We have run across several things with the word King or Royal or George in them. This must have been Royal King George's neck of the woods. Tonight we are in King's Stanley. That's opposed to the town whose name I could never get right, Charlton Kings. (Maybe King Charles snuck into the area a wee bit himself.) We've eaten at The Royal Oak, The (just plain) Royal, another Royal Oak, The King's Head, The Royal George, to name a few. We haven't met anyone named Stanley yet, but we'll keep looking.
From last night's cloud cover, we thought surely it would rain today. It was chilly at breakfast (eaten in the courtyard just outside our cottage), and I wore a jacket. In the 25 minutes it took us to finish packing, the temperature began to soar. Tom looked it up, and it was expected to be 80 degrees. No rain.
No breeze either. The other day it was sunny for our hike but there was a cooling breeze. No such luck for most of today. We had to suffer through the upward marches in the sun. Although there were a few up and down stretches, there were also lovely, cool, lengthy, flat forest walks.
On the Coast-to-Coast Walk many years ago, when our hiking party hit the Cleveland Way very close to the end of the ordeal, we were struck dumb. The Cleveland Way was flat. There were mighty stones cast over the moor, making it so a baby could walk on it. In fact, families were on the moor having a day trek. That came after sheer cliffs; hanging onto ropes to walk on ledges next to fast-moving streams; narrow, muddy tracks through sheepfold after sheepfold after sheepfold; and the infamous sign?-what-sign? conundrums. The Cleveland Way was the great white way, a great white arrow that said, This way and don't worry, there's no other.
That's how I felt when we hit the last forest walk today. For close to two miles, we were in a National forest preserve. The paths were wide, cushioned by fallen forest matter, cool under the protective green canopy, dry and even. Even our blisters (yes, now I have one too) magically disappeared. We didn't have to worry that we had drunk almost all our water. This was the way to majestically enter a town. We knew we were close to King's Stanley, so maybe...
There would be no story if that's how it ended, would it?
Coming out of the forest, we had to plummet down a steep grassy path, then a steep gravel path. Yaaaa, I said, and carefully placed each foot down the path. La di da di da di da, said a young couple, coming up behind us. They walked (!) past us on the first grassy downhill and were soon out of sight. They had no hats, no big backpacks (she didn't even have one), no large water bottles (he had a tiny one), and they were wearing sneakers. Sneakers! We knew they were walkers because they had already passed us once on a lookout point about three miles back. To wind up behind us again, they probably had taken an additional five-mile excursion. Bite me, I thought.
All black thoughts were driven away by an ice-cold "lemonade" (more like a 7-Up) and a half-pint of hard cider at The King's Head. And that brings me back to the beginning of today's tale, because then we reached our B&B.
The path took us through a variety of scenes. This forest tunnel was the first.
Tom is at the way marker for the "half-way" point. No wonder the Romans lost Britain. Fifty-five miles to go ain't half way. (The total number of miles is supposedly 102.)
There was a fort at this spot. It must have been unsuccessful because you couldn't really see the enemy, or anyone else, coming.
This strange sight greeted us upon emerging from a woodland path. Hi, waved THE DUMMY in the barn loft.
This was a beacon. The 360-degree view was much publicized. I guess that's accurate if 180 of those degrees are of the trees surrounding it. Maybe you could see the scenery in the valley below if you were Yao Ming.
Here's Tom on the side that did have a fabulous look at the valley. (Note his Aussie-style hat. Guess who the smart one is in this family.)
This is what the beacon looks like close up. The two arrows are markers for The Cotswold Way. I guess we had a choice of going up or down. I chose down.
Hey, here's another one of the confusing arrow signposts. It looks exactly like the one from the day before. Hey, you don't suppose ... nah ...
There weren't many cute and cozy cottages. I think we've left that behind temporarily.
The trail went straight through a corn field. Pity the poor walkers about a month from now.
I hated these stiles. I wasn't tall enough to step through easily.
Another part of the trail went over this railway bridge, overhung by a butterfly bush.
The reward for a day's work: The King's Head.
