An update on where I am at for the long walk coming up fast. I leave here on 13 April for Paris, spend a day there with a friend and a couple of relatives, then by train to Bordeaux to stay overnight with friends whom I haven’t seen for about 20 years. The next day will be a long train ride to Le Puy, where I will spend another day, then meet with Karsten Moss, my young friend from Berlin with whom I walked the last two weeks of my pilgrimage to Santiago. And off we go.

My training has been going pretty well. I would like to have walked up more hills, but where I live that isn”t easy. In compensation, I have walked a lot of kilometers since last February – over 2500, to be more precise. Most of them I have walked with a backpack loaded to about 25 pounds, using two big jugs of water, more weight than I plan on actually carrying on the walk from Le Puy to Pamplona.  All of them I have walked with the boots I will be wearing. These are the same boots I wore four years ago, so they have stood up really well.

For foot comfort I am using little gel toe separators. There are two different kinds.  The narrow gel inserts fit in between the smaller toes.  There is also a  larger gel insert that can be lodged between the two larger toes. These have resolved my problem of friction between the toes, mostly due to bunions pushing my toes together and are worth every penny.

Once these are in place, I put on a very fine polypropylene sock designed to wick moisture away from the skin. Over that goes a good wool sock. Then on with the Lowa light hiker boot and that’s it for the feet.

Today it’s cold – about -10C and blustery, so my plan of walking 18 Km has been adjusted to be about 13 Km, starting in Carp and walking home. That way the wind will be behind me most of the way. And yes, I will be wearing my longjohns and my fleece and my winter Tilley hat. More soon.

Yesterday and today were the kind of winter days that Canada is famous for. Sunny, cloudless, light wind, fresh snow pillowing the ground. It looks delightful, a winter wonderland, the stuff of Christmas cards, but there is a catch. It has been bitterly cold both days, close to zero Fahrenheit (about -17 Celsius). Yesterday I walked with my loaded backpack for a little over two hours. Because it was so sunny and warm inside the house, I elected to wear only a pair of summer pants over my legs. The rest of me was warmly bundled up with a fleece and a parka and my trusty Tilley winter hat. I also wore light gloves, the same ones that I will be wearing when I go for my walk in April. My reasoning was that I might be cold for the first few minutes, then my body would warm up and I would be fine. My reasoning was flawed.

You would think that I would know better after all the years in Canadian winters, but apparently not. I was cold for the first 15 minutes or so, then warmed up and was good for the better part of two hours. After that, however, my body got cold – my core temperature was dropping and I could not keep warm. By the time I got home my hands were numb. I opened the door with some difficulty, then had to wait about ten minutes before I had enough feeling in my fingers to undo the laces and get my boots off. I could have avoided this potential disaster if I had worn long johns under my pants. I just had too much of my body exposed to the cold and I radiated off a lot of heat over two hours, enough to be hypothermic.

Today I walked about an hour (with my long johns on) and although my hands got quite cool, they were never so numb that I could not use them. The message? Don’t fool with mother nature. She is neither benign or malign. She is indifferent. If I am too stupid or careless to put on sufficient and appropriate clothing for the conditions, nature just does not care. I won’t, I hope, make that mistake again.

Carroll and I can be together for hours and never say a word, just comfortable in each other’s company. But we were driving in the car and I was talking with Carroll the other day, as we often do. I said that I was very glad that we had met and connected all those years ago and she agreed. Then she said that if it hadn’t been for my washing out as a pilot in the Air Force we never would have met. I disagreed and pointed out that, when I was sent from Portage la Prairie to Toronto to be tested for motion sickness, I met her on the first morning that I was there. So, pass or fail we had met and the chain of events was put into motion that led us to this place 52 years later.

Then I thought about it and said that if I had passed the test I would have gone back to Portage and to flying T33s, but that I would likely have not been selected for high performance aircraft. I added that I would not have minded that, since the high performance stuff didn’t appeal all that much to me. She thought about that for a few moments, then said; “I don’t agree with you. The tactical helicopter flying that you did in the army was very high performance, it’s just that the aircraft that you flew wasn’t. Low level flying is very demanding and you loved it. I knew that when I met you. One reason that I was first attracted to you was that you seemed to be a risk-taker … and I wanted something or someone to challenge me as well. And you have done that all these years.” Then she continued; “I also think that you were drawn to the riskier stuff that demanded a lot of you both physically and mentally. And I also think that that is part of what attracted you to the Camino de Santiago and why you are going back this spring for another go. At any age, it is a demanding challenge. At your age, I think that the challenge is a large part of the reason why you are doing this again. And writing another book is an equally risky challenge. You want to see if you are up to it.”

