Bristol to Reading- An indirect route

                I woke up, hungover and I learnt that a late night is better than an early morning.

If you get stuff done.

If you pack your bag.

If you buy your train ticket.

If you set your mind.

                I was hungover after a late night with an unpacked bag, no train ticket and a mind full of NOs.

                Bristol was a long way; the way back was longer.

            I got on the train to Bristol with a backpack, a sleeping bag, a stove made from a Dr Pepper can, some maps and enough of a plan to know when I’d gone off plan. I took no money as I was going to live off the kindness of strangers. I have to point out that I had stocked up on tobacco. (My ex-partner found this hilarious, “you’ll risk running out of food and water but not baccy??!!”)

     I went from Bristol to Bath, into the Cotswolds and onto Swindon. I slept by the canal and in Savernake Forest (amazing!) before joining the Kennet again. I planned to visit the Chiltern Hills and come down to Reading.

***

                I like Bristol. It always seems to have its head in the clouds.

                I like Reading too but it’s more a head in the sand place. It’s easy to escape though and 5 miles in most directions will get you to the middle of nowhere. Here I am, 80 miles in a westerly direction.

                I got out of the station and had a wander around town until I found a Tesco at 11.30. By 12 my plan of using the generosity of strangers had fallen flat on its face because you can’t expect generosity if you don’t ask for help but I was now hungry and I had no food so I had to ask.  Except the person I choose as the weakest came to me first and asked if I was OK.

                It’s the first morning and I already look rough enough to be offered help but a lovely lady called Margaret bought me a banana, an apple, water and a tin of spaghetti hoops

I love spaghetti hoops.

They’re like being 8 years old again.

I headed in the direction of Bath which is an easy start because it’s signposted as a cycle route and has nice, smooth tarmac. You don’t see many people or many opportunities to ask for help though and it showed a flaw in my planning. Having no money expecting people to be kind is hard when there are no people about.

I made it to Bath and took out my stove to cook my hoops (on closer inspection they were Peppa Pig shapes.)

A stove made from a Dr Pepper can is a great thing to have it turns out because a man was so intrigued he came and asked me about it. As a result, I got a pack of Mugshots, a tin of beans, more water and some crisps. (Anyone notice the different “essentials” men and women have?) I carried on for another hour and found a field to sleep for the night. I laid my bivvy bag down and rolled a ciggie.

Sleeping under the stars in a field, what could be more relaxing?

Sleeping in a field without an A road next to it I’d think and I was seeing a lot of lack of planning in my plans but tomorrow’s another day and I plan to get to Swindon (anyone from Swindon can probably already spot a planning mistake.)

***

                My bivvy is so warm and I woke up at first light but just like bed at home at some point you must get out. On reflection having your clothes ready before you are naked would be wiser but I live and learn (sometimes I learn.)

 I had a ciggie and checked my map.

The first part of the journey was quite good but I lost a little soul on the way. I think that because there were lots of taps and I had food it became just a walk but when I hit near Swindon I was, Bored.

                Not for long though. The fields around here are occupied and though most animals are friendly I can’t tell what they are thinking and there was a lot of noise, the people of Swindon get drunk in fields as well.

***

                It’s Wednesday morning and it feels like it’s going well. I am turning down food at this point because I can’t fit it in my bag but I’m missing something. Something of the original plan.

                I am very proud (stubborn) to not use Google maps or GPS but there are times when I wonder what they would suggest over Ordnance Survey and this was one of those times.

                I am on an A road.

                There is no footpath.

                There are lorries.

                This may be a mistake.

                It may have been because I was tired but when an HGV went past and the wind nearly blew me over I felt quite fragile and like everyone going past thought that I was an idiot.

I knew I had to turn right so I decided any right would do just to get me off this road. Finally I could see a road on the right and it wasn’t far but to get there I had to zig zag a little but the end was in sight so it wasn’t a drama. Why wasn’t this road on my map though? I can physically see it but it’s not on my map. It has curbs and everything, not like all the country lanes that went left.

