tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-13027691875382124202024-03-13T15:42:19.688-07:00Travelling and Working with HorsesHorsedrawn travelhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14193357957502327320noreply@blogger.comBlogger48125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1302769187538212420.post-85329213059979397642016-03-26T16:27:00.003-07:002016-03-26T16:27:58.262-07:00Post 49. Winter in Scotland.<div dir="ltr" style="background-color: white; color: #444444; font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 15px; line-height: 21.3px; margin-bottom: 1.35em;">
I got to south west Scotland in November. I said goodbye to my friend Lorna, who rode her pony up here from Sussex with me. I shall miss her cheerful company. <br style="line-height: 21.3px;" />The weather has turned bad, 70 mph winds shake the wagon like a terrier shaking a rat, the sea is really rough, my kettle has huge waves in it too. The fishermen secure their boats with extra rope. Collecting driftwood off the beach my eyes are watering in the wind and l'm nearly being bowled over.<br style="line-height: 21.3px;" />I feel a bit lonely and depressed, l get on with jobs and keep busy, making new britchin straps, l cut my hair, spend time training the younger horse. I kill some cockerals that are tormenting the inhabitants of a little village. The cockerals are owned by a couple with no balls to do what's needed, their neighbours are fed up with them and the cockerals. It's quickly done. I don't like killing them either but it needed doing.<br style="line-height: 21.3px;" />I wander round the coast, l get to a little fishing village just as it's getting dark and stop on the grass near a pub. It looks quite cheery, lit up with Christmas lights and an open fire.<br style="line-height: 21.3px;" />The local drunk comes over and invites me for a pint, l'm tired and it's too much effort to refuse. I tether the horses and join him, knowing that l shall be the unwilling recipient for his boring tales. He's shunned by the few other people in the bar. At least the beer is good, there's plenty and he buys it. l'm glad to get out of the wagon for a bit.<br style="line-height: 21.3px;" />I wake in the morning feeling great. It rains all day and the wind gets stronger, the horses look a bit miserable but at least the grass is good. <br style="line-height: 21.3px;" />The next day l move round the coast, lovely views. A farmer gives me a pail of calf feed for the horses, it's got flakes of maize and peas and other things they like in it. His wife gives me some mince pies and shortbread she's made. A farmer at the next village lets me put my horses in his field. I'm warned not to go to the village l've just been to, as the people are unfriendly!</div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhXezFZadB4ZcKRhqLzCPUJ3WOja-pzNBavth8beZfTTard5GAxLfWWFMEDuaGYqn6qdlUcuoAC_8WXNVvlh5uQca9ykxn0CaZyy0UFab_yJGn4Kt2OzObg4YP4kRDzLWUYNsco0vUm2r0O/s1600/View+from+door+of+wagon%252C+January+2015..jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhXezFZadB4ZcKRhqLzCPUJ3WOja-pzNBavth8beZfTTard5GAxLfWWFMEDuaGYqn6qdlUcuoAC_8WXNVvlh5uQca9ykxn0CaZyy0UFab_yJGn4Kt2OzObg4YP4kRDzLWUYNsco0vUm2r0O/s640/View+from+door+of+wagon%252C+January+2015..jpg" width="640" /></a></div>
<div dir="ltr" style="background-color: white; margin-bottom: 1.35em; text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;"><span style="font-size: 15px; line-height: 21.3px;">View from door of wagon, January 2015</span></span></div>
<div dir="ltr" style="background-color: white; color: #444444; font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 15px; line-height: 21.3px; margin-bottom: 1.35em;">
Fed up with being battered by the gales l head inland and shelter in the forests. I go miles down rough forestry tracks and stop by rivers swollen by all the rain. I'm careful not to stop where the river may rise suddenly and wash me away, l don't stop too close to trees, they are being blown over by the gales. I don't see a soul. No internet or phone signal. I stay in bed and read, quite content. The horses seem happy. I just get up to put more wood on the stove, l get water out of the burns to drink and wash in. I heat tattie scones and pancakes on the stove. I roast sweet chestnuts and bake potatoes in the hot embers, delicious with melted Stilton.</div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEip5q85_c8_USyOV4QPmPjTp0VpaYu4ivf3OvvcrdQC8OQi2it3ylmIY2GQiDd-GuA3aH-uFYn2euZZXgWYyoozp8nRrNqcGslU-VMPLyIGeV0AkCNgOLGZpw9CheEYnrcKr_RenPcOQ4jY/s1600/Tarateeno+in+the+snow%252C+Auchencairn..jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEip5q85_c8_USyOV4QPmPjTp0VpaYu4ivf3OvvcrdQC8OQi2it3ylmIY2GQiDd-GuA3aH-uFYn2euZZXgWYyoozp8nRrNqcGslU-VMPLyIGeV0AkCNgOLGZpw9CheEYnrcKr_RenPcOQ4jY/s640/Tarateeno+in+the+snow%252C+Auchencairn..jpg" width="462" /></a></div>
<div dir="ltr" style="background-color: white; margin-bottom: 1.35em; text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;"><span style="font-size: 15px; line-height: 21.3px;">Tarateeno in the snow, Auchencairn</span></span></div>
<div dir="ltr" style="background-color: white; color: #444444; font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 15px; line-height: 21.3px; margin-bottom: 1.35em;">
For a change the weather turns cold, the wet lead ropes freeze solid, my harness, un-oiled and sodden by weeks of rain goes stiff and brittle. It snows. I like the sound of the snowflakes landing on the roof and the sound of the snow creaking underfoot.<br style="line-height: 21.3px;" />I stop at a farm where l know the people. They are kind, interesting and open-minded. They have read good books, seen good films, like good food, they're articulate and are passionate about what they do; the sort of company that l yearn for and is so rare. l enjoy being there. We share meals, go to parties and ceilidhs, l'm glad.</div>
<div dir="ltr" style="background-color: white; color: #444444; font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 15px; line-height: 21.3px; margin-bottom: 1.35em;">
One night l sleep restlessly, in the morning l wake feeling sick and weak as a lamb. I guess what has happened. Carbon monoxide. I borrow a ladder and dismantle the chimney. The damp pine l've been burning the last few weeks has tarred up and blocked the top of the chimney. I clean it, relight the stove and go back to bed, still feeling weak.<br style="line-height: 21.3px;" />My friend Alice at the farm, goes to the supermarket and buys me a bag of fruit and later offers me some soup. I feel recovered by the next day, after that l keep an eye on the chimney. There are plenty of gaps around the door of my wagon, which must have let in enough fresh air or l might not have woken up.<br style="line-height: 21.3px;" />The gales and rain come back, the horses shelter down in the woods. I stop there for Christmas, happy to have such congenial company. We swap books and DVDs.</div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjc0OUbF5TSU9G53qykI2gXZAEzqo5JQ_1QCHhitGhGAmFaHFsnKRy8DvxWNM5dZJRZ_1WjJTsZVwyHGNAQ3ERVj1nJ_Jeav7bXacukL1_rHjfEBz2kHfiHAHGzw0LQzOx2uOL01oAp7Xhp/s1600/Luce+Bay.11th+February+frosty+start..jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjc0OUbF5TSU9G53qykI2gXZAEzqo5JQ_1QCHhitGhGAmFaHFsnKRy8DvxWNM5dZJRZ_1WjJTsZVwyHGNAQ3ERVj1nJ_Jeav7bXacukL1_rHjfEBz2kHfiHAHGzw0LQzOx2uOL01oAp7Xhp/s640/Luce+Bay.11th+February+frosty+start..jpg" width="640" /></a></div>
<div dir="ltr" style="background-color: white; margin-bottom: 1.35em; text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;"><span style="font-size: 15px; line-height: 21.3px;">Luce Bay.11th February frosty start</span></span></div>
<div dir="ltr" style="background-color: white; color: #444444; font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 15px; line-height: 21.3px; margin-bottom: 1.35em;">
There is a break in the weather, restless l head down to the sea again. I know a lovely quiet place, a nice flat sandy beach to train horses, plenty of firewood and grass and a stream for water. It's also more sheltered from the gales. I stop there several days.<br style="line-height: 21.3px;" />I lunge the horses in the sea and wash their legs. I lunge the younger horse in the sea each day until he gets confident with the waves. He enjoys it and relaxes.</div>
<div dir="ltr" style="background-color: white; color: #444444; font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 15px; line-height: 21.3px; margin-bottom: 1.35em;">
It's the end of February. I'm stopped on the shore, on the edge of a little fishing village.<br style="line-height: 21.3px;" />I woke at 4am and rekindled my stove and made a pot of coffee. Time is my own, l can suit myself, it doesn't matter when l get up. Do you own your time? I stood on the porch and watched the moonlight reflecting off the sea. It's calm as a millpond. The horses are lying down. It's very peaceful, just the gentle sound of tiny waves on the shore and the calls of the Oyster Catchers.<br style="line-height: 21.3px;" />At half past six, l get up and go for a long walk along the shore, looking at things the tide has washed up. I'm the only soul about. Back at the wagon l cook some porage slowly on the stove. The slower it cooks the lovelier the flavour. I add sunflower and pumpkin seeds and slice a banana into it. <br style="line-height: 21.3px;" />I eat it sitting on the bed, savouring each mouthful, whilst reading Jeanette Winterson's, 'Why Be Happy When You Could Be Normal,' dripping porage down my chin and onto my jumper. I don't care, there's only me to please. <br style="line-height: 21.3px;" />I yoke the horses up and go the half a mile into the village. I fill my containers with water and give the horses a good long drink, they get thirsty eating the salty grass. On the way back through the village l stop the horses outside the community charity shop. I go in and try on a pair of trousers, thinking to myself that this would be a bad moment for the horses to choose to walk off, but they don't; l spend a lot of time training my horses to stand, it's essential and could be a matter of pride if you have a horse.<br style="line-height: 21.3px;" />I buy the trousers, £2.</div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgpGn6qK7hxicF00qqG6eOqycEmMAdwY2IMhQ9X9uTmz6zri17QeyuAw04TbILtmem9iYD4ygXr9PhiRoSMHccwXgyTt3DLaDqGhlYeC8hq_Ro7xtGeqLw3uPyO8v4iIrodQ5QQWAR1Ae4t/s1600/Tarateeno+drinking%252C+8th+March%252C+Galloway.+%25281%2529.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgpGn6qK7hxicF00qqG6eOqycEmMAdwY2IMhQ9X9uTmz6zri17QeyuAw04TbILtmem9iYD4ygXr9PhiRoSMHccwXgyTt3DLaDqGhlYeC8hq_Ro7xtGeqLw3uPyO8v4iIrodQ5QQWAR1Ae4t/s640/Tarateeno+drinking%252C+8th+March%252C+Galloway.+%25281%2529.jpg" width="640" /></a></div>
<div dir="ltr" style="background-color: white; margin-bottom: 1.35em; text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;"><span style="font-size: 15px; line-height: 21.3px;">Tarateeno drinking, 8th March, Galloway</span></span></div>
<div dir="ltr" style="background-color: white; color: #444444; font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 15px; line-height: 21.3px; margin-bottom: 1.35em;">
The cold fresh air and activity has given me an appetite, l throw some more wood in the stove and make scrambled eggs for my lunch, l eat it with some nice dry granary bread that l bought several days ago and have left until it's like rusks. <br style="line-height: 21.3px;" />In the afternoon I put a piece of tarpaulin on the ground outside in the sun, l sit on it and sew some new velcro onto the leather farrier's apron, that l was given a few days ago.<br style="line-height: 21.3px;" />I'm often given useful things. Yesterday a kind elderly lady gave me a good stainless steel Liverpool driving bit.<br style="line-height: 21.3px;" />While l'm sitting there sewing, three men come along and chat to me. <br style="line-height: 21.3px;" />One of the men asks me if the wagon is for sale and how much. I tell him a price, he pretends to be interested to impress his friends. I get it all the time, l'm unimpressed.<br style="line-height: 21.3px;" />I tell him there's no point in buying anything off me, because there's always something wrong with it. I tell him l've never sold a good horse; after all if you had a good one why would you sell it?<br style="line-height: 21.3px;" />Oddly, telling people things like this only seems to encourage them.<br style="line-height: 21.3px;" />This week l've also been given three tyre levers and a foot pump. Handy for mending punctures and replacing worn tyres. <br style="line-height: 21.3px;" />I try on the farrier's apron, it's quite heavy, l wear it for a bit and get used to the feel of it. It will save my trousers. I pick up the horses feet. One of them really needs reshoeing, the shoes are thin like wafers. l'll leave them as long as possible as there is not much hoof growth.<br style="line-height: 21.3px;" />I cut up a big pile of driftwood l've collected for the stove.<br style="line-height: 21.3px;" />I carefully put my tools away, l have an old tin that l keep a selection of threads, needles, copper rivets, an awl, and a sail maker's palm to push the needle through stiff materials.</div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhblQmpcmb3CzogJEhyjqs6j-azdqkeWvPkbb_8yWaiFrm-HCM7fgXSCtPDnzVpAvUWEp2NUl4NUPkX-Wv7Z7OcEarTt5o7R-m3PFYXLkqkMK4REyn3o8wI4ZDGpSN9qZxHSUaOtIV799Mh/s1600/Relaxing+by+the+sea..jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhblQmpcmb3CzogJEhyjqs6j-azdqkeWvPkbb_8yWaiFrm-HCM7fgXSCtPDnzVpAvUWEp2NUl4NUPkX-Wv7Z7OcEarTt5o7R-m3PFYXLkqkMK4REyn3o8wI4ZDGpSN9qZxHSUaOtIV799Mh/s640/Relaxing+by+the+sea..jpg" width="640" /></a></div>
<div dir="ltr" style="background-color: white; margin-bottom: 1.35em; text-align: center;">
<span style="font-size: 15px; line-height: 21.3px;"><span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;">Relaxing by the sea</span></span></div>
<div dir="ltr" style="background-color: white; color: #444444; font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 15px; line-height: 21.3px; margin-bottom: 1.35em;">
Tired by my work l rest for a bit and enjoy watching the sun going down.<br style="line-height: 21.3px;" />For supper l boil some rice, flavoured with star anise, l eat it with some steamed mackeral. Then l eat some fruit. I'm always being asked, 'what do l eat?' <br style="line-height: 21.3px;" />One day a man watched me eating an avocado. He admonished me, warning me l'd get gout. <br style="line-height: 21.3px;" />His friend gives me some shortbread, full of butter, white flour and sugar, with a nice thick coating of chocolate, delicious, but he doesn't mention any dangers about eating it.<br style="line-height: 21.3px;" />The local people are mostly very timid and boring about food. Their favourite dish seems to be 'mince and tatties,' this is very greasy cheap mince with very overcooked potatoes, just mention it and they get excited and start salivating. <br style="line-height: 21.3px;" />For a bit of variety they like to eat minced sheeps lights, (lungs) mixed with oatmeal and fried, it will sit heavy on your stomach for a few days. <br style="line-height: 21.3px;" />Fruit is not eaten up here much and vegetables are mushy and devoid of any nutritional value. Sugar, cigarettes and cheap alcohol are popular.<br style="line-height: 21.3px;" />The average age here is 54. I'll be 54 this week. If the bell tolls for me you'll never know if it was the avocado or the mince and tatties.</div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgibsUgObAnlLmu_kyQ4t7b1SAC4rjOWfMr56OyYEXJE-iL5kliphVCF4AGynmjkl6mrVa76gDQMEVeMQMcjnWMDScP6FeRW2oygztK11drGnZ49YpQClgh0bV3lDAsQdXuVltymQvg42du/s1600/Snowy+day+in+January%252C+Scotland.+%25281%2529.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgibsUgObAnlLmu_kyQ4t7b1SAC4rjOWfMr56OyYEXJE-iL5kliphVCF4AGynmjkl6mrVa76gDQMEVeMQMcjnWMDScP6FeRW2oygztK11drGnZ49YpQClgh0bV3lDAsQdXuVltymQvg42du/s640/Snowy+day+in+January%252C+Scotland.+%25281%2529.jpg" width="640" /></a></div>
<div dir="ltr" style="background-color: white; margin-bottom: 1.35em; text-align: center;">
<span style="font-size: 15px; line-height: 21.3px;"><span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;">Snowy day in January, Scotland</span></span></div>
<div dir="ltr" style="background-color: white; color: #444444; font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 15px; line-height: 21.3px; margin-bottom: 1.35em;">
