John O’Groats

I got up at 6am planning to set the southward bound team a good example but they all looked so comfortable asleep I returned to my bed. When I woke again at 7am they’d gone, so too even Moag and Shannon. I was shocked into action.

I’d been told it was all hills out of Helmsdale until Wick. Though once armed with this information the hills don’t seem so bad, specially at the start of the day with still fond memories of a nice breakfast.

Alas it was raining quite hard and appropriately I then came across the signs to the ‘Clearance Village’ just off the road. The ruins were as forlorn as the weather.

Later I stopped at the Clan Gunn museum, where I briefly trailed puddles through exhibits. Clan Gunn is of Viking origin it seems. A mixed bunch the Scots.

Shortly after I spotted two familiar bikes at a tea shop to find Moag & Shannon tucking into a (very early to my mind) morning tea. Moag is already planning repeat End to End cycle trip next year. Oddly she says she does her ‘admin’ in the morning and often arrives at her booked accommodation in the dark after a tour of the nearby pubs. I was impressed. Then I ran into them again in Wick - about to have lunch, which for me was 2 slices if haggis eaten as I cycled.

The start of the day was marked by some long climbs and equally long downhill runs, one of which was so steep and windy I was glad I’d not disconnected the troublesome front brake and persevered and fixed it.

As the day wore on the rain increased and so did the headwinds and the landscape presented more and more dreary landscapes and ruined crofts. I decided to wind up the MP3 player and play my favourite restorative Irish jigs and reels and Battlefield Band tracks. I saved one of my other favourite tracks for the downhill into John O’Groats. The theme tune to the movie ‘Dances with Wolves.’ It brought tears to my eyes for some reason.

North of Wick the traffic eased but the road had one more trick up its sleeve which was a long haul up to the hill overlooking John O’Groats and the Orkney Isles. But then the sun came out and the skies cleared, just for me.

 



Shortly after I arrived at the famous sign for photos a swarm of (supported) cyclists arrived from Land End. Then numerous other individuals and pairs. Then Jez and Sarah, then Moag and Shannon. So we all took photos of one another among the throng of those other ‘End to Enders’ either leaving or arriving.

I was interested to see there were no End to End walkers the whole time I lingered there chatting.

Just as I was leaving the RAF team arrived and all waved me a greeting. We’d met up before and they’d commented on my 'stealth' bike. I wondered how I’d beaten them from just north of Glasgow until they explained. As well as cycling LEJOG, en route they’d also climbed the ‘Three Peaks’ (Snowdon, Skafell Pike, and Ben Nevis) and swum across the Lochs. OK I skipped Snowdon and the Lochs. And they said the woman in their team had slowed them down a bit!

Helmsdale

Just as I was navigating my way out of Inverness I spotted Jez and Sarah (from Sheffield it later emerged) on their bikes at an intersection pondering the same problem. A local man on a bike stopped and amusedly gave us good directions, including via a bike shop for me to buy another spare gear cable (just in case). He tailed us knowing we’d get it wrong and ended up escorting us on his bike out of the city.

Jez shared with me his climbing background around Sheffield and everywhere else overseas that mattered. He even knew Jim Curren, author of the book ‘;Middle Aged Mountaineer’ and assured me Jim was an amusing fellow.

Jez and Sarah were planning on taking three days to get to John O’Groats via an inland route, and I was planning on taking two days straight up the East Coast, so after morning tea together I sped off ahead.

The journey along the A9 was unmemorable apart from the heavy traffic and head wind. The only breaks in the bleak countryside were the close up views of the oil rigs ‘roosting’ and a notice for the Tain pipe band planning on performing on the street on Saturday night. I was sorry to have to miss that, the first real sign of Scottish culture I’d come across.

I reached the Helmsdale Youth Hotel to find it mostly empty but so clean and cosy with a wood fire going burning. After foraging though town for food supplies I returned to the hostel followed by mother and daughter End to End cycle team Maog and Shannon. Mother had been dragging daughter Shannon around the local pubs to sample their whiskies before settling in to the Hostel for the night.  Maog confessed to having had such a bad day of rain and delays in recent days they’d decided to take the train for a bit to make up time. I promised them I wouldn’t tell anyone.

