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So, the bus was a 45 minute wait and I walked the High Street until I spotted a chippie (was really hungry and thought a piece of cod would hit the spot) behind the Cross Keys Hotel.  I drenched the fish in vinegar and downed it as quickly as the searing heat allowed then went into the Keys for another IPA.

The bar and restaurant have low ceilings with great timbers and loads of dark snugs to settle into to.  It is a proper modern hotel, but the ground floor resembles nothing so much as an 17th or 18th century inn.  I dispatched the beer quickly because I wanted to get a newspaper for the long rides back to Ely but I noticed a familiar bit of poetry/religion on a board propped in the old fireplace:

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The Duke of York was also dead late in the afternoon but I didn’t think I had time to socialise anyway so downed my pint of Flowers IPA whilst inspecting the small establishment centered on a half circle bar.  Good windows out on the High Street )D of Y is at the south end of town) and an alleyway for smokers.  The friendly barman seemed quite pleased that I liked the IPA, but the bus only runs once an hour and who could be sure when that next departure might be?

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The Crocus is in a modern building out on the hill south of Saffron Walden in the midst of the modern housing that has developed as S.W. has grown.  I stopped in to rehydrate with a Fosters (no ales) and to change back into my dry clothes.  I could’ve done it at the bar as there was no one there and the keeper was busy texting when I wasn’t interrupting her (I felt quite rude about that but the place was dead and I was sort of wound up after the fun run).

Turns out, the place is open late…2 am or so…and doesn’t pick up until about 10 pm when folks are getting bounced from other bars.  It is a little bit of a hike back to the town center so if you were staying in town you’d have to put in some effort to see the place in full swing.  If you did, then you’d see a large back room and fairly substantial front one with all the charm of an American Legion Post in a modern US suburb.  Still, I bet the chat would be especially good and I, personally, would be willing to go out of my way to give it a try (I’m sure 99% of the customers live within a block or two or maybe a little more if stumbling is taken into account).

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I forgot what long runs can do to your nipples

This month was very good for the progress of the Run Across Britain, if not for the shear number of new miles logged then for the psychological boost brought on by piercing the membranes of Norfolk, Suffolk, Essex, and Hertfordshire thus expanding this at least to more than just a Run Across Cambridgeshire {this is a little disingenuous since I already had some runs in Edinburgh and London, but almost everything to the end of July was centered on Cambridge, Stretham, Ely and Fordham}.

There were a couple of decent long runs to the north. The length from King’s Lynn to Ely (mostly in Norfolk) was covered in two runs each with an end (or start) in Downham Market.

From Downham Market to Ely, I made a bad map judgement at the confluence of the River Ouse (pronounce like “ooze”) and some large washes and found myself steered to Hilgay along a very pleasant dike but had to run the rest of the way mostly through thick grass along the A10. The run became more like hard labour as I trudged along without proper carbs and into a steady 15 mph (gust to 30 mph) wind.

The path from King’s Lynn went much better and yielded many nice sights along the Ouse. There was the cemetary in King’s Lynn, the paper plant (with an ambiguous name, I thought), and the ruins of a large church along the way.

This past weekend took me from Wisbech through March via a path along the River Nene and a bike route built on an abandoned rail bed passing Her Majesty’s Prison and a land fill close to March.

I got trapped on a farm where, I suspect, the farmers had sabotaged the trail markings; faced with a choice between running back a mile or more (already at 18 miles into the run) or finding a way across a drainage canal I soon found myself dangling beneath and 8 inch diameter gas line going hand-over-hand NEARLY to the far side…lost my grip and ended up running the last 2 miles in sweats soaked to mid thigh.

I finally connected a few runs by doing an out-and-back to Aldreth, famous for the causeway that William the Conqueror used to approach the Isle of Ely in his last assault against the forces of Hereward the Wake. Aldreth falls off down the hill from Haddenham’s high spot as part of the Isle and makes for an unusual bit of terrain in this dreadfully flat part of the country.  The road here sort of dead-ends, as well, so there’s a manageably small amount of traffic even when the paved bit of pedestrian access ends.  Some of the subsequent late evening and early morning runs have yielded stunning views of the surrounding farmland.

One afternoon on holiday I managed to get out to Little Downham and do another farmland loop.  I was rewarded with some rustic bridges and a visit to an out-of-the-way village called Coveney.  Pretty.

There were two runs out of Kentford, a small Suffolk village on a bus line out of Cambridge (and Newmarket and Bury St. Edmunds, should you find yourself there).  Kentford is rich with footpaths and pubs and seems a relaxing stopover if that suits your interests.  The first run followed the trails and bike lanes to Gazeley and the Icford long distance trail to Ashley and Cheveley before climbing to Newmarket along wide wooded B-roads with very wide verges (shoulders, in American) to accomodate the thousands of thoroughbreds housed at the farms and studs around the area (Newmarket being the home of British racing). At the end of this run, I decided I had had enough of the Sundown at the Pass t-shirt (rides up in back) and left it for the vagrants near the Three Horseshoes in Newmarket.

