Day 4: The day the chickens came home to roost.
No, Walt, the chickens didn’t actually come home to roost. That’s a metaphor to describe our fourth day on the Cotswold Way when the bill came due. (No, Walt, the bill didn’t actually come due. Another metaphor there.)
After three straight days of long and strenuous walking over hill and dale…
…both myself and my considerably younger daughter are feeling like…
…the walking dead.
Our feet hurt. Our joints are stiff. We shuffle everywhere very, very slowly.
Jen has matching left and right big toe blisters. Sitting down is barely bearable, but standing up again is an agonizing cautionary tale about the folly of going vertical.
But nonetheless we persisted. Through forests primeval.
Over steep ridges and high plateaus.
And plunging into the bush.
Not to mention on the occasional stretch of paved road.
But we worked through our pain, because, really, what else were we supposed to do? We were in the middle of nowhere for goodness sakes.
Still we saw some things along the way.
Like this transparent sign on Crickley Hill that shows you where the primitive settlement used to be before guys with horses and armor ran ‘em off.
Hey, if you look up the definition of jury rigged in the dictionary, you will see this photo.
And then there is the Coopers Hill cheese roll.
Wherein somebody rolls a very big circle of cheese down a very steep hill so that a gaggle of morons can plunge down that self same hill in a furious competition to see which moron grabs the cheese.
No, friends and neighbors, I know what you’re thinking.
That the cheese roll “tradition” is fairly recent. Perhaps dating from the dawning of the Age Of Brexit, when Brits were doing all kinds of reckless, dangerous and foolish things.
But no.
“The origins of the ritual are not clear,” says the Cotswold Way guide book, “but it is thought to have started as far back as 2000 years ago to maintain grazing rights.”
My suspicion is that, eventually, one guy ended up with all the grazing rights after all the others killed themselves chasing a big cheese down a steep hill.
Oh yeah, and we saw a reservoir. Cool, huh?
And flowers and stuff. I photographed a bee doing what bees are supposed to do. National Geographic here I come.
Eventually (an eternity really) we finished the walk at the quaint market village of Painswick (and, yes, we were both in considerable pain by then thank you very much).
Apparently they are experiencing a rash of church thefts in Painswick (no, Walt, entire churches are not going missing, just church items).
Funny story. This is a very small village and it was Monday night so there weren’t many eating options: One to be exact, a very fancy hotel with a very expensive menu.
On the plus side, I had beef Wellington.
On the minus side, I had to take out a second mortgage.
Look, I’m not gonna lie to you, fellow Shining Rock Orienteers.
Today’s hike was long (they said 11 miles, but they lied. It was 13) and grueling and, at times, soul crushing.
But we endeavored to persevere (notice how I cleverly slipped in an Outlaw Josey Wales quote?) .
Because you know what they say about walking the Cotswold Way:
It’s sort of like a plane crash.
Any one you can walk away from wasn’t too bad.
Later.
FreeGNV 