Day Three: A New Dawn in Wimborne
Awoken by the bells of the Wimborne Minster clock striking, I’m relieved to have slept well. Very well in fact. The grass was flat and twig-free-a welcomed bonus from yesterday’s #ParkWildCamp. I sit up and feel pumped to just be alive. A voice in my head insists that this is turning into a real adventure. And it’s only Day 3. What’s more, I know I’ll be heading to the beach later in the day.
The unpredictable excitement of waking up after a night under the stars in the countryside brings a rush that city dwellers rarely experience.
Weymouth is my destination-there to see a uni friend and to meet her son, Louis, for the first time. But before that, Maria calls out, “Good morning, bike man,” and a few moments later brings out some hot tea. We chat and exchange pleasantries. Her kindness is a warm start to the day, a small comfort before I strap on my pack and begin the slow, deliberate turning of pedals once more. I put on a brave face as I wave goodbye, but my bum is sore-red raw. And my legs? Oh, my legs are tired from yesterday’s hills. My body is protesting, yet my mind is charged with excitement. I set off again, and soon enough, everything warms up to a point where my physical strength matches my mental state.
The Road to Weymouth: Sweet Rewards and a Brief Respite
By 2 p.m., I’m in Weymouth, and I find myself stocking up in M&S, buying their finest (discounted) quiche along with sugary drinks and the largest packet of Percy Pigs. I eat then nap on the beach, the soft sand a temporary refuge, as I wait for Hannah to finish work. It’s a short yet perfect catch-up, with Louis being a charmer. But the adventure must continue. The sea air is refreshing, and the laughter shared with old friends feels like a cherished memory even as it happens.
Reuniting with friends and sharing light-hearted moments on a sunny beach feels like a comforting pause amidst the uncertainty of solo travel.
Climbing Out of Weymouth: The Weight of the Journey
As I say my goodbyes, my backpack is reloaded with food and water for the night. At sea level its manageable but it feels a good 10kg heavier as I slowly ascend the steep hills out of the town. My legs scream in protest, the earlier comfort of the beach now a distant memory. Each rotation feels like a small battle, each turn in the road a new challenge. Evening begins to turn to night, the horizon glowing faintly as the day retreats.
A Wild Night Ahead: The Unknown Beckons
I pitch up in the wild as the last light fades, feeling a mix of exhaustion and exhilaration. How was I to know that this was going to be the wildest night of camping ever? E V E R. only that can only be share with friend over a beers as you would not believe me if i wrote it down.
