With the bad taste of the Bell still lingering, I decided to make the stretch to the Prince of Wales a bit more of a real workout by doing a minute flat-out then a minute of recovery jog until I got there. Had I left the Bell two minutes earlier I wouldn’t have been caught behind a cattle drive at mile 5, but I was eventually able to veer off without too much of a detour.
This diligence was rewarded with a friendly barmaid, some bemused old guys to talk to, and a peek at the awesome skittles alley off to the right of the bar. We had a general discussion on travel with one sour old dude saying “I never been to the States,” and me answering, honestly, “I wouldn’t waste the money nor the time if I were you.” We then agreed on Italy with the general bar consensus being Sicily.
“What are you doing, then…orienteering?” the foul tempered one spat as he pointed to my map I used as a coaster. “I guess. I’m running pub-to-pub, so, sure, why not?” As I was leaving he cheerily called out, “enjoy your orienteering,” but on retrospect it was slathered with sarcasm.