As I sat outside doing some ‘preventative maintenance’ to my bike (cleaning and oiling brake and gear cables) the midges attacked. So I decamped with bike to the hostel common room. Just as I did four more cyclists arrived for the night and they were heading south. I spent the evening alternating between bike repairs and listening to their adventures.

One of the party agreed there was little Scottish Heritage left to see, Scotland having been always so poor most buildings had been poorly built and not survived. What a pity though he did'nt mention Dunrobin Castle just north of Helmsdale and on my route. I passed it by thinking I was pressed for time. Being clan Sutherland for all I know I could have a claim on the place, which is one of the most impressive Scottish castles I’d seen (in the brochures at least).

When I put my bike to bed in the bike shed I noticed it was 11:30pm and still light.

Inverness

The following morning at breakfast in the Glen Nevis Youth Hostel I got chatting to a German my age who’d been climbing all the Munros since the 70s. H'ed dome most of the 280 odd and I wondered he didn’t have enough peaks to amuse himself with in Barvaria.

I also got chatting to a French woman walking the West Highland Way alone, camping here and there in spite of the midges.

As I left (in the rain) I finally saw the North Face of Ben Nevis fleetingly…

My cycle along the A92 was not a pleasant one, with a strong headwind, rain, heavy traffic, a rough road surface and no hard shoulders. All the motorists were polite nevertheless and gave me space.

By the time I recfhed Fort Augustus I’d had enough and decided to follow the Caledonian Canal. Alas it turned out to be pot holed and gritty and as I later discovered caused me brake and gear cable problems.

The locks at Fort Augustus we interesting though, connecting the two Lochs. A large Sydney registered yacht was passing through with a large audience on the canalside. I presume ocean going yachts are able to enter the western firths, pass through the Lochs and exit into the North Sea. 



 

After Fort Augustus I took to the B roads on the eastern side of Loch Ness. I didn’t realise the first 10km was an unrelenting incline. The gearshift started to groan and I was about to turn round back to Fort Augustus (where I had better options if my gear problem proved serious).  I was even starting to look back to the A82’s ‘matter-of-factness’ with fondness. Just then I summited to find three End to Enders on bikes heading south who cheerily assured me I was over the top and that they’d had enough of the A82 too.

After that it was hills all the way alongside Loch Ness and all the way into Inverness amidst the rain and gloom.

As I entered Inverness town centre I stopped at a Backpacker Hostel to ask directions to the YHA. The Hostel Manage was really friendly, printed out detailed directions. It seemed the YHA was uphill some way out of town. In spite of my ‘no more backpacker hostels’ rule, my weariness got the better of me and there I stayed, too mentally and physically exhausted to go any further.

Ben & Glen Nevis

Today I climbed my first Munro – the highest one – Ben Nevis.

I hadn’t intended to – in fact I hadn’t even intended to stay in Fort William another day except the day dawned gloomy and rainy and I was saddle sore and just didn’t feel like the long haul to Inverness this day.

Interestingly two lads in my hostel dorm were from the Basque country and were cycling back to there from Thurso on the north coast of Scotland. Other than that I was relieved to leave the ‘Black Hole of Calcutta’ Backpackers hostel.

I decided to decamp to the YHA in Glen Nevis to reconnoitre the paths to Ben Nevis – the tourist route and the North Face climbing route. At 12:30pm I considered it far too late in the day to set off (plus I wanted to save it for another time in nice weather with me bagpipes to play on the top) except a young German lad just coming down to the start said he’d just done it in 4 hours not including 10 minutes at the summit so I was off. The Information Centre had told me 7 hours.

It was an easy climb – mostly rock stairway and I ran the flatter parts thinking I must be the last person ascending this day. There were no views the entire trip except mist and the odd patch of snow. But the view from the top of the rugged North Face was certainly thought provoking. As I reached the summit I caught up with what I thought were the last stragglers of the day and the summit was quite busy.