The warm sunny weather is a wonderful contrast with the last three months, during which l've been buffetted by more or less constant gales and lashed by rain. Not my favourite weather but there is the satisfaction that l've come through it well. I've mostly remained in good spirits, the horses are well, the wagon is fine, l've got lots done and continued travelling, exploring new country, meeting new people and renewing old friendships, losing some.<br style="line-height: 21.3px;" />During the bad weather I've enjoyed days stopping in sheltered places by the sea, listening to the roar of the wind and the waves, keeping my stove going, lying on the bed reading good books. I've practised my pipes and fiddle. Made new bits of harness. Plenty to keep me busy. <br style="line-height: 21.3px;" />Sometimes l just think. It saves me time. A lot of times people act first and think later, horses do it too, an instinct to stop them being eaten, humans get annoyed about it.<br style="line-height: 21.3px;" />I often just wait and see and l don't even have to act, it saves effort, but takes practise. I watch other people rushing around, not stopping to think. Some of them like to rush around to avoid having time to think, especially if it involves thinking uncomfortable thoughts. Have you heard the joke about introspection? If you don't know what it means, take a good long hard look at yourself.</div>
<div dir="ltr" style="background-color: white; color: #444444; font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 15px; line-height: 21.3px; margin-bottom: 1.35em;">
As l wander up and down the countryside, l admire the stunning scenery, l enjoy the scent of winter heliotropes, (you've never noticed it in a car), l watch a red squirrel, some roe deer, (in a car you'll probably run them over), there's lots to interest me, often the horse draws my attention to something l might have missed if l'd been walking alone. </div>
<div dir="ltr" style="background-color: white; color: #444444; font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 15px; line-height: 21.3px; margin-bottom: 1.35em;">
I stop with a retired couple. The lady wants help with her driving pony. She overfeeds her pony and her husband, it's not good for them. The man is grumpy, he has trouble sleeping. On their shelves are books and DVDs with titles like, 'The Horror Beneath Lochness,'' Nerve Shredder,' 'The Drip Feed of Fear,' 'Loves Executioner,' 'Feel the Fear.....' (those last two are self-help books but the titles are amusingly interchangeable), l can see why he can't sleep.<br style="line-height: 21.3px;" />The pony is fine, it's trained the human, without the lady realising. Really it works better the other way round. Human error, don't blame the horse. We take it out for a drive, it goes well.</div>
<div dir="ltr" style="background-color: white; color: #444444; font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 15px; line-height: 21.3px; margin-bottom: 1.35em;">
Another day a middle-aged lady has had a crises and decides to take up riding. She's in a sand school. It's a sensible pony but confused. It doesn't go forward. The lady doesn't have a seat, she holds onto the pony's mouth to balance like she's trying to pull the skin off a rabbit and kicks its flanks violently. I don't think it's going to work. The pony goes backwards, not unsurprisingly. The lady is scared. The sand is so deep you wouldn't notice if you fell off. <br style="line-height: 21.3px;" />I get a more experienced lady on the pony, l tell her to leave the reins completely slack and not to steer, just to squeeze gently with her calves, click her tongue twice and then tap it with the riding crop and as soon as the pony goes forward leave it alone. The pony is soon going forward and cantering around nicely on a loose rein. I explain that by not steering, and letting the pony choose which way to go, you soon get a seat and a sense of balance. You need to canter for at least 10 minutes at a stretch for several days on several different horses to get good at it, then it's fun, you can relax.<br style="line-height: 21.3px;" />The lady on the pony soon sees how it works, starts to relax and enjoy it. It's good fun. <br style="line-height: 21.3px;" />The other lady watches, looking nervous and miserable and bravely chain smoking, occasionally stopping to use her inhaler, (she has trouble breathing), l thought to myself, better to kill yourself quickly on a horse than the slow painful method she's chosen. <br style="line-height: 21.3px;" />I get the nervous lady on my cob, soon she's trotting around more confidently without holding onto the reins and starting to enjoy it. After a while l give her my stick. I tell her to hold it in both hands and pretend it's a rifle and every time she goes past to shoot at me. I can see she gets a sadistic pleasure out of shooting me and she soon forgets she's on a horse and it starts to go well. My horse is rather familiar with the routine. Another lady in her 60s watches, plucks up courage and has a go too. She hasn't ridden for years. She's very happy. She does all my washing in her machine and l'm happy too.</div>
<div dir="ltr" style="background-color: white; color: #444444; font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 15px; line-height: 21.3px; margin-bottom: 1.35em;">
The last couple of weeks l've explored nearly every bit of the Machars peninsular, l've enjoyed it, but for the last few days l've been admiring the snow capped hills in the distance, they're like a magnet. I'm getting restless. I buy an extra sack of horsefeed, the horses will need it.<br style="line-height: 21.3px;" />I'm happy I'm going somewhere again, l walk ten miles in the morning and l'm tired.l stop by a river, I tether the horses. I admire where the flooding has left dead branches hung up six feet high in the Sally Willows. Handy firewood for the stove.</div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiSIvYalDmQTYHjY1jbc0cDKW3neTqbYy2L9HmLy-unx-b6guGdXUtVaHQZQLWRd-DPbHM_l5Lb_YN9Qzmpjdy4t9IBTBaJPpCc29IRx5xRzZp_1Uz-D_xF6PPm4sRcg7pX7ww5rImN11uQ/s1600/Shoe+heating+up+in+woodburner%252C+13th+March+2016.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiSIvYalDmQTYHjY1jbc0cDKW3neTqbYy2L9HmLy-unx-b6guGdXUtVaHQZQLWRd-DPbHM_l5Lb_YN9Qzmpjdy4t9IBTBaJPpCc29IRx5xRzZp_1Uz-D_xF6PPm4sRcg7pX7ww5rImN11uQ/s640/Shoe+heating+up+in+woodburner%252C+13th+March+2016.jpg" width="640" /></a></div>
<div dir="ltr" style="background-color: white; margin-bottom: 1.35em; text-align: center;">
Shoe heating up in woodburner, 13th March 2016</div>
<div dir="ltr" style="background-color: white; color: #444444; font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 15px; line-height: 21.3px; margin-bottom: 1.35em;">
I heat a couple of horseshoes in the stove, while they get hot l trim the horse's front feet and rasp them level. A few days ago l stopped at a smallholding that l know. I used the welder there and filled up the fullering around the toes and heels with weld and old tungsten studs, l should get a lot more miles out of them.</div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhSlVXyP3KKZ-w4u56OMW-FVSGop80LcVRNcfnyvnqTN6bfQKunyLJhhKheOxy8ln09zYN2uKw6rCbAUdvHZ_Ue3kOqdUDegC-lY-86TnykLQRZsNvY_dJrZjESh0Naien3aF9oUBtiz-Bh/s1600/Recycled+leggings+to++hold+feather+out+the+way..jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhSlVXyP3KKZ-w4u56OMW-FVSGop80LcVRNcfnyvnqTN6bfQKunyLJhhKheOxy8ln09zYN2uKw6rCbAUdvHZ_Ue3kOqdUDegC-lY-86TnykLQRZsNvY_dJrZjESh0Naien3aF9oUBtiz-Bh/s640/Recycled+leggings+to++hold+feather+out+the+way..jpg" width="640" /></a></div>
<div dir="ltr" style="background-color: white; font-size: 15px; line-height: 21.3px; margin-bottom: 1.35em; text-align: center;">
<span style="line-height: 21.3px;"><span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;">Recycled leggings to hold feather out the way</span></span></div>
<div dir="ltr" style="background-color: white; margin-bottom: 1.35em;">
<span style="color: #444444; font-family: Calibri, sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: 15px; line-height: 21.3px;">I have not tried welding tungsten like this before, but it seems to stick. Normally it is brazed with some brass wire and borax flux. You can find small pieces of tungsten at engineering works, from the tungsten carbide tool bits, another source is old woodworking circular saw blades, heat the saw blade to red hot and the tips will drop off, they are all the same size too. Heat the </span></span>horse shoes<span style="color: #444444; font-family: Calibri, sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: 15px; line-height: 21.3px;"> red hot, give them a quick wire brush, sprinkle some borax powder on, as a flux, put some brass wire and tungsten where you want it, heat it red hot until the brass melts. When it cools the tungsten is held in place. Brass is about as hard as mild steel.</span></span></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjzKTbBB80Zco_AXILu4K0ibWPJQeGuMzsm-2dR-6GSSKFA-ly7j-1tPqhk971gjwyrLNeTM-9Qxj0o61pxgWZPs06tNXq-0nPnZsFN94BlzRCMumlKViC6lelo0HmMwz8J2cWtic01ph2m/s1600/Reshoeing+by+M6+near+Carlisle..jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjzKTbBB80Zco_AXILu4K0ibWPJQeGuMzsm-2dR-6GSSKFA-ly7j-1tPqhk971gjwyrLNeTM-9Qxj0o61pxgWZPs06tNXq-0nPnZsFN94BlzRCMumlKViC6lelo0HmMwz8J2cWtic01ph2m/s640/Reshoeing+by+M6+near+Carlisle..jpg" width="640" /></a></div>
<div dir="ltr" style="background-color: white; color: #444444; font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 15px; line-height: 21.3px; margin-bottom: 1.35em;">
<span style="color: black; font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif; line-height: 21.3px; text-align: center;"> Reshoeing by M6 near Carlisle</span></div>
<div dir="ltr" style="background-color: white; color: #444444; font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 15px; line-height: 21.3px; margin-bottom: 1.35em;">
<span style="line-height: 21.3px;"> If you're feeling old and creaky and your libido is low, while you've got the borax out, lick your finger, dip it into the borax, then lick the borax off your finger. Do this for a few weeks, you may be surprised. If it kills you, it may not have been borax. Borax has an alkaline taste a bit like bicarb. (Any advice given in this blog could be taken with a pinch of Borax, there's no point </span>sueing<span style="line-height: 21.3px;"> me if anything goes wrong).</span></div>
<div dir="ltr" style="background-color: white; color: #444444; font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 15px; line-height: 21.3px; margin-bottom: 1.35em;">
Like the Devil's after me, or maybe she's in me, l get going. I walk and keep walking, in a week l walk 100 miles, hardly eating, stopping only to rest and put shoes on the horses. After a few days my feet get blisters, l haven't had any for two years, not since l was in France. I quite enjoy the pain, each morning the first few steps are a torment and l try not to hobble, l adjust my breathing, the discomfort wears off to a more acceptable level and l walk another 15 miles. After a few days my feet are fine again.</div>
<div dir="ltr" style="background-color: white; color: #444444; font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 15px; line-height: 21.3px; margin-bottom: 1.35em;">
The weather is nice and spring like, l leave the snow capped hills behind, soon l have lovely views of the mountains in Cumberland. I go round Carlisle on the by-pass. <br style="line-height: 21.3px;" />A man stops to chat to me, he tells me that a long time ago Carlisle didn't exist. The area was mostly marshland, no one lived there except an old sow. One day a man from Annan waded across the river Esk and went to live there too. The old sow and the man from Annan became friends and fell in love and that's how Carlisle got started. Quite a romantic story l thought, a bit like Romulus and Remus. <br style="line-height: 21.3px;" />I head back down the Cumbrian side of the Solway. I feel fit and lean, l've tightened my belt an inch and l feel happy to be in a different country. I watch and listen to thousands of pink foot geese, they're getting ready to move too.</div>
Horsedrawn travelhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14193357957502327320noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1302769187538212420.post-70029644805690457702016-01-10T12:25:00.000-08:002016-01-10T12:25:03.593-08:00Post 48, Back up to Scotland!<div dir="ltr" style="background-color: white; color: #444444; font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 15px; line-height: 21.3px; margin-bottom: 1.35em;">
The autumn is a lovely time to travel, it's not too hot and the flies that have been tormenting the horses all summer have gone. I set off on the 29th of September, the horses have been shod a few days before. I've made friends with a lady called Lorna, she has a nice dun coloured pony, a New Forest cross called Bob, he's 5 years old and green. Lorna is heading for Scotland too, riding her pony. It'll be nice to have company.</div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhuPmRnDFnKL-468DHThB8OhhqkZfluJdm93IjWRBzau6Mvz_HGrIbXbKP5__J6OmdXgrMVZOMWMcsO19ViiAeGUdnKLN5M3tNGOwGLaHwpm77sWwllYZV6wZhjtvsyE5qpRkGEH_6YU6Ay/s1600/Lorna+fast+asleep+on+the+cratch.+.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhuPmRnDFnKL-468DHThB8OhhqkZfluJdm93IjWRBzau6Mvz_HGrIbXbKP5__J6OmdXgrMVZOMWMcsO19ViiAeGUdnKLN5M3tNGOwGLaHwpm77sWwllYZV6wZhjtvsyE5qpRkGEH_6YU6Ay/s640/Lorna+fast+asleep+on+the+cratch.+.jpg" width="640" /></a></div>
<div dir="ltr" style="background-color: white; margin-bottom: 1.35em; text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;"><span style="font-size: 15px; line-height: 21.3px;">Lorna fast asleep on the cratch. </span></span></div>
<div dir="ltr" style="background-color: white; color: #444444; font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 15px; line-height: 21.3px; margin-bottom: 1.35em;">
Some years ago whilst travelling in Shropshire l met an elderly Romany Gypsy. He told me that when he was about seven his mother made a big tick up, (like a pillow slip) stuffed it with nice dry straw and put it on on the cratch, (the rack at the back of the wagon) and this became his bed for the next few years. A tarpaulin pulls down over it to keep the weather out. A wagon is not very big and he needed to make room for his little sisters to sleep under the main bed inside the wagon. I thought that's a good idea. Lorna tried it out, it's fine!</div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiXjzAbIpIuRK65HWnXKIoWcXbeeEoqRyrvhkrzo1xAV_hZxEMM-s7PY5wMpN5aQpLIXLq4HPKTqULHOaSgqwvYzr1vwPsqK9tmSPJUwKNmSTYjIviaM_1_y3oGFcudo-0RyIhg3YQBrKrl/s1600/Ashdown+Forest.+29th+Sept..jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiXjzAbIpIuRK65HWnXKIoWcXbeeEoqRyrvhkrzo1xAV_hZxEMM-s7PY5wMpN5aQpLIXLq4HPKTqULHOaSgqwvYzr1vwPsqK9tmSPJUwKNmSTYjIviaM_1_y3oGFcudo-0RyIhg3YQBrKrl/s640/Ashdown+Forest.+29th+Sept..jpg" width="640" /></a></div>
<div dir="ltr" style="background-color: white; margin-bottom: 1.35em; text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;"><span style="font-size: 15px; line-height: 21.3px;">Ashdown Forest. 29th Sept.</span></span></div>
<div dir="ltr" style="background-color: white; color: #444444; font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 15px; line-height: 21.3px; margin-bottom: 1.35em;">
We head north quickly. l stop and play my pipes in Uckfield and earn some money busking. My pipes are working well and almost play by themselves, while l enjoy watching the people go by, putting money in my bag. We stop in the Ashdown Forest, l cut some Sally willow and make some clothes pegs, l also cut some elder and make a basket of wooden chrysanthemums to sell.</div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiz8nnXoMsb08Ag9nkbrwtH0v5kFK_Bai88Z-lsKB1tohoD3Lzs92QpN6SeezLc-OZWygIADWsoXWbyotHhsc4r7Dbnpe9Bc67e3UA42jZIzXcX6xz-P60o6_caNqyoOhxADQQ1t8i341az/s1600/Selling+flowers%252C+Blackheath%252C+1st+October+2015..jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiz8nnXoMsb08Ag9nkbrwtH0v5kFK_Bai88Z-lsKB1tohoD3Lzs92QpN6SeezLc-OZWygIADWsoXWbyotHhsc4r7Dbnpe9Bc67e3UA42jZIzXcX6xz-P60o6_caNqyoOhxADQQ1t8i341az/s640/Selling+flowers%252C+Blackheath%252C+1st+October+2015..jpg" width="640" /></a></div>
<div dir="ltr" style="background-color: white; margin-bottom: 1.35em; text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;"><span style="font-size: 15px; line-height: 21.3px;">Selling flowers, Blackheath, 1st October 2015</span></span></div>
