uktrek

     The lure of running the canal bank trails linking Glasgow to Edinburgh proved strong enough to kickstart an encore for the trans-Britain trek.  The temptation grew from the idea of running a final leg, to the Scottish clans gathering scheduled the last weekend of July, that had flickered on the back burner, ever since the route across Britain, from the River Thames to the Clyde River, was first planned.   The Gathering of the Clans, a part of the Homecoming Scotland activities taking place throughout Caledonia this year, remained as the 'final' destination, though running into Glasgow along the Clyde River Walkway had already provided a thoroughly fitting conclusion for the trek.  Having virtually shut down the training regime after forty days running the length and width of England, it then took forty days of rest before the ambition of resuming the trek --pushing onward to the Gathering of the Clans in Edinburgh-- became a realistic consideration again.
     After finally giving in to the temptation, hasty preparations on a Tuesday evening left much to accomplish the next morning.  The anticipation was rekindled largely, and belatedly, by the allure of scenic trails -- perhaps a day along the Clyde and Forth Canal to Falkirk, and then another day or two along the length of the Union Canal to the Edinburgh.  Rob Roy McGregor, a cousin who shares Campbell clan roots, had suggested being a part of the gathering a couple years ago.  His suggestion led to the idea of drawing attention to the escalating autism crisis with a solo trek across Britain.
     Forty days of recovery from the forty day trek was more than enough rest.  Though the legs were ready for an encore, the stride was especially out of kilter.  Even so, there was no longer a plausible excuse not to run the last leg into Edinburgh.  The splendor and joy of running the canals of Wales back in May had helped keep alive --on the back burner-- an anticipation of a similarly joyful jaunt on canal bank trails here in Scotland.
     From the outset, the trek has also been a journey of discovery, as well as an investigation into the reasons Britain is, sadly, the epicenter of the global autism epidemic and the broader vaccine injury epidemic.  There is a wide range of vaccine injuries, from diabetes to asthma, allergies, and developmental disabilities.  The millions afflicted around the globe by vaccine injuries ranks the tragedy among the most horrific man-made disasters ever.  The evidence points to Britain as 'ground zero' of the disaster, because in many ways the United Kingdom has become the central hub in the production and marketing of inherently toxic vaccines that cause a cascade of severe auto-immune, neurodevelopmental and cognitive disorders, as well as sub-clinical medical conditions that often go undetected by medical experts.  Whereas mass vaccination programs are promoted on the dubious claim that  entirely theoretical 'herd immunity' benefits might outweigh the hard evidence of costly, severe, and widespread vaccine injuries, the reality is that the cost/benefit equation has been rendered completely out of balance, due to the elimination of liability for vaccine producers and outrageous conflicts of interest, which in turn allow grossly inadequate and misleading safety research studies to be used as part of heavily promoted and deceptive vaccine marketing campaigns.
     The decision to resume the trek turned out to be a spur of the moment affair, despite or perhaps because of the overlong forty day hiatus.  Little thought had been given to running during the weeks after arriving in Glasgow, as attention was instead directed at being a tourist and meeting members of the autism community, Barely half a dozen workouts had come to pass over the preceding half dozen weeks.  Interval workouts were cut short due to tight hamstrings, and attempts at long runs never turned out to be more than short forays around Glasgow.
    The hasty preparations resulted, yet again, in a belated afternoon start, which would allow three days at most before the clans gathering.  The Clyde and Forth Canal turned out to have a well maintained trail through a gorgeous urban, suburban and rural corridor, but the riparian habitat did not fully distract from the uncomfortable aches and tight muscles remaining after the overextended rest.  Happily, an early rest break was on the agenda, a visit with John and Joan Campbell, who are raising a son injured by vaccines and afflicted with autism.
