Broad Chalke to an Indian in Droxford

Saturday, 7th Sept. 9.15pm.

Broad Chalke to Droxford

This trip has been long on experiences. Each of them is a surprise. This evening is no exception.  I am typing this on an ill-made bed (there is no chair) in a little room above an indian restaurant. We cannot hear the muzak from immediately below because it is drowned by the considerably more powerful output from a disco in a back room. The disco is from time to time augmented by some enthusiastic horn blowing, I deduce that the party has something to do with the local hunt. You must understand that we did not go out of our way to choose this place. It chose us. We had travelled some 54 miles from Broad Chalke and found ourselves in Corhampton. We knew it was Saturday night. We did not know today is the day of the Alresford Show. We had not realised that Corhampton is (just) in the South Downs National Park and is on the South Downs Way. Neither did we realise that there are few if any bed and breakfast places hereabouts. A friendly employee of the inn there appraised us of these facts and explained that there was no room for us in the said inn. She kindly called up a couple of rival establishments - no luck. Finally she explained that the White Horse at Droxford did an excellent Indian and had rooms. She could vouch for the food. About the rooms she only knew they were cheap. So here we are; and now we know why.

No Hastoe schemes at all today. For reasons lost in time, Hastoe has only ever had one scheme in Hampshire and that to the north of the county. And today we have been crossing Hampshire, so no schemes to record.

We left our excellent pub in B Chalke at 9.30. Late, because I had written up yesterday's blog after breakfast, much to Harry's annoyance - she wanted an early start. No such mistake today.

We had mapped a course crossing the New Forest and avoiding main roads. The sun shone after last night's rain. It was perfectly lovely. A recent email from James the rector prayed: "may the wind be at your back" which exactly came to pass. On a particular stretch of level road, wisps of straw were being lifted by the wind and blowing past us from behind. Thank you, James.

We failed to buy a map in Fordingbridge. We forgot, I mean. After that, our rural route was devoid of shops. One thing we have learnt is that chances missed are - well - missed. The A272 beckoned but we chose instead a route parallel and to the south of it. No shops. No tea. No inns. Hardly a passer by to ask directions. All contributing to the Indian Saga. And the fact that we did 56.3 miles with an elevation gain of 3,235ft and an average speed of 10.5 mph. I think we must be getting the hang of this cycling thing. 

Now it is ten past ten and in two hours the disco music will cease, we are told. Lucky I packed two pairs of ear plugs. We'll try them out tonight.

Bonsoir.