Harry Beck's masterful schematic is nowhere near geographically accurate. Instead of looking symmetrical and tapered like a beer bottle on its side, the actual (well, pedestrian) route takes on the appearance of a malformed rodent or a comatose pigeon. All three resemblances are fitting. Booze, pigeons and rats keep London alive.
I ran above ground (to avoid electrocution and bubonic plague). I ran anticlockwise (I don't know why). I stopped at every station en route and took a short video clip. People must have wondered. Vacant-looking skinhead-nerd in shorts and bottle belt runs up to station entrance; takes phone out of pocket; records footage for three seconds; replaces phone. Occam's razor: mental illness.
The Circle Line is notoriously unreliable (fluid dynamics; existence time = concurrency x headway).
Humans can be notoriously unreliable or notoriously reliable.
Station (Arrival Time): Liverpool Street (06:37), Moorgate (06:40), Barbican (06:45), Farringdon (06:48), King's Cross St. Pancras (06:58), Euston Square (07:03), Great Portland Street (07:07), Baker Street (07:12), Edgware Road (07:16), Paddington (07:20), Bayswater (07:28), Notting Hill Gate (07:32), High Street Kensington (07:49), Gloucester Road (08:04), South Kensington (08:09), Sloane Square (08:16), Victoria (08:25), St. James's Park (08:29), Westminster (08:33), Embankment (08:37), Temple (08:41), Blackfriars (08:45), Mansion House (08:49), Cannon Street (08:50), Monument (08:52), Tower Hill (08:56), Aldgate (08:59), Liverpool Street (09:04).
At 6:45 on a Sunday morning, London is surprisingly busy. Startled, dirty clubbers (Fabric, Turnmills, Aquarium) getting puked out into illegal minicabs. Convoys of dustcarts and armies of street-sweepers trying to hide the hedonistic evidence (bottles, flyers, hardwood chip-forks) before Monday's straight-faced tie-straightening. Opportunistic beggars begging from good-timers who've spent all their money. There's something nice about starting a new day as people are still ending the old one.
The run was comfortable enough. I didn't plan my hydration and salt intake too well; I felt shaky at 17 miles. But I compensated with extra glugging and turned it around. I daydreamed past the junction with Holland Lane, which meant a longer detour west than planned (and no chance for any oxygen in Holland Park). And I completely cocked up the route after High Street Kensington. Dusting off some old muscle memories from my days at Imperial College, I instinctively headed to South Kensington. But I missed out Gloucester Road. Of course, being an anal completist/autist, I had to retrace my steps. (That explains the strange chancre on the bottom left of the map).
My pedometer's final reckoning for the complete route (home to Liverpool Street, Circle Line, cock-ups, Liverpool Street to home) was 21.15 miles. Subsequent mapping (which didn't take in any of the juggernaut bullfighting or safety barrier detours) had it as 20.5. Facts: it was over 20, it took just under 3 hours and the pace was 8:30ish. All told, I'm happy. And, amazingly, not at all tired.