     Ripe red raspberries spied on the canal bank provided a delicious impromptu snack shortly before arriving at the Campbells', further delaying the planned break. Barely five miles had been covered by then, so it was approaching evening before visiting with the Campbells and Rob Roy.  The three days still remaining before the gathering were quickly dwindling.  After the respite, the next twenty or so miles --to reach striking distance of the Union Canal-- were conquered.  The going was not at all smooth, and the normalcy of a comfortable rhythm was never achieved.  Nevertheless, while shrouded amidst darkness and a heavy mist, a deep sleep came easily after the long day.
     Waking up late to a bright, beautiful morning was a treat, as the relative warmth --for Scotland-- helped preclude aches or discomfort from slowing down the pace.  Even so, after a mile or two warmup, it was easy to stop much longer than needed at the spectacular Falkirk Wheel, an altogether unique and futuristic-looking canal lock that connects the Union Canal with the Clyde and Forth Canal -- despite their significant elevation difference, a 79 foot disparity that originally took eleven locks to navigate.  The tourist attraction offers the chance to learn a bit about Scotland's history, culture, and legacy of engineering feats and firsts.  The site also gave hints about why Scotty was the name chosen for the engineer in the '60s science fiction TV show Star Trek.
     Above the Falkirk Wheel, a long tunnel has been bored, allowing the canals to connect.  a trail sign delivered news a bit harsher than expected.  It was already well into the afternoon, and the sign said there were still 33 miles left to Edinburgh.  This distance, much greater than expected, meant it would probably take two more days to reach the other end of the Union Canal.  Oh, well, so much for having a day to rest and relax before the gathering.  Nothing seemed particularly unusal about the running over the next dozen miles into Linlithgow, aside from stopping a bit too often whenever more raspberries were spied, but without realizing it was happening, a steady rhythm had been found at last.
     Shooting for another ten miles to the Almond Aqueduct before dark seemed to be an optimistic goal upon leaving Linlithgow late in the afternoon.  At least finishing the better part of a marathon for the day seemed a reasonable goal -- not a bad distance for the day, everything considered.  After stopping at another berry patch, a torrential rain began pouring down.  With ferns and other signs of a rain forest all about, offering the thickest canal bank canopy yet encountered in Scotland, the 'runner within' was summoned.  It was still hard work though to hold the gear and rhythm that could handle the increasingly rocky, narrowing footpath in the downpour.
     Given the rain and hope for being in position to polish off the last ten miles or so early the next morning, determination was found for a long surge.  But by the time the aqueduct over the Water of Leith was reached, with dusk fast approaching, the surge still retained momentum to spare.  The pleasant surprise meant that, with less than a dozen miles left until Edinburgh, there was little temptation to stop, despite the steady rain and encroaching darkness.  The surge eventually faded, but it was too late to quit, as the trail on fringes of Edinburgh's urban footprint were relentlessly pounded by a pair of size 14 Asics training shoes.
     Upon reaching the eastern terminus of the Union Canal long after dark, a group including Rob Roy, new friends Kieran, Alex and others, shared a few pints of brew at a pub, extending a splendid and hearty welcome to the splendorous city of Edinburgh.  The celebration lasted well into the wee small hours of Friday.
     The following day of rest felt quite well earned.
     Early on Saturday morning the gathering began.  Highland games competition took place in the central pitch, clans gathered in their designated tents, music blared from a concert stage, and the Duke of Rothesay, known outside of Caledonia as Prince Charles of Wales, welcomed the assembled clans.  Rob Roy was pleased to meet and have his picture taken with the Duke.
     Walked up the Royal Mile to Edinburgh Castle late on Saturday, near the front of the Parade of Clans, with Joan and John Campbell, the Duke and Duchess of Argyll, and dozens more Campbells from around the world.  Several choruses of boos arose from the crowds lining the street, a testament to the Campbells' checkered history.  Near the castle, however, a small cadre of Scots, including Kieran and friends, broke the spell of occasional boos, as they waved and shouted greetings.  Well behind the Campbells, when the McGregor clan passed, cousin Rob Roy was delighted to hear "Long Live Rob Roy" and similar support from the crowd.  After the Homecoming Scotland welcome ceremonies at the castle, Rob Roy, Kieran and friends formed a line behind the Hayes Clan marching bagpipe band, leading a parade of revelers back down the Royal Mile.
