Getting Beyond the Familiar #2: We Begin Walking Part A

I wake up earlier than I need to, both eager for the walk to begin and anxious that it is going to. I walk down to the dining area at 8:30, the time my host and I agreed upon the day before. I sit alone at the table, and I am served this:

The plate has more food than I usually eat for two meals, but because I do not want to insult my host, I clean my plate thoroughly. Soon, the host, her husband, and I are discussing what lies in front of me for the day. We also continue some discussion of politics and the non-husband host says that, really, "the Germans are waging World War III, this time with money." When they are in the kitchen together, away from my, the husband says this is the first day in many that he has felt "almost human." She does not hear him, so he repeats it. I am stuck on "almost human" because it is the name of a small literary publication the writing group I was a part of many years ago produced. It was great fun. We were a creative bunch in a literary way.

Half an hour later, I am out the door and in search of The Cotswold Way. According to my itinerary, my hike today is just 10 miles, though I know that 10 miles into the unfamiliar can seem, and even be, much longer. I see a group of hikers down the street, so I follow them. Though they disappear, I find the first marker, walk through a gate, and start through the field. Not long later, I see this:

This shows that I am on the correct path, and that my final destination is only 55 miles away.

The hiking, overall, is relatively easy, though anything approached with a beginner's mind is. During the day, I will see things like these:

At one point not long into the morning, I encounter a three women from the Seattle area. They are much older than I, and they have already walked the northern half of the Cotswold Way. We pass each other at various times, and at one point I see them in the distance and, as I did at the start of the day, chose to follow someone. From a rise, just before I descend to where they are, I see them stop and consult their maps and guidebooks. When I reach them, they let me know that that (we) have gone the wrong way, and that I am the second man they have led astray during their trip. I, too, consult my map and guidebook, and we use my compass to orient ourselves, figuring out that we're just a bit off trail. They say that at some point the trail will pass by many cows, which they want to avoid because one of the women has heard that one hiker each year is killed by cows. They decide to stop for lunch; I decide to keep walking. We say our goodbyes.

An hour later I sit down on a stack of logs and eat lunch. My shoes and socks are off of my feet, and we area all enjoying a cool-down. And older man and his dog approach, and we greet each other. "Are you from the southern hemisphere?" he asks, and I am able to answer this question easily. I never know why he asks, but I assume it is because of my wide-brimmed hat. We talk about his travels to the U.S. when he worked for General Electric. We talk about his dog, Jack, which is a fine English Setter but is unfit for breeding because of an underbite. When the man and his dog are gone, I prepare myself to walk, and then do. I pass through "round barrows" and "long barrows," which are graves of people who lived here many thousands of years ago. I think of those people, how they walked this hills, too. And then, 30 minutes later, I miss a sign post; 30 minutes after that I realize that I am lost. Backtracking, I find the sign I missed concealed by bushes and brambles. Not long afterward, I pass through a gate but cannot make out where the trail goes. The field in front of me is full of cows that seem to be moving from one pasture to another. Some of the cows look at me as though they are full of bovine hatred, as though they have read The Jungle and Fast Food Nation. I let the cows pass. I hear other hikers behind me, so I let them pass and hope they will lead to the correct path. Another group joins them: the women from Seattle. They ask how I managed to get behind them again, and I tell them that I rested a few times, plus I got lost.

We hike as a large group for a while, until we reach part of a small town and part of a busy road. The women and I are confused: they are supposed to head one way, and I am supposed to head another. This is, predictably enough, the point where I anticipated confusion as I reviewed maps in the preceding weeks: the directions and diagrams were not clear to someone who is not familiar with the area. The women go on their way, and I make a guess: up this path, then backtrack; up this road, then backtrack; up that path again, this time farther, then backtrack. Finally, I choose the road, eventually see some landmarks mentioned in the guidebook, and keep walking until I find my bed and breakfast.