Going For A Walk

I’m going for a walk. So of course, there are errands to do. We need to check how much bread, milk and other provisions we have to keep us going through the course of the night until a proper shopping excursion can be executed tomorrow. Mum will ask ‘What is the milk situation?’ like the fridge is a war zone, and fragile UN negotiations are going on between the dairy products and the cold cuts. As I am in the house visiting, milk rations have to be increased by at least 50% if anyone is going to survive through the winter.

Naturally, as I am passing the shops, or a small diversion can be created to accommodate a visit, grocery needs will automatically arise no matter how much food we have in. Suddenly, some ham is an urgent necessity. Crusty bread rolls would be quite nice to have with our shop. I decide that mineral water is required, as I’ve already been drinking from the tap for the last two days and I don’t trust the cleanliness of the supply. Out of nothing, a shopping list springs forth.

My route for the walk is simple- up, on out past the cement factory, cutting over to the Dungannon road, and walk back into town. By car, this seems like quite a short journey, and at a brisk pace, with my large stride, it should take no longer than an hour. Back in time for tea, with everyone’s grocery needs catered for/

After ten or fifteen minutes, I see a sign: Cement Factory ¾. Three quarters of a mile isn’t that long, I think to myself. The old running track at Omagh leisure centre was a quarter mile, so three laps of that and I’m almost half way. Except it isn’t that easy. The footpath ends a few minutes after the road sign, so I’m left chomping through thick wet grass on the verge of the road. My trainers and the bottom of my jeans quickly become soaked. The fog starts to set in, and quite soon, I can hardly see in front of me. The turn off that I thought was pretty close by to the factory is nowhere in sight. I’m an idiot, I curse myself, and contemplate turning back.

Except manly pride will not allow me to quit. I planned this walk, and damn it, I am going to see it through no matter how long it takes. I see a car turning off the road ahead of me, and realise that that must be the turn off I’m looking for. At last! This road turns out to be worse that the grass verge, muddy, with long stretches of puddles, and a lot of bends, which mean that cars might not see me until it’s too late. I decide to run part of the way, judging that the road isn’t too long, and soon I will get to the nice, straight main road, with plenty of car lights to guide me home.

I give up running quite soon, realising that it’s a scary prospect to run in the dark, and although no one is here to see me, it might look bloody suspicious for a man to be running down a country road in the middle of the night (actually, it was only about 17.50 at this stage, but it was pitch black). Once, while treading through a grass verge, I see a dark figure about twenty metres ahead of me. It looks like a young man, possibly taking a pee in the bushes. I stop, shocked, thinking it was odd that I didn’t hear him as I approach. I hope he’s friendly. Then the figure moves up, skywards, in an unnatural way. It was my shadow, cast by passing car lights. Not for the first time that night, I question my intelligence.

Eventually, with great effort, I reach the main road. I could hear the passing traffic for ages, but no car lights were in sight, so it is a relief to get this far. I wonder how far out from the town I’ve walked. There is a sigh: Dungannon 8. Since Cookstown and Dungannon are about 10 miles apart, I still have two miles to go. I’ve been out walking for well over an hour now. I should be home having my tea! At least there is a hard shoulder for me to walk on, which means I can quicken my pace, although the prospect of being run over does not thrill me. Do the majority of accidents not happen on the hard shoulder? I gingerly hop onto the verge every time I hear a bus or lorry approach.

The temperature is dropping, and I’m scanning the horizon, excepting street lights to appear. All I see are head lights on full blast, blinding me. At stages, I can’t see at all, and I have to guess where I’m walking. There is no way I’m stopping now for traffic. When I finally reach civilisation again, I praise the footpaths, which feels safe and comforting under my feet, and drag my weary legs to the shop. I arrive home, with food, but I’ve been gone for so long, everyone else has already eaten.