Our camp was drenched in dew and we were framed by a shadow cast by the tree we'd camped next to. I dragged the tent over into the sun to dry off and went systematically down the list of packing up. All very painless really and I half looked forward to getting this routine down efficiently. It took maybe 25 minutes for us to be ready to roll and we took to the country lanes. I found my legs to be very weak and it pained me to pedal.. I imagined peeling back my skin to expose the muscle in my legs, all watery and thin like a bloodshot eye ball. I could hardly pedal.We had run out of water so I tried to make up for it with chocolate but the energy never really came. Every corner conceiled another climb and every descent though pleasant bore the bittersweet indication of an inevitable climb. I got off and pushed when I had to which Hudson was fond of. I realised I was fatigued and hadn't eaten or drank properly. After seven or eight miles we stopped at a stream in the base of a steep gorge and Hudson drank a lot. The following climb was steep and demoralising, I wasn't quite prepared for this.
We came across a Roman excavation sight 'Vindolanda' packed with coach loads of tourists. No dogs allowed. We stopped in the car park and I refilled all the water bottles and cooked lunch using the stove given to me by the embittered Canadian soldier I'd met in a bar 3 weeks ago. The road thereafter was Roman and so perfectly straight. It's hard not to transport your mind back in time, imagining the ranks of infantry walking and scouting and the bulding this damn wall I've seen nothing of yet. I was tired and so was Hudson. I think we only covered twenty miles today and as I came into Haltwhistle and saw the brown sign indicating a close campsite. It was only 3pm but we'd been going for 8 hours. Time for a hot shower and a warm dinner.
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