Day 62
Kington to Norton: 10 miles
Dedication of the day: To the two guys in the car with the pitbull in a pink rhinestone collar
Reason: I needed to get to Presteigne somehow
Everything's falling apart
It took me a while to get out of Kington, because I spent a lot of the morning eating a very nice breakfast with my host and her friend (that included ghee on toast, which was a new one for me), and chatting again for a while. I was also delayed trying to put duct tape on the crack in my shoe.
But eventually I got everything together, and wandered out into the wild with my backpack covered in a rather torn up garbage bag and one shoe covered in duct tape. Because classy is how I roll. (Spoiler: the duct tape lasted half the hike, after which point my left foot again got soaking wet.)
Leaving Kington I was again struck with how helpful it would have been if I understood the game of golf, literally at all, because again I was presented with a golf course to cross. And again I was even sure where I was supposed to be looking for the killer flying golf balls the sign warned me about. But this time, there was also a giant flock of sheep on one side of the golf course. So assume they probably weren't anywhere where someone would be hitting balls at, I made my way directly to them.
In short order thereafter, (1) I got lost (2) I had to walk through several inches of sheep poop and (3) it started to rain. Luckily it didn't actually start to rain that much, so when I again found myself crossing back and forth between Wales and England I was relatively dry. Until suddenly I wasn't of course, because the weather was really just pretending and I again tried my best to shelter under some bushes wedged under some high trees.
Where am I going again?
Coming out slightly wetter than was comfortable but not so bad as to really slow me down, as I made my way closer to Presteigne I finally was struck with the dilemma I'd been waiting for for a few days - that I really wasn't entirely sure where I was going to today.
You see, when I planned these days on Offa's Dyke, I was way back in Cardiff. And because I wasn't carrying electronics on me, I marked on my map where everything was, and wrote down the name and phone number of the person I was meeting, as well as the time I was supposed to be meeting them. But the problem in this case was that I was going to Norton, which was just slightly to the east of the edge of my map. So I hadn't been able to mark it off. I'd asked my hosts for directions prior to going offline again, but they hadn't gotten back to me with anything more than some kind of vague driving directions. I'd kind of assumed I'd be able to just find my way to the town and ask around, which generally works here.
The further problem was that I wasn't entirely sure exactly where the town was - like, where was I supposed to turn right. From what my map said it looked like I should either get off early near Dolley Green and go to Norton via the main road to Presteigne, or I should climb a large hill that didn't really show a lot of access routes of the main path, and hope I could find my way back down to the town.
When I got to Dolley Green, I decided to try the former, in hopes that at least I'd be able to find a phone in Presteigne (an actual small village) whereas if I kept on going up the path I might just end up wandering in the woods with no idea where I was going.
But again, the problem was that Presteigne wasn't on my map either. I'd looked this all up online the night before, and so thought I had a good idea - but it turns out I really didn't. After walking through the tiny settlement of Dolley Green, I continued along a medium sized A-road, really a small highway. But after a while I got to a certain point where I was worried that I was going to get hit by a speeding car - because there was no edge of the road, it was a blind corner, and there were plenty of cars.
After trying to figure out my options, I decided that now was the time to try out what the older lady my first night on the trail had said she did here all the time - hitchhiking. Now if you're my mother and your reading this, just stop here, of course I didn't hitchhike that's totally crazy and why would I ever ever do such a thing.
For everyone else, of course I hitchhiked - I'd actually looked up the British AAA equivalent story about it a few weeks before, and it was an article by the President of the AAA bemoaning the fact that very few people hitchhiked anymore despite it being perfectly legal in the UK and his having done it as a youth. Also it mentioned a fact I'd heard before - Welsh people are far more likely to pick up hitchhikers.
So, I decided to hitchhike (unless, as I said, you're my mother in which case just stop reading this everything was clearly totally fine and I was magically transported to my destination). As a first step I thought it would help to take my hat off, my hair down, and why not. Sure it's probably going to make me more likely to be killed to be a hitchhiking lady but it's also going to make it more likely to get a ride. Ah, the benefits of being a woman - only a 50/50 shot of murder, but way better chances of getting where I'm going.
