Across Bristol and Samaritans Way Day 1.
Distance today: 17.1 miles.
Total distance: 995.9 miles.
Accommodation: campsite.
Here’s the thing. Up until now, everything I have written is based on voice recordings I did, usually at the end of each day or sometimes a day later. For the rest of the trip, I never got round to making those recordings and so some of the details may be a bit lacking. The good news is that you are likely to have less to read.
It is with heavy heart and not so heavy rucksack that I decided to leave the 2 litre container of orange juice at the Airbnb. I made my way across Bristol in the drizzly rain to get to the Clifton Suspension Bridge which was the start of my next section: the LDWA Samaritans Way South West. I think it’s the law that when you are at the bridge, you have to take a photo of it. A woman asked me to take a photo of her with the bridge in the background. Her son had studied at Bristol apparently. I struggled to get a decent shot with enough of the bridge in it. She didn’t look like she was the sort of person who would go out of their way to get the perfect shot but I had wanted to tell her that if she just walked up towards the observatory, the view was much better. When she left, I did precisely that.
I was less familiar with this part of Bristol but I still should have probably done better finding my way out of the city. Inevitably there were a few wrong turns here and there. Stopped for a coffee at the cavernous Inn At Yanleigh before heading cross country to get to Dundry. The route wasn’t obvious and so when I spotted someone walking a dog, I asked for directions. He proceeded to tell me he’d walked every part of this area over the years and then with utmost confidence, pointed where I should be going. An hour, a couple of impassable hedges, and an extended dog leg later, I arrived. The pub had an inviting we sell homemade cake sign, which they did just nothing I fancied. The church opposite had amazingly intricate carvings and I was busy tucking into some snacks in the graveyard when an entire wedding entourage came out of the church. I didn’t get an invite to the reception.
Sometimes on these more minor trails, it is easy to veer off course and just as easy to admit defeat and take your chances walking next to the road. This was one of those occasions. Further on I accepted that the campsite I had chosen wasn’t on the official route so I’d have to wing it anyway.
When I reached Chew Stoke, I was on the lookout for a coffee stop. I saw sign for the Chew Kitchen and convinced myself it wasn’t going to be open but happily it was. I don’t know if I was deliberately telling them about my trip in an attempt to exploit their generosity but it didn’t work.
I’ve never walked along the B3114 before but a while back it did use to be part of my weekly commute from Bath to Ashburton. When the road passes the Chew Valley Lake, there is a layby where you can stop and do a bit of bird spotting. Just before I got there, a BMW X5 (3 litre diesel, as it happens) pulled up. The driver got out to take a closer look at the lake while the passenger remained in the car with the door open. I don’t know why the whole thing annoyed me so much but it did. I do have a thing about unnecessary 4x4s anyway but this was more than that. It was like a slap in the face to the environment while at the same time somehow illustrating the drive-by A.D.D. essence of modern culture. That’s nature, what’s next? When I was adding the photo, I was half-tempted to give the car a personalized registration like FCK W1T but I compromised by pixilating it instead.
Got to the Gosswood Park campsite at around 4.40. It was next to a farm with hundreds of egg-laying free-range chickens and, should it be a deciding factor in choosing where you want to go, the campsite could boast 3 llamas and a cozy little reading shed. All in all, it was nice enough.
Later on I wandered down the road to the Blue Bowl Inn in West Harptree. Outside the pub, on posters attached to the wall, they had a number of inspiring lyrics/quotes from musicians such as John Lennon and Bob Marley. Inside you sensed they were trying to be upmarket but not too upmarket. As I sat quietly in the corner, trying to enjoy a lasagna and a pint, it was difficult to ignore the loud room-filling conversation peppered with observations like why didn’t all the refugees stop in Germany … Trump got more done …
Further down the road was the Crown Inn. This was much more of spit ‘n’ sawdust locals pub. I think some of the punters were a few pints ahead of me. One of the women in particular was way down the track, insisting (again and again) that she just told the truth and people didn’t like hearing it. I stayed for a pint and then left them to it.