     The weekend culminated at the main clan gathering site, Holyrood Park, with a 'hill run' event that twice ascended the slopes of an extinct volcano, Arthur's Seat, in the heart of Edinburgh.  The two loop course challenged the harriers almost from the start, quickly reducing most of the field to a walk by the top of a sharp climb, up a seam in the lava flows.  The descent was jarring, especially after the canal run, and it was a bit unnerving trying to make up the ground lost, to mostly younger runners, on the steep, slippery downhills.  Merely keeping the legs from buckling when walking was not always easy the next few days.

     The pace has slowed considerably since entering Gretna, on the Scottish border, and the hope of a strong finish has diminished similarly.  The days winding down the trek into Caledonia on the way to Glasgow have been all about running gently to avoid re-aggravating an achilles strain.  The achilles and ankle have been a wee bit swollen for about two weeks, since reaching Wigan.
      In the evening after the run from Gretna to Lockerbie, there was daylight until quite late, well after ten pm.   The next morning, there was daylight already at 4:30 am, a glance at the clock revealed.  From Lockerbie, the following day's run wound up in Moffat, a pretty village nestled in a gorgeous neck of woods.  The next two days, chilly and largely overcast, were spent running north through the upper valley of the River Clyde, beginning with a hilly climb out of Moffat brought with it a commanding view of the long, peaceful valley, which led to the villages of Crawford and Abingdon.  The brisk weather and long days contributed to the feeling of being very far removed from mankind's impact, with the exception of ribbons of roadway following the valley.
       The run the next day from Abingdon into Lanark saw a slow transition back into civilization, setting the stage for closing out the final miles into Glasgow.  Although the terrain was easier to negotiate on the way into Lanark, the chill weather and uneven roadside footing contributed to a strong reluctance to push the pace.  The frek from the mouth of the River Thames to Caledonia's urban hub on the River Clyde was nearing completion.
      Planning more than twenty miles a day has not seemed feasible since Wigan, though upwards of thirty miles had not seemed too difficult before that juncture.  An exception came yesterday, when hopes arose for reaching Glasgow with one final long run on the Clyde Walkway.  The fanciful thinking did not last long, as any chance for finishing the trek yesterday in Glasgow evaporated quickly.  Yet finding the unique Clyde Walkway trailhead at the World Heritage Site of New Lanark made the challenges that would unfold during the day quite worth the extra effort.  Numerous long, rectangular multi-story stone buildings were cradled deep in the river valley, in a sheltered microclimate environment featuring a rich array of biodiversity.  It was not easy following the walkway's inconsistent trail markings, and climbing up and down the side of the river valley to pick up the trail again several times did add to the sense of adventure.
     What the Clyde Walkway lacks in terms of continuity, with several diversions from the riverside, is more than compensated for in terms of splendid scenery.  Between the excellent stretches of restored trails, there are piecemeal signs of improvements at various points, and new construction blotting out the trail elsewhere, but the added challenge of navigating the partially restored trail is in keeping with the adventure sought.  The diversions often meant climbing up and down the side of the valley in order to search for the trail again, adding to the challenge while putting an exclamation mark on the journey.  The penultimate day for the trek ended in Motherwell, with just a few miles left until Glasgow.

    A 'roller coaster' metaphor could aptly describe the attempts to attain and sustain an uptempo pace on the way through and beyond the Lake District of northwest England and into Scotland.  The giddiness derived from crossing the border into Scotland on Thursday afternoon contrasted with the whispering winds of a gathering storm, which accentuated an acute sense of caution resulting from a recurrent achilles strain.