The second run from Kentford was more recent and involved an hour and a half in torrential rain, high winds, and 12 deg C temperatures.  That said, the run was most pleasant, taking some reasonably mildly travelled roads across the rolling terrain past Barrow and into Bury St. Edmunds, a larger market town in the center of Suffolk that I really have taken a shine to considering its distance from both the house and the campus.

I entered Hertfordshire on the trail from Harston to Royston (another easy bus trip to or from Cambridge).  Another hilly town as you leave the Fens, Royston is fairly large and seems to have a vibrant nightlife with many bands and clubs supporting them.

Essex is thus far represented by a trail passing through Littlebury and Saffron Walden, a really cool little market town bordering Audley End.

Audley End is an estate covering hundred of acres within its walls but the stately home is open for tours and the grounds host open air concerts throughout the nice weather.  The gardens are designed by Capability Brown, whose gravesite got a mention in last month’s wrap up.

Finally, a couple of runs came to be on our trip to Oxfordshire, setting a target for future runs to connect.  One run found me on some steep hills, passing through the village of Great Milton, and eventually slogging through a marsh and some especially stingy stinging nettles.  The next morning I got lost in some fields, squashed thousands of black slugs (no offence to Arthur Gash), and looped through some very small villages.

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The weather has been absolutely gorgeous except for the times when it has been completely shit.  Above, there was a nice day in the village, so I shot the house (above) on my way to catch the bus to work.

Then, I noticed that the neighbourhood kids must have been bored the night before, having stacked what appear to be some concrete structures on the northbound bus shelter:

I shaved at the halfway point of my marathon training regimen, a few weeks ago.  I was planning to let it go wild until the marathon in a couple of months then clear the brush after the race but I had to get a new i.d. card to have access to the lab at Oxford and figured it would be better if it matched my passport photo. I have noticed that I get better service at uppity places but not quite so good at dive bars since shaving…here it is after a morning run the day it went down the drain:

Jackie injured her knee and has been reduced to walking for outdoor exercise. Even then we managed to really over do the effort on a hike around Wicken Fen.  On another run this month I spotted my first native ferret, but the only unusual wildlife we saw on our hike was this herd of wild horses:

Saffron Walden, Felixstowe, Wisbech, and Bury St Edmunds have emerged as some of my favourite towns in East Anglia over the course of this month’s travels.  Saffron Walden has a few of these houses around with patterned surfaces; while these are pretty attractive, it seems that you see a lot more of these deeper into Essex (a trip back through Thaxted is planned in the not too distant future where nearly every old house has some of this sort of masonry):

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With twenty minutes until the next bus there was just time for a pint of Elgood’s Golden Newt (strong cocoa flavour to this one) at the Old English Gentleman.  The pub was friendly though packed, the landlady was attentive and cheerful, the architecture was like being in an old ships hold or in a pub in a black and white movie version of some Falstaffian saga…in short, a perfect place to stop in.

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Decided on a kebab after wolfing down a beer before the bus and thought I had time; but, coming out of the kebab shop I spotted the bus passing and tried to race it for about a mile but never got to another bus stop before it cleared town traffic and left me to walk back to the High Street.  Lo and behold, the Eight Bells was there to welcome me in.

The 8 Bells is a little too nice for the likes of me and seems to specialise in good food, so I ordered a Staropramen and snuck my doner out to the porch by the car park.

I was right about too nice for me as a caravan of limosines and fine coupes deposited a large number of well dressed folks right in front of me, each giving a more or less disdainful look at my feast.  Oh, well, at least I was in the open air and they couldn’t really smell it (or me, for that matter).  The poor relations to this large party (either a wedding or a funeral) that showed up in a fleet of late model Fords seemed a little more down-to-earth, though.

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There was time before the bus to Cambridge to grab a quick one and I found it irresistable to pass up a bar called the Temperance.  Unfortunately, that was just one of those misreadings and the place was actually the Temeraire, but by that time I had already ordered a White Adder and found my way to a table.

It was a Wetherspoons, so everything was cheap, but I didn’t really have time for food.  Since everything was cheap, the early afternoon crowd was all pensioners and layabouts, both of which make for a nice atmosphere.  Another nice atmospheric aspect was the collection of odd landscapes and portraiture on the walls, but I’m a lousy decorator my own self so I’ll leave the pictures to speak for themselves.

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The King’s Arms is on Market Hill in Saffron Walden, a side street just below the big church.  Seek it out, it is a nice old brick building with a pleasant porch in the parking lot and friendly folks populating the place.

I had a Bateman’s XXXB and had a look around at the slate roof, the old beams, the worn wooden floor, and the narrow rooms.  Then, realising how drenched I was from the run I went outside and switched into my dry shirt and pulled some sweats over my shorts.  A middle aged Glaswegian fellow came out and we had a good chat about allergies and just what the fuck two good ol’ boys such as ourselves were doing in southern England (the north, here usually referred to with some derogatory inflection as The North, has the same reputation as the South does back in the US for inbred, ignorant and generally backwards folk–although Norfolk seems to give The North a run for its money).

I didn’t know where to catch my bus, though, and it only runs once an hour so I had to leave after one pint.  Pity.