Revived by simply taking a day off, I was eager to get back on the trail, and after some cereal (Tracy and I have both concluded that we don’t like cooked breakfasts on hiking days), we set out from our odd little hotel, the Newmarket Inn, part of a chain that feels like a low-end American chain hotel translated within ye olde building. It was fine, but the best thing about it was the location, which had prevented Tracy (or me if I’d had the wherewithal) to walk an additional two to three extra miles to get to a town. It was literally on the highway between towns. Whatever, it did what it needed to do.

And as we set out up the steady, not horrible ascent onto the downs again, I could feel that the rest had done me good. I wasn’t getting from ‘it’s a bit tough’ to heavy breathing as fast, and in fact I was an enthusiastic talker for much of the day after two days of having been quieted by simple exertion. It helped that the temperature had dropped into the mid-70s, and we had some breeze. Not the strong winds Tracy had experienced with the damp fogginess the day before; just a refreshing breeze that sometimes dropped but came back soon enough. Once we got up on the downs, the day’s hike stayed up fairly high most of the time, with only a few descents and re-ascents.

Tracy had been raving about how Wednesday’s walk had great animals (see the day five photos), so I was hoping to get some wildlife other than sheep. The snail was just a teaser, as you can see. We got lots of sheep, of course, and lots of fields that were minefields of their droppings. I have determined that I care less about walking in sheep shit than Tracy. I figure it’ll come off later, while she actively tries to avoid it. Different styles, but we chose not to argue it out, seeking a position of moderation and tolerance for our different approaches. American politicians and people on Facebook, take note: You can hate sheep shit and need to scrape it off instantly, but still walk with someone who will just forge ahead and let the grass take care of it, without anyone calling for anyone else’s execution, or saying they’re “not a good walker,” or whatever. Respect.

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The day was for me invigorating because I’d taken that day off, and I really enjoyed myself. And we met nice people along the way giving tips. A couple walking their adorable dog (waiting impatiently for someone to throw her damn tennis ball again, please) told us we could enjoy tea in Alfriston if we so chose, because it has lots of tea shops (a claim we later confirmed: no fewer than four places to have tea in a tiny village that is clearly a tourist spot, with shops selling pretty scarves, some antique silver, jams and jellies, and lots of tea). At a strategically placed youth hostel with a café, we stopped for a refreshment (so chill had I become that I didn’t even grumble when it turned out they only stocked that abomination Diet Pepsi, not Diet Coke), an older lady in very jazzy bicycling clothes (wild swirly multi-colored patterns) gave us advice about an alternate path for the next day to make sure we got “the iconic sea cottages and Seven Sisters cliffs view.” (After some research we concluded it was adding pointless miles and we figured we’d have good views of the white chalk cliffs, a fact you’ll see confirmed in the day seven post, but it was nice of her to suggest it.)

We had heard that there was paragliding here, and were told that this is in fact where it all began. I don’t know if that’s true, but it gave us something to hope for. Alas, though we saw some people grouped on a lower hill who seemed to be getting lessons in paragliding basics, the spot along the trail where we were told there might be paragliding yielded nothing. It was Thursday, after all.

But as consolation, we got to meet this adorable little group of mini horses, who just wanted to say hi. Though there was plenty to eat on their side of the fence, they delighted in eating the same leafy weeds when we plucked some from our side and fed them.

The descent into Alfriston was like that old saw about going bankrupt (was it Hemingway?): gradually and then suddenly. We felt great after a little over 13 miles, so we walked around town a bit, looked at gift shops (er, shoppes) and examined the dueling menus of two pub/restaurants right across the street from each other. We made our pick for later, then hoofed it down an additional half-mile out of town to our B&B. The B&B owner, sympathetic with our remark that it was still quite hot, dug up a fan, apparently from the basement, which we would end up using in the night to some, but not a lot, of improvement.

Our dinner choice turned out to be great, as we each got a starter (mine was a gnocchi with sage butter so delicious that I cannot now remember what Tracy’s starter was) and then split a vegetarian platter of yummy things including little peppers stuffed with feta, grilled eggplant, hummus, chutney, a baked camembert and some salad greens. Yum.

A great day, in which 13 miles were walked and I talked a lot, because I felt happy to be back in the game.