<div dir="ltr" style="background-color: white; color: #444444; font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 15px; line-height: 21.3px; margin-bottom: 1.35em;">
We go through Edenbridge and up Crockham and Westerham hills, lovely wooded countryside, but heavy traffic. Lorna follows me and her pony is soon oblivious to heavy traffic, we go through Catford and Lewisham and stop on Blackheath.<br style="line-height: 21.3px;" />It's lovely weather. We have a picnic outside the wagon, people come and chat and buy the wooden flowers and clothes pegs. It's tiring being asked the same questions all the time so we go and sit in the pub about three hundred yards away. We can keep an eye on the horses and wagon from there.<br style="line-height: 21.3px;" />After a while two mounted police ride over to the wagon. One of them leans over and knocks on the door. We stay where we are and watch. The mounted police get chatting to some passers by. We watch two council officials arrive and join in the conversation. After about an hour someone points towards the pub. The two mounted officers ride over. I notice that although the horses are old they are fidgetty and bad mannered. One officer dismounts and comes into the pub, l don't think she wants a pint. She looks around, l wonder if she'll spot my elasticated dealer boots under the table, not very common in Blackheath or if she'll spot my brightly coloured neckerchief, no! Then she speaks to the barmaid who points over to me and Lorna. The police officer comes over, she smiles at us, apologises for interrupting our drink and asks if the horses are ours and where we are going? I beam at her and say we are going to Scotland and could they give us a police escort? She laughs and says she doesn't think their horses would make it. She asks how long we are staying and is re-assured that we are going in the morning.<br style="line-height: 21.3px;" />The council officials are still hanging around so we go over and talk to them. They are slightly concerned about the horses being tethered and the woman mentions that they could invoke the horse welfare act, but under the circumstances won't. (The horse welfare act is an ingenious new piece of legislation, that under the guise of horse welfare, ironically punishes the horse for the actions of its owner, (it can be shot), and potentially inconveniences the horse-drawn traveller).</div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgpk0u7Of8Tv71U6H6agC7c-rMcclTOgP8NLucSxHo_06hSViRYZ8n2dyyc_DxZgI09hF58dxXNg65BEeVkP-n8iufd1TwYyyjgQWtfWRXO6o8DX9JBjw1YtU1YMYmi5122V0ylXDwW5kqt/s1600/3rd+Oct+crossed+Tower+Bridge.+%25281%2529.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgpk0u7Of8Tv71U6H6agC7c-rMcclTOgP8NLucSxHo_06hSViRYZ8n2dyyc_DxZgI09hF58dxXNg65BEeVkP-n8iufd1TwYyyjgQWtfWRXO6o8DX9JBjw1YtU1YMYmi5122V0ylXDwW5kqt/s640/3rd+Oct+crossed+Tower+Bridge.+%25281%2529.jpg" width="640" /></a></div>
<div dir="ltr" style="background-color: white; margin-bottom: 1.35em; text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;"><span style="font-size: 15px; line-height: 21.3px;">3rd Oct crossed Tower Bridge.</span></span></div>
<div dir="ltr" style="background-color: white; color: #444444; font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 15px; line-height: 21.3px; margin-bottom: 1.35em;">
Saturday morning. We set off half an hour before dawn and by 8am have crossed Tower Bridge. We take the back streets over to Whitechapel and stop at a cafe behind the London Hospital to have some breakfast.</div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjlmVQmjq-C4b5-esCoAL91GCSgo8zdT3NTBHS9RwC5Sfov91GECEWIx4NQK7Zm9rg-w1W2vJ2TSAOi-S6x5zJg28fcPSDvmtj6HbAjyQtjpVCj2PpavCjGmpmtk7iKnsYUPgCYO2t7081V/s1600/Corn+on+the+cob+for+supper..jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjlmVQmjq-C4b5-esCoAL91GCSgo8zdT3NTBHS9RwC5Sfov91GECEWIx4NQK7Zm9rg-w1W2vJ2TSAOi-S6x5zJg28fcPSDvmtj6HbAjyQtjpVCj2PpavCjGmpmtk7iKnsYUPgCYO2t7081V/s640/Corn+on+the+cob+for+supper..jpg" width="640" /></a></div>
<div dir="ltr" style="background-color: white; margin-bottom: 1.35em; text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;"><span style="font-size: 15px; line-height: 21.3px;">Corn on the cob for supper.</span></span></div>
<div dir="ltr" style="background-color: white; color: #444444; font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 15px; line-height: 21.3px; margin-bottom: 1.35em;">
It's enjoyable going through east London, we stop and buy groceries in Hackney. Everyone is friendly. On the way out through London we stop at a fish stall and eat a salmon beigal and some prawns. By tea time we've found a nice place to stop in a glade in Epping Forest. 24 miles, quite a long day but good fun.</div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj0-eCR8SVMaUYzJ_162-ATkWMdw8eTCqKzu9hu-UMfuCimu70jIRWwhpkV1w7DnUWnRGR-CPIzUSigMRPTPc8DG3Obk15kh-krvK_dfGocdiIUBmWv1xrubsi3r_3vXiSvD6zQJ0ywUwGT/s1600/Fresh+walnuts.+Cambridgeshire%252C+8th+October..jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj0-eCR8SVMaUYzJ_162-ATkWMdw8eTCqKzu9hu-UMfuCimu70jIRWwhpkV1w7DnUWnRGR-CPIzUSigMRPTPc8DG3Obk15kh-krvK_dfGocdiIUBmWv1xrubsi3r_3vXiSvD6zQJ0ywUwGT/s640/Fresh+walnuts.+Cambridgeshire%252C+8th+October..jpg" width="640" /></a></div>
<div dir="ltr" style="background-color: white; margin-bottom: 1.35em; text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;"><span style="font-size: 15px; line-height: 21.3px;">Fresh walnuts. Cambridgeshire, 8th October.</span></span></div>
<div dir="ltr" style="background-color: white; color: #444444; font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 15px; line-height: 21.3px; margin-bottom: 1.35em;">
We set off early the next morning and get to Matching Green mid-morning, selling some pegs and flowers on the way.<br style="line-height: 21.3px;" />A nice easy journey. We sit outside the pub and drink a pint and share a plate of mussels and chips. A week to get from near Eastbourne in Sussex up to Essex, 83 miles, l'm very satisfied.</div>
<div dir="ltr" style="background-color: white; color: #444444; font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 15px; line-height: 21.3px; margin-bottom: 1.35em;">
We go through Saffron Walden, Ely, Little Downham, Wisbech......l play my pipes and Lorna sells pegs and flowers.</div>
<div dir="ltr" style="background-color: white; color: #444444; font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 15px; line-height: 21.3px; margin-bottom: 1.35em;">
It's harvest time in the Fens, carrots, onions, potatoes, maize, cauliflowers, walnuts, apples, plums, blackberries, a time of abundance and all free.</div>
<div dir="ltr" style="background-color: white; color: #444444; font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 15px; line-height: 21.3px; margin-bottom: 1.35em;">
I went to the Polish shop in Spalding, pickled herrings, smoked ham, pastries stuffed with poppyseed and honey paste......in Wilsford Lorna bought an apple pie and cream in the village shop, we heated it on top of the stove, delicious.</div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiXUVZXJD_3gxCbEGEQ34ZUlGI0unEQ8B4OsXpuhApm_B7f86T-uaQBdvCv6OVmT5A3ANT3GVkbQQooXA0pglwCfiU1H3xbBkMXG3k4j1-7xk8Z6uEuwNkMfIvn3Hraz84iOr_9PkEVB551/s1600/Flat+tyre%252C+30th+Sept..jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiXUVZXJD_3gxCbEGEQ34ZUlGI0unEQ8B4OsXpuhApm_B7f86T-uaQBdvCv6OVmT5A3ANT3GVkbQQooXA0pglwCfiU1H3xbBkMXG3k4j1-7xk8Z6uEuwNkMfIvn3Hraz84iOr_9PkEVB551/s640/Flat+tyre%252C+30th+Sept..jpg" width="640" /></a></div>
<div dir="ltr" style="background-color: white; margin-bottom: 1.35em; text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;"><span style="font-size: 15px; line-height: 21.3px;">Flat tyre, 30th Sept.</span></span></div>
<div dir="ltr" style="background-color: white; color: #444444; font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 15px; line-height: 21.3px; margin-bottom: 1.35em;">
200 miles in two weeks. We stop near Newark and rest for a week. I mend the puncture in the spare tyre. I don't often get punctures, in case l do l have a spare under the wagon. It's similar to mending a bicycle puncture, not very hard. The tyres are T20 (grey Fergie) tractor tyres or 19 inch motorbike tyres. 19 inch motorbike tyres can often be had for free from motorbike repairers, once the tread is a bit worn. There is no requirement or need for tread on the tyre of a horsedrawn vehicle. The tyres last for years.<br style="line-height: 21.3px;" />Roy the farrier comes out and makes a lovely job of re-shoeing Lorna's pony and we're on our way again.</div>
<div dir="ltr" style="background-color: white; color: #444444; font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 15px; line-height: 21.3px; margin-bottom: 1.35em;">
On our way north we meet Barnie and Katus and their little boy who's four, they're heading south to France with their wagon and two horses.</div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhOjQtSRxfrmQy1XyiCs2ZlpEmEa0AeDSXWEtKxXipjA-zehM6_2SwAEGfQykXWDAQJo8MlXhHhLc56K5mUQxBs88XzVa72wrU2h-9SMjobSQjNiB0gSjy9rfM2J0Vh3skOyfhQNurqaPvD/s1600/20151030_091416.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhOjQtSRxfrmQy1XyiCs2ZlpEmEa0AeDSXWEtKxXipjA-zehM6_2SwAEGfQykXWDAQJo8MlXhHhLc56K5mUQxBs88XzVa72wrU2h-9SMjobSQjNiB0gSjy9rfM2J0Vh3skOyfhQNurqaPvD/s640/20151030_091416.jpg" width="640" /></a></div>
<div dir="ltr" style="background-color: white; color: #444444; font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 15px; line-height: 21.3px; margin-bottom: 1.35em;">
<br /></div>
<div dir="ltr" style="background-color: white; color: #444444; font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 15px; line-height: 21.3px; margin-bottom: 1.35em;">
The weather stays good, another 10 days and we're in the Yorkshire Dales. The weather turns bad, but it's still lovely travelling. Even on wet cold days there is the knowledge that once the woodburner is lit the wagon will be warm and cosy in a few minutes.</div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgwnd7in9-ujXP0AsgJN5x_Yy9Nc5FG_g3bQmuKA_zw0_hWUjtO8PFoaugVMwYW2NE8eJ0oCTe8h1R_5rxdi38haZkqApJ1mDkFtSzBUqle5zPghV-hoeznqTu-sxdnenGdkn-BKXRQfv5E/s1600/The+Sea..jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgwnd7in9-ujXP0AsgJN5x_Yy9Nc5FG_g3bQmuKA_zw0_hWUjtO8PFoaugVMwYW2NE8eJ0oCTe8h1R_5rxdi38haZkqApJ1mDkFtSzBUqle5zPghV-hoeznqTu-sxdnenGdkn-BKXRQfv5E/s640/The+Sea..jpg" width="640" /></a></div>
<div dir="ltr" style="background-color: white; margin-bottom: 1.35em; text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;"><span style="font-size: 15px; line-height: 21.3px;">The Sea.</span></span></div>
<div dir="ltr" style="background-color: white; color: #444444; font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 15px; line-height: 21.3px; margin-bottom: 1.35em;">
By the third week of November we've reached Scotland, 458 miles, on the 23rd we reach Port William down on the Machars. It's been a lovely trip with Lorna and we're sad to have to go our separate ways, but l think we'll meet again.</div>
<div dir="ltr" style="background-color: white; color: #444444; font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 15px; line-height: 21.3px; margin-bottom: 1.35em;">
Lorna is busy writing a book about her journey, it's quite an adventure, l'll let you know when it's finished, l think you'll enjoy it.</div>
Horsedrawn travelhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14193357957502327320noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1302769187538212420.post-75364002094329738742015-05-12T13:36:00.002-07:002015-05-12T13:36:29.626-07:00Post 46. Heading South.<div style="background-color: white; font-size: 15px; line-height: 21.2999992370605px; margin-bottom: 1.35em;">
<div style="color: #444444; font-family: Calibri, sans-serif;">
After Scotland l head back along the Solway Firth in Cumbria. I like it there, l find the people kind and hospitable and l like their sense of humour. I enjoy stopping beside the sea, sometimes l lie awake at night listening to the roar of the surf, the wind screaming round the wagon, searching for ways to tear the roof off, other times, when there is no wind l lie there listening to the sound of the waves just gently caressing the shore. I collect driftwood, watch the seabirds, ride the horse in the sea, he tries to make sense of it. Although it's only February there are some lovely warm sunny days and a feel of spring in the air. I rest and relax.</div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; color: #444444; font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; color: #444444; font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi2QDxIMfgrLladEM8rV6RvrY_M6QCVhz9W3bW3INMrGHwVCGdQbuHWnyFSXLc4LoGghO4MFvvjewZKJUHy_Cp4uTWxcnT2xnRz5RgQsefg2BP9p82Z28URGHkcxrqDCTLLGPN1sAdtCZoh/s1600/Tarateeno+in+the+Solway+Firth..png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="360" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi2QDxIMfgrLladEM8rV6RvrY_M6QCVhz9W3bW3INMrGHwVCGdQbuHWnyFSXLc4LoGghO4MFvvjewZKJUHy_Cp4uTWxcnT2xnRz5RgQsefg2BP9p82Z28URGHkcxrqDCTLLGPN1sAdtCZoh/s640/Tarateeno+in+the+Solway+Firth..png" width="640" /></a></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;">Tarateeno in the Solway Firth.</span></div>
</div>
<div style="background-color: white; margin-bottom: 1.35em;">
<div style="color: #444444; font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 15px; line-height: 21.2999992370605px;">
A week or so and l'm restless, l head east over Caldbeck to the Pennines. At Melmerby l head along the Eden Valley, there is more sleet and flurries of snow. Stirred by a childhood memory l walk along catching large snowflakes on my tongue, a pleasant tingling sensation and l'm glad to be alive. The Eden valley is lovely, l quickly pass through Appleby, Soulby and Kirkby Stephen and up past Mallerstang. The hills have snow on them. I manage to buy a good bale of hay and spend the night at Garsdale head, it pours with rain all night, the becks and river flood, near Hawes the water is up over the road, up to the axles, Tarateenos feathers get nice and clean.</div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; color: #444444; font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 15px; line-height: 21.2999992370605px; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgulIB4DvJpL3fIV9A5PuilneTr1Kkd-P3FFnny9BYD8Lnm5E4qjSGOB6WY-AH7-wF36OFB-O0kZRs7GMTnvGyjl6pV8Vbpai5-zD9CkQqMyt7QxoER7PjvAEwUPu4wGWCThDiWCrKEch1H/s1600/Only+300+miles+to+London..jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="616" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgulIB4DvJpL3fIV9A5PuilneTr1Kkd-P3FFnny9BYD8Lnm5E4qjSGOB6WY-AH7-wF36OFB-O0kZRs7GMTnvGyjl6pV8Vbpai5-zD9CkQqMyt7QxoER7PjvAEwUPu4wGWCThDiWCrKEch1H/s640/Only+300+miles+to+London..jpg" width="640" /></a></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;"><span style="font-size: 15px; line-height: 21.2999992370605px;">Only 300 miles to London.</span></span></div>
</div>
<div style="background-color: white; margin-bottom: 1.35em;">
<div style="color: #444444; font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 15px; line-height: 21.2999992370605px;">
I'm moving fast, one day l stop at 2pm a couple of miles east of York. I rest until mid-night, it's almost a full moon.l yoke the horse up and travel through the night. At 1.30am l go through the centre of York, there's not many people about, hardly a soul, a couple of tipsy students unsteady on their feet, by 2.30am l'm through the city, l trudge along beside the horse, by 4am the temperature has dropped a lot and l'm starting to feel cold and tired, l reach my stop at the Pocklington Canal at 5am, glad to get there. I unyoke the horse, tether him, give him a feed and a drink, then light the stove and make a strong coffee. As l climb onto the bed the birds start to sing, l drink half the coffee, then fall fast asleep, content to have got here. At 9am l wake, feed the horse, move his tether to some better grass, then go back to bed again and sleep until 3pm. I enjoyed that adventure.</div>
<div style="color: #444444; font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 15px; line-height: 21.2999992370605px;">
