Sleep in another castle, rain and hills in "the Lake District"

I arrive in Oxenholme-Kendal south of Carlisle, at the edge of the Lake District. There are more lakes concentrated in this area of England than any other. I stop at a small store for food, and ask where I might camp. The woman says, "Oh, you'd have to go way out of town....no, wait, you could camp at the castle!" (Does she know me?!) She says, "just take the bike path, turn left, when you see the cemetary, push through it, I guess that's kind of spooky, but go thru the cemetary and push on up the hill to the castle. No one will mind. It's kind o' creepy, what the cemetary and all, but you'll be safe. The castle's perfect." I follow her directions and just before dark make it...to..the ...top...of the hill. I find a young couple of friends, Mark and Amy, who ask You pushed that bike all the way up here?! They ask questions about my trip, and offer to help pitch my tent. I start over next to a wall and he says, Not so close, the guys wee there! We take pictures on her cell phone and my yellow rain coat glows. I settle in for sleep, after thinking, if this were somewhere else, I'd be afraid they would come back and plunder my things in the night. But it is safe, I'm sleeping in the remains of a castle several hundred years old. In the morning, the view is beautiful, the rolling hills and hedgerows all around. I eat breakfast at the Union Jack cafe and find info on touring in the Lake District. I head west towards Windermere, where Mark had said I must visit. On my way up the hill, cyclists coming down looked over at me and pumped their arms in exuberance, a familiar happy greeting.
I stop in Windermere, where the rain is pouring down, and find a map for the Lake District, and head north for Kirkstone Pass. I stop several times to catch my breath, it's 5 miles mostly uphill. At one stop I am next to a tree that is 8 feet across, probably 20' around. It is nestled into a stone wall and I can't measure all around it. I go into the Kirkstone Pass Inn, at 1489' the third highest public house in England, and visit with Rich and Jane, proprietors who are avid cyclists. They feed me and ply me with coffee, give me "proper food" and when I walk outside the mountain is socked in, visibility of 1/4 mile. Hey, it's late July!! Shortly the road drops below cloud cover and the view is incredible- stone walls crawling up and oveer the mountains, a lake, farms in the valley, lovely views all around. I continue north where I hear thunder and the skies pour hard rain for several miles. I pass through Keswick, a Patagonia and Orvis sportsman's town. Ten miles south I come to the Barrowdale youth hostel and hole up for the night. In the morning, it's back to Kendal, after stopping at a stone circle perched high in a field, surrounded by gorgeous views of mountains and clouds. In Kendal, I opt for the youth hostel, not wanting to "camp wild" ever in the same place twice, safety care. I talk with fellow cyclists, and Roger, after asking many questions, says "you remember all this about your trip?! Wow!" Of course- it's the trip of my lifetime!
On Thursday I take a bus south, hoping to tour the Yorkshire Dales. It's not meant to be, I'd have to take a train easst to Leeds, then take a bus up into the Dales. So I retrieve my bike and take the train to Oxford, a vibrant lively University town so full of energy. I find a campground 2 1/2 miles out of town, pitch my tent, and in the morning travel throughout the Cotswalds. Buildings are elbow to elbow and follow the hills down into town, very picturesque, very touristy. Saturday morning it's off to Avebury, where I visit my second World Heritage Site and the largest circle of stones in England. I pass a white horse carved from the chalk hills, visible from a mile away. In Avebury, the swtones cross the road and are in several different fields. There are many visitors, and I discover later there is a meeting that night at 11pm of people desiring to harmonize and raise their voices to heaven for peace and world happiness. Locals call them "stone huggers"! I sleep along a footpath and, after loading my bike in the morning, am greeted by an 80 year old man with his walking stick. He steps aside on the path and grumbles, "that's quite a burden you have there". I cycled to the Divine Cafe in Calne and had, what else!, a full English breakfast with a large cup of steaming hot coffee. A motorcyclist came in and when asked his order, said "I want a good breakfast but not as big as hers!" pointing to mine. Funny! We later visited awhile and he told the owner, "now that's green power, a pushbike!" On to Chittendem, where I took the train as far west as I could, to Penzance. I found the YHA hostel, and awoke at 5:30 to bike west to Land's End, the furthest point west in England. The cliffs did not allow for swimming, so I biked to a nearby beach and down, what else?, a steep hill to the chilly inviting Atlantic Ocean. Back to the hostel and off on the 10am train to London Paddington station. I made my way to my last hostel stop of my trip, Tanner's Hatch, deep in the woods 20 miles south of London and closest hostel to Gatwick airport. The lights went out during the night and I discovered this hostel has a generator. The radiator for it was leaking so it went off when it overheated. Wow, I'm almost home and this place is like being at Flathead Lake, minus the lake! The owner brings me two bike boxes for my bike and gear, and I respond to a kind offer from the mmotorcyclist with the small breakfast. He writes to offer help packing my bike and taking me to the airport. We meet at 5:45am, and a few hours later I'm on my way over the pond to Montana, Ray, Jen, Sam, the babies, home.....I am forever changed by this remarkable time in Europe.

