Day 2 - Nature calling and the last solo pint

Day 2 started at 6:00 AM with minimal snoozes. Breakfast was a rapid-fire operation: one samosa, followed by a banana, then the second samosa. I felt a dangerous urge for another banana; unable to resist, I went for it. Having reached my limit, I donated my surplus food to Tyrone. He was almost in tears and saw me off right at the door with a heavy heart. I am fairly confident it wasn’t just about the four bananas; some people are simply born with a gift for connection.

​It reminded me of my last visit to ABC in Seattle. When I was leaving early in the morning, his ten-year-old, Adi, came down to say goodbye, still rubbing his sleepy eyes. I had to rub my own eyes even though I wasn't sleepy. I try to teach that kind of warmth to my kids, but they tell me some behaviors are simply hereditary!

​By 7:00 AM, I was on the streets. Within ten minutes, I reached the beach and realized I had no idea which way to go. I spent two minutes heading toward Bossington—the place I’d just come from. I suddenly remembered my friend Rohini’s trip to Udupi. She’d stepped off her bus for a toilet break and came back to find a stranger in her seat. She nearly threw him out before realizing she’d boarded a similar-looking bus headed back to Bangalore. With no margin for error, I switched my OS Map to full zoom.

​As I climbed toward Culbone, the markings improved. Tyrone had warned me about a landslide-prone path where I should take a left, but by the time I reached the junction, I couldn't remember if he meant "take the left" or "avoid the left."

​Inside the Culbone woods, I met Chris and Simon—two towering, adventure-seeking guys who had camped near Porlock Weir. They spoke of the "serenity" of listening to nature overnight. I told them my plans, and they remarked that I looked even taller than them. It was only after we parted that I wondered how they managed to camp; my second-hand book strictly forbid it. Perhaps they had paid for a new copy!

​The paths were amazing and tranquil; I felt like Nature was truly calling me, whispering its ancient secrets into my soul. Soon, I realized Nature was really calling me very loudly—thanks to that extra banana. The "spiritual call" had rapidly turned into a "physical call."

​My mind raced back to our college souvenir book, Smriti, where my friend Bootha wrote his infamous "Kela Story" about eating 20 bananas. His friend’s footnote—"There was no water in the hostel the next day"—loomed over me. I was only facing 1/10th of Bootha’s problem. Unlike my logistical linchpin friend ABC, I wasn't carrying a trekking shovel. For those in this predicament, the protocol is to go 50m off-path, dig a six-inch hole, and bury the evidence. I could have perhaps found an ayurvedic shovel, but I needed allopathic tissue paper, which I didn’t carry.

​I was laughing at myself in this complex situation and remembered Bootha’s other invention: the Complex PJ (P + iJ). For ordinary people, the joke part is imaginary, hence "complex." I am 100% certain he didn't copy it from anyone else—the man had never read anything besides textbooks before he met me, so it had to be an original invention. He just didn't think to copyright it.

​The path eventually dropped toward Foreland Point, supposedly the northerly point of Devon. The official trail markers pointed up the hill, but the OS Map suggested a route toward the beautiful lighthouse. I trusted the map. It led me to a dead end at a locked cottage. I had to backtrack and decided from that moment on to trust the physical "acorn" signs over the digital gods.

​I finally rolled into Lynmouth and had a vegan focaccia sandwich at Simones. It was the best I've had in my life. I realized a bit late that two local dogs were staring at me not out of love, but for my sandwich. I also found a public toilet for 50 pence. It’s the only thing in England that hasn't succumbed to inflation; I remember paying 50p at Paddington in 2008 when I didn't even have a job!

​After my 50p toilet break, I passed by "The Walker" sculpture near the Lynmouth harbor. He’s a bronze figure frozen in mid-stride, hand extended for a handshake. He marks the intersection of four major trails, and I felt he was the only one in town who didn't look worried about me. I gave him a mental nod—two walkers on a mission—and marched toward Lynton.

​On my left, I saw the water-powered cliff railway. The technology is a marvelous Victorian relic using gravity and water to shuttle people up the cliff, but the coastal path demanded a manual climb. I tackled the hill on foot, once again confusing the route despite the perfectly intact acorns. A couple assured me the path ahead, the Valley of Rocks, was spectacular. They weren't wrong. I saw plenty of tourists, including some Indians, all agreeing on its beauty. As I maintained a brisk pace, I spotted feral goats perched on the steep cliffs, watching me with a mocking air. I felt the need to clarify: "I am just walking, not competing!"

