Every time I tell my Dad it isn’t going to rain again until October I hope I’m wrong. I don’t want to die this summer. I want the 5-7 years I was promised before the total climate catastrophe. The first heatwave rips through June. The longest day passes. Cooler temperature returns. The forecasters threaten rain. Sometimes they’re right and a storm washes through, carrying only occasional rain. Other times the clouds deliver nothing but early darkness. It is not so bad. Summer is long, and the heat may yet return. Rachael and I make use of one of those long, hot days. Going out in the midday sun like those mad dogs they used to sing about. The first time the world was a wasteland. Was it really as far back as February? Last time, the hedgerows were heavy with hawthorn blossom. This time, the oversized patchwork fields of grass. begin to show their gilded edge. An empty, powder blue sky rests above. On the A34, heading south out of Oxford I watch hesitant drivers pass a police car going barely below the speed limit. At the foot of the hills that form the Ridgeway, pelotons of cyclists burst along the lanes. Dickhead drivers do so badly down the country lanes. Overtaking on corners and blind hills. What, really,  is the rush? I recognise the slopes in this area. The best of the White Horses is nearby. What’s left of Uffington Castle sits like a ghost at the summit. We’re not quite there yet; the stretch I continue to refer to as ‘the good bit’. Instead we’re back at Ogbourne St George. Little car climbing on to the hilltop once more.

We set off Northbound, towards Liddlington Castle and a return to the old way. The dotted line still marks the original Ridgeway but some of it, too much of it to walk down is now a road. We pause briefly in a hilltop copse for a toilet break, to apply sunscreen, to look out across the land. The chains of earthworks and castle ruins make sense. You could see your Saxon enemies marching towards you. Near one of the sprawling fields Rachael stops. There are horses with foals scattered throughout. Some lying down, no doubt drained by the sun. She heads towards the barbed wire to see if any of them will come and say hello. The mothers are more skittish than the foals, though they’re not confident yet either. The farmer, if that really is what you call a man with a field of horses, comes out to check on his herd. He wanders towards each pair, making sure young and old trot along. Rachael calls out to him ‘they’re beautiful’ she says. He tells us they do parades, they’ve been to Hollywood. Some horses these. We don’t take the side arm out to the fortress remains. It’s too hot for any extra activities. The track gets lost in a field edge. We keep going when maybe we needed to return to the road. In the end we have to turn back. We join the road to cross the M4, the longest stretch or road walking so far. There’s enough of a verge and it has been mowed so we can keep out of the way of the traffic. We stop at a bus stop at a crossroads, in the shade to eat our lunch.

I find I am surprised at how poorly serviced the Ridgeway is compared to the South Downs Way. We’re closing in on 50km and I don’t remember passing a water tap, let alone a cafe. Today I think we’ve come unprepared. Probably one of the hottest days of the year and Rachael and I are both running out of water. I didn’t think to put an extra bottle in the car. When we pass through the last farm I am delighted to finally see a sign pointing me in the direction of cold, fresh water.  I tell myself it might be worth doing some research and finding out where they’re stationed for the next stages. Not long after rehydrating we come back to the car at Ashbury Hill. A woman in the car next to us asks if we’re not rushing off, can she charge her phone. I’m not sure where, I tell her. My car is old and I don’t have a USB port. Of course, it is old enough to have a cigarette lighter. Whether or not it works is another matter. The woman has to hold the phone in place for a while but she starts to get some juice come through. “Do you have jump leads in your car?” I ask. I’m happy to help, but we also need to be able to get home. It’ll probably be fine but best to be sure. Thankfully she does. Are you half way yet? Not yet, I don’t think. Next time maybe. She tells us she’s waiting for her daughter who’s relay racing across the Ridgeway. We saw a few runners pass, well spaced out. Almost a non-event. The daughter comes through and we applaud. The woman thanks us for our power, and heads off towards the finish line.