<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; color: #444444; font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 15px; line-height: 21.2999992370605px; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg5T1WeVlnwPJRiZt9r4fG_S7ujI0_TV5Pe9PWef804ykkazI4b3uNA6efiCLWR1pm-nWgzYYF5l9p-UohC9h9UmxyK4CPjLkjqFdi1osrEg4eonwqXVbX4X1LKzPLxCQF_GZXH4RojNuiW/s1600/25th+February.+Mallerstang,+stopped+for+water..jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg5T1WeVlnwPJRiZt9r4fG_S7ujI0_TV5Pe9PWef804ykkazI4b3uNA6efiCLWR1pm-nWgzYYF5l9p-UohC9h9UmxyK4CPjLkjqFdi1osrEg4eonwqXVbX4X1LKzPLxCQF_GZXH4RojNuiW/s640/25th+February.+Mallerstang,+stopped+for+water..jpg" width="640" /></a></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: 15px; line-height: 21.2999992370605px;">25th February. Mallerstang, stopped for water.</span></span></div>
</div>
<div style="background-color: white; margin-bottom: 1.35em;">
<div style="color: #444444; font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 15px; line-height: 21.2999992370605px;">
I'm out of the hills, it's flat as a pancake, easy for the horse, l like the change and enjoy going through Goole and down beside the river Trent. I'm back in Lincolnshire.</div>
<div style="color: #444444; font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 15px; line-height: 21.2999992370605px;">
<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; color: #444444; font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 15px; line-height: 21.2999992370605px; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEigbnZSwL3BZTj4ljs7M_vOCXcznUPbhLshOVsBs1sooKr07sXsNL0YNzCfJHMM4zIUhzB9YraIz92dvEv_xHLFiIdFGpElH1NMI2uBWYwiOj2G2MhjJp4kNMssT5plbFI6vuZhIhec6wrV/s1600/Frosty+dawn,+6.30+am,+March+9th,+near+Lincoln..jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEigbnZSwL3BZTj4ljs7M_vOCXcznUPbhLshOVsBs1sooKr07sXsNL0YNzCfJHMM4zIUhzB9YraIz92dvEv_xHLFiIdFGpElH1NMI2uBWYwiOj2G2MhjJp4kNMssT5plbFI6vuZhIhec6wrV/s640/Frosty+dawn,+6.30+am,+March+9th,+near+Lincoln..jpg" width="640" /></a></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;"><span style="font-size: 15px; line-height: 21.2999992370605px;">Frosty dawn, 6.30 am, March 9th, near Lincoln.</span></span></div>
</div>
<div style="background-color: white; color: #444444; font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 15px; line-height: 21.2999992370605px; margin-bottom: 1.35em;">
I've been doing a lot of walking, the souls of my feet are starting to get sore, constant travel for 3 weeks, 285 miles. By the 10th of March l'm back near Newark stopped with Sylvia. It's good to see her and the horse and l are glad to have a rest. Sylvia's bought a small donkey and is busy breaking it in, it needs gelding. Sylvia is restoring an old donkey cart, she has had the cart a long time and last painted it more than 30 years ago. She shows me old photos of her using it with another donkey. Sylvia told me that in 1953 when she was 13, she ran away from home with the donkey and cart, but she was ill-prepared and returned home later the next morning. Sylvia also showed me a photo of a wagon she bought in 1962 for £45.<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgQrU_9gneTfIN1l7H2EJf02e_0nTDOx_AoS6IcnBnPjbj-OFSjFADFKTkYi9pyrN98ZmzuDbEUh8EAEHmDCsmapYSCkzAQMfnKtx0M0j_xvfJd1s92TPFGT7SYYCunSQcPoAWESjaoSloJ/s1600/20150314_150326.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgQrU_9gneTfIN1l7H2EJf02e_0nTDOx_AoS6IcnBnPjbj-OFSjFADFKTkYi9pyrN98ZmzuDbEUh8EAEHmDCsmapYSCkzAQMfnKtx0M0j_xvfJd1s92TPFGT7SYYCunSQcPoAWESjaoSloJ/s640/20150314_150326.jpg" width="640" /></a></div>
<br /></div>
<div style="background-color: white; margin-bottom: 1.35em;">
<div style="color: #444444; font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 15px; line-height: 21.2999992370605px;">
We take her cob out and go to the shops. It's a good, forward going cob, about 13 hands, ideal for pulling a light vehicle. Sylvia likes a cob with a bit of go in it, but tells me she's got the donkey to use in her dotage. I suspect that she will soon get bored plodding along at 2 miles an hour and swap the cuddy for a nice trotter.</div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; color: #444444; font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 15px; line-height: 21.2999992370605px; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh1XNkeZYPyEPYL45Bd9XAGdORp9y0YlIylwcC29y6O2FG0qmifkob1mHlknq9jBN14ncOCZKm2gOdUOrXDDYXqQY5LgymHflEeayd3ZHLmda7B8wVu3dfgr3t6k2eGwEVF0_o54w57Hj8E/s1600/Sid+the+donkey..jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh1XNkeZYPyEPYL45Bd9XAGdORp9y0YlIylwcC29y6O2FG0qmifkob1mHlknq9jBN14ncOCZKm2gOdUOrXDDYXqQY5LgymHflEeayd3ZHLmda7B8wVu3dfgr3t6k2eGwEVF0_o54w57Hj8E/s640/Sid+the+donkey..jpg" width="640" /></a></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;"><span style="font-size: 15px; line-height: 21.2999992370605px;">Sid the donkey.</span></span></div>
</div>
<div style="background-color: white; color: #444444; font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 15px; line-height: 21.2999992370605px; margin-bottom: 1.35em;">
One day we go and see Harry, l buy some wagon wheels, axles and leaf springs off him. I'm pleased with the deal, he is too. I'll use them for my new wagon. Sylvia paints the fore-carriage l made in Scotland with wood preserver. The fore-carriage is made of ash, a tough resilient wood, ideal for the job, but prone to woodworm and rot, so it's best to treat it before painting.<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgMhOdVuiW-Fi-63opsAJ81uO2bEPtxvjkvvpx2xk09ImEhexv9swFAoJ7yGGYvqpUrGDrAvgvxFm-Vw4vOIkJDDIUSfwB0kXNFIhRm__6A6F5J8xQ-I_FQoW7rq0hGFcacTVJKs-1OYCk3/s1600/20150311_113732.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgMhOdVuiW-Fi-63opsAJ81uO2bEPtxvjkvvpx2xk09ImEhexv9swFAoJ7yGGYvqpUrGDrAvgvxFm-Vw4vOIkJDDIUSfwB0kXNFIhRm__6A6F5J8xQ-I_FQoW7rq0hGFcacTVJKs-1OYCk3/s640/20150311_113732.jpg" width="640" /></a></div>
<br /></div>
<div style="background-color: white; color: #444444; font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 15px; line-height: 21.2999992370605px; margin-bottom: 1.35em;">
Another day Sylvia asks me to help her move her chain harrows. They are quite heavy and l'm impressed by her strength and the seemingly effortless way she lifts them, although she's lightly built. She yokes Benny up and harrows a 2 acre field. Benny walks quite fast and it's quite a long walk up and down doing 6 foot strips. [To plough one acre with a single furrow plough is about 16 miles, a days work, if the land is not too heavy]. It's about a 6 mile walk to harrow her field. The harrows spread out the dung, pull up the moss and help keep the land in good condition. It's a great way to get a horse fit and a green horse used to pulling. The harrows make a pleasing jingling.<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjaB00_FnsuSaHGPErUly14qvAFIvVA3hW3LLvrCsqVGbz0XJEPLBRM9fOr72wk1Io3XR3SlSb1gP9WjJVg6PI2oScHKPYixN58sb8-BoeYpl0M-91MCLviKGybXblQ74Moh0abK9DA53a5/s1600/20150318_135351.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjaB00_FnsuSaHGPErUly14qvAFIvVA3hW3LLvrCsqVGbz0XJEPLBRM9fOr72wk1Io3XR3SlSb1gP9WjJVg6PI2oScHKPYixN58sb8-BoeYpl0M-91MCLviKGybXblQ74Moh0abK9DA53a5/s640/20150318_135351.jpg" width="640" /></a></div>
<br /></div>
<div style="background-color: white; margin-bottom: 1.35em;">
<div style="color: #444444; font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 15px; line-height: 21.2999992370605px;">
On Sundays Sylvia meets up with some lads who drive horses, two of them are also retired, they have good horses and enjoy chopping and changing them for new ones, it's good to see them, l admire their vitality and zest for life, getting out there and doing it, often they go 20 miles or more.</div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; color: #444444; font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 15px; line-height: 21.2999992370605px; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgZrneMWGdFkKm57OG9YfqcSFxgzVH7SLIAic0_KNAa0tRp5v7gkM_8FyVnsZCNMa0m4wmNIRijTVBUZ5z-Ppigt2WlFI_3T86fGxZ3zd8yvEM1kp1coBkTxCWD8IvN2eEdiu3G5N5kkGFP/s1600/Sunday+drivers..jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="556" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgZrneMWGdFkKm57OG9YfqcSFxgzVH7SLIAic0_KNAa0tRp5v7gkM_8FyVnsZCNMa0m4wmNIRijTVBUZ5z-Ppigt2WlFI_3T86fGxZ3zd8yvEM1kp1coBkTxCWD8IvN2eEdiu3G5N5kkGFP/s640/Sunday+drivers..jpg" width="640" /></a></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;"><span style="font-size: 15px; line-height: 21.2999992370605px;">Sunday drivers.</span></span></div>
</div>
<div style="background-color: white; color: #444444; font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 15px; line-height: 21.2999992370605px; margin-bottom: 1.35em;">
Its the 23rd of March l've been here for 10 days, had a good rest, mended my harness, got the horse re-shod and lots of other jobs done, now l'm ready to continue. Spring is on its way, l've had a really lovely winter travelling , [done 900 miles since November]. I'm going down south for a bit.</div>
Horsedrawn travelhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14193357957502327320noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1302769187538212420.post-63679770422808368312015-02-21T09:40:00.000-08:002015-02-21T09:40:29.963-08:00Winter in Scotland, post 45<div style="background-color: white; color: #444444; font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 15px; line-height: 21.2999992370605px; margin-bottom: 1.35em;">
December 23rd. I've had several days of heavy rain and strong winds, l've gone through Gretna and Annan, it's a dismal stretch of road, l reach the river Nith at Glencaple in the afternoon. This is the first nice bit of Scotland, going west. l stop on the quayside, the horse is glad to eat the clover, it's a good spot, with lovely views. A huge skein of geese fly over at dusk, beautiful, l'm really glad to be back here.<br style="line-height: 21.2999992370605px;" />I rest the next day, the local people are friendly, Morris, who drives horses and has a bowtop wagon, gives me a sack of barley for the horse. It's a nice sunny day and I get the horse's rug and harness dry. I tether the horse on the shore, l practise my pipes and watch the tide coming in, it keeps coming in, up around Tarateenos feet! He's looking slightly perturbed, I go over and move him to higher ground.</div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhqFaJaseAkYqH3M1k-dxqTrSWo0CAb2b03rCfz3pjBFKo_RELp6-SgTLzM-kTxYod5bhhYgzCY_aat6LA_bNXobv-XRqpI6reVue9TwihsrUoxEOIBtGmYULMQbdZQ5GfnY3rU2PVkZdHC/s1600/Sunrise,+Glencaple+December+25th..jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhqFaJaseAkYqH3M1k-dxqTrSWo0CAb2b03rCfz3pjBFKo_RELp6-SgTLzM-kTxYod5bhhYgzCY_aat6LA_bNXobv-XRqpI6reVue9TwihsrUoxEOIBtGmYULMQbdZQ5GfnY3rU2PVkZdHC/s1600/Sunrise,+Glencaple+December+25th..jpg" height="480" width="640" /></a></div>
<div style="background-color: white; color: #444444; font-size: 15px; line-height: 21.2999992370605px; margin-bottom: 1.35em; text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;">Sunrise, Glencaple December 25th</span></div>
<div style="background-color: white; color: #444444; font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 15px; line-height: 21.2999992370605px; margin-bottom: 1.35em;">
Christmas day, l watch the sunrise, a lovely sunny day, l move three miles down to Kingholm Quay and stop in the park, on the way l get water from Isla and Hamish. Gill and her daughter bring carrots for the horse and give me chocolat biscuits. I go through a small housing estate to get to the quay, children come over and proudly show me their new bikes and scooters and ask if they can 'clap' the horse, which means, can they stroke the horse? Of course I'm glad for them to. Morris brings me some diesel to light my fire, [it makes it quicker], I collect a load of dead hawthorn from the hedge and Morris saws it up for me, he invited me for dinner but l declined as l preferred to be on my own and reflect. For my Christmas dinner l grilled a nice piece of steak and washed it down with some delicious red wine. l remembered to feel sorry for all the people having to share Christmas with relatives they don't like and wishing they hadn't spent so much using their credit cards. Legend has it that Jesus was born on straw and spent his first Christmas on The Road to Egypt, does this make him a Traveller? Apparently a pied wagtail followed and brushed away the footprints with its tail, so that Herod didn't know which way they'd gone, Gypsies consider the pied wagtail a 'lucky bird,' the Romani chiriklo.<br style="line-height: 21.2999992370605px;" />Over Christmas l was brought lots of nice food by various kind people, salmon, steak, turkey sandwiches, a lady called Jane brought me a box full of interesting jams, sloe gin, chutney, biscuits, soup and two small Christmas puddings, delicious.</div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhv66T1MAuX5wIiFA8YHxXa5WfSX0ZfiklOBKPJjFkKtS1BtULzDHm-uVPONeASDxbgXD9bqC6SBk17Yqkq3VNj40X-pyutWYPeoMZxfB6RQg3deBMX0vojx7ilEkNtmL8QuhHyszT6Tv7D/s1600/Sweetheart+Abbey,+27th+December..jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhv66T1MAuX5wIiFA8YHxXa5WfSX0ZfiklOBKPJjFkKtS1BtULzDHm-uVPONeASDxbgXD9bqC6SBk17Yqkq3VNj40X-pyutWYPeoMZxfB6RQg3deBMX0vojx7ilEkNtmL8QuhHyszT6Tv7D/s1600/Sweetheart+Abbey,+27th+December..jpg" height="480" width="640" /></a></div>
<div style="background-color: white; margin-bottom: 1.35em; text-align: center;">
<span style="color: #444444; font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;"><span style="font-size: 15px; line-height: 21.2999992370605px;">Sweetheart Abbey, 27th December</span></span></div>
<div style="background-color: white; color: #444444; font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 15px; line-height: 21.2999992370605px; margin-bottom: 1.35em;">
I move down to New Abbey, Dalbeattie and Auchencairn, it's cold and frosty, by New Years eve l'm back at 'the Doon' near Kirkudbright, [pronounced k koo bree] stopped on the beach. It's a beautiful spot and l enjoy watching the surf in the moonlight. Over the years l've had all sorts of wild New Years Eves with other people, but on my own, in this lovely spot, this was one of the best.</div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg53ecTkDhrDpOSdsvQIOmnSsEmXJZCk4EFGghKvV4G2wBV3m3GNIOAW0IggExwCAZ7QV4Q_HbH2HKNXtZC_ug5HOA7U9sM2ta9J9FYnxxtXdQbziABprR3Mp2Q5W0c1YAFEvOdVhh0HNyK/s1600/Sunrise+at+The+Doon,+2nd+Jan+2015..jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg53ecTkDhrDpOSdsvQIOmnSsEmXJZCk4EFGghKvV4G2wBV3m3GNIOAW0IggExwCAZ7QV4Q_HbH2HKNXtZC_ug5HOA7U9sM2ta9J9FYnxxtXdQbziABprR3Mp2Q5W0c1YAFEvOdVhh0HNyK/s1600/Sunrise+at+The+Doon,+2nd+Jan+2015..jpg" height="480" width="640" /></a></div>
<div style="background-color: white; margin-bottom: 1.35em; text-align: center;">
<span style="color: #444444; font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;"><span style="font-size: 15px; line-height: 21.2999992370605px;">Sunrise at The Doon, 2nd Jan 2015</span></span></div>
<div style="background-color: white; color: #444444; font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 15px; line-height: 21.2999992370605px; margin-bottom: 1.35em;">
I head round the coast to Gatehouse of Fleet, l pull up outside an old church that's now a cafe and gallery, Franca, the proprietor, makes me a coffee and gives me some biscuits, she's kind and attractive, she doesn't want paying, we have a nice chat, l'm glad l stopped. l head up into the hills, it's wild beautiful country, with lovely views of the Clints of Dromore, rocky granite outcrops, an old lady appears out of nowhere and walks along beside me for a bit, after a while she starts singing, rather tunelessly, but l don't mind, it amuses me and is typical of the funny things that happen when you travel with a wagon. At the top of the hill l stop and talk to a man working outside his cottage, he says to put my horse in the garden of the abandoned railway station for the night. We chat for a bit and he gives me two bottles of dark beer he's made. It tastes very good. The temperature drops rapidly and by 4pm l can see frost forming, l build up the fire so it'll keep in overnight. There is a very hard frost. The next day l head for Challoch, a lady with two children comes to chat, l give the children a ride on the wagon, the lady gives me a nice cake she's made. In Newton Stewart l stop to get water from a house, l also get given onions, carrots and potatoes. Mild air from the Atlantic comes in and by dusk the temperature has risen by 15 degrees, a peculiarity of this maritime climate. I stop that night on some grass beside the church. At 3am a lorry goes past and the noise wakes me. I look out the window, it's a mild cloudy night, but the moon is quite bright, Tarateeno has eaten all his grass so l yoke him up and set off in the night. The road to New Luce is not very busy, in the middle of the night there is no one. The wagon is quite well lit up by fairy lights around the front and the lights on inside it, l've got good reflectors on the back. I really enjoyed travelling in the dark. It adds a new dimension to, 'here today, gone tomorrow.'</div>