After the usual photo takes I lingered to figure out how to get the top off my new thermos flask and the hot coffee within but it defeated me, highly trained Engineer that I am. A rock fixed it. When I looked round I was there alone so I decided to hurry back and catch up with the days last stragglers, safety conscious as I am.

As I sprinted past the last stragglers, pushing them aside (joke) to get up and down within the 4 hour challenge I was amazed to find people still coming up, some in light gear and no backpacks starting as late as 4:30pm.

Back in town in hunt of some chips I encountered a lovely friendly young couple cycling John O’Groats to Lands End. They were camping wild, on a borrowed tandem, and at 6pm and in the rain, were still hoping to make Glencoe, up-hill and at least 2 hours distant. They were clearly in love. I expect it would have passed by the time they got to Lands End.

Back at the YHA I got chatting to Ralf and Ina from Dresden in the old East Germany where still nobody seems to speak English. I was glad to use my German again but after a while realised poor old Ralf had had no one but his wife to speak to for the last couple of weeks and here I was trying still at 11pm to write up my blog.

And still the midges have left me alone. Saving me perhaps till later…

Balloch to Fort William

The bike’s old chain broke early in the morning but I fixed it properly this time. I now know that I have to buy a new rear gear set before I fit the new chain (otherwise it jumps the old cogs) alas there were none of the rear gear set range I wanted to be had in Carlisle. Amazing that I wore out a rear gear set since cycling up from Barcelona.

When I stopped for a coffee there were Jason and Paul on their light road bikes and small backpacks cycling LEJOG in 11 days for charity. We rode together much of the day leap frogging each other when one or other of us stopped for different reasons. They caught up with me just as I was coming into Fort William in the pouring rain but (they) still in high spirits.

I was astonished to find Scotland so empty. Between Balloch and Fort William there are few towns - all of them tiny. No fields, no people no cottages no livestock. Those Lairds who cleared the glens certainly didn’t fuck around!

 

The mountains (sorry Munros) around Glencoe were just spectacular and obviously popular walks. Scottish mountains have a charm of their own – quite unlike Lake District fells and Swiss peaks. They are just there right in front of you and so close up.

The road traffic wasn’t so bad and variable and all motorists very well behaved towards cyclists.

Much of the day I had the West Highland Way in sight one way or another and indeed part of it is a cycle path. I’m now glad I cycled this section, in one day, which would have taken me five days walking, with sparse accommodation and midges. I saw a few walkers and my heart went out to them later in the day when the rain hit.

At one stage I was lured off the main road to an Information centre, and took a footpath back to the road by mistake. In doing so I stumbled across the site of the Glencoe Massacre.

I chose not to use the Glen Nevis YHA because it was too far out of town / off my route and I was soaked through and tired and chose the town Backpacker Hostel instead. A group of five Germans arrived at the hostel late in the day clad in serious wet weather gear (they all looked like giant walking condoms with transparent waterproofs that covered them and their backpacks from head to toe) and glad it was all over for them, especially the camping among the midges.

Yet in spite of all the warnings about ferocious Scottish midges none have come near me.

Glasgow to Balloch

Photos to come

I took the train from Glasgow to Balloch. I don’t apologise. Glasgow evening rush hour traffic is awful and I was running late. The trip is meant to be fun.

Loch Lomond YHA is one of those beautiful heritage buildings that YHA sometimes gets to own – almost a castle, views of Lomond and beautiful grounds.

I arrived late without any food, too late for YHA dinner and Loch Lomond YHA is a long way out of town. I soon befriended two Dutch ladies who kindly shared their food with me.

 The YHA was full of school children who were well behaved and not particularly boisterous. One of their teachers was a real bully though. I’d hate to think that’s why they were so well behaved.

As I left the following morning I bumped into the Australian lady who I’d met in the Bath YHA weeks earlier. Small world

The bike is going well thanks to my purchase of a new front chain ring, replacement of the rear derailleur with one of my spares and some insight into chain and cog wear from the generous-with-his-time-and-advice Mike in a Carlisle bikeshop.