York, England...memories of Dad.....on north

My train took me into the town of York, in eastern England, where Dad had spent much time in the 70s. I arrived around 9, and asked if there wa a place I could camp. No one knew of a place, but assured me there was a hostel. I found it, and knew right away that Dad must've stayed here on his travels. It was a YHA, where he was a member. The hostel had been such since 1948. I set away my things, and went down to use my computer. As it warmed up, I heard the music playing.....Billie Holiday. It was Dad. Tomorrow would be his 85th birthday. Not everyday Billie Holiday is playing. I skyped the kids, and emailed, and slept soundly again. Breakfast in the morning was the best I've had yet: coffee, tea, stewed prunes, pineapple, 2 lunch meats, Swiss cheese, scrambled eggs!, warm croissants with chocolate chips, bread, rolls, sausages, bacon, cereal, oj, milk. Wow, a guy could get fat if he didn't bicycle or something! And Billie Holiday again. Happy birthday, Dad....
More rain is forecast, so I shift gears and decide to go north, to Inverness, Scotland. I travel through the lowlands, then the highlands of Scotland. Much looks like home in Montana, and much different. In Edinburgh, it is raining, then sunny, then rain. A trainman says Typical Scottish weather! and laughs.
I find a hostel in Inverness, and haul my bike up 26 stairs of a circular staircase. I store it in the laundry room, and in the morning mail home anything I don't need, to lighten my load. A few eerreands, a trip to Dickey's Book Shop, which sports a large wood stove and piles of wood stacked all around it. Then it's off to wrestle with nessie, along the shores of Loch Ness. I dip 7 times in the lake, take a picture, and an F-111 fighter jet screams by! He banks left and flies, screams! past. I film the aftereffects, so dramatic cause of the quiet of this place. Ten miutes later as I bike on, I think a car is crashing behind me, and it's another
F-111. Man, you just never know.... I camp out in Fort William, a haven for the outdoor type, full of shops for fishing and anything outdoors.
Friday it's off further south towards Oban, another outdoor mecca town, and I stop to be sure of direction. An 80ish woman is picking wild raspberries near the roundabout, and assures me that I should go on the Glasgow Road, which just misses Oban and goes thru Crianlarich, then south to Glasgow. A few hours later, I follow a road to Bonewa. It's a single track road, with "room for passing" signs, and I eat lots of wild raspberries. At 9 miles, the road ends, and I realize I'm on the wrong side of the loch, so I backtrack...grrrrr....and stop in Taynuilt, where Highlands Games are being held the next day. I visit with Tom and Molly, who are helping out again with the games. We drink coffee and eat crumpets with jam, and visit til midnight. I love this.
Saturday morn, and we visit, eat rice Krispies, drink coffee, and then check out the vendors and contestants. This is RR Day in Alberton, so I feel an affinity for home. As I take pictures of men in kilts and contestants practising, I see a man I think is Dhani Jones, an NFL player who participates in sports around the world in order to learn about other cultures. I ask the woman next to me, "Is that Dhani?" and she smiles Yes! it is, and I'm from NY, I'm part of his production crew, he's competing in the games today. I'm probably the only one, or one of the only, who even know who he is. Amazing! later, he's putting on chapstick and I ask for his autograph, and he shows concern that I'm cycling on my own. He asks about my travels, and says Be careful, and then Oh! it's time to throw the telephone pole, gotta go! Be safe! He is a class person, so real and kind. Wow....and if I hadn't've gotten lost....
All day the sun shone off and on in the field where the men competed, and there were clouds in the background all above the mountains. It sprinkled rain a bit, nothing serious, and was such a special day, real highlands games.
I bicycled til setting up camp again, American style with 2 other cyclists and a caravan (camper) in a grass strip near a restaurant. And the midgies swarmed around my face, even in the drizzling rain, as I pitched my tent. Argh!! too busy to apply bug juice. And it's raining, they'll go away, no they don't! Little gnatlike things, all around my face, arghhh!
I eat a wonderful buffet breakfast, and feel like Georgia Pearl- plump round full tummy! But it'll be gone soon, as I later discover I will bicycle my longest day, 75 miles. I pass through Crianlarich, past Loch Lomond (no place to swim) and Dunbarton, and on into Glasgow. 5pm Sunday, no shops are open for sweaters, and each way I turn I'm in a rough part of town. It's actually a city of about a million, time to move on. I ask and get help twice, and go on past town til I find a place to camp. In the morning I visit with a couple who notice my bike-he used to have a Koga- and they ask many questions about my travels, and their daughter asks about Dad. After a warm visit I go on the Edinburgh, where I enjoy a meal of haggis, matties and meeps! D-e-licious! with hot brown onion gravy. I love it, could eat it often. I reserve a place on the 6:52 train, and spend the next sunny! warm! sun! 2 hours walking along the Royal Mile, to the Edinburgh Castle, and explore the lovely old red-brown stone buildings throughout Edinburgh. This is a beautiful classy city, lovely and pretty and old and so wonderful. I love it! There are many alleys, named a close, that stretch down between buildings, and drop down into lower streets. What a place...and then off south, to the Lake District of England. Scotland....wow....