<div style="background-color: white; color: #444444; font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 15px; line-height: 21.2999992370605px; margin-bottom: 1.35em;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEicCw8pGAjV7PRfTTOUufh-0mD7xyju-yH-M8n8qXwRThksGpj8hWCL2Os6uEU7qkd_rqR_TIibMZ4brVYGAY2KjAukUJIgs7Jev51L3yK18CQFxs-MB6n3Hkw9QltkxkKcv93mSeqXL8Et/s1600/The+Clints+of+Dromore+3rd+January+2015..jpg" imageanchor="1" style="font-family: 'Times New Roman'; font-size: medium; line-height: normal; margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em; text-align: center;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEicCw8pGAjV7PRfTTOUufh-0mD7xyju-yH-M8n8qXwRThksGpj8hWCL2Os6uEU7qkd_rqR_TIibMZ4brVYGAY2KjAukUJIgs7Jev51L3yK18CQFxs-MB6n3Hkw9QltkxkKcv93mSeqXL8Et/s1600/The+Clints+of+Dromore+3rd+January+2015..jpg" height="480" width="640" /></a></div>
<div style="background-color: white; color: #444444; font-size: 15px; line-height: 21.2999992370605px; margin-bottom: 1.35em; text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;">The Clints of Dromore 3rd January</span></div>
<div style="background-color: white; color: #444444; font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 15px; line-height: 21.2999992370605px; margin-bottom: 1.35em;">
6th January, l'm back at Port O Spittal, stopped with Jim and Julie. It's good to see them again and we have some laughs. I look at their horses, nothing l can buy, but good to look. I borrowed an Australian stock saddle and went for a nice ride. Julie rode a racehorse, we had a gallop through the woods, it made a change for me and Tarateeno. I stay for a few days, Jim arranges for a farrier to come and shoe Tarateeno, l get my washing done and oil an old bridle that l've begged off Jim. Laura, who keeps a horse there gives me a 'cooler' rug to put on Tarateeno, so he can dry off better, without getting chilled. A kind man called Billy brings round delicious shortbread with toffee and chocolate on it, he is very good at making it, l remember it from my last visit.I'm glad to stop a few days and rest. The farrier doesn't come, strong south westerly gales arrive, instead.</div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiru3PxPHLmEQR7mkaVZDADvpEWVbGMGN6rlwVhWUcxVLoMX4SNbmhQMe5VKCX3gmmfReO-xTgZhEcy7yzQOqrQ2s9AIap0vMDkOi30rzZNugoEliBa4yUIK3B_j-u5suTN7vcTn6hHaBX8/s1600/Jim+and+Julie..jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiru3PxPHLmEQR7mkaVZDADvpEWVbGMGN6rlwVhWUcxVLoMX4SNbmhQMe5VKCX3gmmfReO-xTgZhEcy7yzQOqrQ2s9AIap0vMDkOi30rzZNugoEliBa4yUIK3B_j-u5suTN7vcTn6hHaBX8/s1600/Jim+and+Julie..jpg" height="480" width="640" /></a></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div style="background-color: white; color: #444444; font-size: 15px; line-height: 21.2999992370605px; margin-bottom: 1.35em; text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;">Jim and Julie</span></div>
<div style="background-color: white; color: #444444; font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 15px; line-height: 21.2999992370605px; margin-bottom: 1.35em;">
l head over to the east side of the Mull O Galloway and shelter at Sandhead. The wind is terrible and scarily, strong and the wagon is buffetted violently for several days, at night time l wonder if the wagon will blow over. It's the worst wind l've known. Luckily there is lots of good grass here, plenty of firewood, a good village shop and a pub that does nice food. I stay there for four days until the wind drops. I've parked the wagon right on the high tide line, l like to be near the sea.</div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgV42-xOwc6EfGGaSr71_8Dt0w_ht6Ak-XnpS6Q4dh2E5bAHbHCkbf8cZWUx839DTJRzquhnbD8P5NoDEaMc54osSuV2FyCgoMdAIb9d2AmwA7-XBMuxG9i37C2LFmP_ql16Ed1ZtCY4_Ii/s1600/Sandhead,+13th+Jan,+Mull+O+Galloway..jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgV42-xOwc6EfGGaSr71_8Dt0w_ht6Ak-XnpS6Q4dh2E5bAHbHCkbf8cZWUx839DTJRzquhnbD8P5NoDEaMc54osSuV2FyCgoMdAIb9d2AmwA7-XBMuxG9i37C2LFmP_ql16Ed1ZtCY4_Ii/s1600/Sandhead,+13th+Jan,+Mull+O+Galloway..jpg" height="480" width="640" /></a></div>
<div style="background-color: white; color: #444444; font-size: 15px; line-height: 21.2999992370605px; margin-bottom: 1.35em; text-align: center;">
<span style="line-height: 21.2999992370605px;"><span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;">Sandhead, 13th Jan, Mull O Galloway</span></span></div>
<div style="background-color: white; color: #444444; font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 15px; line-height: 21.2999992370605px; margin-bottom: 1.35em;">
I was disappointed not to get Tarateeno re-shod by a farrier, but it's not desperate yet. I head down the coast to the Machars and stop at Port William with Frank and Fiona at the old mill. I stay a week and show Frank a few things to get better results with his Clydesdales. He works hard and is pleased how much better he gets at handling the horses and how nice and well mannered the horses get. I feel rewarded too. It can be very frustrating trying to work with horses if you don't have the enough information.</div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgO6T6V8r7ovM8-lcl9MseL8XAekkqJbnSFnlrK_v5JFtLv2ZsobrPA2QDGkmfRojv0_GlRH833imxuOecvPVi2lBglqOiL_zHbg05_vqoYZ7RKNd7qlDrwMmEmUXxQeuCzfh6V3QaIZmpP/s1600/Charlie+the+Clydesdale..jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgO6T6V8r7ovM8-lcl9MseL8XAekkqJbnSFnlrK_v5JFtLv2ZsobrPA2QDGkmfRojv0_GlRH833imxuOecvPVi2lBglqOiL_zHbg05_vqoYZ7RKNd7qlDrwMmEmUXxQeuCzfh6V3QaIZmpP/s1600/Charlie+the+Clydesdale..jpg" height="480" width="640" /></a></div>
<div style="background-color: white; margin-bottom: 1.35em; text-align: center;">
<span style="color: #444444; font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;"><span style="font-size: 15px; line-height: 21.2999992370605px;">Charlie the Clydesdale</span></span></div>
<div style="background-color: white; color: #444444; font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 15px; line-height: 21.2999992370605px; margin-bottom: 1.35em;">
While l stop there l use Franks workshop and l make some pieces of ash up into a fore-carriage for the new wagon l'm going to build this year. It goes well and l'm pleased. When it's finished l take it apart and stow it under the bed, until l need it. Although it's January in Scotland, there are days that are warm enough to sit out in the sunshine and do some coppersmithing. I make some stock to sell. John calls by to look at my wagon. He used to drive a wagon to Appleby, we get on well. The next day he turns up with some nice thick plain stamped horse shoes, l offer them up to my horse, they could have been made for him, perfect! Funny how things turn out. Frank has a brother in the village who has a pillar drill, l go and drill 24 holes in the shoes to take the tungsten studs. I'm really pleased. John comes another day and gives me some hames to fit a spare collar l've got. I reshape them to fit the collar. I'm enjoying having a workshop to use. One day Frank breaks his bandsaw blade, while he's out I scarf the ends and silver solder it back together again. I like to be able to use my skills. It's a pleasure to stay with Frank and Fiona and l'm sorry to go.</div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhXYRw7frvjrBl1Rn-fQluhyonxP-JDfsngGP8FVouVOIuMy0oiQlRkJdJgF2Uxva2nZp8XYWl-6rVs2uV9k7dserOvukkegQoJnnpoi8A20MxAQvhkoa5f5kcg2__By8JvBfCWcWmDTFP5/s1600/Detail+of+fore-carriage,+showing+chamfers..jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhXYRw7frvjrBl1Rn-fQluhyonxP-JDfsngGP8FVouVOIuMy0oiQlRkJdJgF2Uxva2nZp8XYWl-6rVs2uV9k7dserOvukkegQoJnnpoi8A20MxAQvhkoa5f5kcg2__By8JvBfCWcWmDTFP5/s1600/Detail+of+fore-carriage,+showing+chamfers..jpg" height="480" width="640" /></a></div>
<div style="background-color: white; margin-bottom: 1.35em; text-align: center;">
<span style="color: #444444; font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;"><span style="font-size: 15px; line-height: 21.2999992370605px;">Detail of fore-carriage, showing chamfers</span></span></div>
<div style="background-color: white; color: #444444; font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 15px; line-height: 21.2999992370605px; margin-bottom: 1.35em;">
26th January 2015. As l leave Port William I give Holly who's 12, a lift up to her school at the top of the village, she's really pleased l think and her schoolmates look at her with admiration. I carry on to Newton Stewart,18 miles, on the way l stop and replace a hindshoe that is worn out and clinking badly. I have an odd shoe that a farrier in the Massif Centrale gave me, that'll do for now, l soon have it on. A farmer gives me a bale of hay. The next day l head over the hills towards New Galloway and stop by the mare's tail waterfall again. It's a beautiful bit of country. Two Americans come and chat, l sell them a halter and a copper sconce, they're pleased. It's a wet windy night, by the morning it's turning to sleet. At 8.30am l'm yoked up and ready to go, a lady with her disabled daughter turn up. I give her daughter a ride down the road, she was pleased, l gave her the old horse shoe l took off the day before for luck. We joked that her mum could pick her up in June at Appleby! At New Galloway l normally stop beside the river, but it looks much too angry and dangerous, l carry on to Balmaclennan and stop with Malcolm in his wood. I feed Tarateeno some hay. By evening it is snowing hard.</div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhDh7iTo55_hIuCfeeuuY6NPTsIeU2u1FP2cTJQxAavjWIfBSLh4Lo8q1H_Umdr8QtOhbWefSHgDpYs6B5BJxE8PSez7iW8eXlOPDig4U0-tgkgCTQI4ZWIiEb9Uq8lREexFhgavH4v2ZpK/s1600/Spud+the+Clydesdale+in+a+stall..jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhDh7iTo55_hIuCfeeuuY6NPTsIeU2u1FP2cTJQxAavjWIfBSLh4Lo8q1H_Umdr8QtOhbWefSHgDpYs6B5BJxE8PSez7iW8eXlOPDig4U0-tgkgCTQI4ZWIiEb9Uq8lREexFhgavH4v2ZpK/s1600/Spud+the+Clydesdale+in+a+stall..jpg" height="480" width="640" /></a></div>
<div style="background-color: white; margin-bottom: 1.35em; text-align: center;">
<span style="color: #444444; font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;"><span style="font-size: 15px; line-height: 21.2999992370605px;">Spud the Clydesdale in a stall</span></span></div>
<div style="background-color: white; color: #444444; font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 15px; line-height: 21.2999992370605px; margin-bottom: 1.35em;">
In the morning there is 6 inches of beautiful snow. Malcolm rings his neighbour Donald, who has cobs and Clydesdales and he sells me a couple of good bales of hay. Malcolm is living on his own in the woods, l told him it is lovely, apart from there's no women. Not long after, Jen, a very nice Scottish lass turned up. We made a sledge out of a pallet and yoked Tarateeno up and had fun pulling it about in the snow. Later 'young Donald' showed me the horses he had for sale, nothing suitable for me, but still a pleasure to look.</div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhq1TxxKD6MJkc3WfUWvFAYkJqGWhbViIxQ6ZGbkOB9bXVyNZIAZw36x0MDz6a1_bb3hQhvnguiSHpPGZ2wertEQtMNpEkrRm5CYrIvZ6yjtX_J5Q39wxX8fxL997LCTltDBXJ_dKWcJbY5/s1600/Balmaclennan+28th+February..jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhq1TxxKD6MJkc3WfUWvFAYkJqGWhbViIxQ6ZGbkOB9bXVyNZIAZw36x0MDz6a1_bb3hQhvnguiSHpPGZ2wertEQtMNpEkrRm5CYrIvZ6yjtX_J5Q39wxX8fxL997LCTltDBXJ_dKWcJbY5/s1600/Balmaclennan+28th+February..jpg" height="480" width="640" /></a></div>
<div style="background-color: white; margin-bottom: 1.35em; text-align: center;">
<span style="color: #444444; font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;"><span style="font-size: 15px; line-height: 21.2999992370605px;">Balmaclennan 28th February</span></span></div>
<div style="background-color: white; color: #444444; font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 15px; line-height: 21.2999992370605px; margin-bottom: 1.35em;">
I head off the next morning in the snow, it's stopped snowing and it's a lovely sunny day. The roads are icy in places but Tarateeno is fine. It's a fine journey, 14 miles to Castle Douglas, which has lots of shops. I stock up on porridge oats and some nice bread and a bag of horsefeed, the lady sells it to me cheap as the sell by date is nearly up. I stop in the park near the Loch. It has been sheltered from the wind and there is some grass without snow on it. The next day l go to Dalbeattie and stop in the centre of town in Barry's yard with Jimmy and Lindsay. They are very kind, l'm glad to see them, they've driven wagons to Appleby and still have some horses. It's nice to leave the wagon and horse and go to the shops by myself. I get a few novels to read from the charity shops. The next day Jen the Scottish lass turns up and travels down to New Abbey with me. She's brought a lovely spicy meal. It's a pleasure to have her company and l hope we meet again. A lovely journey in the snow.</div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiavhUk58gU12foAuvKyTqsfcwyvGgKIgXE_Npiou_zCK7JmclC-ShUvIn91g90-6Hgg8wBKF2bUgq0W_Ht35F5EWEecdPYtzGoN-GZoADHDf_WYQaL9TI1DTPfJ6IyNluyki3FvOI12M6k/s1600/Road's%2Ba%2Bbit%2Bicy..jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiavhUk58gU12foAuvKyTqsfcwyvGgKIgXE_Npiou_zCK7JmclC-ShUvIn91g90-6Hgg8wBKF2bUgq0W_Ht35F5EWEecdPYtzGoN-GZoADHDf_WYQaL9TI1DTPfJ6IyNluyki3FvOI12M6k/s1600/Road's%2Ba%2Bbit%2Bicy..jpg" height="480" width="640" /></a></div>
<div style="background-color: white; margin-bottom: 1.35em; text-align: center;">
<span style="color: #444444; font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;"><span style="font-size: 15px; line-height: 21.2999992370605px;">Road's a bit icy</span></span></div>
<div style="background-color: white; color: #444444; font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 15px; line-height: 21.2999992370605px; margin-bottom: 1.35em;">
3rd February. I'm back at Kingholm Quay. Last night the temperature dropped to minus 9. There was plenty of Hawthorn in the stove and the wagon was cosy. The ground is frozen hard, l spend the morning putting two shoes on Tarateeno, l heat the shoes up in the stove and use a pair of molegrips to hold them. Hawthorn has a high calorific value and the shoes soon get hot enough to burn the hoof. When l've finished fitting them l quench them in the bucket of water, the ice is so thick in the bucket that the hot shoes do not melt through it! <br style="line-height: 21.2999992370605px;" />It's 12 months since l set off to France, during that time l've done almost 3,000 miles, six sets of shoes. It's been a good year, now l'm thinking about the adventures ahead of me.</div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhBA8q01EkwKqbR6O0a32jUQEwinGw13PsAEfAeYs5OQaIPWEeYjnOaHOuPmydmOzYjQaFlBdNux19-4Io0bt3fS79PGplJxwMWL7Z3X1oVUuhZsJ1eSj3q0ut1e4RK5RNiLlnnnrybhI9l/s1600/Lovely+bright+sunny+day..jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhBA8q01EkwKqbR6O0a32jUQEwinGw13PsAEfAeYs5OQaIPWEeYjnOaHOuPmydmOzYjQaFlBdNux19-4Io0bt3fS79PGplJxwMWL7Z3X1oVUuhZsJ1eSj3q0ut1e4RK5RNiLlnnnrybhI9l/s1600/Lovely+bright+sunny+day..jpg" height="480" width="640" /></a></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
Lovely bright sunny day</div>
Horsedrawn travelhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14193357957502327320noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1302769187538212420.post-27985934124149444452015-02-14T19:57:00.000-08:002015-02-14T19:57:34.709-08:00Heading North for the Winter. Post 44<div style="background-color: white; color: #444444; font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 15px; line-height: 21.2999992370605px; margin-bottom: 1.35em;">