Kirk Yetholm to Glasgow

To come

Edale to Kirk Yetholm Scotland

To come

Edale

Tideswell is a pretty Derbyshire village that I remember visiting as a young man when I studied at Sheffield nearby, a lifetime ago.

Alas today I felt no inclination to linger, feeling driven to reach Castleton and Edale, the start of my Pennine Way walk last year.

Tideswell nevertheless delayed me with a few discoveries such as the fossils in the floor tiles in the church. I suspect people often think me overly pious as I walk head bowed in churches, actually looking for fossils in the marble flooring tiles.

 I struck off along the Pennine Bridleway to Castleton where I lingered to gaze on the Peverill Castle, a place I’d visited many times decades before (and then free of charge as I remember!) then through Castleton and onto the last ascent of Stage 2 of my journey.

I finally reached the ridge above Castleton then down to Edale and the Ramblers Inn in Edale where I decided to celebrate walking over 750 kms (almost 500 miles) from Lands End with a half pint of ‘Grays Best.’

In Sheffield I was greeted by Pete Wildbore, a friend since our time together in Sheffield University Entertainments Committee and various excursions to France Spain and various curry houses.

Tideswell

I left the YHA early (before the YHA staff were up and about) into a gloomy day, and after a hurried breakfast on a meat pie bought the day before as emergency rations.

I headed north along aloing the B road then across the fields and footpaths until I descended into Dovedale, a lovely limestone gorge that is a feature of the area and popular walk since Victorian times.

I lingered to admire Ilam rock, one of several curious limestone formations then at Milldale struck off up valley and up a steep climb to the Tissington Rail trail. For once this rail trail was high in the countryside with good views of the surrounding Derbyshire countryside.

The trail was the first since I’d started at Lands End in which I was passed by numerous cyclists and joggers and the occasional day rambler. Being Sunday and its proximity to nearby Buxton and Derby clearly made it popular weekend destination.

For a mile or so I walked with Jane and Sue and their numerous boisterous but well behaved dogs and we discussed so many common areas of interests I was sorry they had to turn back at Harrington station to where they’d started their walk.

I left the rail trail at Harrington and struck across country through Taddington and onto Tideswell.

Ilam

I decided to give the Staffordshire Way out of Utoxeter a fair hearing. Alas trudging along it through the rain soon diminished its appeal to me. Judging by the signs on the ground it is not well used and others have commented that it is neglected. I would have just said 'dull.'

I did stumble across the clearly exclusive Abbotsholme School and the World HQ of JCB (of excavator fame) at Rocester where the old cotton mill and surrounding  expensive real estate seemed to be owned by the company.

I decided to leave the Staffordshire Way at Norbury and to swing west towards the old Tissington Railway trail, to save climbing over stiles and making frequent navigation checks. I crossed a lovely stone bridge, still guarded by a wartime pill box, and was suddenly in Derbyshire! I was immediately rewarded with the sight of an old railway station (Norbury) and platform. Dave’s family had lived there for over 50 years and he remembers the trains running.

 
Shortly after I stumbled on Norbury Manor and adjacent Abbey, another National Trust property open to the public at the time of my visit but deserted.

 
 




 I had to admit I was not sorry to leave Staffordshire. All the other Shires I’d walked through had been a delight, but not Staffordshire. And there was that accent too!

As the day wore on I stopped at each pub to check for accommodation options nearby and ahead. I was astonished to find that being back in Derbyshire and the Peak District there were YHA’s nearby. They were all full. So were all the pubs, so too the B&B’s and the hotels.

I trudged into Ilam (pronounced eye lamb) at 6pm intending to throw myself onto the mercy of anyone willing to offer me a bed or place to pitch my tent. I passed a field out of town with two tents but it looked so forlorn I pushed onto the YHA at Ilam which I already knew was full.

I discovered the YHA occupied Ilam Hall, a magnificent National Trust property with the usual chequered history of changing hands and near demolition. I managed to persuade the YHA manager to allow me to stay the evening in the lounge and take advantage of the buffet and bar and lounge. Alas he still could not offer me accommodation so I set off in search in the grounds nearby. The annoying thing is that school parties book YHA accommodation by the dorm not by the bed for understandable reasons so beds were available but not for non school group members.