When I thought about it I could see right away that she was correct. A large part of the reason that I am going again is to see if I can do it. I expect to have lots of adventures, meet lots of fascinating people and see wonderful sights. But the underlying reason is the mental and physical challenge of the walk itself. I do want to see if I am up to it. I will know in just over four months. I leave here on the 13th of April for Paris, then by train to Le Puy en Velay. By the end of May, for better or for worse I will be done, I hope in Pamplona.

I have often felt more like an observer of the human condition rather than a full participant in it. I have never been a joiner, other than the rather aberrant one of joining the military. Clearly an outsider view of the world.

 There are obviously pros to being an insider. As an insider (U of T, Harvard, Yale, old Rosedale money, pur laine in Quebec), the advantage is that you are known by your family rather than just for yourself. Handy for making connections, getting married or getting jobs, insider trading, etc. The disadvantage, it seems to me, is that you are bound by the unwritten (and often unspoken) rules which can be very rigid and unforgiving. Marrying outside your “class” is unforgiveable; much like “going native” was unforgivable for a British officer in India. As an insider, you can get media coverage whenever you do anything – anything – just because of your name. (As an outsider author, this one really bites for me. I have had and continue to have trouble getting any kind of media coverage.) You are a celebrity because you are a celebrity.

 I think that insiders must have real problems with their self of self-worth … whenever they think of it. Do people listen to me, like me, date me, etc. because of who I am or because of what I represent? How can I possibly know if my friendships are real or based on a perception of how useful I can be to someone?

 Of course, all of this is based on an outsider’s view of what an insider’s life is like.

 As an outsider, if someone professes to be a friend, you know it isn’t because of your name or heritage or the school you went to. You can do fairly outrageous things and people will say it’s just your way. If you get a good education, get a good job, marry a good person, earn respect in your community, you know it happened because you made it happen.

In answer to the question “Did being an outsider help me get along in this world?  Who am I really?”, I am Guy, son of Frank and Claire, Carroll’s husband, father of Francis, Sheevaun, Meredith and Christian, grandfather to Cian and Isabella, brother to Ance, Meredith and Stuart, brother-in-law to Maryan, Kathy, Marko and Barbara, father-in-law to Mary and Laura, making my way in this world one day, one step at a time.

 I note that my “self” is tightly associated with relationships. What I did or what I do is not, never was, what I am.

I am having one of those brief and unusual – for me – periods of serious self doubt. For the past few days, I have been pondering my plans for next year. Is it really smart for me at my age to be planning to walk over 800 km across France, starting in what may be really poor weather? Does it make any sense for me to be doing this at all? What’s the point? And of course, this self doubt is accompanied by a major decrease in the amount of training that I am doing. Gray wet cold November days don’t help.

 I have bought a new rain jacket (REI) and rain pants (Marmot Precip from Bushtukah) in the last few days, but have not worn either one of them.

Some hours later: I am all over it – my snit –  now. Went for a long walk to test my new rain jacket and pants for breathability. I feel much better!

It has been an exhausting and exhilarating week since my last entry. On Tuesday, 26 October, Carroll, Meredith and I attended the IFMA (International Facility Management Association) Foundation Gala, where the Madison Wisconsin chapter of IFMA successfully bid on my presentation about walking the Camino during the live auction, so I will be presenting there sometime next year.

 The Gala was in the World of Coca Cola, a wonderful building celebrating Coca Cola and its many products around the world. Wednesday we spent the evening at the IFMA Welcome Reception at the Atlanta Aquarium. I did not know that whale sharks are neither whales nor sharks, but the world’s largest fish. When they passed overhead, they created a dark area beneath them.

 On Thursday we checked out of the Omni Hotel, then moved back to Sheevaun and Laura’s place. As you might imagine, I did not get much walking in during the two days at the hotel. En route to Sheevaun’s, we stopped off at the REI store at the Mall of Georgia, where I will be giving a presentation on Saturday.