It wasn’t like the left lanes and it wasn’t on the map because it wasn’t a road. It was a 25 foot by 15-foot concrete area. With 3 concrete bollards blocking the entrance.

I don’t believe God hates me but sometimes I feel like I’m his equivalent of cats on YouTube, entertainment to pass an hour.

                I rolled a ciggie and got my map out. It didn’t look too far until my right turn so I knew I could do it but it didn’t give me as much hope as I’d expected. I ate a banana, rolled another ciggie and tightened my shoe laces.

                The last section had firm banks so it was disappointingly easy and I was gutted by the fuss I had made.

I turned right.

What a beautiful little lane and the Ridgeway was my next destination. I knew the views would be gorgeous and the path would be peaceful. On reflection, the planning may have been wayward again. The views were gorgeous and the paths peaceful but the sun was hot and my water bottle was empty.

                I met the one taint on the landscape, a mobile phone transmitter, but when I looked at my phone I had no signal. I was at the top of a hill (good planning to put a mobile phone transmitter there) and there were no buildings in sight.

“Oops” (and other 4 letter words.)

When your plan goes wrong you should probably stop, assess and make a new plan but I went with “as long as I put one foot in front of the other I’ll get there” as a mantra.

                It worked in a more by luck sort of way.

There were two cottages. Two! I walked up to the second one (no, you’re right. Why not the first?) It had a printed Word doc on the door that said, “This is not Celia Cottage,” That’s OK. I’m not looking for Celia cottage. Or Celia. I am looking for water so I knocked in an apologetic way. No reply. After a politely agreeable time I shut the gate and went to the second cottage (the first cottage on reflection seeing as I had walked past it.) This time the note was handwritten (quite neatly) “This isn’t Celia Cottage.” I’m not looking for Celia cottage or I wasn’t, but I want to now. The only two buildings I have seen in the past two hours both say they are not Celia so who is? No-one answers again but now I want to find water at Celia’s.

                                I never did.

I did find a farmer though and we exchanged names but I can’t remember what they were. I told him about my journey and his face looked puzzled as he led me to a tap.

“Bristol to Reading with no money?” He showed me the outdoor tap to fill my bottles. “Where are you sleeping?”

“Tonight, in a Forest.”

“Bristol to Reading with no money?”

There was a sign for an art gallery. I asked him why there was a sign for an art gallery.

“My wife was an artist.”

“Do you get many visitors?” I hadn’t seen anyone for hours so it can’t be based on passing trade.

“There was a family at Easter and you if you’d like to have a look.”

“Alright.”

He went to get the keys and we walked towards the building.

There were paintings and sculptures of brass, wood and other metals bound together in a rustic style. They seemed simple but fun to me but that may say more about me than them. We walked back towards the farm entrance and said goodbye.

 “Bristol to Reading?”

***

 I had started to get blisters on my heels and my shoulders but now I was bouncing. I stocked up on water (getting a bit good at this now) and the signposts said 2 miles to Savernake Forest. I had a cheeky smile on my face.

I am amazingly good at ignoring convention but incredible shit at breaking rules so the sign at the entrance to Savernake was not happy reading.

“NO CAMPING OTHER THAN THE DESIGNATED CAMPSITE.”

                I even made the effort of walking as though I was going to the campsite.

“Excuse me, where is the campsite?”

“It’s a fairly long way.”

(I didn’t ask how far. Distance was quite relative at this point.)

                I followed his directions until he and his dog were out of sight.

                I ate a pot noodle. The moon was full and I was snuggled up on a clear night under the stars with the leaves gently rustling above me. So close to nature having just eaten a Pot Noodle. It was like a fairy tale. My right shoulder was bleeding and my leg ached but fairy tales always have a dark side.

                I woke up totally refreshed. I won’t bore you with the details of the deer that was two foot away from me that didn’t run but looked at me as if to say “you’re new(?)” Actually, I just have but I didn’t eat breakfast cos I was here and I shouldn’t be here (there are rules here) and I walked as fast as I could to the forest exit. I fancy a day along the Kennet though. A bit of familiarity wouldn’t go amiss.

***