The plan was to loop over to my old neighbourhood and pick up two more on the way to stock up on wine, liquor and artichoke hearts for the weekend, but the #6 marker was missing, victim to new lamp posts and other construction removals (fences, etc) at the intersection of the Western Flyer path and the National Bike Path #45.  Still, once laden with 4 cans of chokes, 1.5 litres of vodka, and 3 each of wine (a box) and tonic I made my way home via Wootton Bassett Road to pick up a third marker for the trip.

Saturday, the holy war continued and I took a trot to Purton with a side trip into the parkland just north of the Link Centre.  The exit from this section put me in the Lydiard Park and Manor grounds in which I always get lost.

So, the score sheet now stands at:

Consistently good, Yummy’s was my go-to kebab when I lived nearby.  The sauce is awesome and the veg is always a treat.  A bit out-of-the-way for me now, I crossed paths with it on my way back from a run to and from Purton and couldn’t resist.  Yummy, indeed.

The Swindon Rounds Orienteering Challenge is trundling along and forcing my runs into some territory I haven’t trod in a while (click on above map for link to full gmap of the project).

The theme today seemed to be the ghosts of old control markers, Hiroshima shadows of which were found on 3 out of the four marker sites (above at the bicycle flyover on the Oxford side of the A420/A419 roundabout).

Swindon is fairly urban but there are only a few neighbourhoods that are dodgy enough to give berth to, and then mostly only late at night.  You are reminded of this as you skirt such a buurt through a narrow tunnel of foliage looking for a clue in a children’s game.

On the other hand, everyone in these areas seemed really nice.  Some kids said, ‘hiya,’ in a friendly way as I passed, another couple of old dudes stopped their conversation to nod and smile, and a geezer urinating in the bushes gave me a thumbs-up as I passed (I hope that was a thumb).

So, for those of you playing along at home, here’s the dance card as it stands on 16 May 2013.  Once finished, I’ll expect a large number of you to send in for your prize (let me know if you do and I’ll post the ones from farthest afield).

We were in the Swindon Arts Centre for another couple of Swindon Festival of Literature talks.  Tonight it was Steve Jones (NOT the Sex Pistol’s guitarist) speaking on genetics although, ostensibly, it was supposed to be about his book on the Bible retold as Science; after a short break for a beer and a glass of wine, it was the turn of Tom Holland to talk on the geopolitical situation of the 7th Century (common era) that paved the way for the domination of Islam where once Rome ruled…the drink helped immensely.  Last week we caught very entertaining presentations by Ken Liviongstone (former London Mayor known as Red Ken) and Martin Palmer on the things that the urban and rural landscapes inform us about the history of an area.

This is one of the great things about England.  There’s a bar EVERYWHERE.  This is essentially a library, but there are bars in gyms and leisure centres and several in the Houses of Parliament and, I should expect but can’t be sure, in churches.  I’m home!

Daydreaming on the bus ride home I suddenly realised how the truck ahead of us was labelled:

Good…they’ve finally found a use for the fuckers.

Users of Emo Oil claim it is darker than other oils but rarely accept that it is, in fact, made from Emos; confronted with the obvious fact that it is, they tend to just shrug and say, “oh, right, what EVer,” or start to weep.

Spoiler alert…the orienteering control markers’ codes for the Swindon Rounds Orienteering Challenge are revealed here (or shall be as they become available).  The rough locations of the control markers is on the maps for the Swindon Rounds, here; some are missing (trust me) and the rough mappings are vastly improved on the map I am keeping (linked to the picture, above).

The first run went through Old Town to the trail head of the rail trail where marker #4 carried letter A.  My map proved faulty and I found a dead end before doubling back and then continuing through some woods near Nationwide’s HQ to get to the mountain bike trail in the Croft Wood for marker #26 (D):

There were some fairly straightforward paths to follow to find #1 (F) at the entrance to Coate Water and #28 — AB — at the lower end of Dorcan but then above the Dorcan Acadamy and the Leisure Centre adjacent I spent 20 minutes inspecting every fence, wall, lamp post, bus shelter, and bollard without finding #9…shit.

The next one was easy except I went off into a neighbourhood and had to retrace my steps to find it…#18, Y.  The next one should have been around the southeast corner of the New College but a slightly less rigorous inspection (ten minutes) of this shitty little buurt turned up fuck all for #30.  Heading home, I swung down through the Lawns and picked up #3 (N) before staggering home.

Day 2 was rainy and I didn’t feel like running but had it on the training schedule to do so headed out the Kingshill at the bottom of which I spotted the #5 marker with P in it.  The chase resumed from there:

Near the Western Flyer underpass I caught up with the #22 (C) and then dashed to the Magic Roundabout to pick up the #2, L, before squishing my way home where a shower and a roasting duck awaited.

So, if you are keeping score at home or want to cheat, here’s a copy of the current sheet.  Each correct space is worth points and “Points Mean Prizes!“

Starving on the way home last week, I hopped off in Faringdon when I realised the BF2K was open.  I have been here before but never sober or rested.  The chilli sauce and chips were the best things, again, but I was pleasantly surprised, in my clear-headed state, that the döner tasted more like meat than fat and salt and had a texture that indicated less gristle or connective tissue than typical.  Well done.

After an unusually strenuous hike along the Kennet and Avon Canal, a heavy lunch at the Barge (one of the best burgers I’ve had in England that I didn’t make myself), and a diversion through some manor-farm land that piled on the miles in this first of hopefully many hot days this year we opted for a brief wait for the bus to Swindon in the safe confines of the Royal Oak.

Jackie had an unusually disgusting blister on her foot and no appetite for booze (had I misplaced the woman on the tow path?) so I was left to drink alone but with dry company in this fantastic old inn in this fantastic old town.

There were some bikers having a few before heading back out to the wonderful weather but that is really all I could take in since, like the woman, I was absolutely exhausted.  the pics above are from the walk, but I would really need to revisit the pub to do a just review.

And, don’t even get me started on the shit wine for which this offer was made….

From the Killingworth Castle there is a lovely and steep downhill saunter through the gorgeous Cotswold village of Wootton to a creek where the road turns west and flattens for about a quarter-mile before an even steeper climb up the other side of the stream.  It is exhausting work but a half mile farther along you will find the Duke of Marlborough beckoning.

Inside the house is lushly appointed and seems geared to the travelling diners along the highway between Chipping Norton and Oxford.  The landlord reminded me of John Oliver albeit bald, a little more conservative and not nearly so thin; he was friendly and took an interest in my route but like almost everyone I have talked to mid-run the past few years he assumed I was cycling.  He pulled an Old Hooky while I grooved on the rock-steady he had playing softly in the background…very nice.

I got the Old Hooky because I knew it was a little darker than the Hooky and I was ready for a stronger beer but on the run from the Killingworth I began to appreciate the Windrush ale I so brutally judged there–the after tastes kept building as I laboured up the hills in the fresh breezes.  They were fully in force by the time I settled into this Old Hooky and completely obliterated the flavours I was hoping for…how rude.