After Stow horse fair l headed north, through Warwickshire and Leicestershire. I stopped one night with Harry. He was brought up on the canals when the boats were still pulled by horses. They couldn't afford the best horses and used to buy the town runaways, horses that had bolted and were unsuitable to use in towns. On the towpath the horse had less options to runaway, sometimes they'd end up in the canal, but they would soon get the hang of it. Harry showed me a special halter for killing horses. There is a spike, you hit it with a hammer, quite simple. Mainly they were used on pit ponies.</div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg85o6pSjEurWHp4RiWFJB4U7EpkxqBn3vI4oaSzrQEW_bqUtglu01WvfcMhd7wbuj_Ttsvwr6HBaghwcMJbyoDX_LozX1tAbd3gQsMjOqFyqtmrfv0r76oSFRJNXN2Ghs99Yzqj0TU4_i9/s1600/Horse+killing+head+collar..jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg85o6pSjEurWHp4RiWFJB4U7EpkxqBn3vI4oaSzrQEW_bqUtglu01WvfcMhd7wbuj_Ttsvwr6HBaghwcMJbyoDX_LozX1tAbd3gQsMjOqFyqtmrfv0r76oSFRJNXN2Ghs99Yzqj0TU4_i9/s1600/Horse+killing+head+collar..jpg" height="424" width="640" /></a></div>
<div style="background-color: white; margin-bottom: 1.35em; text-align: center;">
<span style="color: #444444; font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;"><span style="font-size: 15px; line-height: 21.2999992370605px;">Horse killing head collar</span></span></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhIjxJlteY5mIRcRGNjgQoxV6in7uQ-lV4bQfnPZ4NBSQ8GAlv52ONba-7p0xWGG5KXBvRlEhe9wRSfxxzBCOcg9HvC6EcvTmi0uiL7DW9uQMROzQ1C5QxV5qulqgqUj7cZwT44zbSkNN6h/s1600/Strawberries+in+November..jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhIjxJlteY5mIRcRGNjgQoxV6in7uQ-lV4bQfnPZ4NBSQ8GAlv52ONba-7p0xWGG5KXBvRlEhe9wRSfxxzBCOcg9HvC6EcvTmi0uiL7DW9uQMROzQ1C5QxV5qulqgqUj7cZwT44zbSkNN6h/s1600/Strawberries+in+November..jpg" height="480" width="640" /></a></div>
<div style="background-color: white; margin-bottom: 1.35em; text-align: center;">
<span style="color: #444444; font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;"><span style="font-size: 15px; line-height: 21.2999992370605px;">Strawberries in November</span></span></div>
<div style="background-color: white; color: #444444; font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 15px; line-height: 21.2999992370605px; margin-bottom: 1.35em;">
The autumn has been really mild, some people had a second crop of strawberries. I stayed with my friend Sylvia and rested a week. Sylvia thoroughly oiled my reins and reproved me for letting them get so dry and stiff. I was glad. She showed me Jack, the Jackdaw she'd rescued as a nestling, it was very tame. I tried catching American crayfish in the nearby brook, unfortunately the weather turned cold and frosty and they hibernate, l did catch one though and cooked it. We got a lift to Derby horse sale. The most pathetic horses l've ever seen at a sale. I felt depressed.</div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
</div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEga_uKg-Pd0h7shdZF-LxjJbFomCwwlv_I-6Hfb0BaPCmVVfew0kL3AXzG2AZEh_C1HCcQeYYAZQPQU4cJQVOnESNbOel-_LRkBLczmpiwmjh6y57N82CzpFvEdMFaDgmbbaIY_RsJ8SEGk/s1600/Back+at+M62+Goole+18th+Nov+2014..jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEga_uKg-Pd0h7shdZF-LxjJbFomCwwlv_I-6Hfb0BaPCmVVfew0kL3AXzG2AZEh_C1HCcQeYYAZQPQU4cJQVOnESNbOel-_LRkBLczmpiwmjh6y57N82CzpFvEdMFaDgmbbaIY_RsJ8SEGk/s1600/Back+at+M62+Goole+18th+Nov+2014..jpg" height="480" width="640" /></a></div>
<div style="background-color: white; margin-bottom: 1.35em; text-align: center;">
Back at M62 Goole 18th November 2014</div>
<div style="background-color: white; color: #444444; font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 15px; line-height: 21.2999992370605px; margin-bottom: 1.35em;">
I carried on up the Trent from Gainsborough. I stopped with Willy and Justine, nice horse people, l met them several years ago and l'm always glad to see them. Went up to Goole and stopped under the motorway again, l like stopping there.</div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgTbQEipxu210GCTy5N_60YiPc0zNNZ6aZ9r2tR5xwqWuPecF46p2cXrEAdrBJeG7EfZYCa88BRfT3PUKloAdCyQFKxSnO6DE7REbm9opTbdCeCDBDZGznnzLF4uSjkrm367jUd2ZrC_ar_/s1600/Sunset+Beverley+Common,+4.30pm..jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgTbQEipxu210GCTy5N_60YiPc0zNNZ6aZ9r2tR5xwqWuPecF46p2cXrEAdrBJeG7EfZYCa88BRfT3PUKloAdCyQFKxSnO6DE7REbm9opTbdCeCDBDZGznnzLF4uSjkrm367jUd2ZrC_ar_/s1600/Sunset+Beverley+Common,+4.30pm..jpg" height="480" width="640" /></a></div>
<div style="background-color: white; margin-bottom: 1.35em; text-align: center;">
<span style="color: #444444; font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;"><span style="font-size: 15px; line-height: 21.2999992370605px;">Sunset Beverley Common, 4.30pm</span></span></div>
<div style="background-color: white; color: #444444; font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 15px; line-height: 21.2999992370605px; margin-bottom: 1.35em;">
After Goole l headed east, it's not a part of the country l know so l thought l'd go and explore it. A retired traveller called Tom invited me to stop in his yard and put my horse in his paddock. He had a nice cob in a stable and was busy building a top on a dray, l was glad to meet him. If you travel by car you don't really meet anyone. Travelling by wagon you meet interesting people all the time. The next day l stopped on Beverley Common. I got there shortly before the sun was going down. A friendly lady came and chatted and we watched the sun setting. A man with a dog came over and rudely interrupted and told me l couldn't stop there, he didn't bother to introduce himself. I don't like people like this. I told him l was stopping to rest my horse. He declared l'd be gone within the hour and marched off! The lady was suprised by his rudeness. I'm habituated to it and don't take too much notice. Needless to say l stopped the night without any trouble. People sometimes think you can just be summarily moved on but you can't, they like to try and bully you and be important. Dog walkers often think commons and beauty spots are for their exclusive use as toilets for their dogs and are indignant when any one else uses them. I've no time for them.</div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhsYr2gCpXIu9-eGaSv-BRYfadmvCl7H18xdPXVUYrlUMy1yhsdQqL0hR89mlxmcsBmx56n0BQSt4dVCSwXmyf96oqkwMvkS-x25hamQT-HzV_duF5kS1Vv6zUJuQCSYKVa1QDtA_tTwWuN/s1600/3rd+Dec,+1pm,+Pendragon+Castle..jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhsYr2gCpXIu9-eGaSv-BRYfadmvCl7H18xdPXVUYrlUMy1yhsdQqL0hR89mlxmcsBmx56n0BQSt4dVCSwXmyf96oqkwMvkS-x25hamQT-HzV_duF5kS1Vv6zUJuQCSYKVa1QDtA_tTwWuN/s1600/3rd+Dec,+1pm,+Pendragon+Castle..jpg" height="480" width="640" /></a></div>
<div style="background-color: white; margin-bottom: 1.35em; text-align: center;">
<span style="color: #444444; font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;"><span style="font-size: 15px; line-height: 21.2999992370605px;">3rd Dec, 1pm, Pendragon Castle</span></span></div>
<div style="background-color: white; color: #444444; font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 15px; line-height: 21.2999992370605px; margin-bottom: 1.35em;">
I stopped with my friend Les, who makes a few wagons and trollies. It was good to see what he was doing and to share ideas. His wife cooked a nice meal and l used the washing machine and had a shower. The next day l went to Hornsea. The sea looked grey, cold and uninviting, l carried on.<br style="line-height: 21.2999992370605px;" />l stopped on a wide verge. In the night l woke up and heard a gentle sawing sound of fencewire moving backwards and forwards in the hedge. I knew what had happened and got up to have a look. Tarateeno had pushed through a gap in the hedge to eat the winter corn in the field, on his way back through the hedge he had got a piece of fencewire jammed between his hoof and shoe. In this situation it's difficult for a horse to understand what's the best thing to do. Many untrained horses will panic and injure themselves in this scenario. The horse's instincts are first to flee, if it can't flee then it will fight. In this case, fight with the wire, this is how many horses get badly injured. The horse owner often gets injured too, a horse that is in the fight mode is very dangerous. I train my horses not to panic when they get their legs caught up. Once a horse is panicking it's difficult to help them. Tarateeno just stood patiently while I got my wire cutters and cut him free. In the morning l pulled off his shoe, got the remains of the wire out and nailed the shoe back on. I can't imagine travelling without having the skill and tools to be able to pull off and fix a shoe back on.</div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgY18dv9zrluMwb7b9b-0NA8M2NeKYMm6AVEAIKp-TaEh77UzbwhDEEM3yRE5T0O0aWWXglmdRYg0zxuxFhflMW6mX0ZwtZEMDSDnbuhpVa3zHNB2EhyphenhyphenPz8ImPV9OAKsfkizAMyYNxQqxu4/s1600/5th+Dec,+frosty+morning,+Great+Asby..jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgY18dv9zrluMwb7b9b-0NA8M2NeKYMm6AVEAIKp-TaEh77UzbwhDEEM3yRE5T0O0aWWXglmdRYg0zxuxFhflMW6mX0ZwtZEMDSDnbuhpVa3zHNB2EhyphenhyphenPz8ImPV9OAKsfkizAMyYNxQqxu4/s1600/5th+Dec,+frosty+morning,+Great+Asby..jpg" height="480" width="640" /></a></div>
<div style="background-color: white; margin-bottom: 1.35em; text-align: center;">
<span style="color: #444444; font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;"><span style="font-size: 15px; line-height: 21.2999992370605px;">5th Dec, frosty morning, Great Asby.</span></span></div>
<div style="background-color: white; color: #444444; font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 15px; line-height: 21.2999992370605px; margin-bottom: 1.35em;">
By the 28th of November l'm back in the Yorkshire Dales, it's lovely to hear the curlews again. I go along Wensleydale, through Middleham and Bainbridge. At Hawes a kind lady brings me eggs, a loaf of bread, flapjacks, chocolat and a bale of hay. A retired couple bring some carrots for the horse and a chocolate bar for me. I'm pleased. It's getting colder. I go up to Garsdalehead and stop at the Moorcock Inn. It's bleak and beautiful, l give the horse the hay and I eat in the pub. There is a very hard frost and the next morning the road is slippery with ice. Tarateeno, with six tungsten studs [they're called crampons in French], in each shoe has plenty of grip. It's a beautiful still, sunny morning. This is one of my favourite stretches of road, down past Mallerstang to Kirkby Stephen, wild and dramatic countryside. At this time of year there is almost no traffic. Lovely. I stop the night by the rather romantic Pendragon Castle. I'm back in Cumbria.</div>
<div style="background-color: white; color: #444444; font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 15px; line-height: 21.2999992370605px; margin-bottom: 1.35em;">
I stop at Soulby then Great Asby. The frost in the mornings looks beautiful.</div>
<div style="background-color: white; color: #444444; font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 15px; line-height: 21.2999992370605px; margin-bottom: 1.35em;">
I go through Appleby and stop at Melmerby. During the night it snows a bit.</div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhAUHv3jsE0TM8aWZR7oczf6t777NMIvHPtdmI7jYS2h2IrHK8kdAa8L8Fsn7B5Z3zcRxeht9YMM9olOZEcK-6RRI2nNcicFyU2_e3x1H8VtmVKL1m8LfNHoRXGbB4LgqvZNREswrPlEEkT/s1600/Melmerby,+8th+Dec,+a+dusting+of+snow..jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhAUHv3jsE0TM8aWZR7oczf6t777NMIvHPtdmI7jYS2h2IrHK8kdAa8L8Fsn7B5Z3zcRxeht9YMM9olOZEcK-6RRI2nNcicFyU2_e3x1H8VtmVKL1m8LfNHoRXGbB4LgqvZNREswrPlEEkT/s1600/Melmerby,+8th+Dec,+a+dusting+of+snow..jpg" height="480" width="640" /></a></div>
<div style="background-color: white; margin-bottom: 1.35em; text-align: center;">
<span style="color: #444444; font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;"><span style="font-size: 15px; line-height: 21.2999992370605px;">Melmerby, 8th Dec, a dusting of snow</span></span></div>
<div style="background-color: white; color: #444444; font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 15px; line-height: 21.2999992370605px; margin-bottom: 1.35em;">
There is an icy beauty to the countryside. I head over to Potters Lonin, the weather comes in bad and l stay there two days. The wagon is buffeted by icy squalls. Tarateeno has his rug on to keep the wind off. December the 11th, l make porridge on the stove, l put a potatoe in the embers to cook, then set off in the snow, it takes me 5 hours to do 11 miles, quite a journey, with lovely views of the snow covered mountains. On the way l stop and eat the hot potatoe, l'm glad of the warmth from it.I'm elated to get to Hesket Newmarket. The snow has not settled so there is grass for the horse. I eat at the pub. The same people are sitting at the bar that were there 18 months ago, they must have taken root. They're friendly, it's nice to hear their accents and enjoy their earthy humour. The next day it's a long climb up Caldbec Common, at the top l'm rewarded by great views across the Solway Firth of snow covered hills in Scotland. I stop a couple of days with Swanny and look at his horses. I'm glad to rest.</div>
<div style="background-color: white; color: #444444; font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 15px; line-height: 21.2999992370605px; margin-bottom: 1.35em;">
I get a couple of half worn shoes off Swanny. At Dearham l stop at a farm with Joe and Joan. I have known them for years and they are very kind. I re-shoe the horse. I borrow Joes welder and build up the worn shoes, they've done 650 miles. One of the shoes is too worn so l use one of the shoes from Swanny's horse. It is a bit too big so l cut the heels shorter, l use the old shoe as a pattern, while l'm trimming the hoof, my friend George comes round and shapes the shoe better, with a few blows of the hammer, l'm glad of his help and friendship. The shoes are soon back on and l'm ready to continue. I prefer to pay a farrier if l can but sometimes it's neccessary to do it myself as it can be very difficult to find one to do a good job. Most of the horses in this country are little more than garden ornaments and that's what the majority of farriers are used to shoeing. They don't want to mess around making shoes and putting 24 studs in! Many farriers are just interested in making money, they're not really interested in their job. They're no good to me and l'm no good to them. Luckily l know half a dozen really good farriers and go to them whenever l can.</div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiBUxVRFOaDB_rpcM2EZamWzgAUDIwwuajrLR_eH0j6sU5K1yRMpgN4aAvdKPNsFSZVquUQqCL-SO_Zcw10QCW9SihwlCuDMvw7WcB7n_XWb5nz6vBXO3nGZpb670l6GPb7YtYX6An0Kr7X/s1600/Potters+Lonin,+9+am,+11th+Dec..jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiBUxVRFOaDB_rpcM2EZamWzgAUDIwwuajrLR_eH0j6sU5K1yRMpgN4aAvdKPNsFSZVquUQqCL-SO_Zcw10QCW9SihwlCuDMvw7WcB7n_XWb5nz6vBXO3nGZpb670l6GPb7YtYX6An0Kr7X/s1600/Potters+Lonin,+9+am,+11th+Dec..jpg" height="480" width="640" /></a></div>
<div style="background-color: white; margin-bottom: 1.35em; text-align: center;">
<span style="color: #444444; font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;"><span style="font-size: 15px; line-height: 21.2999992370605px;">Potters Lonin, 9 am, 11th Dec</span></span></div>
<div style="background-color: white; color: #444444; font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 15px; line-height: 21.2999992370605px; margin-bottom: 1.35em;">
I carry on up the Solway, l stop on the green at Allonby, a gale is blowing, l go to sleep listening to the roar of the surf. In the morning Diane and Brian who live opposite invite me over for tea and toast. They've got their Christmas tree up. It's nice to see them. I carry on up to Silloth and stop with Rob in his yard and put Tarateeno in a stall. I use his battery charger to charge up my battery. Solar panels struggle at this time of year, there's little sun and it's at a very low angle. It's good to see Rob. He drives a wagon each year to Appleby, that's his holiday. I stop the next night at Whitrigg bridge near Kirkbride. Sometimes the tide comes right up over the grass here but l hope it'll be ok tonight. It's a lovely spot and thousands of migrating geese and hooper swans stop here.</div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEibO0OmuQ4NrdCKjg7CtVECcx1MMOUr39w22tLZlHJdLzvl-ZPbAOJtV97MSBFKrVFL94DIr7V_kJRfBxUTyJ4IOwzeuDnL5vSDV86O5bg9BEsrSVrdVLeHvw7ovFEq_yRFrpMbZODUt50K/s1600/Whitrigg,+Kilbride,+NW+CUmbria.+3pm+20th+December..jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEibO0OmuQ4NrdCKjg7CtVECcx1MMOUr39w22tLZlHJdLzvl-ZPbAOJtV97MSBFKrVFL94DIr7V_kJRfBxUTyJ4IOwzeuDnL5vSDV86O5bg9BEsrSVrdVLeHvw7ovFEq_yRFrpMbZODUt50K/s1600/Whitrigg,+Kilbride,+NW+CUmbria.+3pm+20th+December..jpg" height="484" width="640" /></a></div>
