Day 27 Part 1: Plotting a new route

I began the day with the worst breakfast of my walk. Cold beans, overcooked bacon and wrinkled sausages that contained a strange-tasting dark meat that I couldn't identify. I had been surprised how quickly the meal came after I said yes to a cooked breakfast, so I reckon most of the ingredients had been pre-cooked, goodness knows how long ago.

On the way out of Blandford Forum I rang ahead to the bed and breakfast in Stalbridge that I'd booked. The lady who answered told me that they no longer did accomodation. She also said that there was nowhere else in Stalbridge for me to stay.

I was worried that something in my planning had gone seriously wrong and that the itinerary was beginning to unravel. So I rang The Sparkford Inn where I was due to stay on Wednesday evening. It was a relief to hear that they had me booked in.

So that left me without accomodation between Blandford Forum and Sparkford. I asked the man at The Sparkford Inn for recommendations for somewhere en route. He suggested The Half Moon Inn in Sherborne.

Sherborne was a good deal farther than Stalbridge. The day's walk was already planned at thirteen miles and a quick look at the map showed that a new route to Sherborne would be at least twenty miles. I was also approaching the hills of north Dorset and it was clear that I'd need to do make some ascents as well. It was going to be a long, slow day.

I rang the Half Moon and made a reservation. Praying for endurance, I set off across the River Stour and out into the hills. I'd picked up a lunch from the local bakery and I worked out a way of rationing it over the next ten hours, on the assumption that my rural route wouldn't include a shop.

The rain showers quickly disappeared and over the first hour I took off layers, so that I spent almost all of the blustery day in a tee shirt, which was just about warm enough when I was moving.

The new route included unplanned treasures. The gradual climb to Bulbarrow Hill was rewarded with views as beautiful as any I've seen so far. Rawlsbury Camp is a hill fort, in a remarkable spot, overlooking a broad valley to the east and the rippled landscape of small fields, the winding river and woods to the west and north.

I met a couple of men who were putting up signs for a cycle challenge this weekend: 350 miles in three days. That sounded tought to me, especially as we were talking as they fixed a sign to a roadsign indicating a 1:5 gradient. They asked about my walking and were amazed at what I was doing.

"You look like you're still in good shape." said one.
I said I wasn't sure about that. But thinking about it later, it's true that I seem to be coping with the ordeal and I gave thanks to God and prayed for strength and stamina to survive the day.

The lanes led through a succession of small villages with wonderful names: Stoke Wake, Wonston, Hazlebury Bryan, Droop, King's Stag, Bishop's Caundle and Alweston.

[continued in part 2]