Day 18 - Dipping, pebbling, & tossing

A good night's sleep, Advil, a hearty breakfast are great cure-alls for the footsore walker.

After this and that and the other thing, Mary, Frank, Tom, and I headed down the steep and winding (what else?) path from our B&B to the beach. Only Tom, Frank, and I didn't want to put our stinky and wet boots back on. Mary put her boots on and agreed to be proxy for all of us. Tom and I remembered our pebbles, Frank never got one, Mary forgot hers in her suitcase. While I think our team was more organized than this would lead you to believe, we are satisfied that this will cover the bases for all of us.



























Tah-dah!













As tradition dictates, we stopped at Wainwright's Bar in The Bay Hotel for a pint and salute to our trip. We signed the register and, to our surprise, noticed that the day before a woman from Forest Grove, Oregon, had finished the walk.





This is a ritual we added. Earlier Mary had thrown away her shoes. Here Tom is throwing away his and mine. They were coming apart, no longer waterproof (if ever they were), scuffed, and the soles were worn. Sentimentality stayed our hand briefly, but practicality won out.




Frank is still trying to decide if our adventure was fun or not. It wasn't fun, but it was meaningful. It was a challenge we were proud to have met. The scenery counted for a lot, however. The walk would have been pointless without it. I feel sorry for the walkers I see hurrying by, on an insane 7-10 day schedule. We would have added about three more days to see some of the little towns in more depth, and to let our tired tootsies rest on occasion.

This was a good one; it was brilliant; we were knackered, yeah, but pushed on. Now have a packet of crisps and turn on the telly; "Britain's Got Talent" is on, dearie.