Sticky Pudding Analysis #1

Oy, what a day.  No wonder mutton has to be boiled for hours to tenderize it.  After another day of sharing the pastures with our wooly friends along steep side hills, our muscles are aching.  Those rolling, beautiful hills look benign but they are steep, and the Cotswold Way traverses the valleys up and down and over so that 10 km feels more like 20.  And it rained, not seriously and not for too long, but enough that we had to bust out the new ponchos (huge success and blessings galore to Kate’s sis, Ann for the generous and thoughtful provision of same).  When protected from the elements of wind and driving rain one’s power can be directed to careful steppage through rocky sluices and cow patties.

The good news is that our accommodation tonight has been upgraded from last night’s two-star Medieval firetrap to tonight’s five-star, elegant mansion.   Our room overlooks five manicured acres of perfect pastures at the foot of the hills, and our soft beds have feather duvets.  There are towel warmers in the loo (currently employed in drying our trail laundry, heh).   Nothing rolls off our bedside tables and there are no vertiginous challenges to cross the room.

 Tonight we dined at a fabulous restaurant not far from our B&B where I was elated to find a VEGAN menu and immediately ordered a yam and leek pie.   Ah, my people!  Where have you been?  It was toothsome.  Cresting on a wave of nutrition and a large glass of Pinot,  I spontaneously decided to begin a serious cross-Cotswold study of Sticky Toffee Puddings.   Kate thoughtfully ate the minuscule amount of ice cream that accompanied it while I hoovered up the heavy date pudding swimming in toffee sauce.  As it is but the first of a comprehensive analysis, it’s hard to give it a proper score but based solely on the digestion level, I’ll give it a solid B, for Best Eaten NOT After Yams and Leeks.   We decided to walk home and here is an exact picture of us as we tromped up London Road.   I’m the one in the rear, praying for her toffee pud to please sink down and disappear.

This photo has not been retouched or altered in any way.

In the year of our Lord, 1435

Someone, by the name of Parsons, slept in my bedroom.  Under this same roof, but probably without the same cheesy music floating up from the pub.   Look at this hotel:

Do you see the skinny windows on the left?  That’s our room.  Do you see the odd slant to the roof and the walls?  This quaint little inn in the middle of High Street in Winchcomb has fulfilled all my Medieval longings.   There is a distinct and pronounced tilt to the floor in our room, so one needs to take minuscule, mindful steps just to cross the room.   My proprioception is completely scrambled.  Next to my bed is a small, wooden table, and after I carefully placed my water bottle and earplugs on it, I turned away to hear a mighty crash as they rolled off and skated across the room.   Nothing is level here.  Nothing can be left on the table.   My bedspread slithers off like some great silken reptile and, if I sit on the end of the bed, I have to brace my feet lest I catapult into the wall in front of me.  But wait, it gets better!  The tiny bathroom with bricked up wall (wonder who is entombed in there?) has a tile floor and one can easily skate from the door frame directly to the sink.   It’s harder to come out than it is to go in.  In conjunction with these charming hazards are low beamed ceilings and a staircase to the lobby that is winding, narrow, and with each step entirely different than the one before in size and angle.  I don’t think much has been done to improve the lodgings since Mr. Parsons checked in six centuries ago but then again, this is precisely the kind of history I was after.  

Hiking today was fabulous.  The weather was cold and clear and a good, strong breeze kept us company as we hiked through the cornfields, forests of beechnut trees, and ever present pastures of benevolent sheep.  Our legs felt it more today than yesterday, despite the shorter route - only 13 km but so many of them involved climbing and descending that it felt like much longer.  Tomorrow, we face a longer route and some uncertainty as our next stop, Carlton Kings, isn’t exactly on the maps that we own.   Could be an interesting day.

Here’s a few pictures of beautiful Stanton and some of the vistas along the way.  The camera doesn’t begin to do them justice.

That was a day

I’m not sure how to adequately describe the yin and yang of this day.  Our 16 km turned into almost 22, and that should give you an indication of the literal ups and downs.   There were soft, rolling hills and pastures filled with sleepy sheep, cud-chewing cows and the occasional sleek horse.  Our path criss-crossed the hills, veered up steep sides to the Broadway Tower, then down sharp inclines into towns.  Only to re-start the ascent again, and again, and again.  It was stunning and challenging.  We utilized the Mac’s Adventure GPS software because the map was pretty useless at finding trails that were so tiny; at times we were literally picking our way through the fields of sheep patties.   The signal, being spotty, was negligent at informing us that we were off path and thus, a lot of retracing of steps, gritted teeth and clenched jaws ensued, especially when into the sixth and seventh hour.  The signage, for the most part, was very good but when missing or somewhat deceiving, led to some unintentional exploring.  We actually descended into Stanton twice, thanks to the wonders of modern technology that had us believing we were on the wrong trail once again.  Happily we ran into some locals who soon put our feet right back on the very trail we had just re-climbed.  We passed the same horses three times as they looked at us over the fence, greatly bemused and nickering to each other about sweaty old ladies and the blue air that surrounded them.

However, we were safely tucked in to our beautiful B&B when the heavy rains began, and a long soak in a deep tub followed by a huge meal at the (one and only) pub has restrengthened our stamina and good humor.  Tomorrow we will be attentive to the path markings as we make our way to Winchcomb, only a 3-1/2 hour (one prays) hike away!