Friday, we went back in to Atlanta to attend the IFMA Fellows’ luncheon, where we saw all kinds of old friends. It was also a tribute to Linda Beverly, the recently retired VP of Administration for IFMA. She is the lovely lady and good friend whose husband was killed in an act of workplace violence while I was walking in Spain three years ago. Friday evening was Fabulous Food Friday at Relma and John’s, Laura’s parents. And the food WAS fabulous.

 On Saturday Sheevaun and I went to the REI store at the Mall of Georgia in Buford, where I delivered my presentation about my walk in Spain to a small but attentive audience. One of the audience members is a radio show talk host, Doctor Evelyn Higgins, (Your Body Is A Wonderland, WBCX 89.1 Atlanta), who had walked the camino last year. She and I hit it off, and she wants to get me on her show. We will have to figure out how to do that. It’s very exciting! Also while there I bought a new rain jacket with the 15% discount coupon they gave me. Meredith and Carroll stayed at home to prepare for the party that evening.

Saturday evening was a Halloween party at Sheevaun and Laura’s, with many of their friends in costume. Copious amounts of food and refreshment and a lot of laughter. Laura carved a beautifully grotesque face in a huge pumpkin (114 pounds). The house was extensively decorated. Halloween is a big deal in the US.

Sunday was beautiful, so Carroll and I went off to play golf at Cedar Lakes. The weather was lovely and my last game of the year was good … for me: 111. Yes, I know, most folks think that’s awful, but it’s good for me.

Up early on Monday for the two-day drive back to Ottawa, where it is much colder than here. The drive was uneventful, except for one bit where I watched people, including me, act like penguins. You will have seen the TV documentaries where a large group of penguins are clustered on the edge of an ice cliff, wanting desperately to dive into the water, because that is where the food is, and they are starving. It is also where the seals are, waiting for a tasty penguin lunch. Eventually one penguin dives in, then there is a flurry of activity as they all dive in. Safety in numbers, I suppose.

 We were on the Interstate, I81, driving north in New York State. There was an unusually large police presence on the highway. At one point I ended up behind a car prominently marked Sheriff. Since we were driving just over 60 in a 55 speed limit zone, I judged it unwise to pass, so I just tucked in behind and gave him lots of clearance. As cars came roaring up behind me in the passing lane, they all braked hard and drove in formation with me. This lasted for about 15 minutes. Eventually one car eased up to and past the Sheriff’s car … no reaction, then another and another until they all passed. As I passed the Sheriff’s car, I noticed that the Sheriff’s jurisdiction was somewhere in New Jersey. I laughed as I realized how like penguins we are on occasion.

It’s Monday 25 October 2010 and I am sitting at a table in my daughter’s home not far from Loganville, Georgia, which is about 40 minutes east of Atlanta. It has taken three days driving (about 2500 kilometers) to get here from Ottawa. We (Carroll and I) went via New Hampshire to visit my older brother Ance in Candia. Most of the trip was on Interstate highways, that wonder of the Eisenhower administration, based on what he and millions of other Americans saw in Germany at the end of the Second World War – the autobahns. And, like the autobahns, they were built for the same reasons; to put underemployed people to work and to create a national road network that would allow large military convoys to move from point to point quickly and efficiently. Did you know that every five miles, the Interstate has to have a section of straight road to allow military planes to use it as an emergency runway?

In 1962 we lived for a few months in Ozark, Alabama, near Fort Rucker, where I was taking cargo helicopter pilot training. We (Carroll and I and three babies) lived in a hotel/motel complex right on one of the north-south Interstates. During the run-up to the Cuban missile crisis in late October, we listened every night as military convoys rumbled past, hour after hour. Only at night. The military did not want any one sympathetic to the Cuban regime to be able to pinpoint how much of what was moving. The US military was building an enormous invasion force in southern Florida. Even our pilot training was interrupted.

Our instructor, a US Army captain, was called while we were in the air. We brought the aircraft, a piston-engined Sikorsky S55, known officially as the H-19 and unofficially as the Charlie-model hog … it was under-powered … back to Rucker. The instructor dropped us (two Canadian student pilots) off, refuelled, flew up to Fort Benning and picked up a load of paratroops, then flew down to somewhere in or near Key West. For a couple of weeks, while the crisis escalated, we sat on our hands and waited for the first mushroom cloud on the horizon. Now it all seems rather quaint, but then we thought we might be looking at nuclear Armaggedon.

