When the Weather Tests Your Willpower.
I packed all the rain gear, only to find myself walking under a blistering heatwave instead. You’d think I’d learned my lesson, right?
Well, fast forward to this summer: I’m hiking in the South, and after a few years of heatwaves, I figured, who needs rain gear?
But of course, I packed it anyway. And boy, was I so glad I did today!
I couldn’t find the trail for a while, my joints were screaming, and let’s just say I had to dig deep to keep my spirits up.
But there was no way I wasn’t finishing this trail and having fun with it.
The trail notes suggested I could skip this tough climb and take a detour, shaving off 5km. Now, normally, I’d be like, “Yeah, I’ll take the easy route,” but not today.
I’m a sucker for prehistoric sites, no matter where they are. So, with a determined Nope! to the shortcut, I started my climb.
And that’s when the wind decided to make things interesting. As I hiked up, the wind picked up, pushing me backward with every step. And then the rain came.
First, just a light drizzle, and then BAM, torrential downpour.
I popped on my raincoat, covered my backpack, and carried on. But, surprise surprise, my pants quickly turned into a soggy mess.
And before I knew it, my walk notes (stuffed in my pocket) became a soggy papier-mâché disaster. I had to pull out the digital version on my phone—thank goodness for technology!
But then came another curveball: I couldn’t find the exit. It’s like the place was designed to keep you in forever.
The trail notes weren’t clear, and I was just about to give up when I noticed another couple wandering around, equally lost.
After about 30 minutes of trying every possible path, we finally found the correct trail. But the fun didn’t stop there.
Now it was time for the dreaded downhill. I’ve always said, going up is tough, but going down is painful. And oh boy, was I right.
The path was slippery and rocky, but I made it down in one piece (thank you, trusty walking sticks). And then, just when I thought the worst was behind me, it was time to climb again—up to Cleeve Hill, the highest point in the Cotswolds.
According to the trail notes, I should’ve been treated to incredible views over the River Severn and all the way to Wales.
Yeah, no. The fog was so thick I could barely see two meters ahead. But I still managed to reach the “summit,” which—surprise, surprise—was right next to a golf course clubhouse. At least it was a great place to stop, dry off, grab a well-deserved lunch, and recharge both my phone and my energy.
The next part was a 10km descent to Dowdeswell, where a taxi was supposed to pick me up at 5:00 p.m.
My knees were protesting. My ankles were complaining. And the temptation to skip the final stretch and just head straight to my cozy B&B was strong.
As I walked down a quiet, remote road, a few cars passed by and—seriously—every single one stopped to ask if I needed a lift. Temptation with a capital T.
But I resisted. The final stretch was actually incredibly beautiful, winding through Dowdeswell Wood. The only catch? I had to hurry to make it to my 5:00 p.m. taxi appointment. And wouldn’t you know it, I made it just in the nick of time.
Now, it’s time for a hot shower, some much-needed rest, and a serious date with my legs (which are demanding more attention than my stomach right now).
No dinner for me tonight—my legs need TLC, not a meal. See you tomorrow, folks!