I discovered a small caravan park (not shown on the OS map) behind and associated with Ilam Hall that had access to toilets and showers.. The campsite warden apologised that the campsite was only for caravans but me being just a young man (his words) he pointed out a spot nearby just outside the park boundary that was just as good. I sweet talked one of the caravan park people to giving me the door code for the showers (and very hot and strong they were too).

And then I discovered several other places to rest my weary body for the night (apart from my tent) including the nearby church vestry, several dry but draughty  alcoves, and a spot behind a sofa in the YHA when all the staff had retuired for the night.

So showered, fed and otherwise refreshed I enjoyed a night’s indoor accommodation free of charge, though I was happy to pay any reasonable amount on such a miserable cold rainy night. 

Utoxeter

 Gerald kindly drove me back to our rendezvous of the previous evening. I resumed walking the canal until it swung away from the direction I wanted and pushed on along back roads to the town of Cannock which held little interest for me.

Further on Cannock Chase was impressive in size but less so in arboreal diversity being mostly pine trees.

As I left the Chase I made the mistake of taking a B Road to Utoxeter thinking all B roads are less trafficked but this B road was clearly a local favourite and I spent several unpleasant hours dodging traffic and jumping onto muddy verges.

As I came into the outskirts of Utoxeter I stopped at a pub to gather local info on accommodation and was told of a ‘Boarding House’ just down the road. Being late and my boots and feet wet and the price being reasonable I searched no further.

Both the Pub Landlord and the Boarding House Manager mentioned an oriental fellow just weeks back walking JOGLE and the their independent views that he was a Ghurkha. I would have thought Ghurkhas far more stoic.

A quick evening inspection of Utoxeter revealed nothing of interest to me apart from some nice pubs. I spent the remaining hours trying to plan the route and accommodation up ahead and keep my travel diary up to date but fell asleep over my netbook as the days efforts got the better of me. I estimate I walked 24 miles / 35kms today.

Wolverhampton

 As I left Bewdley I decided to make another major deviation by abandoning the Severn Valley Way and taking instead the canal straight into Wolverhampton. I was particularly keen to see the canal-related relics of the Industrial Revolution and was looking forward to a bit of squalor and urban decay.

The canal to Worcester was a delight with plenty of narrow boat traffic and the odd rambler.

For a while I walked in step with Ian and Sue who’d had their narrow boat for 18 years and spend most of the year on it, though they had a ‘real’ home elsewhere.

Later I fell into step with a vigorous looking walker named Alan, a former male nurse just several months older than me. As we shared views on life in general and particularly for men of our difficult age he mentioned he didn’t have to worry about it for too much longer because of his terminal medical condition.

I followed the canal right through Wolverhampton (with a brief deviation along a former railway) and out the other side without seeing anything other than a peaceful rural canal, punctuated with lovely canal-side pubs and the occasional locks, but not a sign of the Industrial age and barely a sign of Wolverhampton itself apart from the odd well-kept suburb. I wonder all that industry went.

I was met the just north of Wolverhampton at our Motorway junction rendezvous by Gerald, married to the lovely Megan who I’d known as a child growing up in Papua New Guinea, otherwise Australian but now living a life of domesticity in fair Coventry. Even though it was only Thursday Megan had cooked a Sunday roast in my honour (I presume). I don’t think Gerald was so impressed because I’m sure he only gets Sunday roasts on Sunday (if he’s lucky).

Bewdley

The route from Worcester to Bewdley continued along the Severn Way entirely alongside the Severn River.

The Severn is a lovely unspoiled river and this it remains along its length all the way from Worcester to Bewdley and beyond, with the adjoining footpath an unchanging muddy track along its banks. I met no one along its length with whom to share my walk.

I took the opportunity of adjacent B roads here and there to relive the unchanging river scenery but I seemed to be beyond the region of Tudor houses at every turn.

