Beyond the Setting Sun

Setting Sun

Mist.  Thick and cold... and wet.  A tired, patchy old grey blanket had been thrown over the San Francisco Bay.  It was 21st March 1989.  The mayor of the city, Art Agnos, had proclaimed the day 'Colin Skinner Day', but that old grey blanket of mist was unimpressed.

Behind me lay 4,950 miles of journey and the end lay 2 miles ahead.  My destination was finally in sight, or would have been if I could see it.  It was tantalizing: knowing the end was so close.  The journey had a life of its own and it seemed it wanted to hang on to it for as long as possible.

The wet mist formed droplets on my hair, beard and red nylon waterproof jacket.  It was the same jacket that I'd worn on the wet day at John O'Groats, eleven months and 6000 miles ago.

On my back was the pack that had been my trusty companion.  The pack was overflowing, with my winter coat strapped to the top, my boots and most of my gear packed inside.  A dozen helium balloons, emblazoned with Hospice by the Bay, didn't help lift the 60 pounds or more, but the weight felt good.

My feet moved along on autopilot.  A wind blew and the mists shifted.  A red metal tower rose ahead, not solid, but made of uprights and cross-pieces, leaving spaces through which the mist billowed in the wind.  From the metal tower a webwork of red cables hung down to support the road and walkway that led from Marin County to San Francisco.  The wind died and the sight disappeared.  My feet moved along the walkway, carrying me to the gateway that had been my goal for so long.  At last I began to cross the Golden Gate Bridge.

Tick, tock went the clock; tick, tock went my feet: counting down steps to the end.  To either side of me were the webs of cables holding the bridge up over the Pacific Ocean.

'Colin!'  Ahead was a tall man, with smartly cut blonde hair and a well cut suit.  It was Michael Moss, the P.R. man from the Hospice by the Bay.  I walked up to him and shook his hand.

'The TV people are just ahead... you've made it!'

A television crew had set up at the end of the bridge.  As I strode on the mists cleared and blue sky showed behind me.

'It is said to get to know someone you should walk a mile in their shoes.  Well, if you walked a mile in the shoes of Colin Skinner you would certainly see a thing or two.  Today Colin has just finished a walk of six thousand miles that has taken him across Great Britain and the United States from New York to San Francisco.'  The camera looked towards me and I smiled.

'Colin, can you tell us about your journey?'

'It began 11 months ago back in England.  I had worked in a hospital and saw cancer patients there.  I wanted to do something to help.  The idea came to walk across Britain and America to raise money for Cancer Relief in England and hospices over here in America.'

'How do hospices help people?'  The blonde-haired reporter asked her question and put the microphone back towards me.

'For many people hospitals are not the best place to be.  Hospitals are there to help people get well.  For people who are not going to be cured home is often the best place to be.  Hospices can give support to people so they can stay in their own homes.  Hospice nurses can help control the pain that people have and hospices can support relatives with advice and help in caring for family members who are seriously ill.  Here in San Francisco you have the Hospice by the Bay and that's where I will be ending my journey.'

'Can you tell us a little about your journey?'

'In Britain I walked 1100 miles, through the Highlands of Scotland, past ancient Roman walls and standing-stones and ended up at the granite cliffs of Land's End.  Then I flew to New York.  There I slept in bushes beneath the World Trade Center and camped outside Kennedy Airport in a tent.  It took two days to walk out of New York.  In Pennsylvania I camped in woods where there were snakes.  A bear sniffed my tent over from one end to the other as I lay inside.'