     Leaving the Lake District gateway town of Kendal behind, the trek proceeded to Shap, starting abruptly with a long uphill climb, followed by rolling hills punctuated with a stop at a monument dedicated to the travelers, carriage driver crossing the north-south route, and to the locals who assisted stragglers having difficulties, often in inclement winter conditions.  The next day beyond Shap brought excellent conditions, easier running thanks to recently mown roadside turf, and the welcome experience of uptempo running on the way into Penrith.
     The ups and downs resumed the next day, with an unusual morning start, encouraged by the nearness of the Scottish border.  The enthusiasm that led to the early start on the way out of Penrith, however, did little or nothing to stave off the usual morning sluggishishness.
     Belatedly, a rest at a roadside tea house, the Garden of Eden, helped banish the sluggishness of the early start.  The break, adding to the advantage of recently manicured roadsides, enabled a gentle yet uptempo pace throughout the ensuing approach into Carlisle.  At the end of the run, however, the unforgivingly hard, artificial pavement on the way into the city of Carlisle --the last stop in England-- quickly re-aggravated both the recent achilles strain and an old ankle sprain.
     With only a few miles left between Carlisle and the border of Scotland, a short, cautious run was necessary.  Virtually every step had to be taken carefully while approaching the border village Gretna.  There was also an expectation of a heavy rain, as stormclouds gathered.  Fortunately, the short run across the River Esk and beyond the Scottish border passed uneventfully, with the exception of a moment of giddiness while entering Gretna, happy about having arrived in Scotland after running the entire way from the mouth of the River Thames, at Southend-on-Sea, via Abergavenny, Wales, in under five weeks.
     The heavens finally wept profusely yesterday morning, welcoming what became a perfectly lovely day, with conditions ideal for the gentle run into Lockerbie from Gretna.  In between an extended stretch of cautious running early that Friday afternoon and a timid finish in Lockerbie, an enjoyable two mile climb out of Ecclefechen provided a highlight for the day's run.  Pumping the arms helped offset a pronounced lack of leg power, a bit of oxygen debt was sustained, a brief contrast with the preceding cautious days.
     The weather conditions brought to mind another metaphor associated with the purpose of the trans-Britain trek, the escalating discontent in the autism community with the lack of biomedical treatment services available for the millions of children afflicted with autism.  The standard of care for these children established by the medical community centers around treatment of the purportedly 'psychiatric, symptoms, primarily with neurotoxic drugs that destroy grey matter, especially in the frontal lobes, and cause innumerable iatrogenic side effects.  The parents, by and large, have been far more willing than 'mainstream' doctors to recognize and acknowledge that autism results from underlying systemic and autoimmune disorders that demand biomedical treatment interventions.   These parents are routinely ignored or roundly criticized by medical authorities, whose desperation is evident in their increasingly strident attempts to promote their fiction that neurotoxins and vaccine injuries are not the cause of the vast autism epidemic.  These warrior parents, are growing in numbers and strength, whispering up a storm of protest over the lack of treatment for their vaccine injured children.     

    Running twenty miles or so for each of the last three days, since leaving Wigan, has brought the quest through Lancashire to the town of Kendal, a gateway to vacation destinations in the southern Lake District -- the last frontier before Scotland.  As usual since taking up running in the late 1960s, the feeling of strength or even invincibility in the middle of a long tempo run or race has given way to a struggle through the home stretch.  The seemingly boundless energy felt just a week ago, while running along picturesque canals through central Wales, contrasts sharply with the current challenge to sustaining any semblance of an uptempo stride.
     A week ago last Sunday marked the third fantastic day of running along canal bank footpaths in Wales, the second consecutive day along the 35 mile long Montgomery Canal.  Just as the towpath trail had become progressively more scenic on the way into Welshpool, the same progression, but in reverse, was evident on the northern end of the canal.  Restoration efforts underway on the north end of the Montgomery Canal meant trail conditions were, at best, on the mend.  Eventually, at dusk, the attempt to follow the canal was abandoned at dusk near Maesbury, due to difficult trail and darkness.
