The Vale of the White Horse

If there's one thing I've learned from watching Top Gun it's that you never leave your wing man. Well despite serious damage, my wing man, Harriet, has not let me down and we have stuck together. I'm glad of it. Alone, I would have got lost and forgotten to have lunch and generally floundered. She is well on the mend though her elbow is somewhat compromised and will probably need attention when we get home.

For two nights we have been put up by very good friends and in each case the couple includes one  character with very forceful views on the meaning of life and how it should be. They know each other and have very different, very forceful views. So H and I came away wonderfully refreshed with alternative and contradictory world views. Of course I have a world view also, very different again. And Harriet has her strong opinions on almost everything. So you can see we have had a quite invigorating time. And that's without the cycling.

Today we had a shorter day in miles but no mean ride as it turned out. We started at Bladon on the Blenheim Estate and headed south for Chilton Foliat. Oxfordshire gave way to Berkshire and then Wiltshire. It seems only a couple of days since we were hearing the distinctive Norfolk burr and suddenly we are in the West Country.

Gigi the Garmin Gadget puts up the name of the street or road as we go along and the word "hill" occurred rather a lot today. Of particular note was the hill up towards Lambourn, seemingly without a name but let's call it One-in-ten Hill because that is what the sign said at the bottom. We had passed a notice telling us that Lambourn was seven miles away. The first three of those miles was occupied by One-in-ten Hill. It took us some time. Suffice to say we never got off. And Gigi never once decided to put us on pause. It's also fair to mention that the next four miles down to Lambourn took about ten minutes. Hungerford Hill followed and I am not sure which was the most demanding.

Hastoe's little housing scheme at Chilton Foliat is a delight. The six brick-built houses are - as so often - on the edge of the village. They have been constructed in the local vernacular with dark headers and standard stretchers. That's the short ends of the bricks and the long sides. Rather striking.

Tomorrow will be a long day. And free of hills - I DON'T think. then we aim to have a day off.

Good night.

Nick