You wouldn’t think anyone would want or need a guide to getting lost. But apparently they do. Rebecca Solnit’s book has done very well. “Brilliant,” says the Guardian. "Start walking. Get lost. Who knows what you’ll find.” So I did. And this is what happened.
I bought this book in the Royal Academy book shop a few weeks ago because I liked the title. The next morning, while eating my bowl of fruit and yoghurt, I read the first couple of pages. Then went out on my run. My intention was to run down the canal to Brentford and circle back – a route that takes under an hour. But when I got to Brentford I felt surprisingly good (for the morning after a wine-fuelled night out with Ed, anyway). So I decided to run on.
I knew the canal connected to the Thames but I wasn’t sure exactly how. “Thames path” said a sign that led me into Brentford High Street. I ran for a few hundred yards and saw a second sign. A few minutes later (with no further directions to the river) I found myself in Syon Park. Somewhere I’d never been, despite it being a few miles from my flat. I ran through and out the other end. Still no river signs.
I asked a man with two dogs and no teeth. “You know where the office block is,” he said. “No,” I said “I don’t know where I am.” Old Isleworth apparently, which I’d never even heard of. A quaint village-like place with a couple of very enticing riverside pubs. “By the crane,” he said, after some discussion about landmarks I didn't know. “You can’t miss it.”
I ran along the Thames path for a while until it did what the Thames path has a habit of doing. Disappearing and sending you back to the road without explanation. A mile or so later, I found myself in St Margaret’s. “Ah, I'm nearly in Richmond,” I thought. “I can run back along the river”. But first I had to find it. Two pages into the book and I was already so good at losing things, I had lost a whole river.
I spotted one of those blue signs with a bike and a walker on it. “That must be it,” I thought and turned off. The road divided in two. There were no further signs. Eventually I happened on the Thames again. Now I had to figure out whether Kew was left or right. I stopped a runner and asked.
Over the river I went, recognising the route for the first time since I’d left the canal almost an hour before. I was jogging along comfortably when my foot propelled a small thick stick off the ground. It caught against my left leg which pushed it hard into my right ankle. “Ooooowwww,” I said. “Are you OK?” asked the runner behind me. “I think so,” I said. “There’s a lot of blood," she said. "Let me look at it”. We ran together for a mile or so but blood continued to pump out of the wound. “I think I’ll walk for a bit and see if that helps,”. “OK, I’ll check in with you on my way back,” said Joy, who was training for the Kew 10K and hadn’t done much training.
Over two hours after I set out on my short run, I finally made it home. Washed off the blood. Stuck a plaster on the wound.
Too often, I’ve been too busy going somewhere to take time to explore. To say, “Ooohhh! I wonder what’s down there.” And usually, something is! To stop and talk to someone I wouldn’t otherwise have met. To learn something about their lives.
I’m off to finish the chapter now. So beware if you’re out with me and would rather stay on the straight and narrow. I’m ready for my next adventure.