Quintin Lake gets a great shot, but is his future journey in trouble?
There’s fine art on the beach as Quintin walks through Liverpool, but his coastal walk is soon disrupted
There’s a downpour as I say farewell to Runcorn. “We’ve had better days,” says a passing man as rain cascades off his umbrella. “Nice summer’s morning,” says a woman, sopping and laden with shopping bags. “Lovely day for a walk,” offers a passing dog walker. I do my best to see the funny side crossing the Runcorn-to-Widnes bridge as each passing truck covers me in a full body wave of muddy water.
I detour inland from the Mersey to see the famous black-and-white architecture of Speke Hall. The gate is open but the curtains are down, the door is closed, and nobody’s about. I’m amused by the Tudor bragging above the entrance: ‘This worke 25 yards long was wholly built by Edw N Esq, Ano 1598’. I help myself to pictures like a thief, and leave.
Approaching Liverpool, my excitement at arriving in the city is tempered as I start limping with shooting pain in my right foot. The next morning, I try and put the foot to the back of my mind with caffeine and ibuprofen. I’m astonished by the scale and extent of the warehouses and docks heaving north from Liverpool. A full 8km of huge brick warehouses, many converted to flats but some still rusting and window-smashed.
Sadly I can’t access Liverpool’s port, with its huge red cranes, but this is more than compensated for by Antony Gormley’s sculpture Another Place at Crosby. The artwork consists of 100 iron figures facing the sea, arranged in such a way that they are hidden and revealed as the tide rises and falls. I’m very impressed with the sense of human presence as one wonders between the figures.
After falling asleep briefly in the dunes at Formby Point, I follow the long beach north, with a thrilling variety of textures and patterns. The beach resembles water ripples as wind-blown sand skitters past.
I’m enjoying myself, but my body is failing me. The stabbing pain in my foot becomes harder to ignore, and by the time I reach Southport I’m hobbling badly. Something must be seriously wrong, but I’m hopeful a good night’s sleep will help.
This proves optimistic. Fearing a stress fracture, I make the decision to head home and get medical assistance. The MRI scan shows a longitudinal tear of the tibialis anterior tendon on the top of the foot. The specialist tells me I need to immobilise the foot in a ‘walker boot’ for six weeks before starting rehab. “How did this happen?” I ask the doctor. He looks at me like I’m out of my mind: “You’ve just walked 4,000 kilometres.”