     Arrived in Wrexam on Monday, after stopping over in Gobowen, just north of Maesbury, and traversing a patch of England in the border region where the road signs were, for a change, no longer bi-lingual.  The eventual departure from Wales the next day was bound to be a wistful transition.  To mark the occasion, a sudden shower burst yielded a magnificent rainbow arching across the English border, prompting memories of attending a theatrical production of the Wizard of Oz in San Carlos, California, at the Circle Star Theatre.  Such memories rekindle the childlike wonderment about just exactly what lies beyond such brilliant, fleeting ephemera.  It was impossible to resist the convenience of ducking into a bus shelter to enjoy the surreal scene, and stay dry, while reflecting on how the moment helped bring into focus the various events leading to this juncture.  In particular, the scene inspired a renewed focus on the concurrent investigation, during this trek, into the forces motivating the figurative 'man behind the curtain' associated with the control of medical knowledge dissemination in Britain.
     Another change on the way out of Wales, while charting a course northward via Wrexam and Runcorn, was the sudden lack of roadside grass to run on, meaning difficulty finding the relief of soft surfaces in the relatively urban areas between Liverpool and Manchester.  While the run into Runcorn went well, returning to England via Wrexam, it also marked the first segment, since the very start of the trans-Britain trek at the Southend-on-Sea Pier in Essex on May Day, that was run primarily on hard, paved surfaces.
     The wistful experience of witnessing a brilliant rainbow upon departure from Wales was accentuated by an encounter, in Welshpool, with a young lady familiar with a local autism residential facility.  After explaining to her that Britain was chosen for this multi-day run largely because the autism epidemic is such a crisis here, a couple of demographic anomolies came to mind to explain for her.  As an example, it was pointed out there is an astonishingly low --virtually zero-- autism diagnosis rate among the Amish in America --the Amish Anomaly-- notably including Lancaster County, Pennsylvania, and among Chicago area patients of the HomeFirst medical practice.  Both demographic groups are almost entirely unvaccinated, just as the case once was globally, before vaccine injuries became widespread in the twentieth century with the marketing of numerous new vaccines, and the removal of vaccine injury financial liability for vaccine producers.  In contrast, the highest rates for autism are found among the most over-vaccinated demographic groups, which often center around major vaccine production hubs, such as Britain, Minnesota and New Jersey.
     Given the knowledge that Wales has a sizable Somali population, it seemed worth mentioning to the young lady that certain immigrant populations, including mothers with high vaccine burdens due to pre- and post-immigration vaccinations, were especially prone to having their children afflicted by autism spectrum afflictions --as well as asthma, diabetes and allergies, among a myriad of epidemics associated with vaccine injury-- in particular one ethnic group, Somalians.  Immigration from Somalia has become notorious in recent years for its association with the autism epidemic.  Thus, it was anything but a surprise when the acquantance said one of the residents at the Welshpool autism facility is Somalian.  Perhaps Wales harbors a significant cluster of Somalians afflicted by autism, just like Minnesota and Sweden, and quite unlike the unvaccinated Amish of Lancaster County, Pennsylvania.  The encounter ended with a brief gesture of support, before returning to run on the Montgomery Canal.
     Running from Runcorn through Cheshire was not without its highlights, however.   The city of Chester was bustling with runners, marking the first such concentration of kindred souls observed since before the start of the trans-Britain trek, on the shakedown run in London's Kensington Gardens and Hyde Park.  Another memorable experience was the hoisting of a Guiness draught at the Flooker's Brook Pub in Houle, at the behest of a former classmate and stand up comic, Mike Larson, who is currently serving as an aide to US Congresswoman Jacqueline Speier.  With regard to a conversation about his boss's position on vaccine policies and treatment for autism, Mike suggested hoisting a Guiness "in lieu of vaccines."  Over a toast, dedicated to the plight of treating vaccine injured children and shared with another Mike met at the Flooker's Brook, the Guiness was ceremoniously hoisted.
