Free Walking with Plato by Gary Hayden

sights, I remember very clearly the music I listened to as I walked. With only a week left in Scotland, I had opted for some traditional Scottish songs. And they really got to me.
    In the past, I’ve observed a tendency in myself, when I’m worn out or stressed or depressed, to become emotional at the drop of a hat. I’ve found myself moved to tears by such unlikely stimuli as advertisements for Sunny Delight and episodes of Bargain Hunt .
    On this day, though, I felt neither worn out nor stressed nor depressed, and yet I found myself welling up at the words to songs. For example, these lines from ‘When You and I were Young, Maggie’:
     
    They say we are agèd and grey, Maggie,
    As spray by the white breakers flung,
    But to me you’re as fair as you were, Maggie,
    When you and I were young.
     
    Or these words from ‘The Road and the Miles to Dundee’:
     
    I took the gowd pin, from the scarf on my bosom,
    And said ‘keep ye this, in re-mem-brance O’ me’,
    Then brave-ly I kissed, the sweet lips O’ the lassie
    E’er I part-ed wi’ her, On the road to Dundee.
     
    I was surprised to find myself in such a tearfully sentimental mood in the absence of any of the usual triggers.
    Don’t get me wrong, I’ve always been partial to a bit of sentimentality – which explains, in part, my adoration of Dickens. But by this stage of JoGLE, I seemed to have got into an unusually heightened state. My feelings – all of them – had become more intense.
    Walking for hours each day, attuned to the rhythms of my own breath, heartbeat, and footfall, and with a mind free of distraction and stimulation, had put me into a meditative state. And, like many a meditator before me, I achieved a higher level of consciousness. I began to think more clearly, to feel more intensely, to understand more deeply, and to appreciate more fully.
    This enabled me to enter right into the words, music, and sentiments of those wonderful old songs: one moment striding along, arms swinging, bellowing out the words to ‘Loch Lomond’, and the next moment getting misty-eyed over the bittersweet parting on the ‘Road to Dundee’.

    I don’t recall the sixteen-mile walk from Linlithgow to Kirknewton . I imagine that we took an indirect route along the towpath of the Union Canal (looking at the map that would seem the obvious thing to do). But it’s possible that we took some other route.
    What I do remember is looking at Wendy, as we walked the last half-mile into Kirknewton, and being surprised at how exhausted she looked. I, on the other hand, felt as fresh as a daisy and as strong as an ox.
    This was such a role reversal, Wendy being the walker , that I couldn’t resist posting on Facebook, ‘New walking-partner required. I’ve worn the old one out.’
    This was met with incredulity and outrage among Wendy’s friends. ‘I don’t believe it! Wendy would never give up!’ being a typical response. So, for a brief time, I got to experience the perverse thrill of Internet trolling.
    Kirknewton is a village situated just southwest of Edinburgh, which has, as far as I know, nothing to recommend it to visitors. Our only purpose in going there was to catch a train to Edinburgh where we had arranged to spend a couple of nights with our friends Marilyn and Raphie.
    Wendy and I had spent two years living in Edinburgh, and it’s our favourite place in the world. So we had a splendid time there, visiting old haunts and enjoying our friends’ open-hearted hospitality. On the second evening, we even managed to squeeze in a visit to the cinema and eat dinner at a proper restaurant – just like regular people.

    From Edinburgh, we took the train back to Kirknewton, and then set off on a five-day hike southeast to Kirk Yetholm.
    We’d intended to break up the journey wherever we could find cheap accommodation. But cheap accommodation is in short supply in that part of Scotland. Consequently, for our first night, we had to book an expensive (by our