10. Comfortably numb feet

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Climbing out of my bush I nod at a man doing the same who could have been sleeping 5 feet away from me for all I know. However it doesn't matter as we park sleepers are a friendly bunch, and I'm sure a seasoned veteran of outdoor sleepign would treat me with utmost dignity. I make another trip to get grocery store biding my time until the travel agencies open. Thomas Cook Airlines is my first stop and with a little patience the man gives me a quote. A one way ticket to Toronto would be 450 quid, and he assures me this is the cheapest I can get. That's over 900 canadian,and almost twice what I paid for my two way charter. Devestated I try the flight centre and get no better offers, and even an internet search yields nothing good. With the life sucked out of me I try and see if its possible to get a ferry to Holland from London. The only ferry other than in Dover seems to be in Harwich which is not even close. I am stuck, too stupid to hold onto my bike and with very few cheap options available. Making my way back to the park I actually feel like crying. Perhaps a combination of many things like homesickness or maybe just a sign of weakness.
Within a few minutes I feel a different feeling rising up in me. A feeling of sheer determination that someone like myself may only experience a few times in their entire life. Without thinking about it or lingering I begin to walk. Not just any walk, but an extremely determined walk in the general direction of north. I now have the intention of walking to Harwich to take the ferry. Its ridiculous but this much motivation will not come my way any time soon and by the time it wears off i should be half way there.
I walk several hours only giving myself a little time to make sure i'm going north. By the end of the day I leave Greater London and stop for the night near the town of Cheshunt. Before going to sleep I help some young girls lift their bikes over a fence. There is no secrecy tonight as long grass beside a fence becomes my bed. My only concern is the feeling or lack of feeling in my feet. All that walking and I am only a third of the way there, according to my Funk and Wagnalls map.
The morning rain can not be ignored and I put on my wet shoes the next morning. This sleeping bag is not quite as wateresistant as I once believed. Like manna from heaven I find an umbrella a few minutes later and the rain suddenly ceases to matter. My breakfast for the morning is donuts from Tesco which are the best I have ever eaten. I have only 12 lbs left above ferry fees and I'm hoping it will last to Harwich. The rest of the day is mindless walking and an emphasis is placed on mindless when I backtrack for almost an hour; everything looks the same after a while. Eventually I make it to Bishop's Stortford and walk another hour East along the highway before sunset. My first attempt at sleeping is foiled when I discover my sleeping back is partly on the remains of a dead rabbit. Convulsing in disgust I quickly move my stuff much further down the highway. The new spot is in one of my most interesting to date, it is right alongside a busy road but up on a knoll out of sight.
I awake the third day of walking feeling like garbage. It is my intention to make it to Harwich today, but according to the map I'm not even half way there. My feet only last about an hour before forcing me to stop at a highway pitstop. It is time for a change of plans, why walk when you can drive. Putting on my most downtrodden face I sit at the curb and half heartily stick out my thumb to passing motorists, barely raising my arm enough to look alive. All the business men don't even glance in my direction, but a pair of middle age women in a Mercedes offer me a ride to Colchester. A days worth of walking flashes before my eyes and I curse myself for not doing this sooner. They tell me that nobody ever hitchhikes in England anymore, perhaps things are more dangerous than they appear. The ladies drop me off in Colchester, the oldest city in England and I thank them repeatedly. Harwich is now only 15 miles away and I waste no time in walking east again. Thinking the Ferry Port will be around every next corner I continue walking for hours upon hours, when suddenly a van slams on the breaks alongside me. A motorcycle almost runs off the road and a car squeals to a stop behind it. I try to pretend like I didn't see anything, but the driver calls me over. They are two older guys who ask me if I want a job. I think them a little strange and tell them I'm Canadian and I'm just leaving the country. They tell me to get in the back of their van, and disregarding all parental advice I happily oblige.
They are two Irishmen who install asphalt and offer to take me to the port. Before getting to the port they stop at a house and tell me to get out because apperently I have to work a bit first. So I spend the next half hour loading a pile of rocks onto a trailer as they tell dirty jokes to one of their clients. I'm even asked to sign the custromers bill for them because they can't read the small writing. It actually feels nice to do some work for once. They drop me off at the port and bid me a short farewell.
Inside I buy my ticket and wait in the boarding room. The atmosphere is completely different then in Dublin. Instead of old truckers it's mostly all teenagers who are laughing, smiling and even kicking soccer balls around. I find that I can't stop smiling and lauging to myself. Both of which I have not done in days. The fact that I'm finally leaving England is really comforting and it almost feels like I'm going home. Maybe Holland will be fun, we shall see.

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