     After enjoying the somewhat chilled liquid refreshment, the trek resumed -- through St. Helens to the outskirts of Wigan, where a couple of less than surprising scares ensued.   Towards the end of the evening run after passing St. Helens, the natural surface deficiency resulted in one type of scare, as a calf strain that originated back in February re-emerged, along with something new, sharp achilles tendon pain -- the kind that cannot be shaken off, and that gets progressively worse with every step.
     In lieu of panic over the achilles tendon strain. attention was diverted instead to reviewing the objectives of the trans-Britain trek, versus the immediate for concern injury prevention.  As trek advisor David Warady had dicected, "Don't get injured."  Calling it 'quits' was not an option, either.  If necessary, up to a couple of weeks might have to be taken off, with the possible intermission dedicated to investigating the autism epidemic in the nearby urban areas, around Liverpool and Manchester.  Certainly, that would dovetail nicely with the purpose of the trek, drawing attention to biomedical treatment alternatives for children afflicted by autism.Not only was the trans-Britain trek suddenly in jeopardy, due to the exceedingly tender achilles, but the very next morning a more ominous type of scare reared its ugly facade in the local newspaper's front page headline.  While considering the prospect of a layover lasting several days or even two weeks to let the achilles heal, a measles outbreak scare story headline --in three inch block letters covering the entire front page-- was observed on the cover of the local Wigan rag.
    The tabloid-style hysterics of the front page headline ranted irrationally about the threat of a potential measles outbreak in the local Wigan area, 'Watch out!  Measles About!', despite the fact such outbreaks are quite seldom serious beyond the third world, where poor sanitation and nutritional deficits result in far different outcomes in sharp contrast with most modern conditions.  The local fearmongering challenged the primacy of the national media's predominant vaccine marketing campaigns, which center on creating hysteria over the mysteriously benign swine flu.  The competing scare campaigns, orchestrated with the willing complicity of the British media to sell vaccines, sadly undermines rational discussion of health care, while at the same time making a mockery of Mr. Larson's comedic directive to hoist a Guiness in lieu of getting jabbed with vaccines.
    As it turned out, just one layover day was spent in Wigan, dedicated in large part to rest, consideration of how to pursue the goals of the trek, and regaining the half stone of weight lost since beginning the trek on May Day.  One thought resurfaced repeatedly during the layover: it would be seriously disappointing if the trek to Scotland was not completed, for the sake of the children afflicted by autism, so there could be no turning back.  Well, at least the dedication necessary to continue the long run seemed intact.
     After a tentative run to Shevington the next morning, with no serious complaints from either the sore achilles or strained calf, it was decided to resume the trek, barring further brushes with potential injuries.  The second run of the day that afternoon was a struggle in muggy daylight into Preston.  The change in weather, after weeks of overcast, mist, rain, and at times blustery wind, contributed to feeling lethargic, and rather sore just about all over.
     The sunny weather continued the next day on a run through Garstang and into Lancaster.  The day lacked momentum, for the most part, though soft surfaces did induce a better tempo as the evening progressed.  Even so, finishing this run to Scotland will evidently require enduring a lot more than just increasing fatigue, as smooth running had given way --for the most part-- to the reality that this quest is slowly transcending into a fair challenge.  Meanwhile, thoughts sparked by enduring the fatigue and range of aches and pains started to swirl and coalesce around the notion of vicariously experiencing the pain and suffering endured by the millions of children around the globe afflicted by autistic spectrum disorders.
     Yesterday, the run north from Lancaster, Lancahire, started on a tough note, lots of artificial paved surfaces, and nothing naturally soft to run upon.  Running shirtless in the Sunday sun, things improved  on the way to the vacation town of Kendal in the Lake District.  During the long afternoon, a wide variety of surfaces were encountered, including roadside vegetation to run through that was sometimes waist deep.  The great variation in surfaces brought to mind the wide variety of conditions on the autistic spectrum, and the need to pay attention to what is going on behind the shroud of curtains, manipulated obsessively by vaccine marketers, when it comes to the sharp contrasts in treatment approaches for the children of the rainbow, including those on the autistic spectrum.

