At 8.45am, I stroll down the steps of The Queen at Chester hotel and into the midweek flow. The roads are full of delivery vans, the station is lined with taxis and the pavements are busy with commuters. I move among them lightly, a roamer bound for distant lands. Well, distant-ish: I’m a coffee to the good, it’s a warm day, and I’m about 20 strides into a 13-mile hiking trail. A pigeon coo-coos from a pub roof. And so the Baker Way begins.