Well, a slight glitch in my training regimen. A couple of days ago, I stubbed my right foot on something in the house. It really hurt, but after a couple of minutes the pain departed … mostly, and I got on with whatever I was doing. The two smaller toes continued to be a little sore, but it wasn’t until last evening that I found out why. As I was taking my sock off, I noticed some blood on the toe end. On examining my foot, I discovered that I had knocked the nail off the second smallest toe. It is just hanging by a thread. I put a Bandaid on the toe to keep it from catching in the bed sheets. I shall have to be very careful over the next few days not to aggravate the raw area or to get an infection in it. It’s a nuisance, hopefully nothing more than that.

I have also – I see that I am whining – sprung my lower back doing something, I don’t know what, so getting up is an exercise in slow motion. Once I get moving I am alright, but I have this nagging thought – what if this happens during my long walk next year? I shall have to really work on improving the lower back muscles to hold everything in place. I am, of course, optimistic that these are temporary setbacks, not show stoppers.

Yesterday was wet and cold, so before I went for my walk, I put on a set of polypropylene underwear, then my short and pants and topped it all with a fleece and my rain jacket. My pack has its rain jacket on, too. I was dry and warm all the time. The problem was that, after about 20 minutes, I was too warm. It was not feasible to take off anything for about an hour, so I walked my route, feeling progressively warmer and warmer. When I had the opportunity to take off my fleece, I did so and stuffed it into my backpack. At the end of my 2-hour walk, I was feeling quite drag-ass. The tired feeling lasted into today. I shall have to remember this when I embark next April on my walk in the hills around Le Puy. Better to start off a little cool and keep the fleece for when it is really cold, which I expect to hit early on. The country around Le Puy is very hilly. It is down-hill ski country, so I can expect to hit snow, perhaps even snow storms, early on in my journey. If the weather is really rotten, I shall just hole up for a day or two.

It rained throughout the day yesterday, but today was lovely. I spent much of it in the garden, getting it ready for the inevitable winter season. It was a nice day to be out, some sun, some clouds, but quite warm with just a long-sleeved shirt on. I managed to get the magnetic pump out of the pond, although I got wet up to my elbows and beyond my knees in the process. My garden shoes, which I wore in the pond, are outside now drying out. After a short nap – always a favourite in the afternoon, I went down to the Kanata Fitness Centre and tried out the various machines for large muscles. I will be using this facility over the next six months both for trying to maintain the large muscles and also for hill climbing using the treadmills. We shall see how well this works. I will keep you posted, for good or ill.

I told you that I would tell you about my training for my walk next year, so here goes. Last Saturday and today I did stealth training. I was walking but no-one knows I am training because it looks like I am golfing. On Saturday Carroll and I played golf at the Oaks of Cobden, a beautiful course about an hour north of Ottawa. Today I played with some guys from my community at Manderley on the Green, just south of the city. I totaled 11 km on Saturday and 11.5 km today. Actually any relationship between what I do on the golf course and real golf (the kind that some people watch on TV) is entirely coincidental. I thought as a former army helicopter pilot that golf would be easy. It’s just hand-eye co-ordination, after all, and I have (had?) that in spades. It was a great shock for me to discover that the translation between hand-eye co-ordination for flying and hand-eye co-ordination for golfing is not one-to-one. Closer to a fish on a bicycle. Saturday was good – 111 – but you can see that good is a relative term. It is slowly getting better but the only way that I am going to play my age is to live to about 114. That is my typical score.

A couple of celebrations this week-end as well. Sunday the 10^th was Sheevaun and TJ’s wedding anniversary – and the weather was about the same, absolutely beautiful, sunny warm, the trees every colour in creation. Today, Wednesday 13 October is Christian’s birthday. I recall vividly that day 43 years ago in Calgary because I attended his birth, which was very uncommon at that time. It was Friday the 13^th, turned out to be a lucky day for us. We called Christian our Centennial baby because it was 1967, Canada’s Centennial. We also called him Christian White Bear Thatcher, but that is another story.