<div style="background-color: white; color: #444444; font-size: 15px; line-height: 21.2999992370605px; margin-bottom: 1.35em; text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;">Whitrigg, Kilbride, NW Cumbria 3pm 20th December</span></div>
<div style="background-color: white; color: #444444; font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 15px; line-height: 21.2999992370605px; margin-bottom: 1.35em;">
It's almost Christmas, l'm nearly back in Scotland.</div>
<br />Horsedrawn travelhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14193357957502327320noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1302769187538212420.post-35824073593246757782014-11-20T05:57:00.001-08:002014-11-20T05:57:13.351-08:00Stow Horse Fair. Post 43.<div style="background-color: white; color: #444444; font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 15px; line-height: 21.2999992370605px; margin-bottom: 1.35em;">
It's autumn, a lovely time to be back in the Cotswolds and l'm pleased to be at Stow horse fair.</div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgCJTA9U5ZOQJlcXDy15lR5Cc21ioYflTzz_QEXIFzFX-XkqR92odoOixboLNalzNVtENZsX4rZSSTwhGNNfBjV99kLN-1o9u02kSG32SeW_wZ0ElAmfk0o7lqVUfAQd4e1rpPvb7zRIsZN/s1600/Happy+to+be+at+Stow+again..png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgCJTA9U5ZOQJlcXDy15lR5Cc21ioYflTzz_QEXIFzFX-XkqR92odoOixboLNalzNVtENZsX4rZSSTwhGNNfBjV99kLN-1o9u02kSG32SeW_wZ0ElAmfk0o7lqVUfAQd4e1rpPvb7zRIsZN/s1600/Happy+to+be+at+Stow+again..png" height="474" width="640" /></a></div>
<div style="background-color: white; color: #444444; font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 15px; line-height: 21.2999992370605px; margin-bottom: 1.35em;">
<span style="color: black; font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif; line-height: 21.2999992370605px; text-align: center;">Happy to be at Stow again.</span></div>
<div style="background-color: white; color: #444444; font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 15px; line-height: 21.2999992370605px; margin-bottom: 1.35em;">
<span style="color: #444444; line-height: 21.2999992370605px;">There are a handful of horse fairs left in Britain. There is nothing else quite like them. There is a wildness that you don't often encounter, unbroken horses charging up and down, horses snorting and stamping their feet, whinnying, the clatter of their hoofs as they go up and down the ramps of the lorries, the rumble of iron tyred wagons, trotters careering down the lane at thirty miles an hour, lads shouting warnings as they try to steer, the smell of horse piss and dung, bacon frying, the acrid smell of horse shoes being burnt onto hooves, horse sweat, wood smoke and fires. These places are not for the faint hearted.</span></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj8PltIQeqth_WUPKrBXARvf69Q4JccsdLdofFMo-YGIK6NA3mq0r58OIwXMXQ3HfkdfmMWr_iAs6oN_fG03NpFMcMPJWuMesb9TeyhlrbTYe2-GVtSkpSd-_slNV-Q-a9uYNu8JYzUgMhQ/s1600/Nice+Open+Lot+arriving+at+Stow..jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj8PltIQeqth_WUPKrBXARvf69Q4JccsdLdofFMo-YGIK6NA3mq0r58OIwXMXQ3HfkdfmMWr_iAs6oN_fG03NpFMcMPJWuMesb9TeyhlrbTYe2-GVtSkpSd-_slNV-Q-a9uYNu8JYzUgMhQ/s1600/Nice+Open+Lot+arriving+at+Stow..jpg" height="448" width="640" /></a></div>
<div style="background-color: white; margin-bottom: 1.35em; text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;"><span style="font-size: 15px; line-height: 21.2999992370605px;">Nice Open Lot arriving at Stow.</span></span></div>
<div style="background-color: white; color: #444444; font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 15px; line-height: 21.2999992370605px; margin-bottom: 1.35em;">
They are handy places to meet old friends, family and new people. There is also the chance to have a deal, buy horses, harness, tether chains and pins, horse drawn vehicles and the other items necessary and peculiar to travelling. Churns and water jacks, cast iron kettles and pans, chitties and kavvi sasters to hang the kettles and pans over the fire.</div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEixjc06_mTbfZXiSrQ5kSj-nGmpZb2WaHuEBfpWlztkGx_3uxFEhpIlQmYAoPEj5eQUGbJLycBn5mW7ki0u6AMgvlhsoVMfFaCjXU0uaucDPcAoUAs_-h-coyk0pOmWBn-aH1YVpxhT1V4n/s1600/Chitties+and+kavvi+sasters..jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEixjc06_mTbfZXiSrQ5kSj-nGmpZb2WaHuEBfpWlztkGx_3uxFEhpIlQmYAoPEj5eQUGbJLycBn5mW7ki0u6AMgvlhsoVMfFaCjXU0uaucDPcAoUAs_-h-coyk0pOmWBn-aH1YVpxhT1V4n/s1600/Chitties+and+kavvi+sasters..jpg" height="492" width="640" /></a></div>
<div style="background-color: white; font-size: 15px; line-height: 21.2999992370605px; margin-bottom: 1.35em; text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;">Chitties and Kavvi Sasters</span></div>
<div style="background-color: white; color: #444444; font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 15px; line-height: 21.2999992370605px; margin-bottom: 1.35em;">
In September and October there are many horse sales around the country, mostly auctions. Horse breeders need to sell most of the colts and fillys that they don't want, before the winter, so that they don't have to feed them. Other people buy them hoping to make something of them. The meat men buy some, [you might not like the idea of horses going for meat, but remember when you buy your cat a tin of food and it says , mouse or chicken flavour, most the flavour is pony]. The foals born in the spring are now 5 or 6 months old and are ready to be taken off the mares. Only the very best fillys should be kept for future breeding. As well as foals there will be yearlings and older horses for sale. Old stallions, mares, horses that are unsound or are intractable, unbroken, donkeys....</div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi5adW4thcwOtYwbHmGZJs5xS6uEoi9DKBAE0PdEitn2x30v9kUoPcqVihbU3VpyZGikKr5mj8d_PTU6RrjFmDUKrLVeDbDxBmYFkakVIfSvJHrw3pP6rKfldrTfiG-nsGY4K3muvq3oX_0/s1600/Making+friends.+photo+Annie+Bowles.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi5adW4thcwOtYwbHmGZJs5xS6uEoi9DKBAE0PdEitn2x30v9kUoPcqVihbU3VpyZGikKr5mj8d_PTU6RrjFmDUKrLVeDbDxBmYFkakVIfSvJHrw3pP6rKfldrTfiG-nsGY4K3muvq3oX_0/s1600/Making+friends.+photo+Annie+Bowles.png" height="390" width="640" /></a></div>
<div style="background-color: white; font-size: 15px; line-height: 21.2999992370605px; margin-bottom: 1.35em; text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;">Making Friends. Photo by Annie Bowles</span></div>
<div style="background-color: white; color: #444444; font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 15px; line-height: 21.2999992370605px; margin-bottom: 1.35em;">
Some of the sales specialise in particular breeds and age groups. Sometimes you may find a bargain, but mostly, buying a horse is a risky adventure and even experienced dealers can get caught out. Auctions are a quick easy way to sell a useless horse, but you will normally sell for a loss, auctions are a quick way to buy, with the advantage that you don't have to deal with the owner, but older horses are usually in the sale for a good reason and youngsters are unbroken. Dealing with horse owners can be a painfully, boring waste of time, listening to wildly inaccurate claims about the merits of the horse being sold. At auctions horses are normally sold in guineas, [a guinea is £1 and a shilling] so it helps to know what 5% is. If you bid 800 guineas for a horse it will cost you £840. When you get home you need to change the passport details, perhaps £20, worm the horse £20, get it innoculated against tetanus, [two injections a month apart] another £25, get its teeth checked £40, if it's entire get it gelded £200........Then you still have to feed it through the winter.</div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhBudHKPs63G-enddPI38zltbD4gspNeLM4PuDFNIMcyx0bCBA3IoEQDY6Iwb4mqxX3IjCkrVwQXJFvHkYeCbhKL6Hj6aF2oVf4KVv_zVzU7m53vOXXhhBCfMfstGURDbHI4lmS0IkExcH-/s1600/Meeting+friends.+Photo+Annie+Bowles..png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhBudHKPs63G-enddPI38zltbD4gspNeLM4PuDFNIMcyx0bCBA3IoEQDY6Iwb4mqxX3IjCkrVwQXJFvHkYeCbhKL6Hj6aF2oVf4KVv_zVzU7m53vOXXhhBCfMfstGURDbHI4lmS0IkExcH-/s1600/Meeting+friends.+Photo+Annie+Bowles..png" height="442" width="640" /></a></div>
<div style="background-color: white; margin-bottom: 1.35em; text-align: center;">
<span style="font-size: 15px; line-height: 21.2999992370605px;"><span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;">Meeting friends. Photo Annie Bowles.</span></span></div>
<div style="background-color: white; color: #444444; font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 15px; line-height: 21.2999992370605px; margin-bottom: 1.35em;">
At horse fairs like Stow the horses offered for sale are mostly cobs, trotter crosses, a few ponies, sometimes a donkey or two. Most of the animals are youngsters under 4 years old. You have to find the owner, [not always easy] and bargain. Much of the dealing is done amongst travellers. You might hear the expression, 'man enough to have a deal.' What this means to me is that if you buy a horse off someone, even if it turns out to have only three legs, you are man enough not to complain about it. If you do make a mistake, learn from it, accept it with grace, put the horse in an auction, don't go whining about it or falling out with the person who sold you the horse. [You are, of course, entitled to try and sell that person one of your useless horses in the future and they should be man enough not to mention it either, in fact you're likely to gain their respect]. I heard of a vicar selling a bad horse to a poor old blind man, when someone confronted the vicar and asked him how he could have done such a mean thing, he replied, 'why, he was a stranger, l took him in.'</div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEifN26Ygd0PrEMwmaT4Ce-ISFUkz7c3LnGxVnWPSRq7I5kl-Y0y6viMM2LPLrjwq8IjO05qPAwSXFqjFt8oVzbUuawAbECNIlXJRY3GVuxKA1rKHhTixbFWyXLFz0cUYYFhV72_F61Q8N-C/s1600/Mick+and+a+puppy.+Photo+by+Annie+Bowles..png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEifN26Ygd0PrEMwmaT4Ce-ISFUkz7c3LnGxVnWPSRq7I5kl-Y0y6viMM2LPLrjwq8IjO05qPAwSXFqjFt8oVzbUuawAbECNIlXJRY3GVuxKA1rKHhTixbFWyXLFz0cUYYFhV72_F61Q8N-C/s1600/Mick+and+a+puppy.+Photo+by+Annie+Bowles..png" height="396" width="640" /></a></div>
<div style="background-color: white; font-size: 15px; line-height: 21.2999992370605px; margin-bottom: 1.35em; text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;">Mick and puppy. <span style="line-height: 21.2999992370605px; text-align: center;">Photo Annie Bowles</span></span></div>
<div style="background-color: white; color: #444444; font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 15px; line-height: 21.2999992370605px; margin-bottom: 1.35em;">
Often horses are simply swapped, either for another horse or harness or something. I knew a lady who swapped a truck full of useless horses for an old Rolls Royce. She kept hay in the boot of it.</div>
<div style="background-color: white; color: #444444; font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 15px; line-height: 21.2999992370605px; margin-bottom: 1.35em;">
The fair is always held on a Thursday, a few people start to arrive a couple of days before, a chance to rest and have company. Tarateeno enjoyed meeting the other horses and being around them. Although he has me for company when we're travelling, l'm a poor sustitute for a herd of horses.</div>
<div style="background-color: white; color: #444444; font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 15px; line-height: 21.2999992370605px; margin-bottom: 1.35em;">
I look at the horses but nothing catches my fancy. Mostly the horses for sale here are foals, yearlings and cobs that are too small for me, l'm looking for heavy vanners capable of pulling a 1,000 kg up most hills. It's always worth a look though and l'm happy to bide my time.</div>
<div style="background-color: white; color: #444444; font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 15px; line-height: 21.2999992370605px; margin-bottom: 1.35em;">
I treat myself and buy a nice tan coloured pair of dealer boots.</div>
<div style="background-color: white; color: #444444; font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 15px; line-height: 21.2999992370605px; margin-bottom: 1.35em;">
There are stalls selling gold jewellery, Crown Derby and other bone china. I buy myself half a dozen mugs with pictures of horses and wagons on them. By tea time the fair is over as suddenly as it began, just a few of us are left and it's nice sitting round the fire into the night catching up on news and having a laugh in good company. Friday morning and the last of us pull out, going our different ways, some of us will meet at Appleby in June.</div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgdq7wng-l5ahq-tfq3-tVJAgXyd1XFPcuiaYxnG6gQgpPg3sgGdVTYUaT-CroS-hAiy38I71OHLzF-RmX4WXQ5J5v9Ynf797e3nnrOh7S3UusrwZhlE-JiKQW1QYbCA0F-Q72PssvVyB8h/s1600/Happy+to+be+on+my+way+again.+photo+Annie+Bowles..png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgdq7wng-l5ahq-tfq3-tVJAgXyd1XFPcuiaYxnG6gQgpPg3sgGdVTYUaT-CroS-hAiy38I71OHLzF-RmX4WXQ5J5v9Ynf797e3nnrOh7S3UusrwZhlE-JiKQW1QYbCA0F-Q72PssvVyB8h/s1600/Happy+to+be+on+my+way+again.+photo+Annie+Bowles..png" height="424" width="640" /></a></div>
<div style="background-color: white; margin-bottom: 1.35em; text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;"><span style="font-size: 15px; line-height: 21.2999992370605px;">Happy to be on my way again. Photo Annie Bowles</span></span></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhdNgjx8hH8l4-si6BVKEQ0ZlOKh6W3gCYPpILNoEmBd92zHoVbKJxPuWkVgoSELY9hBk2hRsTrZZ-lgNqd1OVc6fiUsgPmT8MNJDXm0fNxPa9hV8h7juFt91AtpohI6HUWd2-GOBZZWM40/s1600/See+you+at+Appleby!.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhdNgjx8hH8l4-si6BVKEQ0ZlOKh6W3gCYPpILNoEmBd92zHoVbKJxPuWkVgoSELY9hBk2hRsTrZZ-lgNqd1OVc6fiUsgPmT8MNJDXm0fNxPa9hV8h7juFt91AtpohI6HUWd2-GOBZZWM40/s1600/See+you+at+Appleby!.png" height="388" width="640" /></a></div>
<div style="background-color: white; margin-bottom: 1.35em; text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;"><span style="font-size: 15px; line-height: 21.2999992370605px;">See you at Appleby!</span></span></div>
Horsedrawn travelhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14193357957502327320noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1302769187538212420.post-59462227340221356432014-10-19T12:16:00.002-07:002014-10-19T12:16:52.040-07:00Post 42 Back in England.<div style="background-color: white; color: #444444; font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 15px; line-height: 21.2999992370605px; margin-bottom: 1.35em;">
12th Sept. Paid John Parker International for bringing me back across the channel and thanked them. Set off at 8.30am. Lovely warm sunny day, went down to Dymchurch, pulled up by a little cafe. Had a pot of tea and toast and marmalade, the lady who owns the cafe is very friendly, takes photos of the wagon and refuses to take any money off me. A nice welcome back to England. I go on a bit and stop on some grass by the Martello tower. The horse is pleased to be eating grass again, he's been cooped up in a stable for a week. I have a walk on the beach. The horse is happy eating, so l go to the pub and have haddock and chips and a pint and l'm happy too. Later l cross Romney Marsh and stop up a bridleway near the Red Lion at Snargate. It's a lovely old-fashioned pub and the beer is good.</div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEigdjn-iuDlcCdCWtixpfrzcqXC8lXIqfi3ehMcuqpZmlXGVSaJ6XIkmsAzu8q7J5bu1Ko-NsKKK7fMZpRUTPvzVjXkwglT_zLL3uTR9DyCf_CANL7ywrCTqHH3Xf2uQX29rFkggxEiNgUD/s1600/An+orchard+near+Rye,+stopped+with+Steve+and+Lisa..jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEigdjn-iuDlcCdCWtixpfrzcqXC8lXIqfi3ehMcuqpZmlXGVSaJ6XIkmsAzu8q7J5bu1Ko-NsKKK7fMZpRUTPvzVjXkwglT_zLL3uTR9DyCf_CANL7ywrCTqHH3Xf2uQX29rFkggxEiNgUD/s1600/An+orchard+near+Rye,+stopped+with+Steve+and+Lisa..jpg" height="480" width="640" /></a></div>
<div style="background-color: white; margin-bottom: 1.35em; text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;"><span style="font-size: 15px; line-height: 21.2999992370605px;">An orchard near Rye, stopped with Steve and Lisa</span></span></div>
<div style="background-color: white; color: #444444; font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 15px; line-height: 21.2999992370605px; margin-bottom: 1.35em;">
