Day 22 -- June 22, 2011; Blackford to Yatton (North End)

Unable to find accommodations in Cheddar, I decided to leave that village and all it has to offer for some other time. That gives me an extra day to get up to Wales, and I’m not sure how best to use the time. I could tour Bristol, but everybody I’ve spoken to says that Bristol is a place to be avoided. My instincts are to head up to Wales sooner than I had planned and use the extra time there. (I’ve already got reservations in place for a full week in Wales, so the extra day must be used before the first reservation.) I’ll make that decision sometime tomorrow.

I left the B&B in good spirits, fully fed, and with a brisk step. The overcast sky persuaded me to put the rain cover on my pack, but I knew I wouldn’t need it. For at least 10 minutes. That’s when the skies opened up with the biggest deluge from the blackest cloud I’ve ever seen. I had about 20 seconds warning, which was just enough time to throw on my rain jacket. There was no cover to get out of the rain, but fortunately there was a strong side-wind, so I took shelter in the lee of a building.



Start/finish sign in Yatton

 The squall passed by in 15 minutes, and the rest of the day was dry. But no matter, my pants and feet were as wet as if I had waded through a river. I decided to follow roads rather than tackle the muddy pastures. I headed straight to Axbridge, where I changed into dry socks before picking up the Strawberry Line, a rails-to-trails walking and cycle path that runs 8 miles  from Cheddar to Yatton. It was a lovely walk, dry under foot, and in a park-like setting.

Out of Axbridge the trail passes through a long dark tunnel, lighted only by small lights similar to lane markers embedded in the trail. I could hear people passing in the other direction, but could not see them. I hope they were behaving themselves.

Mike

On the other side of the tunnel, I met Mike, a local taking his morning walk. We had a good chat all the way to where the Winscombe station once was. At that point, Mike remarked, “I’m getting off here.” I continued to chug along all the way to Yatton.

I could tell I was getting near Bristol by the number of commercial airplanes taking off overhead as I walked on the trail. When I arrived in Yatton, that conclusion was reinforced by the airport shuttle vans that drove by.

The hotel I reserved is the only one I could find north of Yatton. It appears to cater to the quick turn-around trade – folks arriving on late flights or folks spending the night near the airport for early flights. I had second thoughts about the hotel when I tried to book the room. The reservation clerk was clueless, as was the receptionist when I checked in. Other than the moldy shower, the room is not terribly bad, but the restaurant can be best described as plastic. It is run by a chain whose insignia is an H inside of a horseshoe. I don’t think the tables have been wiped down for days. Even the menus are sticky. I ordered the safest thing – a hamburger. It wasn’t bad, but the soggy fries that accompanied it were unpalatable. Such a disappointment after the good pub food I’ve had the past 3 weeks.

There is supposed to be WiFi in the bar, but my computer can’t find it. It appears that management and staff are all on the same “why bother” page.  Why bother to wipe down the table -- it'll only get dirty again.  Why bother to put soap and shampoo in the bathroom -- they only get used and need replacement again.  Why bother to cook good food -- this customer won't be back but another will take his place.  I hope this isn’t where England is headed.

Oh, well, the room is big, it’s only one night, and tomorrow I’ll be within a day of Wales.




© 2011 Ken Klug

Day 21 -- June 21, 2011; Temple Farm to Blackford



Long, straight farm road

 My boots and most of my clothes were still wet from yesterday. Fortunately, today was dry. Today’s walk was through what is called the Somerset Levels – flat farmland, very similar to the farmland in the San Joaquin Valley. The walk wasn’t particularly scenic, because large flat farms aren’t scenic.

In fact today’s walk can be described as a monotonous trudge, with no traffic or rain to complain about.  Trying to navigate through the farm fields provided the only occasional sparks of excitement. The fields are barely above sea level, so an intricate drainage system has been established. In other areas I had become trapped by hedgerows bordering the fields; here it was the drainage ditches. Care had to be taken to carefully follow the footpath shown on the map (but not visible on the ground) in order to cross the field and arrive at the very point where a small plank had been placed across the ditch. For me, GPS is a necessity in such situations, and I’m getting very good at route finding.

Peter

The only person I met all day was Peter, a New Zealander who is cycling from London to Spain. He plans to ride to Plymouth, take the ferry to France and continue on from there. We met in the only pub on my route, which is about a mile from my B&B for the night.

I’ve tried unsuccessfully to find accommodations for tomorrow night in Cheddar, so I’ll just bypass that village and continue heading north tomorrow.