The beautiful land called Wales part two

Oops! the blog accidently posted. So here's the rest of Wales. I left towards Harlech, to the south, or so I thought. Signs all over Europe often, usually, do NOT have the direction on them. I followed what I thought was south, no sun to follow, and went through 15 beautiful miles of wild, goegeous North Wales. The hills rolled and drifted and rose, and there were sheep, hedgerows, trees, incredible beauty. When I realized the error of my direction, I turned around and saw what it looked like in the rear view mirror. I soon came to a mountain pass, which rose higher and higher, and I pushed....and pushed....my steady Koga up over the mountain. Whew, what a place. I came into a town named Flestniog, where slate is mied and used in all the buildings. The main street of town is built, literally, against the mountain, the raw Cambrian mountain of rock. Immense!
So on to Harlech, where I had Chinese food (hey we eat Chinese in Missoula, why not Wales?) and slept like a baby in the dunes of sand behind a church and next to the sea. The wind blew through the night, and I thought the people buried in the nearby graves were visiting me. I awoke early, 5am to be exact, because I'd accidently set my watch over to Montana time. Oops! So after breakfast, and walking on the beach, I visited Harlech Castle, which is a World Heritage Site. Very impressive, google it.
I travel south through Barmouth and other lovely Welsh towns, into Tywyn for a late lunch, after more rain and hills. At the Cambrian Cafe, the owners are eating, and ask What would I like? I said, I haven't had a burger since I got to Europe, so how about your Welsh beef burger? One of the men says, "He's just eating the last one" and points to the other owner. I said, Okay, then the Welsh pork burger with crab apple jelly. He says, "I'm eating the last one. We have to eat what we have before we lose it. How about a roast dinne3r, all the fixins, four pounds?" Deal!! Feed me, I'm hungry!! The food was great, and I tried mint sauce, a mint vinegar sauce for the roast, great stuff.
I pedaled and pushed on til I reached Aberystwyth just before 11pm. I could see the ocean as I topped the hill, and sped down it and up into a University town with 8000students. I walked up the last of the hill, going towards the ocean, where I figured I could camp. I walked thru the ruins of a castle, and as the wind blew, figured I was better off here. So, I slept in the castle ruins, above the ocean, with the wind blowing 'round me and gently lifting at my tent thru the night.
In the morning, 2 workers came to get supplies for repair to a monument, and, altho 8feet away from me, acted as tho I wasn' there! I walked 2 blocks and came to a bike shop, where for 10 quid, ($16.50) I had a full tuneup and check on my bike. I had gone over a thousand miles, and Andy said it's an excellent strong good bike, take it home, you'll never find one in the states. He also said the castle is 700 years old, and very safe for camping. I set up my train for York, and went swimming in Cardigan Bay. The undertow and backcurrent is so strong, it came in and knocked me back over, and my feet went up in the air! When I changed my suit gravel fell out- oops! The water was great and is technically part of the Irish Sea. I learned this from Colin, a man who bought me coffee and toured me through town and above the city, where the tram train runs. He took me to the National Library of Wales, and showed me many incredible views of the landscape and Aberyswyth. And then it was off to England, with the wild landscapes of Wales forever in my mind and heart.