I reached Stourport on Severn later in the afternoon focussed mostly on finding accommodation. I also knew that from here I had the option of a canal route north to Wolverhampton (rather than round it) as an alternative to the Severn Way. But there was only one local Inn with overpriced rooms so I pressed on along a rather dreary B road to Bewdley given advice of it being a pretty town with more scope for Pub accommodation and B&B’s.

Bewdley turned out to have a lovely riverside frontage and several nice pubs and numerous pubs, one of which had modest B&B accommodation in which eventually lay my weary head.

Worcester

Today was my worst day of the walk so far.

Needless to say I had troubles navigating out of Tewkesbury. There were just so many paths and waterways and access roads. Not a good start.

And today it was raining. And like yesterday my route was long the River Severn. After an hour of walking along its banks along the muddy seldom used trail, in the rain, I’d had enough so turned to the nearby B roads. I was rewarded by the usual procession of lovely Tudor houses.

At one point I stopped at a house undergoing renovations and the builders escorted me through the house to show me their work. One said the house was owned by solicitors and worth £500,000.

At midday I came into the town if Upton on Severn. A pretty town with copious pubs and small shops, including a chippy where I refuelled. I also called into a book shop to check on guides to the Severn Way but the shop owner said it was not very popular.

The rain grew heavier as the day progressed so I abandoned the soulless and muddy Severn Way altogether, looking forward to reaching the village of Kempsey, namesake of the Kempsey in New South Wales where Haydon and Jenna were born. Alas Kempsey had nothing to recommend it that I could see though I took a few photos to mark the occasion.

Just out of Kempsey I took off my backpack to get out my MP3 player, but it froze as soon as I turned it on so I switched to my spare one, which went straight to fairly sombre music.

On the outskirts of Worcester I came upon the viewing platform overlooking the site of the last battle of the English Civil War. I reached for my camera but it was missing. The Velcro fastening was open and just ineffective in the wet conditions. I thought I’d backed up the photos onto my laptop the previous night but I’d only saved the ones I’d reduced in resolution for the Blog.

I retraced my steps but the camera was nowhere to be seen. Until recently the camera battery and SD card both bore labels with my contact details. Alas I’d replaced them both and had nor re-labelled the new ones.

So I’ve lost all the photos I have taken on the trip to far.

I filed a lost property report with the local police but do not hold out much confidence.

And today the mouse on my netbook stopped working. And yesterday I discovered my Kindle was no longer working.

My worst day.

Tewksebury

 I left Gloucester accompanied by Kathy who was interested in walking the first part of the Severn Way out of town. Sadly it seemed little used and overgrown. I then pressed on alone but decided to take the nearby B road after tiring of the Severn Way. 

 

By doing so I stumbled upon numerous beautiful Tudor cottages, the Anglo Saxon Priory Church of St Mary founded in about 800 AD and the nearby Odda’s Chapel of 1056AD




Apart from everything else the Priory had some beautiful brasses I wish I’d had the time to take rubbing from.

 

I resumed the Severn Way all the way into Tewkesbury and almost bumped straight into the beautiful Bell Hotel with the Cathedral opposite. The Bell Hotel was offering high standard en-suite room for £30 B&B but with the weather then looking safe I felt obliged to check out the nearby campsite. The receptionist apologised for the £16 cost for a tent pitch (in spite of me telling him my tent was the size of a coffin) and I was relieved to reply that for an extra £14 I’d take the nearby offer of an en-suite hotel room and cooked breakfast.

My evening stroll round Tewkesbury revealed the most picturesque English town I have come across with almost every other building a Tudor beauty. My wandering also revealed more pubs and accommodation than I thought possible given the scarcity indicated elsewhere. As it was the Bell had 24 rooms, few of which were occupied.

My stroll down to the River Severn and adjacent canal revealed a beautiful water mill and dozens of lovely canal barges.

And the Cathedral rang out its bells for me.

Gloucester

I left Dursley and headed off into the weakening gale. Deep in thought and as usual first thing in the morning I missed the B road and after a while thought the road unusually busy. After a quick GPS check I was astonished to find I’d missed the Uley turn off and was on the A road. Cursing my lack of concentration I struck into the woods (Folly Wood) and navigated my way back to the B road into the pretty town of Uley.

