The pain of yesterdays cycling has hit us hard. We have traveled far less than what we did yesterday. Each step seemed like the last. I only hope we will make todays goal tomorrow.
Our day began inauspiciously at the hostel. The rain was coming down in a gentle mist that would have been beautiful had it not signaled such a wet day. We biked to Clun castle, a border fort that protected the Welsh Marches.
Then we biked into the truly unknown.
Right out of Clun we hit an enormous hill followed soon after by another. The rain created a beautiful mist that left us and our belongings dripping. Finally our bodies broke down too much to carry us any further and we coasted across the Welch border to this our resting place.
Wales, Cymru, the magical land of the dragon, of Merlin, of Arthur. If Knighton is any sample for the rest of the country then I despair for the heirs of the Pendragon. It seems like such a filthy town. Coasting in we passed a rotting junkyard that spilled out into the street; further on a rotting couch lay carelessly in an archway. The main hotel was rotting and dilapidated. Strangely the most beautiful structure in town was the visitors center for Offa’s Dyke, Welsh pride in a king who styled himself the first king of England.
We have found lodging at an exorbitantly priced hotel, The Red Lion, that my mind wants to call a hovel but my heart, dry at last and no longer beating as though ready to burst, calls paradise. We have broken our budget today. Too many days like this and we shall call it quits before to long. Today like no other I want to see the familiar of home. I only hope the days to come will prove me wrong. I look forward to Monmouth and to finally reaching Bath but looking at a map I wonder if we can make it even that far, forget the journey to Rome of which we dream.
Heather, I think, has finally begun to believe I wasn’t simply sounding off when I told her selling jewelery was not preparation enough.
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1 comment:
Scary to think that is only a five minute drive by car.
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