TraceysTrek

Best bits: being at home

Worst bits: freezing cold

Distance: rest day!

Days to finish: 6

Arriving home was a very strange feeling — the kind that creeps up slowly as familiarity meets disbelief. Driving down roads I’d travelled countless times before felt oddly surreal, as if I were revisiting scenes from a previous life. Then, pulling onto my driveway and parking Priscilla — my faithful home on wheels for the past year — the reality began to sink in.

A few neighbours came out to greet me, smiles wide and words full of astonishment. “We can’t believe it’s been a whole year!” they said. I couldn’t either. Time has a funny way of both stretching and collapsing when you’re living each day on the move.

Stepping inside the house was another jolt. It was absolutely freezing — no comforting warmth, no welcoming glow, just the chill of a space long abandoned. The boiler had given up at some point, leaving me without the luxury of a hot bath I’d been dreaming of for weeks. The air was stale, carrying that unmistakable scent of something shut up too long.

The house — our family home — suddenly felt ginormous. After a year of living in compact, cosy Priscilla, every room seemed cavernous. The silence echoed.

Last night, just as I was about to drift off in my old bed, a message pinged in from my neighbours inviting me over for a drink. I didn’t hesitate — straight up, quick shower, and across the road I went. It was so good to sit with familiar faces again, to laugh and talk until 2 a.m. When I finally crossed back home and climbed into bed, it felt both strange and comforting all at once.

This morning brought me crashing back to reality. A discovery in the utility room — rats. It seems the local wildlife had made themselves quite at home in my absence. Their calling cards were everywhere. What followed was a full-scale cleanup operation. I threw open every door and window despite the biting cold, determined to clear the air — literally and figuratively.

Just as I was finishing, Danny and Sara arrived. Danny took one look around, shivered, and insisted we get the fire going. Thankfully, my multi-fuel stove still worked perfectly. Within minutes, flames were crackling and warmth began to seep back into the heart of the house.

Returning home has been a hard landing. The peaceful rhythm of walking has been replaced by a barrage of practicalities — car insurance renewals, boiler repairs, phone calls, and appointments.

It turns out that walking 5,000 miles was, in some ways, the easier part.

Now that I’m back, I realise that home isn’t just a place — it’s a feeling, one I’ve been searching for since the day Angela passed. Out there on the coast, surrounded by wind, waves, and open skies, I often felt closer to her than I do within these walls. This house holds so many memories, but also an emptiness that no amount of warmth can quite fill. Still, as the fire flickers tonight and Priscilla rests quietly outside, I know this is the next stage of the journey — learning how to live here again, carrying her with me not on the road this time, but in my heart.