​The Valley of Rocks ended after about a mile, and suddenly, the crowds vanished. I was heading toward Martinhoe via Woody Bay. The path was a series of ups and downs, much like life, but with no people in sight, so it was easier. By this time, I had decided to forego music or podcasts. I had the vastness of nature and my own self to talk to. I had totally ignored "him" earlier in life, but given enough time, I found him to be quite interesting.

​Eventually, I encountered a lonely lady with a massive backpack. I caught up to her—not intentionally accelerating, I swear—and asked where she was headed. She was planning to hike the entire 630-mile path over three months. When I asked, "Would you walk with me?" she replied, "I am not ready yet."

​I’m fairly certain she thought I was proposing Saptapadi. That’s usually the only time an Indian husband is guaranteed to walk together with his wife! After a quick clarification, she explained she hadn't even decided where she was staying that night. I wished her luck and found my rhythm again. Soon, even the family with kids overtook her. It confirmed she was indeed not ready! For the next ten minutes, I imagined what my life would be like if I were as impromptu and indecisive as her!

​By 4:30 PM, I was near Heddon's Mouth. It was beautiful, though perhaps not the "hallucinatory" masterpiece I had built up in my head. I met a solo walker coming from the opposite direction who dropped a bombshell: "The Hunter's Inn is two miles away, and they close their kitchen at 5:00 PM."

​Panic set in. There was no other place to eat, and they had ignored all my messages about vegan options. It never occurred to me that I could have simply telephoned them. With only 30 minutes left, I started running. Even after a strenuous day, the fear of sleeping without food gave me a burst of adrenaline. I reached the hotel with ten minutes to spare, only for the kind staff to calmly inform me that for residents, dinner is served from 6:00 to 7:30 PM.

​I had sprinted almost two miles for nothing. However, the reward was a 30-minute bath, two pints of beer, and a delicious vegan dinner. The Inn was incredibly serene, but the day ended with a logistical bomb from my son Arjun.

​"Appa," he said, "You shouldn’t have had those beers. You took a New Year’s oath to only drink with friends!"

​I froze. He was right. Arjun tried to offer some "legal" workarounds—suggesting the oath is suspended when no friends are there to witness the event—but I don't trust him; he is much more clever than me. He will trick me and later use it against me. As an engineer, I know there is always a logical solution for every complex problem. I fell asleep with my brain working overtime, trying to calculate a logical ceasefire between my oath and my thirst!

Day 1 — The Perpendicular Rebellion

​I knew I had to reach Minehead by public transport, so I mentally prepared for the five-hour morning trek before the actual trek even began. The second leg, from Taunton to Butlins, listed 62 stops, which looked incredibly fishy on paper. It was only quite late that I realized it was actually a bus ride! Just three stops before the end, I realized I should get down at Minehead station instead of the Butlins gate to make life easier. Luckily, that last-minute adjustment saved me a whole kilometer of walking. On Day 1, a map was essential to maintain speed and timing, as the paths weren't always easy to understand.

​The trail took me through the woods, following the path up North Hill. Soon, there was a bifurcation. The map only recognized the curved route, while a perfectly decent straight route stared me in the face. Being Day 1, I listened to Ashwini diligently and followed the long route. When it eventually joined the other path, I realized someone had made a shortcut that simply had a slightly higher elevation! It was a decent climb, but I was filled with enthusiasm; it felt like a casual stroll. Once the woods ended, the open space began, revealing those incredible coastal views.

Then I kept on walking, walking, and walking. I must have slept in between, as I can’t remember the majority of the details. I was writing this blog in my head as I moved; it looked interesting and funny. I had full confidence that I would remember every detail and thought I would finish it soon after reaching my B&B. What better thing to do without the hassle of work and family!

​Then came a section with markings showing a different route than my OS Maps. The map was simpler, while the other path went dangerously close to the beachside cliffs! It was tempting, but I stayed in line. Half a kilometer later, I saw people on that other path and couldn't control myself—those views looked breathtaking.

