Annnd.. that’s a wrap

This amazing holiday was booked through Macs Adventures - and I can recommend them unconditionally.   Except for this small point:

Dear Macs:  You are SO busted.  I have no doubt that your hiking mileage estimate is accurate, if you’re a hawk or a homing pigeon.  But the reality is that you’re not counting the ups and downs in your forward motion.  I get that, I really do.  But seriously, you’ve got to add a footsteps count.   Today, for instance - you said ten miles, as the crow flies.   Hey, guess what?  It was 21 km, as the person walks!  Over 33,000 steps and honestly, I have to say that I celebrated every single one as I finished off this amazing trek.   From the time we left weird old Malcolm in Pennsylvania this morning, until we stepped onto the marker in front of the cathedral in Bath, it was 6.5 hours.  As the car drives, it would have taken about 40 minutes.  But that’s not how Macs works, and thank heavens.   They guide you along exquisite vistas, through historical landmarks, past ancient ruins.  Up and down and then down and up.  Like.. WAY up. You can see the city of Bath, then it’s gone, and you circumvent it for miles just to take in a battlefield from the 17th century.   And then you’re in an ancient forest, where kings hunted pheasants.   Then onto a tiny, narrow path, with sheep all around you.   With the exception of our traffic round-a-bout incident last week, today we had our scariest moment ever as we came through a kissing gate, high up on the hills, and wandered through a herd of fat, glossy cattle.  One serious lady had a new babe close by and she looked at us with a warning, baleful glance.  And she had horns, a fact that I did not understand.  Horns and an udder.  Didn’t know that was possible. Anyway, bravedo was useless and so we chucked to her... "Oh hello!   Nice baby!  Stop staring at us!  Coosh coosh Madame!  Off you go!  Chuck chuck!"   And as we approached the next gate, high on the hill, she continued to herd her calf directly in our pathway, which was about 10 inches wide.  Baby kept stopping for a leisurely suckle.  I was wishing I could do the same.  Finally, I unsnapped Kate’s emergency whistle from her pack.  To what end, no one knows.  Do cows know the SOS signal?  The LEAVE ME ALONE blare?  Eff off!!!!  Anyway, after a lot of respectful posturing in the high paddock, Bossy finally moooooved aside and took her babe with her, giving us the hairy eyeball the entire time. That was the fastest that we’ve cleared a gate thus far, and believe me, there have been a thousand gates since we began.

There is no possible way for the pictures to do justice to the beauty of this area.  Despite the similarity of the photos, every mile or two the view completely changes, and they are all breathtaking.  So cudos to you, Macs, for the exemplary engineering of this walk and for the villages and venues you chose to host the walkers along the way.  Words cannot express how thrilled I am with this experience.  I would repeat it in a heartbeat.

In the mid afternoon, after a very long day, we set our boots on the Cotswold Way plaque in the square on the west side of Bath Abbey.    It  made me gasp.  From here in Chipping Campden - 

To Bath Abbey, 160 km later.   Priceless. 

P.s.  With thanks to sister Jan for the great edit on this very important picture!

Through fields of pheasants and fallow deer

Happily, Kate’s knee responded to two days of TLC and a bolus of ibuprofen, so today found us back on the path from Old Soddy to Cold Ashton.  In truth, we’re in Pennsylvania, about two miles north of Ashton.  This B&B is not getting the five-star award, as it is right on the motorway and nowhere near a warm pub with friendly beasts.  However, we did arrive three hours early, covered in mud and wet to the bone, and the host was gracious enough to allow us to dump our filthy shoes and gaiters in his outside room before allowing us up to our room.  I literally had to roll my pantlegs up to mid thigh to prevent the mud from dripping down my legs as we went upstairs.  All was not lost as he kindly offered us a beer and though I had to drink it sitting primly on a chair in our tiny bedroom (luggage had not yet arrived), it was worth the wait.  So was the hot shower, once the suitcase appeared.

All things considered, today’s walk went smashingly.   We climbed gentle hills out of Sodbury and hiked through fields, some at the end of harvest, some in fallow.  Pheasants called and strutted past us, a he and a she, himself in the lead and herself hurriedly pecking and fretting behind him.  Just like real life.

About two hours into the stroll the rain arrived, without prior announcement and with real intent.   When you are high on the exposed hills it only takes a moment before you are dripping wet, making us so grateful, again, for the ponchos from Ann.  Saved our bacon, more than once!

Our host, Malcom, is a real "character."   We were greeted with the question "Are you Americans?" - and when we assured him, no, Canadian, he acquiesced and opened the door.  "Oh I suppose you kin come in," he said grumpily, "Commonwealth and all."   Most of the time when we are asked if we’re American and respond accordingly, we receive a flurry of apologies - "Oh good lord, ladies, so sorry!   Now that I hear your accent, I can tell you’re Canadians!".  Ha ha.  One lady told us our accent was "Pure North Dakota."   We’re still puzzling over that one.

Dinner tonight is in-house, mainly because there is no other choice within walking distance.  Malcolm asked "Which one of yoos is the vegan?" When I replied it was me, he said "Well it’s a wonder you isn’t dead out there in the forest, it tiz!"   He’s quite challenged over the menu, despite my assurance that a plate of vegetables would be just fine and then he walked away muttering about onions and wizzled carrots from the garden.   My cares disappeared when he told us the price of dinner included wine.

Our decision as to whether we will walk tomorrow is multi-faceted, dependent of course on Kate’s knee, and whether our shoes ever dry, and if the skies cooperate.  If the stars align it is our intention to finish this last leg and celebrate this amazing journey at its proper end point in front of Bath Abbey.  Stay tuned.

Hamish loves toast

Here’s what I admire about England.  Brits and dogs are synonymous and in every little pub and restaurant, there is a polite black nose not far from your table.  Not asking for a bite, mind you, just letting you know, if you wanted to share, that would be fine.  And if you forget that he’s there, you might hear a courteous reminder with a low, quiet grumble.  No eye contact, of course.   There are dogs in almost every shop as well, snoozing in the sunbeams, blinking a lazy hello to the customers.  Dogs along the lane, in the fields, even in the churchyards (I had a particularly notable meeting with an obese wiry terrier appropriately named "Piglet."). It’s all so civilized and friendly and many a conversation is generated over the well-being of the friendly little Scottie or elegant Border Collie that happily sits and receives pats and praise.  There are no dust-ups with other dogs in the pub, although we did note that wee Hamish had to be sent to his room when he got a little territorial.  One can hardly blame him.

We are in Old Sodbury.   Just down the road from New Sodbury and very close to Chipping Sodbury.   And that’s the other thing I love about England.  Every thousand yards or so there is a new village, with its own charm, name and claim to fame.   Today we were graced with perfect weather and we had a few wonderful walks, one of which was on the Cotswold Way.  Emerald fields, rolling pastures, church steeples and bells combined to complete the idyllic picture.

Tomorrow we journey, one way or another, to Cold Ashton.  This is our last stop before Bath, where we will spend two nights before flying back home on Monday.  It is hard to believe that this journey is coming to an end.