A one hour taxi ride from Bristol to the Source, with a lovely driver originally from Poland. She took us down a private road marked with “absolutely no public access to the Source”. She dropped us off, we had to climb over a gate quickly and sneakily, and she snuck away. But the stone marker was only a few feet from the gate.
The Source is marked by this stone marker and a pile of rocks. Apparently it is most often dry, except for sometimes in a wet spring. Ahhh. The look of quiet anticipation. Let’s see how long that lasts! We are off to walk to London. Just because. A short walk compared to previous walks and yay! It’s all flat. We love flat. Thou shall not pass! Quite a bit of field walking. It’s so dry…what are these poor cows actually eating. Follow the acorns. The river bed. More dry River bed. This is so sad. But apparently these upper reaches of the river are often dry, even in years with no drought. If it’s a bench, I sits. No, Ken. It’s not going to happen. Veto. Absolutely not. No way. Oh wit, those are the names of the three dogs you won’t let me get! Many villages have turned their old phone boxes into AED centers. I don’t understand why Ken won’t carry this couch so princess me always has a comfy place to sit??? These stone fences are a work of art – it takes a true craftsman to build these. Still trying to figure out which way the cars are going to come at you from. First bit of water we’ve seen. But it’s trapped, not flowing. Happy piece of shade for someone to sit and steal Peter’s M&M’s. We walked past numerous “end pit lakes” – water filled quarry pits. Some are open to public but most have private access only. That’s just cruel to not let us dip our feet. Someone has spent time building these lovely crafty spider webs, 8 in total. More water! A very welcome pub in Ashton Keynes at the 12.5 km mark. I got confused as to what village we were I as our hotel for the night is also called the White Hart. Ken decided he’d had enough for the day and we decided to forego the last 8 km and catch the bus to our destination for the night. We’ve seen a few of these – they are apparently old Saxon memorials. Some used to be crosses but the cross part was destroyed. Another re-purposed phone booth. Still no water. Father Thames is not doing his job. A happier Ken on the bus. Finally a coffee!
Our very expensive room in the White Hart Hotel is over the pub, where a singer is belting out classic hits. Hopefully she goes away soon.
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