The wonderful, beautiful land called Wales

Saturday morning came at 7am for me, with mixed clouds and sun, in Holyhead, Wales, on the northwesternmost part of the isle of Anglesey. I had a full English breakfast and yummy hot coffee-all coffee here has been yummy- at the restaurant of a woman from Portugal. When I pulled out my map to show her where I'd traveled, she got lost in Portugal! I reluctantly left after a sweet visit, and headed east towards Bangor. A man who assured me I was on the right road said the isle is like a basket of eggs, and the roads all go up and down over the eggs!! He was right. Up and down, up and down, makes for strong legs, I guess.
Past Bangor I headed south, through Bethesda and up over the mountains. And it rained....and rained....and rained some more. Wales, and all of the UK, must be some of the cleanest places on earth, they get washed frequently, as do the cyclists who travel through. Up over the mountain, and I kept seeing hikers coming out of the hills. At one point one asked me if I'd seen a campground back aways, and I said Yes, a mile or so up the rod. He said Did you see the name of it? and I said Nooo! the sign was a foot square and it was raining too hard to read!! We were near the highest peak in Wales, and people there are challenged to hike the three highest peaks in Britain in 24 hours, come rain (which it does!) or shine. They drive to one, hike up and down, jump in the car, and so on till they get all three.
So I continued on down into the town of Betws Y Coed, where I hugged a pot of tea and grew warm as I ate cod fish and chips. The only reasonably priced rooms were at the hostel, 2 milesw back up the hill (I swear the sign said hotel, not hostel....but it was raining, I couldn't read....). At the hoste3l, I lucked out and got my very own 6 bed dorm room to myself. I did a load of laundry, and hung my tent and wet things all over everywhere to dry. And I slept like a baby!! In the morning, it was a hearty delicious breakfast again, and a toaster the likes of which I've never seen. Bread is inserted into the top front of it, where it proceeds to creep backward over the hot wires, toasting as it goes. It then drops around and down onto the bottom, where it is pushed out towards the toastee. Yum!
I left town, and

