V for Very Much in the Middle of Nowhere
Flat and Flatter – a day of mixed success, chasing another parkrun venue and wasting an afternoon engaged in activities that come to us all, but are never welcome.
First up, the parkrun. Some parkruns are chosen for scenery and some for convenience. Others, like Vermuyden Way, are chosen because they tick off a rare letter of the alphabet. This one sits proudly in the “V” category, which is a small club in parkrun terms. It was to be my second “V”, but after I’d already planned the trip I got distracted by the new “Victoria Embankment” in Nottingham. Ultimately I decided to stick with Plan A and make Vermuyden Way my V2. Vicky Embankment can make for an easy V3 one day.
The premise for the day was simple. Ami needed a lift from Lincoln back to Milton Keynes at the end of term, and I fancied both seeing her and sneaking in a parkrun “sort of” on the way. “Sort of” being defined as: if you squint at the motorway map around the M18 and M180 and imagine a Nottinghamshire orbital route that doesn’t exist. Dr Google said 90 minutes. I assumed 100. I set off just after 6:30 with my Forest thermos and a face full of early‑morning sunshine. Sunglasses were essential equipment.
Arrival at the Airfield
Vermuyden Way is, putting it politely, remote. It’s a mile outside the nearest village and a good 7-8 miles from anything you’d call a town. The parking is at a small private airfield, on a grass field that might have been messy in bad weather. I rolled in just after 8am to find the café already open — clean toilets, hot drinks, and a car park marshal who was happy to chat with me while the cars were rolling in.
A quick look at Google Satellite View confirmed the suspicion that Sandtoft Airfield is, like many others round here, a former RAF base. The current runway is one of what was clearly originally four runways. According to Wikipedia, it was a Bomber Command base. Presumably it’s ideally located because it’s on the east of Britain and there’s not exactly any hills to run into.
It’s probably also worth noting here that the location is a few miles from what, according to something I was reading last week, is England’s most empty place. The reference is made to one of the 1km Ordnance Survey grid squares just north of Vermuyden Way at Ousefleet. It’s England’s emptiest place because the OS Map shows a power line, a ditch, and basically nothing else. It’s the least amount of content of any OS Grid Square in England.
The start was a short stroll — about 300 metres — along the road. The landscape was quiet, flat, and very, very Lincolnshire.
The Shape of the Way
Vermuyden Way itself is a long grassy bank running arrow‑straight between two drainage ditches. It forms part of the Vermuyden Way Distance Path, named after Sir Cornelius Vermuyden — the 17th‑century Dutch engineer who masterminded the draining of the Fens. His work turned vast stretches of marshland into farmland. The landscape still bears his signature: ruler‑straight waterways, embankments, and the occasional feeling that you’re running on top of a giant man‑made sponge.
The parkrun course is exactly what you’d expect from such a setting. It was dead flat, grassy. The surface is uneven, dotted with molehills, rabbit holes, and other ankle‑based hazards. In dry weather it’s probably a twisted‑ligament waiting to happen; in wet weather it must be a clart‑fest of heroic proportions.
Drainage ditches are, of course, how much Lincolnshire is arranged. If you ever wonder where all the water goes around Scunthorpe, the answer is: sideways, very slowly, until it eventually gets bored and joins the Humber or the Trent. Gravity has very little to work with, so the drainage system relies on pumps, sluices, and the occasional prayer. Running along Vermuyden Way gives you a real appreciation for 17th‑century Dutch engineering. Without Sir Cornelius, this entire area would be a shallow tidal marsh and Scunthorpe United would be playing home fixtures in snorkels.
You run 2.5 km along the bank, do a small 100‑metre loop in some woods, and then retrace your steps back to the start. Simple, scenic, and surprisingly charming. Halfway out (and halfway back) you duck downwards for a very low bridge under the M180. I mean, “close to scraping my head” kind of low.
The Running Bit
I set off at a steady pace and held it all the way, finishing in a respectable 32 minutes. No walking at all. I was seventh in my age category and above 50% age grading again — not bad at all for a trail course with built‑in trip hazards. I finished 47th out of 77 finishers. If I’d been 10 minutes faster I’d have been in the top 10. And yes, I know that’s very much of a “I’d be really fast if I wasn’t so slow” sort of comment.
That makes venue #65, and a very friendly one at that.
Breakfast and the First Signs of Trouble
Back at the airfield café, breakfast was nothing short of monstrous. Eggs Benedict, followed by a second coffee and a rocky road because… well, because it was there. Somewhere between the hollandaise and the chocolate I started sneezing, and as I sit here typing this post I have a suspicious feeling that a cold is brewing. Typical.
But the real off‑piste part of the day began when I got back to the car and it politely informed me that one tyre was low. Again. I’d gambled on it two weeks earlier by just pumping them up, but clearly the universe had other plans.
The Tyre Odyssey
While heading down the A15 towards Lincoln I rang the local Volvo dealership to see if they had a tyre workshop. They did. So I went straight there. What they told me was… unusual.
– Yes, I had a nail in one tyre.
– No, they couldn’t repair it because of where it was.
– And no, they didn’t stock the tyres they actually recommend for the cars they sell.
– They stocked one brand — which, in their own words, they wouldn’t recommend putting on my car.
Outstanding.
So began the phone‑call phase of the day. Eventually I found a vendor who had the right tyres in stock and could fit them that afternoon. I could have waited until I got home, but the idea of driving 230 miles the next day with a known nail didn’t fill me with joy.
They had a slot at 3:30pm, which gave me time to check into my hotel, get cleaned up.
Kwik Fit Confusion
I arrived at Kwik Fit on the Outer Circle in Lincoln to be greeted with: “No appointment for you here, mate.”
Cue confusion.
It turns out Kwik Fit has two branches in Lincoln. The first time I googled, I got one. The second time, I got the other. I’d booked into the Newark Road branch without realising it.
Thankfully it was only 2:45, so I had plenty of time to get across town. Once there, they checked me in and even managed to fit the tyres earlier than scheduled. As Volvo had mentioned another tyre was low (though not damaged), I opted to replace a pair rather than run one new tyre alongside three slightly worn ones. They swapped everything around so the new pair sat on the back.
Job done.
Whisky, Naps, and Noodles
With the car sorted, I headed up the hill to the whisky shop — a traditional Lincoln pilgrimage. And then I grabbed a half‑hour snooze before meeting Ami for dinner at Pho. We had a really excellent meal there (as ever). It was very welcome to chat about Ami’s last month of happenings and have a relaxed end to a long and fretful day.
All Wrapped Up
A parkrun in the middle of nowhere, but with a friendly team. A flat grassy course, and a solid run. Followed by an afternoon of tyre‑related chaos, phone calls, and driving around Lincoln hoping the nail didn’t decide to make a dramatic exit.
A mixed bag, but ultimately a successful one. Venue #65, replaced tyres car, a good meal, and a day spent partly with Ami. Not bad for a Saturday that started with a sunrise in my eyes and a thermos full of coffee.
