Michael

As I walked up the beautiful Limb Valley late this very morning, I noticed another walker ahead of me. Gradually, I caught him up and as I slowly overtook him he asked, "How fast are you going?"

I said, "35 mph".

"I'm only doing thirty," he chuckled.

We fell in stride together and started conversing as we walked along. We were both on our way to the hamlet of Ringinglow. And when we reached the place, we both had a notion to go into "The Norfolk Arms" for liquid refreshment. He ordered a pint of bitter while I asked for a pint of orange cordial and soda water with a packet of salt and vinegar crisps (American; chips).

We sat at a spare table together, talking for a further forty minutes.

He was a complete stranger to me as I was to him but we soon learnt a lot about each other and discovered several things we had in common. He said his name was Michael and I told him my name was Neil. Furthermore, jokingly, I informed him that I was heartily sick of meeting men called Michael.

"They are all over the place. My two quizmates are called Michael and so is my oldest nephew. Why couldn't the parents give them different names like Linus  or Archibald? But not bloody Michael!"

Michael laughed. He knew that I was kidding.

We talked about his late wife. Eight years ago, they had been on a walking holiday in north west Scotland and both of them came back with summer colds. Michael's cold quickly cleared up but his wife's cold remained troublesome.

She visited her doctor and was then admitted to hospital. One thing led to another and she finished up on intensive care with a life-threatening respiratory complaint. But sadly, though she was in good hands, there was to be no happy ending. She died and Michael was left on his own.

But eight years on the fellow was chipper, upbeat and sharp. I  very much regret not exchanging contact details. We share a kind of philosophy when it comes to walking and I know that it is a  philosophy that keen walker  Meike Riley in Germany would also subscribe to.

Walking is not just about putting one foot in front of the other. It's about absorbing the natural world around you and letting your thoughts wander where they will. It's not just about physical well-being it's about mental well-being too - working things out, problem-solving, remembering, thinking creatively as you plod the miles.

Before we shook hands and went our separate ways, Michael told me that he will be ninety next year.

He walks every day come rain or shine but still misses his beloved wife. His sixty four year old daughter Sarah and her Liverpudlian husband Kevin have just retired to a big house in North Wales and they want Michael to go over there to live with them. He has told them that he will think about it but first he wants a month's trial.

He said, "I need to check out paths and walking routes over there before I say yes."

I told him that the trial month was a very good idea.

How lovely it was to meet that man. I could have talked with him for hours but the truth is that I will probably never see him again. We were like ships that pass in the night even though our time together was in the middle of the day.