November

[Sweder]

A magical, mystical, misty morning, and a welcome sign of returning form.

All the small-hour radio chatter around the impending US election kept me up late into last night. I confess I'm a junkie for this stuff but at least this time it feels different, that there might just be an outcome that could change the world for the better. We who cannot influence the result sit and hold our collective breath, hoping that our kith and kin across the ocean will do the right thing.

Just as the future remains shrouded in doubt and uncertaintly so the visibility in the hills was almost down to zero. Heavy mist clung to the bare branches, the soft, lush turf trails dissappearing into a gently swirling wall of smog. Good old Alice Cooper. He dished up a continuous flow of treats for my dreamlike plod. Floyd's Breathe On The Run straight into Born To Run followed by Layla. What a selection! As often happens on these eerie occasions I was going for Floyd - the ethereal melodies set against Rick Wright's space-travel keyboards, the distant station announcer, maniacal laughter rising and falling . . . it all fit the scene to a T.

I've recently picked up (again) Feet In The Clouds, tales of fell running and obsession carefully crafted by the excellent Richard Askwith. If you've not read it I heartily recommend it for it speaks of a world of which most can only dream, where peaks go on for ever, where the ground slips away under your hammered legs to send you tumbling down perilous gorges and where stocky men hewn from Lakeland rock set impossible times in the foulest conditions imaginable. At it's heart the quest to achieve the Bob Graham Round; 42 peaks (72 miles) in 24 hours. Not for the squeamish.

Robin Trower nipped in to steal today's track du jour award, if only for convincing me that come the time to wave Sweder off to the great hillscape in the sky, this is the track that will ring in the ears of the small gathering as they leave the church, hopefully on a day just like this, heading for an afternoon of celebration in a hearth-warmed, well-appointed pub.

The sun don't shine
The moon don't move the tides,
to wash me clean
Why so unforgiving and why so cold
Been a long time crossing Bridge of Sighs

Cold wind blows
And Gods look down in anger,
on this poor child
Why so unforgiving and why so cold
Been a long time crossing Bridge of Sighs

If you've not heard it seek it out.
The most intense, soul-searching blues, measured, haunting and truly beautiful.

The music worked its magic and I flew round, barely feeling the angry flint stabbing at my feet as I scampered over the ridges and down the well-worn muddy tracks. After five consecutive days I'm planning a rest day tomorrow, though I have to admit just at this moment I feel as if I could run forever.