigger and bigger task.

Last time I left you in Sanquhar at the end of the first chunk of the Southern Upland Way, which I’m planning to finish in the near(ish) future (more on that later), but I’ve also been working away at my main project for the year – the Greater Ridgeway.

I’m actually just back from the first bit of the Icknield Way, having previously walked all the way from the south coast at Lyme Regis, along the Wessex Ridgeway and then the Ridgeway National Trail. And the vast majority of that still needs to be written up!

So rather than add to the backlog by putting this latest tale to the back of the queue, here it is and I’ll fill in the gaps afterwards…

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I finally gave up trying to sleep at 03:38. The storm had come in just before midnight and although the noisy bit didn’t last long, there was enough heavy rain and occasional flashes of lightning throughout the rest of the time, to make dropping back off to sleep a challenge. Add to that my makeshift pillow arrangement, and I couldn’t even get comfortable enough to feel that I might be able to drop off.

No, the game was up, and the sooner I accepted it the better.

Not just in terms of tonight’s sleep, but the trip itself too.

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It all started positively enough – a leisurely early afternoon train journey out to Cheddington from London Euston, preceded by my first ride on the Elizabeth Line. A nice day, and warm too. Even the road walk down to Ivinghoe wasn’t too bad, although I’d happily have taken a bit less traffic. It was warm enough for me to justify getting an ice cream in Ivinghoe, so I did, before doing the last few hundred metres to my campsite.

It wasn’t the flattest campsite with the most level spots either being already taken, or uncomfortably close to others, on what was a pretty sparsely populated site overall. I settled for a spot in the corner of the far field, ironically the nearest possible point to Ivinghoe Beacon I could have pitched.

A quiet night, and a sensible start at 8am. The washing up / utility facilities at Town Farm campsite were especially good and also had a large noticeboard with loads of local information. One notice of local walks inspired a change of way up to the beacon. I had intended to go straight up, the reverse of the precipitous slide and chalky scuffing of clothes and limbs I’d had at the end of the Ridgeway itself.

This time, I headed straight across the road from the farm to hit the ridge further along, with a more gentle slanting climb along the length of the ridge. It added about 1km to the day’s walk, which was already a long one, but on reflection better that than start the Icknield Way cursing the difficulty of the direct route to the top.

I did the usual start point and summit things, mainly involving a variety of camera usages, and then headed back along the ridge to pick up the first Icknield Way sign. The path initially dropped down from the ridge to Dagnall before a climb back up near Whipsnade.

The path opened out onto the Dunstable Downs and deferring the lure of the National Trust cafe, I headed over to the trig point to bag the summit of Bedfordshire.

Inside the cafe, a bacon bap and coffee and cake were duly dispatched before I resumed – I still had over 2/3 of the day’s walk to do.

The path dropped down from the downs into the worst bit of the day’s walk – skirting Dunstable and then Luton – a succession of road crossings, business parks and industrial estates. Once across the A5 though, things improved with countryside back under foot, although the view of Luton was very much still to my right.

In Wingfield, I stopped at the pub for a drink, just after my first real bit of waymarking confusion.

The Icknield Way has signs for both a walker’s route and a bridleway/cycle route, and in some places the walker’s route coincides, so sometimes I was looking for a walker’s waymark when one didn’t exist. Add to that the direction some of the waymarks were pointing was highly suspicious, and then there were the “helpful” signs explaining re-routing which didn’t really make a lot of sense. The pub came at just the right point before I started to get too worked up about the navigational challenges I was going to face on this trail.

Back on the hoof, and the route truly split – with the Toddington alternative branching off to the left. Here the info panel provided by the Icknield Way Association was genuinely helpful (as they continued to be from here on in).

I crossed the M1 and climbed up into the Sundon Hills Country Park – a succession of twists and turns that multiplied the distance between me and my bed for the night manyfold. I resisted the short cut to Streatley mainly because I’d have to do an extra 3km tomorrow and didn’t want the extra effort on the day before parkrun – I wanted to take it easy on the Friday so I wouldn’t be too tired on Saturday.

I rolled into Streatley and crossed the road to The Chequers, where I was staying. A shower, a gammon steak and a couple of ciders sorted me out after my 38km epic first day.

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Day 2, a Friday, was more of the same weather-wise. Another fine and sunny, even hot day. According to my calculations I had 23km to walk, plus another 2-3km to my campsite. Which should be no problem, surely ?

I finished my mediocre breakfast in the pub – 1 bacon, 1 sausage then a piece of toast with half scrambled egg, half beans atop it. No cereal or such fripperies being on offer. It wasn’t a huge surprise – the room including breakfast was £50, and I’ve learned through experience that stays in pubs are always either stupidly expensive with really good food, or the absolute barrel-scraping cheapness of an offering.

