Day One: "Who is the Jonah?"

Caveat Reader. In continuing today's no-really-it-happened theme, we're down a computer. Last seen, Bex's power chord to her laptop was smoking after a near death experience with an outlet at the B & B. We're posting remotely. No earthly idea if (a) it will work, (b) what it will look like and/or (c) how the pictures attached. Read on at your own risk.

Today was the first day on the Coast to Coast trail. I hear it happened. Although I don't remember much. Must be those well developed memory repression techniques at work.

Here is what I do recall. It started off beautifully. A full English breakfast of yogurt, fruit, cereal, toast, locally made preserves, eggs, bacon, juice, tea and coffee. Plus all the things we did not eat. Then we waved bye to the lovely owner of the flower flanked Stone Farm Inn in St. Bees, pulled on our backpacks, and sallied forth.

And that would be our first mistake - leaving.

The next eight hours are a blur. There was the ceremonial toe dips into the Irish Sea, picture taking by the first mile marker, and gorgeous views along the coast line as we tramped along the cliffs, past an old lighthouse, and around 586 sheep. Roughly. (See pictures that may be attached.)

Then we turned inland. Enter the mud. Believe in the bog. Feature the rain. And, BEHOLD, the wind.

Point of clarification. By mud, we mean "sucked off the tips of Mom's walking sticks, never to be seen again" "nearly claimed two shoes," and "was. every. where.". Bonus: large portions of said mud came with sheep poo toppings. As for the beloved "bog," I finally get the references by Dickens, Austen, the Brontes, and Collins. It's firm looking grass with at least a foot of water and sludge lurking beneath for the unsuspecting hiker. Rain in England now qualifies for the Genesis variety of 40 days and 40 nights and sounds like gunfire when it hits your poncho. And it falls (read: whips) horizontally. Because that's how the Brits roll. And last, but oh so never again least, there is the wind. Put it this way, Bex and Katie held on to each other so they didn't inadvertently pull a Mary Poppins and float away. It was warranted.

Highlights include the following:

Moi (Sarah) trying to break her leg on a cattle guard.

KT conducting a one woman dance-a-thon complete with hip-hop moves every time the sun put in a brief guest appearance. This was done on a cliff, mud trails, and a farmer's field. At least one sheep tried to join her.

Bex and KT quoting the Three Musketeers at the top of their lungs to one another while parading through sheep fields arm-in-arm.

My personal favorite, slogging up a 1000 feet in under a mile through a field of mud and sheep while gale force winds drove the rain like angry bees into our faces and hands. It was like getting a facial from Zeus. At which point, Mom said "this is the craziest adventure you've gotten me into," which, as many of you know, is really saying something. Bex shared her unprintable thoughts on my idea of a vacation. And Katie asked "who is the Jonah here? Because we are drawing lots and leaving that person behind."

Falling off a crag. All of us.

Being so wet, we gave up hopping swollen creek beds and just started fording them by walking through them shoes and all. It wasn't like it made us wetter.

Finding out today's scheduled hike of "14 miles" was either optimistic or a typo. Dear Trailblazer's Guidebooks, the gps read 16.5 when we completed Day One. Soaking wet hikers do not appreciate your little black lies.

But we did it. We walked the whole, unbelievably ridiculous, wet, windy, exhausting way.

Hallelujah, that's over. At least until tomorrow.

Sent from my Verizon Wireless BlackBerry