Ireland, and why it's called the Emerald Isle

One last comment I forgot about the retired math teacher who suggested I bike the Sea-to-Sea route from Plymouth north, a route he said was without major hills and 55 miles long. When I stopped for some groceries at lunch that day, a very kind man who bicycles this route stopped to talk with me. I was only 15 miles into my labor of country viewing. He was very excited that I would go on this route, and retrieved a guidebook just for the route. He thought as tough as I'd been already, I could make it to the halfway point by afternoon. After wrestling my bike downhill and up dale, I sat and looked at the guide. There were major changes in elevation, and the trail was 105 miles long, not 55. So off to Wales I went.
After crossing to Ireland, I found a campgraound with the help of a biker on the ferry. I set up tent, and listened to a group of 15 people having a barbeque in a large tent nearby. They were in their 40s and 50s, and after eating began to play a parlor game. I didn't catch the name of it, but it sounded like Mr Potato Head and dice and hangman rolled into one. As I sat in my tent in the drizzling rain, I could hear their dice roll and them call out the numbers and talk and laugh. One man said "it's not the bleedin' 3s, it's the 1s and the 2s." Then he said "we've got goggles, we've got nipples, lord knows what we've got!" Then, "I've got eyes, now nose, I'm looking for arms." And then, "he's got a willy on 'im, that means he's a ladybird!! He's got a willy, does that count for anything?" The dice rolled over and over, and I laughed in my tent as I listened.
In the morning, the biker gave me his map of Scotland, and a guide to hostels and camping in Ireland. He is from Bristol and so helpful and kind. So I went to the train station to check on departing trains, and found there is ONE departing train to the west, to anywhere, each day, and it had gone at 7:05. So I asked where the next stop was, and it is Waterford, the famous town of Waterford Crystal. How far? Oh, 50 miles (this time the map checked out-it's 50 miles). Not willing to sit here all day, I set off through cloudy sky to the west. After lunching under an overpass, I started on my way again and it began to rain. I shoudn't say began, it just rained....hard...pouring rain, as though all of heaven were dumping it's contents on me. I found a barn and pushed in, to cover my gear with rain covers and fix my raincoat. The farmer of said barn walked by, and when I said what I was doing, he smiled- "No worries!"
On to Waterford. It rained so hard that the rain hit my legs, ran down and I could feel it go into my shoes, around the tips of my toes, and run oout the end. I took a picture of myself, smiling, cause what should? what could I do? Push on!
Waterford is a beautiful city with a river running through the center of it. The business district sits along the water, and the area is called a quay, pronounced key. I asked a cab driver where the hostel was, found it closed, found another one nearby. The grocery was closed so I stopped to tell the cabbie about the hostel and ask where a safe place was to try a Guinness. The famous beer is brewed in this town and the concentrate shipped all over the world. It began to rain, so I sat in his cab and we talked of Ireland, work, the world. His name- Raymond!- and he and his wife of 29 years were headed to Cork to see Rod Stewart the following eveing. He drove me 6 blocks away to Doolans, a pub with live music. I listened for an hour, strong Irish music, with some American classics thrown in, and talked with the singer. He is Dermit Power, related to Tyrone Power, 62, a history writer and singer since youth. He loves Ireland, his lifelong home of Waterford, and expressed the sentiment I feel in life- "If I live to be a thousand, I should never be bored!"
Tuesday I headed west, and decided to go to Killarney, wesst of Cork. It is one of the famous tourist towns, and on the edge of the ring of Kerry, known for it's beautiful scenery. I set up camp and bicycled 34 miles through the Gap of Dunloe and the Black Valley. Rugged, steep, beautiful mountains and a narrow- 10 to 12' wide!- mountain raod. It took me 4 1/2 hours, and was worth every minute. Lakes, creeks, streams trickling over rocks- lovely!!
In the morning, I wanted to go west to Galway, and due to the poor train system in Ireland (they are working on it) I rode east all the way to Dublin, then west to Galway. As I made my way through crowded market streets to supper, a voice on a bike said "that's quite a load you 'ave there!" He was an El Salvadoran, who's lived here with his Irish wife for 5 years. Knew of Montana, having lived in Minnesota and New York, working as a chef.
Thursday morning, I boarded a bus to go west through Connemara country, very rugged and wild. I went the long way, 100 miles, through twisting, climbing turning roads. Most of these roads are barely double the width of a tiny European car, and this bus driver handled it superbly. The only fjord in Ireland lis in the hills here, allong with lakes and streams and breathstealing views. I stayed in Westport for the afternoon, talking with a book seller originally from Atlanta, spent 35 yrs in the Orient and 18 in western Ireland. He said some of his best sellers are....westerns from America, esp Zane Grey! I gave him some tips on how to buy them.
I traveled back to Dubllin for the night, found a grreat hostel, near a not-so-great one. When I asked the rate there, a large eastern European man rolled back in his chair and sneered "30 euros!" He creeped me out so I beat a hasty retreat. The guy at the nice hostel, a New Zealander, said that other guy creeped him out too.
Friday morn I wandered the streets of Dublin, and took the train south to Wicklow, where low and behold I found swimming ocean. Everywhere I'd looked all week the tide was out, leaving a nasty think muck. Here was honest ocean, cold, refreshing, real.
Back on the train to Dublin, then dinner before leaving on the ferry to Wales. I had supper first at a pub, the Oval Room, where Eammon Fannin sat with me and talked of his life in Ireland. He said Dublin is a rough town, I was good to keep my things close to me. Expensive, too, a bowl of Irish Stew (lamb!!) and hearty bread was 10.95 euros, and a Guinness was 4.25. Wow!!
So it's off across the sea to Wales, and adventures in another wild place.