A woman I passed asked if I was crazy out walking in this weather but I smiled knowing I was dry and warm.

Just above Uley was yet another massive hilltop fortress; Uley Bury, so extensive I decided not to walk round it but to press on. Further on was yet another barrow; Nymphield Long Barrow, some 5000 years old from the Neolithic era. A man out walking his dog chatted to me. I asked if he had walked any of the Cotswolds Way and he said he hadn’t because he ‘lived locally.’ I noted that the Cotswolds Way has been the best maintained and signposted National Trail I had walked on, in spite of its meanderings.

The trail passed through the picturesque town of Painswick where I lingered for refreshments in the one pub still trading and to take photos and pressed on to Gloucester knowing it to be a longish hike.

My final approach to Gloucester was through the Council Estate and over Gloucester’s highest wooded hilltop which I was too tired to appreciate and finally down into Gloucester to meet Kathy who had kindly offered me a spare bed for the night.

Over a lovely vegetarian dinner Kathy had prepared we discussed places we’d worked and Kathy astonished me with her experiences teaching in countries that included the Falklands (twice), Sudan, Nigeria, Poland and her other travels in the Ukraine and elsewhere.

The following morning I was just not up to travelling and knowing something of the attractions of Gloucester Kathy offered to accompany me on a tour of Gloucester town centre and the Cathedral.

In the Cathedral we were joined by a Cathedral Guide who seemed happy to spend his entire day with us there. Thanks to his and Kathy’s knowledge I can now claim to have walked in the steps of William the Conqueror and Henry VIII. I was also able to admire the tomb of Edward II (reference Braveheart the movie) and the place in which Edward III? (check) was crowned and the Chapter room that was basically the HQ for compiling the Doomsday Book. And the beautifully vaulted cloisters used as a setting for one of the Harry Potter films.

Another of the Cathedrals claims to fame is in being one of the few former monasteries left standing by Henry VIII because its associations with former monarchs.

The Guide’s information on the ambitions and schemings of the rulers and influential families of the era were just too much to take in. The Guide then handed us over to another Guide to visit the Crypt where the Guide pointed out the structural aspects the cathedrals foundations, the corruption of the Church in the middle ages (payments for monks prayers to avoid Purgatory) and the place where hundreds of monks had spent their last night on mortal earth.

Sadly no one was playing the magnificent church organ with its 4000 pipes.

I spent much of the evening planning the next few nights accommodation, but advice from local Tourist Office indicated little in the way of accommodation up ahead in Tewkesbury. I also realised that I had not researched the Severn Way and that there was oddly little to offer on the web.

Dursley

I set off from the Portcullis Inn at Tomarton at 7am into moderate gale armed with a packed breakfast and litre of orange juice (the Landlord said he didn’t get up till 9am).

I made good progress across the fields to Old Sodbury. As I walked past the Dog Inn (where I’d considered staying) I spotted a very comfortable looking Village Hall. I decided to investigate and found it unlocked. It was warm and spacious and had toilets and showers. To think I could have camped there the night for free with the pub just down the road.

I continued on up to magnificent Sodbury hill fort further north. It was so huge it was difficult to capture on camera.

Further north I deviated away from the fields onto a B road to make faster progress and was glad of it because of the many lovely old buildings I passed. I stumbled upon the National Trust property of Horton Court and wandered into the grounds in spite of it being closed today. Some National Trust staff kindly let me stroll round and take photos. I must remember to discover its history.

Much of the day was just a trudge through the rain, but I had my thoughts to keep me company.

Just north of Wotton-under-Edge I passed three couples heading south walking the Cotswolds Way as part of an organised tour (no backpacks) and we chatted on features and accommodation options up ahead which they said were scarce and pricey.

After a short climb I found the monument to the Battle of Waterloo, then a further climb to the monument to local boy William Tyndal (BA Oxford 1512) who translated the New Testament into English (so people could actually read it). The German Emperor burnt him at the stake for his trouble for this and for one other religious thing or another. I would have climbed the spiral stairs to the top for a better view except the view from the ground was rained in so I passed, not needing the exercise especially.