   Followed the River Ithon for the better part of Friday evening, enjoying a long tranquil run through the semi-wilderness between Llandrindod Wells and Newtown, 'a new town since 1279'.  Due to Friday's delayed start, the run lasted well into dusk, when the heavens let lose with showers over the last few miles approaching Newtown.  Leaving the River Ithon behind and cresting a ridge into another valley in darkness, the neat brick houses of Newtown eventually came into sight between ridgelines, glowing through the mist and light rain with incandescent orange lighting. The evening run was preceded on Thursday by a short segment between the spa towns of Builth Wells and Landrindod Wells.
     Saturday brought with it another stretch of canal bank towpath, well suited for running.  The Montgomery Canal follows the River Severn along an ancient corridor between Newtown and Welshpool, in a border region between England and Wales.  The canal is a 'sump' type, with water flowing toward its center from both ends of its 35 mile length, stretching from its southern terminus in Newtown until it joins with another canal system across the border along the English border.
     The trail alongside Montgomery Canal, according to a local resident, "gets better" as it approaches Welshpool.  That assessment was an understatement, as it turned out yesterday.  Feeling sub-optimal after the long run into Newtown the prior evening, the first few laborious miles on the canal were pretty, but unspectacular compared to the Mon and Brec.  The pace was slow at first, yet as the canopy and wildflowers became more plentiful, the initial 'survival strut' gave way in short order to a more fluid gait.  About then, a couple miles beyond Newtown, a swan floated along in the shade.  Evidently protecting his mate and hatchlings, the elegantly feathered swan's wings were partially uplifted, preumably to make himself look a smidgen formidable.
     The sight of the graceful swans brought to mind the often quite gracile stature of marathoners and road runners, especially of those who train at high altitude.  The message implied by the slight lifting of the swans' wings seemed to reflect the 'fake it, until you make it' mindset that long distance runners can adopt, to attain superior conditioning a long way down the road.  In contrast, ultramarathoners and middle distance runners often seem to have more robust physiques, a point underscored further on up the trail, when a rumbling bovine herd decided to keep pace for a short distance along a canal bank fence line.  By then, it was about halfway through the afternoon's route, and the seemingly relaxed lumbering trot of the thundering herd reminded that keeping a faster pace is generally synonymous with superior form.
     The canal continued to become ever more scenic, inducing an excitement and joy that escalated the pace to the point where a fair degree of oxygen debt was achieved.   The grassy towpath was mown in areas between groomed nature trail sections, allowing the pace to hasten incrementally with the earlier recollection that a faster pace usually translates to a relatively optimal stride.  There seemed every reason to sustain the burst through the last five miles into Welshpool.  The heavy pounding of the herd helped produce another excuse for pushing the pace, being a bit lighter on the feet now, after losing almost half a stone (fourteen pounds in the UK) since arrival in the UK -- thanks to three consecutive one hundred plus mile weeks,
     With a mile or so left before Welshpool, a more tangible reality set in abruptly, quickly dissipating much of the joy induced while running wild and free along the trail.  The dull ache in the right quadriceps arising in recent days finally reared up, lodging a 'formal complaint' through 'official channels', succeeding the left quadriceps as complainant in chief.  Just about then, it was time to stop anyhow, to observe another swan family.  The patriarch postured and hissed a warning, slightly arching his wings while paddling forward, almost aggressively.
     The warning of the quadriceps ache slowly subsided while jogging in the day's last mile, as the temporarily faster pace was relinquished in favor of a warmdown.  The balance between function and form had swung back to the lumbering ultramarathon gait, with the emphasis shifted the simple function of moving forward -- the 'survival strut'.  No longer focused on running gracefully, the ephemeral experience of too much joy had passed.  

