Totally wiped out today. I meandered around the city for a couple hours and stumbled onto this scene.  
I eventually ended up in the Roman spa museum. Very cool, very well preserved imperial Roman site. It lay buried, forgotten and preserved for nearly 1,500 years. The lead lining of the pool was so precisely laid that it is still water tight 2,000 years later.

After my historical excursion I headed back to the hotel, napped and watched a 2-hour documentary about Larry Bird and Magic Johnson.  It took an unusual amount of will to peel myself off the bed and do some more exploring.

I went to a gin bar and had a decent but overpriced cocktail. And now I’m eating a very American meal at one of the only restaurants still serving food on a Monday at 8pm.

There’s another cocktail bar around the corner. I think I’ll see if I can find a fitting nightcap and call it a night. Copenhagen tomorrow.

I walked all day amidst a shower to arrive in Bath.  It rained for about 5 hours of the 6 hour, 17-mile walk.

At times it was cold and the whole time it was wet.  I had lunch at a gas station, and actually, it wasn’t bad.  About half way in, I caught up to the Belgian duo and walked the rest of the day with them.  All in all, a good way to finish up my walkabout.

The weather broke for a short stint as we came down over the hill into Bath, it was like the weather gods were granting us one little mercy for our efforts.  A couple of blocks before the actual end of the path, we stopped at an old traditional pub, The Star Inn.  We had a couple of A+ pints and I got to see something I’d never seen before, 2 kilderkins (18-gallon casks), both filled with Bass.  They dispense by the pint or pitcher.

102 plus miles and my Cotswolds constitutional is at a close.  I’ll write up a full conclusion tomorrow.  Right now, I’m at a little bit of a loss for words.  I’ve had such a great time and met some awesome people.  Now on to some more pubs.

 

Today’s walk was fantastic.  There were clear and sunny skies and it was downright warm at times.  

Walking out of Wonton Under Edge, I stumbled into a 17th-century almshouse – medieval pubic housing for the needy.  In the peaceful courtyard was a tiny chapel where the residents were required to worship daily.

The landscape consisted mainly of rolling hills and wide open pastures, which made for a much more leisure walk of 16 miles.  

I crossed through a number of very small villages each remarkably charming, even Thomas Kinkade-esque, and warm but completely quiet.   One of the joys of this hike is walking out of a pasture or wood and walking passed these beautiful homes.

These villages are often too small for a single store, although occasionally there might be a solitary pub.  By the time I came to a village with a pub on the route, they just finished serving lunch.  So I downed a quick pint and hit the road to Tomarton.  My Belgian buddies are staying at an inn down the street, so I plan to meet up with them for dinner (at the only pub in town) in about an hour.

Tomorrow will be the last day of walking.  It’s a long 17 miler with no place to stop between here and Bath.  

I have a tendency to look at vacations in a cup-half-empty kind of way.  I find myself moping about how it will soon be over and dreading the return to the mundane.  But oddly, on the mother of all vacations, I’m looking forward to completing the hike.  There were a few times when I thought my foot would prevent me from finishing but now that I’m so close, I might be willing to crawl to Bath.  

It has been a joyful grind.  This must be satisfaction – getting exactly what you want to such a degree that you don’t crave more.  How often in life are we ever satisfied in such a way?  Good for me.  High fives all around.

Happiness as halt of holiday hastens

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.

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

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