Anyway, I had my thumb out approximately 25 seconds before the second car to pass me stopped and told me if I didn't mind the pit bull in the backseat they'd take me to Presteigne. Yay, hitchhiking. So I spent the next 5 minutes chatting with the guy in the passenger seat while their pit bull in a pink sequined collar tried to make me it's best friend by as far as I can tell trying to perch on my shoulders. Which of coure I said I didn't mind. But man that dog was heavy.
Along the lines of other things that didn't happen, mother, is when during the conversation I asked them where they were off to today, what their plans were. And, apparently in the throws of brutal honesty, the gentleman definitely did not say 'Oh, we're spending the week in Aberystwyth. But we're on our way to Worcester to buy drugs.' To which I of course did not reply totally nonchalantly and frankly quite brightly like that's totally a normal thing to say to your hitchhiker friend 'Oh, well that sounds like a good day then!' Because really, how does one respond to something like that (my other thought, but that was more of an inside MA joke that no one else would get was 'Wow, that sounds just like home in Central MA!').
Anyway, I'm clearly here to type this out, so these two perfectly nice people on their way to purchase what I'm certain were perfectly legal prescriptions at some type of all day pharmacy in Worcester dropped me quickly off in Presteigne, where I quickly found a phone box. Where a very kind but slightly annoyed host told me to just stay where I was because I was in totally the wrong place but she'd come and get me.
There was good cider though
As soon as she pulled up in her car I knew she wouldn't be amused by my hitchhiking story, so when she asked me how I ended up in Presteigne I kind of just skirted the issue with a few mumbles and explained the fact that the map didn't have the full map on it, and since they hadn't given me the full directions ('Yes, we sent those' 'Umm, ok, well I didn't see them') I wasn't entirely sure where I was going so I just called them. Presteigne apparently being well, well, well out of the way and my having somehow walked there from the path just went unexplained.
Also, I was told that her son served in the mountain rescue and they were constantly pulling people off mountains who did stupid things like not have phones on them. I'm quite proud of myself for holding my tongue instead of politely asking how they ever managed to find these people to save them if they didn't have phones then. Clearly there must be some magic other way of being saved if you break your ankle - i.e. telling one of the many people I see every day that I've broken my ankle and would they be so kind as to go find help. Or else hobbling to one of the many houses I see every day to ask for help directly. And not to mention, if I fell off a cliff I really don't see how having a phone on me would be particularly helpful.
So, at this point I thought I was going to be in trouble with this host - but actually they turned out to be a lovely set of recently retired nurses - once I got past the utter shame of not carrying a phone on me. (Also to be fair I thought it was really supremely nice of her to come get me at all). She made a wonderful shepherd's pie dinner, and he showed me around the garden and gave me home brewed cider the likes of which I've never had before. He warned me it would be different than cider I'd had before, and it was. First, no carbonation, which isn't that unusual. But it was also sour (which I love), cloudy (which I'm indifferent about) and somehow lingeringly bready (which I was entirely intrigued by). I actually really liked it, and he promised me to send me the recipe - but from what it sounded like it was something along the lines of 'get an apple tree, put all the apples into a giant plastic bin and stir them occasionally. Drain. Drink.'
My stay there also included reading half a Terry Pratchett book I found in my bedroom, and the hostess introducing me to the show Poldark, which I'd heard about several times on the radio. Poldark is apparently an older English book about 18th century Cornish (i.e. from Cornwall) aristocracy that to me seemed like a British telenovella. People were dying, having each other's bastard children, marrying evil men to save their true loves, making the men who saved their lives in the American War blacksmiths for some unknown reason, and conniving their way into public office left and right. Anyway, my hostess loved it, so I smiled and wondered what exactly was going on. But having watched many a Days of Our Lives halfway through with very little background, I think I had a decent idea.
Ultimately, I had a nice night there - not only did I get to see Poldark for the first time ever - but she taught me how to properly dry my socks after I'd washed them in her sink. Which in this climate, let me tell you, is no small feat.
