Achilles troubles

Sunday I fly out of Seattle to London, with a tightly connecting flight to Glasgow.  Ah, yes, were it only that tight connection that was of concern this vacation season.

Four weeks ago to the day, I blogged on the horrors of my pulled groin muscle, and its potential effect on my travel plans.  I foresaw that I might not always be able to complete the eleven miles (on average) required on each day's walk, over a seven day period, as our group of six trudged along the Rob Roy Way in southern Scotland.    But I rejoiced that this would be one of the easiest hikes I'd ever attempted in Britain, and that I'd usually be close enough to a road to complete the day's journey by summoned taxi, if necessary.

Well, the groin strain isn't entirely healed -- I still get twinges with exertion -- but something funny has happened since that post.  Even as I drastically reduced my walking distance each day, I developed inexplicable pain in my Achilles tendon, pain that has increased in intensity day by day.

I really don't see how I could even get started on an eleven-mile walk now.  Especially when the night passed swiftly and the time for the second day's walk began.  I teetered on the brink of canceling my trip to Scotland.  I might well have done so if I didn't have a two-week stay in Italy, at Lake Como, attached to the end of it --  a situation where I'll be with others and in charge of our accommodations and, to some extent, although far less than I like to believe, looked to as the source of everyone's daily adventures and entertainment.

My original Plan B was to rely entirely on taxis, probably not even trying to begin a day's walk.  But after much study, and a happy discussion by phone with the British organization that puts these walks together, I've decided to change the Hike to Bike.  The Rob Roy Way -- the walk I have scheduled -- has been designed to accommodate both walkers and bikers.  The more rugged and steep portions of the hike -- i.e., the most scenic portions -- mainly the final two days, are bypassed by paved bike trails with fewer changes in elevation.

I won't have a bike until the end of the second day of hiking, at Callander, where there's a large bicycle shop and rental facility.  I've been assured that the company that hauls our baggage from one B&B or small hotel to another will be happy to carry me those first two days if I don't think I can walk them.  

Once we leave Callander, I hope to be able to coast along with the walkers, on a route that primarily follows small roads or abandoned railway rights of way.  The last couple of days, the bike trail diverges considerably from the hiking route -- hikers leaving well-defined trails behind and climbing across boggy moors and over small creeks -- but then joins up with it again as we near the end of each day's journey.

This alternative sounds perfect, given my new disability -- although I'm aware that biking is also a source of irritation to the Achilles tendon.  But at least I'll be on somewhat easier terrain, and with more mileage gained per each stretch of my tendons.  My last long-distance biking was in 1998, when my nephew and I biked with a guided group in southern China.  We rode 50 miles the first day, in 95 degree heat.  But I was younger then, and injury-free..  In 2023, I'm holding my breath about negotiating eleven miles in 60-degree Scottish drizzle.

On advice of one of my fellow hikers, I've also discovered the hitherto unknown existence of Lidocaine topical patches.  They don't cure a strained Achilles tendon, but they dull the pain to the point that you hardly realize the damage you're probably doing to your body.

And on that happy note, I bring this post to a close.  If I can just survive the next couple of weeks, I will find myself stretched out contentedly in the sun on the shores of Lake Como, a glass of soothing Italian wine in hand.