A walk in the park

It seemed fairly straightforward. Take the bus to Moreton-in-Marsh, have lunch, then walk to Stow-on-the-Wold to catch the return bus to Cheltenham. Ten kilometres, and I had a GPS map. I popped in to the information centre just to make sure, then set off.

I’ll admit, it was a bit warmer than I expected. And it wasn’t long before I realized that there would be precious little shade. Unlike Canada, “the woods” in England consist of about a dozen trees dividing open fields that stretch out endlessly. In Canada, we call that a hedge…

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Things went fairly well until I reached the outskirts of the small village of Longborough where I took the first of many wrong turns. It turns out my GPS map worked well as long as I stayed on the trail. If I strayed, it was maddeningly silent, the blue dot blinking stubbornly but otherwise giving me no indication of my actual location.

This is where I had the (literal) brush with stinging nettle. And some nasty deer flies. Fifteen minutes later, my legs were in full blown pins-and-needles mode, and I was starting to think this may have been a mistake.

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I soldiered on, and soon heard that ominous sound…cows… Thankfully, there was a fence and some distance between us, so I hurried along and finally came out onto a paved road in lovely Longborough. I thought I was back on track until I emerged in front of a major construction project which obliterated the route in the GPS map.

After a bit of wandering, I found a small convenience store/cafe and some wonderful locals who provided solid directions. After a brief rest and much-needed liquid refreshment, I was off again. Only to return, about 45 minutes later, totally defeated by the multitude of paths and total lack of signage. I was done. Where was the taxi?

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Not my day. The only taxi driver in the village had turned off his phone. Just as it looked as though I’d have to brave the trail again, the woman behind the counter said she could drop me off. And two women who stopped for tea also offered… In the end, I was transported the rest of the way by the lone woman whose accent was so strong I just smiled and nodded and hoped she had no idea that I couldn’t understand a single word she was saying.

Fifteen kilometres and three hours later, I reached Stow-on-the-Wold. My legs were still numb and tingling and remained that way until the next day when the Benadryl finally worked its magic. 

I’m feeling fine again, and looking forward to my next walk….Bourton-on-the-Water to The Slaughters. Seems straightforward…