Journal: |
After my 8am English Breakfast, I left the very pleasant and good
value pub and headed out into a bright sunlit Saturday at 8:45am.
I knew I had some climbing in front of me for the day, so the views
would be good and I had managed to dry out my shoes and clothes from
yesterday, so was feeling quite chipper.
My route quickly ascended to some high pastures where the views
to the distant Quantocks, that I would be crossing later in the day,
were spectacular. It's spring and there are sheep and lambs
everywhere. The route passed through an old country estate,
Nettlecombe Court with it's stately home and it's own church, not to
mention park-like surroundings.
My feet felt a bit better today, with the sore heel from
yesterday gone, but a new blister between my two biggest toes on my
right foot. At my first break, at 10:30am, I got out the
pen-knife and cut the deep blister open. I knew it would hurt
for the rest of the day, but with a smearing of antiseptic cream, it
should gradually improve. Maybe it's my hiking socks that are
causing some of my feet problems. They are Thorlo hiking
socks, and I have always been a fan of Thorlo socks, but the merino
weave is quite coarse. I'll get some inner socks to try with
them when I get a chance, but that may not be for a couple more
days.
Anyway, I carried on, revelling in the perfect spring weather and
the constantly changing views. The fields were mostly a rich
green, apart from the odd golden crop, and wildflowers abounded
along the lanes and footpaths and field edges. I reached the
picture-book village of Bicknoller at noon and debated whether to
detour a few hundred metres to the only pub to get lunch, or take my
chances that the only store in the village, which was on my
route, would have sandwiches of pasties. I chose the latter
option and regretted my choice as soon as I entered the tiny shop
staffed by and elderly couple. There was virtually nothing
that appealed to me and I settled for a bag of peanuts and and
ice-cream with a few cans of drink. Nevertheless it was
pleasant sitting in the sun at a picnic table outside the adjacent
village hall watching the world go by. On such a beautiful
Saturday, everyone was out and about, and a few mountain-bikers
whizzed through the narrow village streets on their way somewhere.
After lunch, I enjoyed the gradual climb up a valley to the crest
of the Quantocks, a range of low treeless hills (~400m) providing
great views in all directions. The route followed the crest
for several kilometres and I met lots of hikers, mountain-bikers and
some teenage camping groups, all enjoying the weather and views.
From the eastern end of the Quantocks, my route descended towards
Bridgwater, my target for the day, but before getting there,
followed a labyrinthine course of little-used public footpaths and
rights-of-way across farms (and through farmyards) which, while
scenic, were hard going. The footing was often rough, the
nettles high and painful, and I was tired, making it all quite
onerous. The last hours passed very slowly and I was very
ready to call it a day when I finally reached the streets of
Bridgwater, a fairly unprepossessing town, at 7:30pm. I headed
towards the centre, determined to take the first accommodation I
could find, and ended up at a virtually empty pub, offering me a
basic room with ensuite for just £20 (actually, when I went to pay
after going out for dinner to a nearby pub serving food, the girl in
charge told me there had been a mistake and since I had an ensuite,
the room was £25...I countered that the TV didn't work, so we agreed
to keep it at £20!). I have since discovered that the pub was
empty because the night was still young. Now, as I write this,
the whole place is reverberating and the bar even had a disco ball
in action. Maybe I'll go down later and show them some of my
moves....
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