Salisbury cathedral, plains, Stonehenge, Plymouth

I went north from Bournemouth and Christchurch towards Salisbury.....this is the road that never ends. All the people I asked said there must be a quiet road into Salisbury, like going old hwy 10 from Alberton to Missoula. But I couldn't find it, til I struggled the busy "dual carriageway" (divided highway) into Ring Wood. From there the road grew quiter and safer, and I ate steak and kidney pie and had a 1/2 pint in a pub in Downton. A man named Steve, retired from the organization end of the music business, offered me a room in his home where his current roomer stayed. I spent a delightful safe night in an old English town, and in the morning discussed routes and towns and the British countryside with Steve. He had been a courier throughout Britain also, so gave me much valuable information on the country. After a hearty breakfast, I cycled north to the plains of Salisbury, and the huge cathedral of Salisbury stood high above all else. The spire reaches 404', higher than any other in England. Inside, the immensity of the building is breathtaking. In a side room is one of four original copies of the magna carta- wow!
After lunch I cycled north towards Stonehenge, in 85' temps and hot sunshine. And there stood the granddaddy of the stone circles of Britain, in all his glory, visible from far away. I was able to get as close as the wire fence, because I couldn't take my bike in and wasn't going to leave it in parking across the road. I asked a biker which road was the best for going back to Salisbury and he pointed me the way. He also gave me his business card when I told him of Peter Elkington writing of the stone circles in a book called Merlyn. The biker is King Arthur Pendragon, high druid and on strike regarding Stonehenge. I didn't ask what for.
Taking the train from Salisbury, I headed west, and was greeted a few stops later by a cyclist older than me, with a loaded bike. He suggested I ride from Plymouth north to the sea, the sea-to-sea route, about 55 miles. Was a retired math prof and said it was an easy uphill climb to the high point in the Cornwall, then a coast to the sea. As I changed trains in Exeter and he departed, he admired my Koga bike and said "that's the Rolls Royce of touring bikes." Thanks! The next day I needed a Rolls Royce, because after 4 1/2 hours of hard riding, walking my bike down one hill and up the next (like mtn biking Petty Mtn) I had gone 25 miles. I decided I'd seen enough of this area and returned to Plymouth, to take the afternoon train to Cardiff, Wales. The youth hostel there is next to the stadium for the Cardiff Blues football team, sweet stadium.

Swimming both sides of the English Channel

I made my way north to Amiens, and found a nice 20 yr old girl who teacheds French to British students inTourquay, England. She and brother Gunther rode with me for 45 minutes on the train, talked about the chips on the shoulder of the French toward others, and the same in other parts of Europe (maybe it's cause it's called the English Channel, not the French Channel!!). Got to Calais, where I was told this is the stop for the Channel Ferry, and it wasn't! It was the next stop. Four uniformed policemen, the same ones who said this is the stop, pointed me the way to take my bike down 20 stairs to the street (finally one offered help). I made it an adventure through the light rain to the town of Calais, where I was helped by Raymond Bowers and his wife to navigate my way to the Ferry. Before I left, I went for a swim in the French side of the channel, chilly but sweet, love the salty water.
At the ferry I was directed to take lane 199, with, motorcycles. Here's the dorky girl from Montana, no, it's the strong trekking woman from Montana, who gets to line up with the touring motorcycles! I asked the two men in line, Do you speak English? and in their British accent they replied, All the time!! There was some fog going across, and then the white cliffs of Dover came into view. How sweet to see something before you you've seen in books all your life.
Saturday morning I bought some supplies and checked out ways to find biking routes through England. Now, 5 days later, I find the best is to use a good map (I bought an Ordance one for 50 pence in Salvation Army in Folkestone, saved some money and it was the exact one I needed!) and ask questions. When I ask directions, I repeat them back, then there is less chance I get lost. This place is very wooded and it's hard to see the forest for the trees, it's closed in like Pennsylvania and it's difficult to see what's ahead or around the bend.
So off through the country and along the southern coast of England. I swim in this side of the Channel, and ask a Brit, why is it the English Channel and not the French, cause it's between both? He said confidently, Cause we own it!! I made my way along the coast, stayed in Lydd for the night, and made my way to Rye for Sunday breakfast. Chanced a cafe in the town square where motorcyclists meet every Sunday for a ride and breakfast. Walked through the town and enjoyed old shops, book shops, antique stores and 200 year old buildings along cobblestone streets. Off through Hastings, where the famous battle of 1066 took place, through Bexhill and down the wrong cycle trail to meet a 65 yr old man who said, Follow me, I'll show you the way. When he explained there were hills between us and Eastbourne, I said How about coffee and a pastry? He shrieked, Pastry??!! So I said I need to eat, how 'bout fish and chips? He said, that's a little better! He led me up the first of three formidable hills, overlooking the sea near Eastbourne, and said I'll be going back now, you'll find your way. He never faltered going up that beast of a hill, and I stayed behind him with my heavy gear. I did push my bike up the second hill tho, tough going and worth the view.
I made it into Seaford and set up camp in a caravan park, then went for a 1/2 pint in a pub featuring live jazz music. Met Mike and Elaine, boisterous happy laugh and he said Your money's no good in here! and he bought me a brew, local beer from up the street. We talked books and WW2 and Dad, and he promised to correspond. Delightful people!
I've worked my way further acoss the south of England, including the Isle of Wight, where I found Joe's Cafe, fitting since I promised to mail Joe a card from there. I'm in Bournemouth and will head north in this unseasonable heat to Salisbury, Avebury and Glaastonbury, for circles of ancient stone and ancient life in Britain.