Swindon to Clench (!) Common

The entrance from the M4 roundabout to the A346 was a blind, fast and busy corner feeding onto a single carriageway with no shoulder, curbed verges and no parking bay - fondly known as A Hitch-Hiker's Worst Nightmare. I knew I was pushing my luck but I stuck my sign for Marlborough out and hitched in vain for twenty minutes before formulating a new plan.

The fog had lifted soon after the start of my journey, the heat of the sun combining with the fact that, according to my map, I was now 122m-305m above sea level. The mist had left a fine covering of water droplets on the trees and grass, and I was about to regret wearing my comfortable trainers for today's sojourn.

A quick check of the satellite image on Google Maps indicated a junction further up the road, with a turning to the left, which would be a perfect spot for someone to pull over. It was about half a mile away, uphill, on wet grass, and my trainers were far from waterproof.

So it came to pass that, stood at the top of the hill by the junction, with cold wet toes and my sign on full display, I thumbed for my next ride.

Proof that waiting in the right place makes all the difference, it was less than five minutes before an old Volkswagen estate pulled over to take me on my way. The car had a long nylon-wrapped package on the roof-rack - so long that it was supported on an attachment on the bonnet.

I climbed into the passenger seat and exchanged salutations with the driver, a quiet man who was driving past Marlborough, in the right direction, to go hang-gliding at Clench Common - a more apt name for a hill people throw themselves off under a fabric wing will not be found.

We talked about his hobby for a while and I told him of my desire to get into para-gliding where, much like hang-gliding, you jump off a hill under a big parachute and ride thermals on a calm day. After some words of encouragement, he told me that a fair percentage of people he knew who para-glide had broken parts of their body - mostly their backs - because it's considerably more dangerous than hang-gliding. Apparently, landing a hang-glider badly is more preferable than slamming your body into the ground. I can see his point - the metal-framed wing can take a fair amount of impact away, whereas you're completely exposed under a para-wing.

Something I'd never considered before is how hang- and para-gliders get back to their launch point after landing. How do you think they do it? That's right - they pack and stash their wing and hitch-hike, which makes them sympathetic to hitchers like myself. Score!

Once again, after the briefest of journeys, we arrived at our point of separation, and I climbed onto the verge quite jealous that he was to spend this most glorious of late September days soaring across the skies of the stunning Wiltshire countryside.