Day 7—Abingdon to Dorcester

Today should have been a leisurely 8 mile day allowing us a bit of rest. Instead, we walked almost 13 miles.

Before explaining how our walk went off the tracks today, please understand that  Anne and I have very different navigational styles. Anne is careful. I am not. I pride myself on my strong sense of direction. Anne, on the other hand, has the uncanny ability to always head in the wrong direction, whether on exiting a room or turning at a street corner.  She, however, has acknowledged her directional shortcomings and has overcome them by becoming adapt at reading maps. I have compounded my directional lack of care by larding over it with a pile of hubris. When Anne pulls out her phone and starts looking at the map, I roll my eyes. We are just wasting time. I know which way to go.

You can probably see where this is going. Below is screenshot of the track of the first part of today’s walk.

It has a few meanders before heading off in a big circle around the Abbey Meadow. The meandering and circling is me. Anne grudgingly followed, at first. Because when she pulled out her phone and pulled up a map, I become peevish, with a how-dare-you-question-me attitude. At some point, though, she’d had enough. And I saw, with growing alarm, that we were approaching the turn off to our hotel, where we had begun our walk.  

All I could do is apologize. It’s amazing that Anne still talks to me.

The rest of the walk, if a little long, was at least pleasant.

We saw a statue of Queen Victoria in Abbey Park.

Anne is laughing because Mason the unruly Golden Retriever has just jumped on me. Queen Victoria keeps a stiff upper lip.

We saw a sailboat on the river.

An awfully big boat for such a narrow body of water.

We walked through hay-fever-inducing fields.

We saw some beautiful sights along the river, including Abingdon Abbey.

And the Clifton Hampden Bridge.

Close to the end today’s walk, we popped into a pub, the Barley Mow for a quick drink (mineral water). 

The pub, which dates back to the 14th century, figures in a comedic novel that Anne is reading, Three Men in a Boat by Jerome K Jerome. The book is about a boat trip up the Thames and the buffoonish misadventures of the three men in the boat. Anne openly guffaws when reading the book. I can only hope that she will continue to regard my buffoonery with the same good humor.