As I approached Dursley I took a shortcut through a dense forest that had dozens of unmarked footpaths going off in all meandering directions. I learnt to navigate with map and compass today finally, what with the tree and cloud cover causing the GPS to give up on telling me where I was.

As I came down out of the forest I came onto the main road heading north west into Dursley. I was intent on pressing on northeast a few more hours to Uley and beyond, to whatever lean and expensive accommodation pickings presented themselves. I was definitely not camping tonight. Seeing Dursley not too far off I decided to head for the shelter of its nearest pub to make some phone calls for accommodation ahead. The pub mentioned another pub nearby that did accommodation.

Dursley is a pretty town with a lovely market square building (with an interesting history), a pedestrian mall with views of the wooded hills above from either end, a swimming pool and a huge supermarket which sold wine, baguettes and custard cream biscuits. It sold other stuff too.

The Bell Hotel offered a semi en-suite room for £24 including full English breakfast. All thoughts of trudging on another few hours into the driving rain evaporated. The landlord was the exact opposite of the landlord of the previous night and he immediately qualified as my best friend (my apologies to now diplaced best friends). The room was enormous with twin beds, a Digital TV that worked, free wifi and everything else one could expect for far more. The landlord also made his drying room available to me noting the miserable wet condition in which I arrived. I expect he even laid on the two hours of bell ringing in the church across the road for me. And the chippy several doors down.

Tomarton

I returned to Bath to resume Stage 2 of my walk after leaving my London ‘Base Camp,’ generously provided and managed by David and Marilyn.

I set off afresh with the Queens’ Jubilee celebrations in London behind me, a new smaller and lighter backpack, a few more items jettisoned, the laptop (less battery) taken on board, and the gross backpack weight down to a manageable 10kgs. This still includes camping gear (as backup) but no cooking gear or food. And the boots reheeled and strips of leather sown in behind the heels to stop the blisters.

It felt odd returning to Bath again. Two retired couples in the YHA were from Tasmania, travelling for several months after renting out their houses back in Australia. Not for them the Grey Nomad campervan tour round Australia. A couple of Dutch men were cycling from John O’Groats to Lands End.

The weather started drizzly but soon cleared and after organising a broadband dongle for my laptop I was away up the hill out of Bath. I missed out on the pretty route with views over Bristol and Wells because of my late start but took a direct route to Hanging Hill, then the site of the site of the 1643 Battle of Landsdown. Here Sir William Waller and Sir Ralph Hopton, school friends who’d fought side by side before, found themselves commanding opposite sides on that occasion. But they remained friends all the same (at least up to the battle). And at this battle ‘more men of quality died than private men’ apparently. I suppose there are several ways that may have occurred or could be interpreted.

Today followed the Cotswolds Way, a National Path that meanders all over the place. I took deliberate shortcuts here and there, and long-cuts sometimes by accident.

A group of walkers coming the opposite way filled me in on accommodation ahead, including not to stay at the very pub I’d booked into.

I passed a house that looked strangely sombre. An old woman standing at a side door dressed in black said it was haunted, and closed the door as she spoke. She didn’t appear in the photo I took – maybe because the door was closed.

Soon after I met Jim & Moyra sitting having a coffee on a bench, walking the Cotswold Way but having done most LEJOG; and the Camino de Santiago – from France and from Southern Spain. Being Scots they had all sorts of advice for me on the ‘top end.’

I reached Tomarton, just short of my destination Old Sodbury, but glad to shelter from the darkening skies. The landlord was certainly a ‘character’ who confessed to having  no enthusiasm for the accommodation side of the business. It showed. But it was cheaper by far than elsewhere, the shower was hot, the beds soft, the room warm and the tumble dryer at my disposal. Luxury! Better than a tent on a night of forecast gathering high wind and heavy rain.

Alas my destination tomorrow night remains uncertain. And accommodation ahead either scarce or exorbitant and no formal campsites to be found.