Today was mostly fun.  The Belgians stumbled into the Old Spot not long after I posted my lunch update.  We shared a pint and hit I the footpath.  I was two miles from my final destination when I started to ascend a large hill with a monument to local historical celebrity William Tyndale.

By the time I got to the monument, I started to become concerned about the trail markers.  They didn’t seem to match up to my map.  I’ve learned to just trust in the markers so I kept going.  After a steep decline, I dropped into the outskirts of town.  Figuring it was my final stop, I started trying to get my bearings.  I soon realized I was not where I thought I was.  It was about this point when a familiar voice called me from the building I was standing in front of.  There, with his totally bald top of his head but long hair all the around the sides, was Bart the Belgian calling to me from the second story of his inn, an inn I had passed two hours earlier.  I managed to walk in a giant 2-mile circle.

Rather than climb the hill again to find the right path, we walked another 2 miles down the road into Wotton Under Edge.  Luckily, we found one of the pubs we were looking for right away.  Then we found the second pub and had a few more beers.

Apparently, Wotton Under Edge is a really popular stop because there was no available lodging in the town.  My B&B is 4 miles back up the path, but the owners came and picked me up and will drop me back where I left off.   According to the owner of the B&B, there was a big landslide on Tyndale hill, which messed up the trail.

I’m exhausted.  Until tomorrow.

It was a long day.  A hard day.  There were parts that were pure work.

Start at the beginning: Big old English breakfast.  During breakfast, I met my first Cotswold Way buddies.  Bart and Ronny, Belgians, completed the first third of the trail a year ago and are back to tackle the two-thirds.  Turns out, they were staying at the same B&B with me in Kings Stanley.

The walk started with forest.  Lots of forest.  The most notable portion of the morning walk was Cooper’s Hill.  Famous for its injury inducing cheese wheel race, Cooper’s Hill has been closed in recent years to stop people from hurting themselves for the sake of cheese.

More forests for a total of 6.5 miles, whereupon I entered the village of Painswick.

This is Painswick

The village has a famous church with a cool graveyard and a lot of Yew Tress, 99 to be exact.

Yew, so sweaty.

I had lunch at a local pub.  As I was finishing, my Flemmish speaking pals stumbled in.  We talked for a bit and I hit the trail to finish the last 10.5 miles.  10.5 grueling, sole crushing miles (see what I did there?).  God, my feet hurt.  But I’m a winner, not a quitter, so I opted to take the much longer stupid “scenic route” through Stonehouse, which sent me up a stupid steep hill where I took this stupid picture.

Coming back down the hill, I was in such distress that I opted to take a good long draught off the vitamin W from the flask.  This little bit of liquid fortitude helped me make it to my B&B in Kings Stanley.  The Belgians and I walked down to the pub and had many pints.  Turns out one of them is a homebrewer, so we talked mostly beer.

One fun thing about walking alone is that my mind can wander.  Often I find myself trying to work out some limerick or turn some words.  More often than not, the result of my musings turn silly.  Here’s a great morbid example.  The link picture is not pleasant, so don’t click, unless, you know, you want to know.

Up by the beacon,
High upon the hill,
Beware the hare of Harefield
for his eyes are always peeled

A man in a Harefield

I just sat down to lunch after 15 miles. So hungry. So sore.

another sunny day…

Let’s talk breakfast.  This “English breakfast” has me baffled.  This morning, I sat down to more food than I probably normally eat during an entire day.  A starter of “whisky porridge” four pieces of toast, fried in butter, two poached eggs, two good sized pieces of highly salted ham, two sausages, a grilled tomato and bunch of mushrooms.  I opted out of the baked beans.  That doesn’t include the prestarter starter of fresh fruit and yogurt.  I started by filling my bowl with yogurt and few berries and sat down with my tea.

God, this yogurt is good!  Wait, it’s not yogurt at all, it’s pure cream.  Good lord, how do these people not have heart attacks by 12.  I assume this English breakfast is more like, “on holiday” breakfast.  There’s no way people can eat this much.  There’s enough fat and salt content to produce a whole pig’s worth of sausage.

At any rate, I started my day full.  The road out of Stanton was serene.   Mostly pastures, the landscape gave way to a storybook scenery complete with palatial manors and creepy forests.  One charming feature of this walk has been the kissings gates.

From here, I climbed a pretty big hill.  Excited about my achievement, I took this picture.

At the top of the hill was a few miles of farmland and open pasture.  Coming down from the hill and passing a ruined abbey, I started to experience intense pain in my right Achilles.  I wrapped it with an ace bandage and trudged on to the town of Winchcombe where I enjoyed a quick lunch and a few beers.  Achilles a’blaze, I set off up another steep incline to an ancient long burrow and down another steep descent to my stop for the night at Cleeve Hill.

Winchcombe

I learned the stingray shuffle, an essential gulf coast maneuver, from my wife.  Today, I discovered how to do the sheep shit shimmy.

I had a strange encounter as sat down for dinner at the restaurant in Cleeve Hill.  When I got lost yesterday on my way to Stanton, I ran into a long haired, 20 something, roving music festival worker.  He helped point me in the right direction.  Coincidentally, he had a friend moving to Flagstaff to go to NAU.  As I sat down for dinner tonight, I heard a group of guys behind me say “Hey! That’s the guy!” and sure enough, my free-spirited friend was among them.  I can’t imagine how he ended up nearly 20 miles from where we met, as he was headed in the opposite direction.  We shared a few drinks and had a good time as the sun set.

Another day down.  Tomorrow, 16 miles.  Exhausted.  Foot status: 3.  Happiness: 9.  The best picture I’ve taken yet:

Feeble footed forbearance for fried food and friendly free spirits.