Before describing day 2, a head-slapping correction regarding day one measurements. This morning, while looking at the ordinance survey map, it occurred to me that it is in fact a British map, and the altitude lines are in meters, not feet. Which means my solid climb of 90 feet in 250 yards in the morning yesterday was in fact 90 meters in 250 yards (the horizontal meters to yardage I had corrected for, so why not the vertical?). In fact, I remember making the same mistake two years ago on the Coast to Coast Trail. Apparently, I am doomed to embody that old Santayana quote about repeating history, but at least this instance gives me the same happy jolt that I did harder climbing than I initially thought.

Okay, on to day 2, which has taken me from Stanton to Cleeve Hill. The morning started somewhat inauspiciously with the sound of high winds outside my rain-spattered window, and, just as the hostess of the B&B was about to make me breakfast, a power outage. She soldiered on—gas cooker, so eggs and sausage but I skipped the toast as too hard to do and went with a croissant. Then I got decked out in my rain gear and prepared for what she told me was going to be a wet, windy day, with a chance of improvement in the afternoon.

This has been the kind of day not so much for reveling in the splendors of the views and the terrain (though it’s been amazing), more for enjoying the feeling of earnest capability in the face of adverse weather. This is the kind of day when, if you were on vacation somewhere scenic, you might normally be annoyed that the weather hadn’t “cooperated” and you’d settle in with a book by a fire if you were so lucky as to have one at your disposal. But not me, ho ho! I was out there hiking, rain and wind be damned, and still taking ridiculous pleasure in things like trying to figure out which settings on my camera produce the best results for different conditions of light, and playing artist trying to take attractive photos of flowers and wild berry bushes and hills.

The morning involved a gentle first section, with only about 10 meters (Ha! Got it this time) in the first few miles, then a quick pass through the tiny villages of Stanway and Wood Stanway (villages is being pretty generous—clusters of houses?) and then a relentless climb (100 meters…say 320 feet…in ¾ of a mile) in wind and some spitting intermittent rain to dramatic views. Then down again through steep sheep-filled fields to a bridle path down a tree-covered lane that passed by some nice orchards (this is cider country).

I skipped the ruins of Hailes Abbey, for the simple reason that it is a bit expensive (Six or seven pounds, if I recall) and I have already once toured a ruined abbey. If I am going to learn any more about late medieval abbey life (as opposed to the 20^th century abbey life, about which I know everything one needs from The Sound of Music), I shall have to take a college course.

Passed through more farm fields and down into the town of Winchcombe. So far I had only seen two people all morning, so a town with something like 30 people on the sidewalks was practically culture shock. After stopping to buy a Diet Coke (Yeah, I’m a junkie. I’m walking 275 miles for my vacation so cut me some slack.), I left town and, after stopping for lunch (that DC and a Clif bar…Geez, I should get sponsorship deals with all this product placement), I flirted briefly with the idea of touring Sudeley Castle, but was again overtaken by stinginess mixed with my sense that I can only do so many castles per visit to the U.K., and this trip will afford better opportunities.

The trail then does another of those relentless ascents, but I’m getting used to the idea that I can slow down with no shame attached. At the wind-swept top of this part of the hike, I paused to admire the Belas Knap Long Barrow, a burial site from 2500 BC.

Then the path wanders along the high ground past farm fields before descending into some nice, wind-breaking woods. By this point in the walk, of course, my pants were wet from the on-and-off rain, and the top half of my body was wet from sweat sealed in by my water-proof rain jacket, so I was generally pretty wet, except my feet.

The path eventually rises again toward the Cleeve Common, one of the highest areas of the entire Cotswold Way (um, yay), which is high green pasture with sheep positioned in spots that suggests that they have developed the capability of flight. And in the last mile of the whole day, I lost my way a bit, or really just lost confidence—I kept thinking I should be hitting my destination, the collection of hotels and houses at Cleeve Hill, and by the time I could see what I was pretty sure were them (lots of pausing, map consulting and staring at the landscape), I somehow lost the Cotswold Way and was on just some random walking trail. I worked it out, but probably added a quarter mile to the day just in silly dithering around trying to regain the Way. Now I’m here, and lounging around editing photos and resting before I head to the only place for dinner in Cleeve Hill, which is really just a set of buildings clinging to the hill next to a road. After seeing so many orchards today, I see a pint of cider in my future.

Miles walked: Either 13 (my itinerary from the travel company) or 14.5 (the Costwold Way guide sent with my itinerary…). Let’s split the difference and call it 14 miles.