     Mana from heaven, in terms of trail running, was bestowed in the form of an exquisitely beautiful canal side venue on the first full day in Wales.  The Monmouthshire and Brecon canal, better known as the Mon and Brec, almost by itself vindicated all the extravagant promises of splendor and bliss accorded in praise of the Welsh countryside.  The Mon and Brec canal, accompanied by a well maintained single track footpath, meanders gracefully through the Black Mountains within Brecon Beacons National Park.  All was well and good in this runners' wonderland, during a dry spell between morning and evening showers, en route to Brecon after picking up the trail alongside the River Usk near Abergavenny.

    Already having embarked --over a week ago-- upon a quest to run across Britain, it's high time to start blogging about the adventure. This trek began on May Day, east of London at the mouth of the River Thames, with an out-and-back run on the Southend-on-Sea Pier.  The goal is to run westward across England to Wales, and then northward to Scotland, while investigating the autism epidemic and bringing attention to biomedical interventions for autism spectrum disorders along the way.

     Aylesbury, once the haunt of Benjamin Disraeli, has been reached today, after a short run from Tring yesterday afternoon.  Only about twenty miles of running lie ahead before arriving at Oxford University.  With luck, the run will finish in a few weeks in Edinburgh, Scotland, well before the Highland Games and Gathering of the Clans are to take place there in July.  After preparations built around running forty miles of trails and hills most every weekend since last October, it is hoped conditioning for the quest at hand has been sufficient.

     Not long before departing from San Francisco to London, on April 27 via Virgin Atlantic, the chance to post a Boston Marathon qualifying time turned out, perhaps fortuitously, to be an April fool's joke.  The 'inaugural' Marin County Marathon, scheduled for April 19, was canceled.  The event probably would not have been the wisest effort at that point, and the cancellation did foster some degree of compliance with the wisdom of conscripted trek advisor David Warady, winner of the 1992 TransAmerica Footrace.  A central tenet of Warady's advice could largely be summed up by one of his more solemn warnings, "Don't get injured."

    The flight from SFO to LRH included video offerings, among them a documentary about three runners who ran over 4,000 miles in 111 days, crossing six African countries and the Sahara Desert.  The anticipation of running across Britain doesn't quite compare, but the story of how the three runners overcame obstacles and injuries did help frame the task that lies ahead.  Before touching down on the morning of April 28 at Heathrow Airport, the construction site for the 2012 London Olympics was visible from the Virgin 747, jutting from the landscape between stretches of clouds.  The tabloids, radio and TV, that day in London, all incessantly blared swine flu fearmongering.

     An easy shakedown run the next afternoon, in defiance of jetlag, steered inadvertently into Kensington Gardens, an absolutely fabulous expanse of turf and arboreal canopy adjacent to Hyde Park, the Royal Albert Hall, and the Princess Diana Memorial Fountain.  Quite the fortunate treat that was, finding hundreds of acres of well tended parks.  What was meant to be an inconsequential easy meander through London turned into an exuberant urban forest romp lasting nearly two hours.

    Arriving at Southend-on-Sea's famed 1 1/4 mile long iron pier in the mid-afternoon of May Day, the quest to run across Britain was set to commence.  A young man named Paul, working as an ambassador for the amusement park situated by the pier's entrance, kindly presented a mommento, a working clock in the form of a miniature British phone booth, thus commemorating the 'official' advent of this quest to run across Britain, to learn what lies beneath the surface of the British Isles' mystique.  For £3, just before 3 pm on May Day, admission to the Southend-on-Sea Pier was granted, by clerk #23, according to the receipt she tendered.  The run to the end of the pier --which also features a railroad and a lifeboat rescue operation at its terminus-- on a beautiful but breezy day, beneath partly cloudy skies, was enhanced by the softness of the wooden planks decking the iron pier.