The 900 miles of walking in Britain took me to 20 hospices. In Glasgow I shared a pint of Guinness with some patients at a hospice social centre, where people could visit with each other and take part in activities. In Lancaster, in Northern England, I met with hospice patients and their relatives who told me how grateful they were to be helped by hospice. In Hereford, close to Wales, a hospice patient, called Ronald, who had been in Burma during the Second World War, tried on my backpack and walked around with a huge smile on his face: that single smile made up for any suffering I had on the six weeks of walking.
Camped in my tent at midnight by the Glen Morangie whisky distillery, I looked out to see a tawny owl gliding over a misty field: its wings spread wide and on the hunt. Atop a standing stone, called the Blind Fiddler, in Cornwall, a second tawny owl had sat, waiting for me to walk by. I took seeing the two owls, at the start and end of my journey as a good omen. On the walk in Britain, I gave interviews to radio and newspapers, and sold 2,000 copies of my book to raise about £10,000 for hospices, but that was just the start. The next step of the journey was to walk from New York to San Fancisco.
So it was, that I sat aboard a British Airways 767 jet and hurtled my way towards Kennedy Airport. Heavy turbulence buffeted the plane around. I looked out the window and wasn't relieved by what I saw. A massive, towering black thundercloud stood, brooding, off to our right, rising into the heavens. It felt like a malevolent presence, stalking the heart of the city. Cross winds from the edge of the storm system pushed our plane sideways, as it tried to land. Looking around me, I could see anxious looks on the faces of the other passengers. I wasn't feeling too hopeful, myself. More like a rollercoaster than a plane, with a couple of bumps, the jet finally touched down and there were cheers of relief and clapping from the people on board. It was good to be back on terra firma.
Lightning delayed the offloading of the baggage, but eventually I was reunited with my forty pounds of backpack. Immigration was the next step. A young immigration officer, by the name of Jemany, took my passport.
'What's the purpose of your visit, sir?'
'I'm walking across the country for hospice.'
'Are you serious?' Officer Jemany looked at me as if I was crazy.
'Yep. I've done the journey before, back in 1988 and I've just walked from the top of Scotland to the bottom of England for hospices in Britain.'
'Jeez, well... best of luck. You can stay until February 2010.' With that, my passport was stamped and I was free to head west.
The JFK Air Train and a shuttle bus took me to the Comfort Inn and a restful night followed.
In the morning, a bath and a buffet breakfast set me up for the day. I then walked up to the receptionist.
'Is it possible to walk to the subway from here?' I looked hopefully towards the young girl behind the desk.
'No.' That was helpful, I thought.
'How far is it to the subway?' I needed some clarification on the young girl's adamant 'no'.
'15 minutes by shuttle bus.' Short, sharp and to the point, she wasn't too helpful. What I hadn't told her was that I really wanted to walk to Manhattan, and then on to New Jersey, and a few thousand miles more after that.
With most of my gear left at the hotel, I set off at 9 am, with only a camera, my raincoat and a phone in my backpack. Outside the Fairfield Marriot hotel, I waylaid a Chinese man to take my photo, explaining that I was just about to start walking across the country for hospices. I asked him for directions on how to reach Manhattan. He gave me directions, but from the hesitant way in which he did it, I wasn't too convinced that he knew what he was saying. I decided to ignore his directions completely. In my raincaot pocket I had 3 maps: one torn from a Rand McNally Road Atlas, one from Google and the last a subway guide. It was time to get creative.