© 2011 Ken Klug

Day 20 -- Monday, June 20, 2011 -- Crowcombe Heathfield to Temple Farm

I stayed last night in Crowcombe Heathfield at the Hartwood House, run by David and Rosemary Freemantle. The house is an elegant home on about 8 acres of gardens. My bedroom and bath were very nicely appointed, rivaling those of any five star hotel. There was no mobile phone reception, so David allowed me to use their land line to book accommodations ahead.


David, Rosemary, Sadie (sitting),
and Sir Lost-a-lot

 After breakfast. David helped me package the Pennine Way maps which I won’t need to carry until I reach Knighton at the end of my portion of the Offa’s Dyke Path. He then drove me to the Crowcombe post office so I could mail them ahead to Knighton. (Of course he drove me back to Hartwood House, so there is no gap in the walk.  At least not yet.)

A few years ago, Crowcombe, a village of about 400 residents, lost its post office and had no grocery store. The residents banded together and set up a crew of volunteers to run a new market and post office. Volunteers order and shelve the inventory, clerk the cash register, and support the post office. The market is highly efficient – it even uses optical scanners to scan bar codes and manage inventory. The village is understandably proud of its achievement.




View from Quantock Ridge

The day started overcast with rain forecast for the afternoon. I’ve learned not to believe the forecasters, so I decided to venture into the Quantock Hills for my walk to Bridgwater. The trail climbs steeply to the high ridge and then follows the ridgeline for the full length of the mountains. The high ridge offered 360˚ views of the surrounding farmlands and of the clouds which were quickly heading my way.

When the rain hit, the trails turned into flowing rivers of mud. I got lost in dead end pastures twice, but eventually worked my way back to the trail by listening for the cascading mud flows. I then worked my way back to the road, deciding that battling traffic was better than battling the mud. I won the battle with the traffic, arriving at Temple Farm alive; the mud won its battle however, and I may never get the mud out of my pants or socks. 

Francis

The only person I met all day after leaving Hartwood House was Francis, who was cycling from Bridgwater to Cornwall. Cycling in the rain has got to be more unnerving than walking in the rain.

The long-term forecast for the rest of the month is unsettled, rainy weather. I’m glad the month is almost over. Maybe July will be dry.

Temple Farm is located north of Bridgwater.  I added the extra distance Monday because I was unable to find accommodations in Bridgwater.  The extra distance Monday means a short walk Tuesday.  I hope the pub is open.



© 2011 Ken Klug

Day 19 -- Sunday, June 19, 2011; Roadwater to Crowcombe Heathfield

Today could have been a bad day, after yesterday’s 10+ hour marathon. Last night was spent at Wood Advent Farm, outside of Roadwater. You may recall that I had mailed 10 pounds of supplies from Pendeen to myself at Wood Advent Farm. Because today is Sunday, the post office is closed, so I was unable to mail them farther. Accordingly, I had the prospect of carrying the extra 10 pounds today. But Diana Brewer saved the day by agreeing to take the package to the post office tomorrow. So I exchanged the maps I’ll need for the maps I’ve already used, re-taped the box, and left it with Diana to send to George and Ann. Tomorrow, I’ll mail the Pennine Way maps to Knighton, where I’ll pick them up after Offa’s Dyke. So the weight issue is no more.

Today’s walk was mostly on high forest trails with gorgeous views of the surrounding hills.

Jason and Rob

It was Sunday, so I expected to see many people on the trails, but apparently the only ones brave enough to attack the mud were Jason and Rob, two mountain bikers.

House near Stogumber

The sun poked in and out of the clouds all day, and the countryside which England is known for came alive.

Father's Day dinner

I decided to have dinner early in Stogumber before heading to my B&B. I treated myself to a full Father’s Day dinner.

Barbara and John

At the pub, I also met a charming couple, John and Barbara. They used to live near Bath and their house was adjacent to the Kennet & Avon Canal, so they were amused when I told them that Janet, Keith, Cathy and I had walked right by, and were disappointed when we weren’t invited in for a drink. John recently celebrated his 90th birthday, so I couldn’t resist asking him if he served during WWII. Of course he did – he had enlisted into the RAF in 1939, and later served in the Royal Navy. Fortunately for him, he wasn’t part of the D-Day invasion, but he served in both Africa and Italy. That was also my father’s tour of duty; I know there were many soldiers and sailors there, but it would be ironic if they had been in contact with each other. I would like to think so.


© 2011 Ken Klug

Day 18, Saturday, June 18, 2011 Simonsbath to Roadwater

Today was a long day – 19 miles, but it wasn’t the distance that made the day long. The route was very poorly signed. Often the way-marked route merged with sheep trails heading off in every direction. In order to stay on route, I had to constantly check the map, which for me involves not only stopping and scanning the horizon for landmarks (of which there are few in Exmoor), but also putting on my reading glasses to find those landmarks on the map. Occasionally I would double check my conclusions with the GPS, and I found I was off route only twice.

