SPORT STROLLER

Birmingham to Hereford Stage 4

Linton Mill to Hereford: 28km

Today is going to be a practical day. I have to get to Hereford, and I have to go on foot.

The devil tempts me with the thought of buses, but I’ve come too far. My worry is that I don’t want to damage my feet or my legs hacking through this terrain, but my stubbornness pushes me on. Devils on both shoulders.

So I work out a compromise as lie in the tent looking at the Met Office forecast, which tells me the rain will stop at quarter to eleven. And so it does. By eleven o’clock, I am packed and ready to go.

The compromise is to activate sport stroller mode on my Mapy app. It is for this very reason I spend £9 a year on my only paid app subscription. I love Mapy and hope one day they will waive the £9 in return for my constant endorsement.

So I have a route which mostly stays to roads or lanes and good terrain. The route also takes me into Bromyard so I can have breakfast at the Cosy Café. I am guided there by a woman I meet walking her dog. She gives up on instructions, as she sees my pre-coffee attempts to focus. I feel like a drunk trying too hard to walk straight.

After coffee and a toastie presented with disconcerting pride – “Look at that! I could eat it myself!” (I suffer a brief moment of fear) – I set off.

While it’s lanes, they’re very nice lanes, but even the short stretches where I have to go across country are terrible again. Locked gates, nettles, signage disappearing, broken stiles. But at least there are no bullocks today. And one thing that Herefordshire does seem to be getting better at is footbridges. There are lovely little bridges over every stream I cross. Then a return to the jungle. So despite my plans, it still ends up being a long long day, just because of these shorter stretches I can’t avoid.

The final obstacle, five kilometres from the hotel where James will meet me, my phone runs out of battery. Luckily, I’ve been looking at Mapy on and off all day, hence the battery issue. And with a vague memory of place names, and an equally vague idea of where I am, I carry on with some hope and little conviction, in the direction I think is right. I eventually turn up on the main road on the edge of Hereford and ask an old man if he’s heard of the Hopbine Hotel. He points to the building behind me. It’s a Mapy miracle.

James is impatient for dinner, so arrival is swiftly followed by a march to the pub (kitchen closed) then the chippy (success) for food. The evening is saved, and the budget hotel on the edge of town, miracle of miracles, has a bath.