I took a giant breath, prayed to my wife's God, and started forging a perpendicular route that was neither in the OS Map nor the second-hand guidebook. It was probably only 300m, but it was the most difficult decision I had to make. I could hear Ashwini shouting, "DANGER!" Pushing through the bushes wasn't easy, even for an elephant.

At the same time, there were 5-6 cows grazing nearby—the biggest I have ever seen. In my roots, cows are the kindest animals; I worship them and have never eaten beef. But then I remembered a Bill Bryson book, The Road to Little Dribbling, where he says a couple of deaths happen every year due to cow attacks! That changed my impression completely. I still wouldn’t mind being killed by a cow in India; it would be a holy death one can only wish for. But these are genetically modified Jerseys—there is no guarantee of a safe heaven!

​I immediately checked my phone for the stats on how many people were already dead this year. If it was none or one, statistically I was in real trouble. But the phone was disconnected from the world. My battery was at 30%, and my black-market backup phone follows an exponential discharge curve. I tried charging from my super-charger, but it wouldn't work—some cabling issues. Panic set in.

​Then I saw people running toward me. I was certain they were planning to rob my second-hand guidebook. Ashwini’s prediction was coming true within hours! I marched faster in the aftermath of a total collapse, passing the "cows" only to realize they were actually ponies—and Bryson said nothing about ponies being dangerous. The "robbers" turned out to be elderly retirees. They heard my epic plans and said, "If there is one person who could do it, it would be you!" They filled me with energy. Unlike my younger days, I like old people more now; they are the only ones as wise as me. Years ago, an elderly man in the New Forest scolded us for walking on the road. We had just moved from India—how were we supposed to know? Back then, I confirmed old Brits can be extremely racist. But things got better after I got my British passport and started becoming "old" myself!

After they left, the phone finally started charging. I marched along the cliff edges, getting glimpses of the days to come. Every now and then I’d meet retirees with big smiles. My mother always said I don’t talk much but I smile well; I was doing both when it was just me and my path.

​I don’t remember what happened next—I must have been sleepwalking. But I was full of energy, so it felt amazing, without an iota of boredom. It was almost hallucinatory, like being at a peak with some unknown mushrooms. I was paying attention to everything: birds singing, winds blowing, even the different mechanisms of the gate locks.

 I found myself deeply disappointed with a lock that had rounded edges—a total waste of metal. The first gate was simpler. I figured someone who should have been an artist became an engineer instead, which means they were very likely Indian. 

Lost in these thoughts, I reached Porlock by 3:40 PM. My B&B check-in was at 4:00, so I entered a coffee shop nearby. I was the only person there, so the owner was all ears for my story. He had a world map for visitors and would ask selected people to put a pin on their location. Obviously, he wanted me to do that as well, but I had to give up my British passport for a moment to pin India. I was the second Indian to visit; the first one was from Kashmir, so technically I can say I am the first Indian to have coffee there. What a great accomplishment!

​I went to Myrtle Cottage at 4:00. Another couple was already waiting to check in at the exact same time; they were doing small bits of coastal sections. Tyrone was managing the property and was perhaps the kindest person I have met in a while. He was retired, while his partner Neil was still working and helping out. Tyrone spent a lot of time talking to me over tea; he was an avid walker too. We discussed a wide range of trekking topics. My Kilimanjaro t-shirt, which I wear everywhere to show off, was finally giving me the persona I wanted!

​But I was still getting used to the names of the local places and confused him by saying I was planning to go all the way to Combe Martin. He went inside, visibly concerned, and complained to Neil about my "unscientific plans." Neil dropped all his work and joined our conversation now. I looked up the precise location and shared the postcode of my destination. They said it was still ambitious, but if anyone can do it, it would be only me!

​I got the energy to finish the next day in style, but I was also worried. Breakfast only starts at 8:30 AM, which would be too late for me. I panicked, rushed to the nearby Spar, and bought two samosas and a few bananas—the only ready-made vegan options available. Tyrone said he would have provided some options, but I didn't want him to worry more about me. We changed topics to culture, social economics, religion, parenting, and artificial intelligence. I forgot about the blog for a moment, but I realized I had more material for it now. All that talking made my mouth dry, so I headed to the pub for dinner and two pints of beer. The waiter said I really deserved it!