That, coupled with the cold, rainy weather, turned the walk into a 10½ hour ordeal. I left Simonsbath at 10:00 and didn’t arrive in Roadwater until 8:30. I wasn’t particularly tired, but my feet were feeling the effects of standing all day. At Roadwater, I had dinner in the pub, and then finally pulled into the B&B at 9:30.

In Exmoor I saw a herd of deer. (I think they are red deer, but I’ll have to ask a local to be sure.) Unfortunately, they also saw me, and ran before I dared take my camera out in the rain.

I was also harassed by a group of 20 cattle. When they saw me coming, they moved as a group to block the trail. I felt as if I were walking through a ghetto where I was not welcome. But I wasn’t to be intimidated. I gave my best cowboy “Ye-haw” while waving my arms, but they just stared back. I guess they knew I wasn’t a cowboy because my hat was in my pack (I had my hood up for the rain, and cowboys don’t wear hoods), and I wasn’t wearing a big, silver belt buckle. I needed another plan. Holding my hiking sticks like a picador, I approached them with an “Ole, toro.” I don’t think they were actually toros, but they probably liked the compliment, and parted from the trail as if I were Moses parting the sea. (Don’t you just love the mixed similes?)

Jane and John

Why is he smiling?

I didn’t see another creature the entire day until about 3:00 when I came upon an English couple preparing to go for a walk. Sure, the rain had finally stopped, but it was still an awful day. We took pictures of each other to prove that there were at least three crazy people out today.

Jenny on Ebony

Not 15 minutes later, I came upon Jenny and her pony Ebony. When I questioned the name, she told me that Ebony was born with black hair which later turned white. For some reason, I doubt that it was bleached by the sun.


© 2011 Ken Klug

Day 17: June 17, Bratton Fleming to Simonsbath

Teddy bears at Rosehill

I spent the last two nights at Rosehill Guest House in Barnstaple. Barry and Marvine have done a wonderful job of restoring what had been an old, uninhabitable, abandoned house, and converting it into a beautiful property, high on a hill overlooking Barnstaple. Yesterday, Marvine drove me to the bus station where I caught the bus to Bratton Fleming, and then walked back to Rosehill. Today, Barry drove me to the bus station so I could return to Bratton Fleming to continue on with the walk.

Rider near Challacombe

The day started out drizzly and breezy, and conditions continued to decline. By the time I reached Exmoor, heavy winds were blowing the cold rain. For the first time since I arrived, I wore all four layers, including gloves. It wouldn’t do to become hypothermic on Exmoor. For some 3+ hours on the moor, there was nobody in sight. Route finding was easy, but navigating the rain-soaked bogs kept things interesting. There was no shelter whatsoever, and by the time I got off the moor I was very wet, but at least my gear kept me warm. I saw no other hikers the entire day. What’s the old saying about bad weather being fit only for mad dogs and Americans?

Signpost at Exhead

Victorian mailbox at Challacombe

Without anybody to talk with, I covered the 15 miles in just over 5 hours – I think that’s a new record for me.






© 2011 Ken Klug

Day 16. Thursday, June 16, 2011 - Barnstaple & Bratton Fleming

She picked me up shortly before dinner, and drove me west along the north side of the estuary of the River Taw, out past Woolacoombe and Croyd to Morthoe where we could have a quiet, intimate dinner on the sea front. As the miles slipped by, I grew increasingly enamored with her. I’m sure she felt the same about me.

She made me feel 40 years younger. As we passed the beaches and watched the surfers, I was brought back to my college days in Santa Barbara. I thought that perhaps I should abandon this silly walk so she and I could spend more time together. But no, this could be nothing more than a one-time relationship. We were destined to part ways, never to see each other again.

It could never work out for us. I have obligations back home; she is owned by another. Still, it was a special evening that I will cherish forever.

I ride shotgun in  Nora Too!

Of course, I’m writing about Nora Too!, the beautifully restored 1972 VW bus owned by Roger and Pauline, two of the friendliest people you could ever hope to meet. Shame on you if you thought something different.

Roger, Pauline and I had good conversation over dinner, sharing stories about family, the past, the future – about life. They gave me a little memento to remember the occasion – a bookmark bearing the following inscription:

“He knows not where he’s going
for the ocean will decide –
it’s not the DESTINATION…
…it’s the glory of THE RIDE.”



Pauline and Roger play bookends

 Some of you wonder why I take these walks. I think you have your answer.

By the way, I also got in my mileage today.



© 2011 Ken Klug