Cotswolds Way Day 2
I hit the trail again around 10 am — no breakfast today. Still full from yesterday’s fish and chips in Broadway (with that well-earned sunshine!), so I loaded up my pack with trail rations: a bag of Bacon Fries and a packet of Caramel Buttons. A gourmet hiker’s diet if ever there was one.
The weather was close to perfect — a touch of bluster once I’d climbed up and out of the village, but nothing to complain about. The Cotswolds delivered on their promise of rolling hills, mellow gradients, and golden stone peeking through the hedgerows.
About a mile in, something unexpected pierced the quiet: a sharp steam-whistle sound. No train tracks in sight. It echoed three times in quick succession and then disappeared — a proper ghost train mystery of the trail. I half-expected to turn and see a black-and-gold locomotive gliding silently across a nearby hilltop. Nothing but sheep. Eerie and delightful in equal measure.
It was a sociable day too — I passed about 20 other walkers, and half of those were part of a men’s hiking group, clearly having a brilliant time. Their energy was infectious — laughter echoing up the trail as they stopped for photos and snacks. Watching them, I found myself thinking about walking clubs, mental health, and how a regular meet-up like this must do wonders for both body and spirit. Something about the rhythm of walking and the ease of conversation really unlocks something, doesn’t it?
That said, around mile five or six, I hit a wall. Hiker’s fatigue — the first time in months. My body just felt… done, which then didn't help mentally. I’d expected a solid 12-mile day, but doubts started creeping in. I questioned why I was doing this, whether the whole thing was worth it, am I starting to walk the miles 'Just because' and was I hoping for something more meaningful? Was I starting to feel the pangs of this sabbatical starting to come to an end? But I’ve learned the trick is to keep going. Not necessarily fast, or with any particular purpose, but forward all the same. I was helped by some of the amazing Tudor houses in some of the villages, my favorite style of house.. brilliant, it certainly lifted my spirits.
The scenery helped. I passed other Cotswold Way walkers, many just doing a single day’s section. The cheerful greetings helped break up the miles, and soon I found myself catching glimpses of Hailes Abbey in the valley below.
🏛️ The ruins belong to Hailes Abbey, a Cistercian monastery founded in 1246 by Richard, Earl of Cornwall, as thanks for surviving a shipwreck. It became a pilgrimage hotspot after acquiring a relic of the Holy Blood of Christ in 1270. Despite financial troubles and even the Black Death, it continued to draw crowds until Henry VIII’s dissolution of the monasteries in 1539. These days, English Heritage keeps its memory alive — the low stone arches and museum displays still speak volumes in the quiet Cotswold fields.
Eventually, Winchcombe came into view, and I made it to my stop for the night: the White Hart Inn. After checking in, I strolled into the village for a few supplies, stopping for a quick pint at the Red Lion. On the way, I snapped a photo of yet another pub called “The George.”
Back at the inn, I got talking to Lawrence, another guest who’s cycling to Malvern to visit his brothers. We talked about life, family, and the journeys we all take — he shared some lovely stories about his two sons. One of those chance meetings that stays with you for a while, and given my day early another one of those timely interventions life gives you to remind you all is good.
Tomorrow promises more miles and (hopefully) fewer moments of doubt. But even with the blips, this trail has already given me plenty to think about — and some stories I wouldn’t have wanted to miss.