Through fields and past village ponds to the very top-rightmost corner of Luton’s sprawl, a golf course then the climb onto Galley Hill. A succession of byways brought me to Pirton where I made a beeline for the Chapel Tea Room, open Fridays and Saturdays in the Methodist church. A much nicer setting than the one I’d started the day in. I ordered a couple of scones with the full works, and was brought two boulders – certainly contenders for the largest scones I’ve ever had. They were really light and fluffy inside though and were a joy to consume.

The sun was unfortunately at its peak as I emerged and strolled along tracks to Ickleford. Already feeling oppressed by the middle of the day heat and strong sun, I stopped again, even though it had only been an hour. An ice cream and cool drink were much needed.

It was a bit of a climb to get over the railway bridge, but once that was done I was practically in Letchworth, walking along a street named Icknield Way. I suspected I was probably on the right path at least now. It was a bit of a pavement slog all the way to Baldock, but here I ducked back under the railway and re-crossed the A1(M) before following the Greenway round to my campsite at Radwell Lakes.

Now this was a basic site. The toilet block really was an old barely patched-up outbuilding. No showers, and only cold water. There was a drinking water tap outside, but in truth it was everything I actually needed. I chose a pitch in the orchard rather than the field, pitching up next to a locked up yurt.

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Saturday, and the reason for me walking the best part of 2 miles off-trail for the night. Letchworth parkrun is about a mile away.

I managed to get around in under 30 minutes, which is all I aim for when I’m combining parkrun with a long distance walk. Going for a PB can wait until I’m home. And I’d had a poor night’s sleep, and my watch was telling me I was in no fit state to do exercise.

I walked back to the campsite, made a brew and pondered what to do. I was feeling pretty tired and didn’t think I had 25km or more in my legs. A long lingering coffee was enough for me to decide to sit the day out, and focus on two other pressing issues – my rapidly dwindling supply of gas and the need to buy a bit of food.

So I took a walk into Letchworth and, unexpectedly, Trespass actually sold gas, which I’m sure it didn’t last time I went in one. Just around the corner was a chip shop for some lunch with a handy bench nearby to eat it on. And Morrisons a few yards away for the shopping. Perfect. I stocked up and hauled it all back to camp. That was a 10km round trip, so not a total rest day.

I spent the rest of the afternoon and evening relaxing in the tent.

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Day 4, a Sunday, and a day behind where I’d planned to be. Theoretically, I could catch up and get back on plan, but that ignored the reason I was behind – simple tiredness. So I already knew I’d be stopping short of my planned trail exit at Euston near Thetford.

I did feel better after a better night’s sleep, although my watch did not agree. Last night I’d booked a third night at the camp site, as I’d not heard anything back from either of the two a little way past Royston. So in the desire for certainty, I accepted I’d only walk as far as Royston today and get the train back, reversing the travel on Monday.

Because of my accommodation arrangements, I could travel light, so set out with a bag, drink etc – just what I needed for the day.

I walked into Baldock, picked up a coffee and then headed down through fields to cross the A505. A succession of back lanes and byways brought me to Sandon, where they were setting up the village fete on the green. I went for a bench in the churchyard. The vicar walked past and was pretty insistent that I stick my head inside the church for coffee and cake. Not wanting to offend a woman of the cloth I did as I was bid. One of the parishioners gave a guided tour of the animal-themed flower arrangements inside. In the background Europe’s Final Countdown and Van Halen’s Jump emanated from the organ.

Back on the trail , it was more benign trackways all the way into Royston. At one point the Battle of Britain Memorial Flight circled overhead, giving me a private display.

In Royston, I got the train back to Baldock and then walked back to the campsite via the nearby motorway service area.

All in all it was a bit of a surreal day, but I felt buoyed by it, and ready to tackle day 5 – provided I could sleep!

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I was nicely tucked up in my tent, with a couple of hours sleep under my belt when the forecast storm came in. Although the loud stuff didn’t last that long, and was never really close, the heavy rain coupled with lightning flashes carried on for a good couple more hours, and I struggled to get back to sleep – not helped by my pillow having failed on my first night. Ever since I’d been making do with the contents of my bedroom bag stacked in as pillow-like a way as possible. It hadn’t really worked.

I finally gave up at 03:38, and I knew the game was up. I haven’t been recovering from all the exercise properly, and seemed to just be tired all the time. I decided to admit defeat, go home and regroup.

Ironically having made the decision, and waiting out daylight, I actually nodded off for a couple of hours, but it was too little too late. It was also better to exit here rather than further on. A train from Baldock could take me straight to London Bridge which was only a short walk from Fenchurch Street. So an easy way to rejoin the trail later on.

I headed for home, with a bit of re-planning to do…