The next day l do a few miles and pull into an orchard near Rye, where Lisa and Steve are picking apples. It's a beautiful spot and the farmer is not bothered that l'm not going to pick apples. He provides a big container of water for the horses and a big pile of dry applewood to cook with, perfect. It's nice to be stopped with some other wagons again. The following day we go up to Horsemonden in a car for the horsefair, the cobs are all small ones, 13 hands or so, not the 14.2-15.2 wagon horses we need, but nice to see all the same. There is always a bit of a buzz to horse fairs that l like and nice to see old faces.</div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiGajnx_YXK1VZWyjSL0mUJHTtuom52fSl26j0AiDIjVBHNZyUvRB76WTKu1n4z5mI1wWcIMCwK0ZsAUHeqatx-PeQBnZDL_r2DwraRPLlTVMU-hTfdp5H3V7I-hj5xv30Pyxp3TPmrQS5y/s1600/Cutting+out+some+copper.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiGajnx_YXK1VZWyjSL0mUJHTtuom52fSl26j0AiDIjVBHNZyUvRB76WTKu1n4z5mI1wWcIMCwK0ZsAUHeqatx-PeQBnZDL_r2DwraRPLlTVMU-hTfdp5H3V7I-hj5xv30Pyxp3TPmrQS5y/s1600/Cutting+out+some+copper.jpg" height="480" width="640" /></a></div>
<div style="background-color: white; margin-bottom: 1.35em; text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;"><span style="font-size: 15px; line-height: 21.2999992370605px;">Cutting out some copper</span></span></div>
<div style="background-color: white; color: #444444; font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 15px; line-height: 21.2999992370605px; margin-bottom: 1.35em;">
I stop in the orchard for a week, rest and do tinsmithing with Leo who is 12, while his mum picks apples. He enjoys making things and is well-mannered and it's a pleasure to show him how to do a bit. I get the horse re-shod. Paul Stern the blacksmith is very kind and knowledgeable and does a good job shoeing. The horse is filling out on the grass and Leo enjoys riding him.</div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgqf7se0rNDxhv3LDImxWkt_pnTnX9pbc-QmwdGmoTAQq7hq3ghRN4-5XVA0f8RraEtSJ6Fg1aRJKwQmLRxqB6dP_EiVzEXhUH5_de0tixuXm4yiLuTPBzWxneGvZ08x02W1D-Hpm_C_Hpw/s1600/Leo+soldering+his+candle+holder..jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgqf7se0rNDxhv3LDImxWkt_pnTnX9pbc-QmwdGmoTAQq7hq3ghRN4-5XVA0f8RraEtSJ6Fg1aRJKwQmLRxqB6dP_EiVzEXhUH5_de0tixuXm4yiLuTPBzWxneGvZ08x02W1D-Hpm_C_Hpw/s1600/Leo+soldering+his+candle+holder..jpg" height="480" width="640" /></a></div>
<div style="background-color: white; margin-bottom: 1.35em; text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;"><span style="font-size: 15px; line-height: 21.2999992370605px;">Leo soldering his candle holder</span></span></div>
<div style="background-color: white; color: #444444; font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 15px; line-height: 21.2999992370605px; margin-bottom: 1.35em;">
After a week l'm ready to go on and two days later I'm back at the scrapyard on Pevensey Levels. It's good to see Mick and Stella again.</div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjyMfVafQ0rLrFe99Cv7KpIEfYMDm_eEuYOhIqDM1kAe7SbbocyYd6lJFUtxrlhgfrlNG8HtFlBIquq0XLuTcmCaaUfZ8o_-j02tDT_ZengZWIbyLqueYcdtZSMD8Dh_e-7w-iFaCAhIa1m/s1600/Metal+Micky+and+his+piebald+spanker..jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjyMfVafQ0rLrFe99Cv7KpIEfYMDm_eEuYOhIqDM1kAe7SbbocyYd6lJFUtxrlhgfrlNG8HtFlBIquq0XLuTcmCaaUfZ8o_-j02tDT_ZengZWIbyLqueYcdtZSMD8Dh_e-7w-iFaCAhIa1m/s1600/Metal+Micky+and+his+piebald+spanker..jpg" height="480" width="640" /></a></div>
<div style="background-color: white; margin-bottom: 1.35em; text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;"><span style="font-size: 15px; line-height: 21.2999992370605px;">Metal Micky and his piebald spanker</span></span></div>
<div style="background-color: white; color: #444444; font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 15px; line-height: 21.2999992370605px; margin-bottom: 1.35em;">
Mick takes me out with his new trotter stallion, it's a really nice, kind, willing creature and you can't fault it. It's lovely to be bowling along through the lanes at nearly 30 mph. In the evening Mick takes Stella and me up to Heathfield in his Rolls and we have a curry, a good day. I spend a week at the scrapyard mending my harness and improving the brake handle. Tarateeno fills out on the grass and is looking brand new.</div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjQjdYg_U6NuURm4y4ecBOr_e9rFTKrk1eylkYL9ACDSn1q5Fcoy7GspeS9YhoJOxXyTQ5mTaPKfRO97h2cr_DRwj_ly_R_bejJeMgwIBs_bpV5BxSDwgzTCEPCtQbnRHFZ4tTE9GZef6b5/s1600/Cuckmere+at+dusk+by+Stuart+Page..png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjQjdYg_U6NuURm4y4ecBOr_e9rFTKrk1eylkYL9ACDSn1q5Fcoy7GspeS9YhoJOxXyTQ5mTaPKfRO97h2cr_DRwj_ly_R_bejJeMgwIBs_bpV5BxSDwgzTCEPCtQbnRHFZ4tTE9GZef6b5/s1600/Cuckmere+at+dusk+by+Stuart+Page..png" height="640" width="518" /></a></div>
<div style="background-color: white; margin-bottom: 1.35em; text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;"><span style="font-size: 15px; line-height: 21.2999992370605px;">Cuckmere at dusk by Stuart Page</span></span></div>
<div style="background-color: white; color: #444444; font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 15px; line-height: 21.2999992370605px; margin-bottom: 1.35em;">
I wander along the coast, Cuckmere, Seaford, Brighton, stop on Hove Green the night by the old pier. A young police officer comes along at 9pm, he's friendly, l explain l've stopped here because it was getting dark and l don't have lights, he thinks it's very sensible to pull over in that case. Local people like seeing the horse tethered on the green. At 2am l'm awakened by the loud, trying to sound important, voice of a policewoman talking to her radio, and telling it there seems to be a horse loose on the green and maybe it belongs to the caravan parked there! I hope she never has to solve a crime. I slip my trousers on and go out. The horse is standing peacefully and l can see clearly by the street lighting that he is still on his tether. I wish good night to the policewoman and go for a walk along the beach. I don't bother going back to sleep.</div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhgqO7Lc0i2cFfYZ7QaHW53NjFIXrq74LNFBguhE4CPSAgguG9DoSQNwT0S8rIHH7cJN_34eUh43lRgVkE0cwRs4EwtXr686771qQSCzQUwAeq0PfCxxfkZz12bRALQmAKAx98WjR-kPLuD/s1600/Roedean..jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhgqO7Lc0i2cFfYZ7QaHW53NjFIXrq74LNFBguhE4CPSAgguG9DoSQNwT0S8rIHH7cJN_34eUh43lRgVkE0cwRs4EwtXr686771qQSCzQUwAeq0PfCxxfkZz12bRALQmAKAx98WjR-kPLuD/s1600/Roedean..jpg" height="480" width="640" /></a></div>
<div style="background-color: white; margin-bottom: 1.35em; text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;"><span style="font-size: 15px; line-height: 21.2999992370605px;">Roedean</span></span></div>
<div style="background-color: white; color: #444444; font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 15px; line-height: 21.2999992370605px; margin-bottom: 1.35em;">
There are several homeless people sleeping on the park benches, it's a lovely warm night, at least they will not be cold.There is a cafe a few yards away, it opens at 6.30am and l buy a mug of tea. The people on the benches are still sleeping peacefully as l pull out.</div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiaN_YPcGtDV3IOdDueFrFqRzYEu4AQJkF3XDqRKh4jKBBctPrLIPBuJeJx1rRPZS8_DH29RRcazicjkNO1qZ0D7-uf4JutbBdPhBvqYzQkn5tjU6PxxMAh6TxoacMI8c1P-o5xfcWzDMpO/s1600/By+Brighton+Pier+1st+Oct+2014.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiaN_YPcGtDV3IOdDueFrFqRzYEu4AQJkF3XDqRKh4jKBBctPrLIPBuJeJx1rRPZS8_DH29RRcazicjkNO1qZ0D7-uf4JutbBdPhBvqYzQkn5tjU6PxxMAh6TxoacMI8c1P-o5xfcWzDMpO/s1600/By+Brighton+Pier+1st+Oct+2014.jpg" height="480" width="640" /></a></div>
<div style="background-color: white; margin-bottom: 1.35em; text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;"><span style="font-size: 15px; line-height: 21.2999992370605px;">By Brighton Pier 1st Oct 2014</span></span></div>
<div style="background-color: white; color: #444444; font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 15px; line-height: 21.2999992370605px; margin-bottom: 1.35em;">
I go down to Shoreham and stop on the green there. I know some of the people who live on the houseboats. Ray helps me wire up my new solar panel. In the evening l swim the horse in the sea and then l have dinner with him and Julia, she makes a lovely meal. In the morning l have another swim in the sea, make the best of the really warm weather. I go along to Goring by Sea and stop by the front. The people are friendly,I get given two cans of cider, a bottle of wine and a kind lady brings me fish and chips. It's too much for me so l share it with a couple who are living in a truck, it's broken down. They are pleased as they haven't much money. The weather turns and gets colder. I stop near Chichester, in the morning l nearly slip off the shafts, which are frosty, there is a thin layer of ice on the horse's bucket. I head north over the Downs to Petersfield and up to Bramdean and rest a couple of days.</div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhUafRlEwPmb3gCAYwOTCdU8oNOTMRzbLKY8srI-k3mrnMfCilLP6NgYE8Spta7nHHPs-g_vBj4Dn2DQ5fRDmYKCh0ob8l1N0RrEXlFedHWoCXPqFLo5AlaSu79_MNT_0Nm2eDAooLKNH1y/s1600/Bramdean,+8th+Oct..jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhUafRlEwPmb3gCAYwOTCdU8oNOTMRzbLKY8srI-k3mrnMfCilLP6NgYE8Spta7nHHPs-g_vBj4Dn2DQ5fRDmYKCh0ob8l1N0RrEXlFedHWoCXPqFLo5AlaSu79_MNT_0Nm2eDAooLKNH1y/s1600/Bramdean,+8th+Oct..jpg" height="480" width="640" /></a></div>
<div style="background-color: white; margin-bottom: 1.35em; text-align: center;">
<span style="color: #444444; font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;"><span style="font-size: 15px; line-height: 21.2999992370605px;">Bramdean, 8th Oct</span></span></div>
<div style="background-color: white; color: #444444; font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 15px; line-height: 21.2999992370605px; margin-bottom: 1.35em;">
After all the traffic going along the coast it feels good to be back in the countryside again and Hampshire is beautiful. I stop by the river Test one night, what a lovely, peaceful stop. The rivers are full of trout.</div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg2_2QALcu61SNU2r8hSmUr59Vv9WyYY1e7cJOE4m7dHl9JnFMd3DIM-w985Rr387on_WuXr1gv5qU1NZldXzrtziFLtgls-XeGavqZEOFoH8B701ucx1KsTkRi8IjvYs-mCaRz29t4Ycrj/s1600/Early+morning+beside+river+test,+Hamshire..jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg2_2QALcu61SNU2r8hSmUr59Vv9WyYY1e7cJOE4m7dHl9JnFMd3DIM-w985Rr387on_WuXr1gv5qU1NZldXzrtziFLtgls-XeGavqZEOFoH8B701ucx1KsTkRi8IjvYs-mCaRz29t4Ycrj/s1600/Early+morning+beside+river+test,+Hamshire..jpg" height="480" width="640" /></a></div>
<div style="background-color: white; margin-bottom: 1.35em; text-align: center;">
<span style="font-size: 15px; line-height: 21.2999992370605px;"><span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;">Early morning beside river test, Hamshire</span></span></div>
<div style="background-color: white; color: #444444; font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 15px; line-height: 21.2999992370605px; margin-bottom: 1.35em;">
11th October. I get to Lambourne at 4.30pm, I stop and rest the horse by the church for half an hour, it's one of those long tiring days, l give him a drink, buy him a bag of carrots. There are several people standing around so l let them feed him the carrots while l go in the pub opposite. I sit down and drink a pint and rest for a while. I can see the horse through the window, l know he'll just stay there. We carry on up onto Lambourn Downs. From the south it's quite a gentle climb, 6pm, the sun is just setting and l pull onto the Ridge Way. It's beautiful to be here again. I last stopped here 8 years ago. 32 miles but worth it. I shall rest a couple of days.</div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhsQ2xYjH4bkxVM8BK6Ytfq3cP1DDC0uhPKpVWQG37_9GWuIebmdj7SZUzqP3wanF1Jn7Mg6ounufx0WTTchpwEwCtBPjrOQSgup5EPg3LQZGmY2bPAFu8IbUi1fnjMSI4CbCwsqJcrJl5_/s1600/Trout+for+dinner..jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhsQ2xYjH4bkxVM8BK6Ytfq3cP1DDC0uhPKpVWQG37_9GWuIebmdj7SZUzqP3wanF1Jn7Mg6ounufx0WTTchpwEwCtBPjrOQSgup5EPg3LQZGmY2bPAFu8IbUi1fnjMSI4CbCwsqJcrJl5_/s1600/Trout+for+dinner..jpg" height="480" width="640" /></a></div>
<div style="background-color: white; margin-bottom: 1.35em; text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;"><span style="font-size: 15px; line-height: 21.2999992370605px;">Trout for dinner</span></span></div>
<div style="background-color: white; color: #444444; font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 15px; line-height: 21.2999992370605px; margin-bottom: 1.35em;">
After a couple of days l yoke the horse up again. Yesterday it rained hard all day, l kept the stove going and hibernated, so l'm getting restless. Today it's just drizzling. I go along the Ridge Way a couple of miles, l get to a narrow steep downhill bit, it's very slippery, deep ruts and a bad camber, the hawthorns are scraping the sides and top of the wagon, it makes a horrible noise, an inexperienced horse that hadn't been correctly trained might find it all too much and bolt at this stage, smashing your home up in the process and perhaps injuring itself and you. I've met people it's happened to, it discourages them. It puts the horse off too. I'm not worried about Tarateeno bolting, but if l slip and lose my footing the wagon will go over me, l'm leading the horse by the head, you couldn't drive the horse down here, the bumps and ruts would throw you off. I'm glad when l get to the bottom. I go over to Goosey and stop there. On the way l pulled some dead hawthorns out of a copse and put them on the cratch at the back of the wagon. Although it has been raining hard and the wood's wet on the outside, it will be lovely and dry inside and will keep the stove going another day.l walk the seven miles, pleased to stretch my legs. When l get to Goosey l spend 10 minutes cutting up the hawthorn, then l get out of my wet gear and soon have the stove roaring away. An easy day. The warmth from the stove makes me drowsy and l fall asleep. I'm woken by Marcus who lives nearby, he's friendly and curious and we chat for a bit, he asks me if l need any firewood for my stove. It's nice when people are considerate. Later he brings a bottle of wine over and his young children who are interested to look at the wagon. They are a pleasure to talk to. They both have ponies and go hunting. I ask them if the hunting is good round here, they both enthusiastically say, yes. I can imagine their excitement and feeling of exhilaration as they gallop across the country, their eyes watering because of the speed, spattered by mud thrown up by the hooves of the horses in front.....</div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg-b0mFMAMLJ0fHtCRqqtdvgVULqWI17nz_yveFmXjVjUXJjDeHt5LzljBOyTZqloifFNq78qneGQVXRmKwpAKgDhCLesawLbKqVzrCMOEaYx90z2P7Tnc-QDa1WD80Y7gRn9LIB6NUyito/s1600/Searching+for+macaroni+..jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg-b0mFMAMLJ0fHtCRqqtdvgVULqWI17nz_yveFmXjVjUXJjDeHt5LzljBOyTZqloifFNq78qneGQVXRmKwpAKgDhCLesawLbKqVzrCMOEaYx90z2P7Tnc-QDa1WD80Y7gRn9LIB6NUyito/s1600/Searching+for+macaroni+..jpg" height="640" width="480" /></a></div>
<div style="background-color: white; margin-bottom: 1.35em; text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;"><span style="font-size: 15px; line-height: 21.2999992370605px;">Searching for macaroni</span></span></div>
<div style="background-color: white; color: #444444; font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 15px; line-height: 21.2999992370605px; margin-bottom: 1.35em;">
16th October. On the way into Lechlade l pass a rough looking wagon and stop and see who it is. There are two lads in their 40s. One is sleeping under a tarpaulin, the other one has the wagon. They have just been woken up by the tractor driver who has come to cut the grass in the park where their horses are tethered. They've been stopped there three weeks. I would have great difficulty stopping in a place like that for more than a night. They are friendly but unkempt. They have two small cobs, one of them has mange. I don't go near it.The lads offer me tea but l make my excuses and go. A bit further down the road l stop and give my hands a good wash as l shook hands with them and l like to be clean and don't want my horse to get mange.</div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjs-kXkwa1Ry3z_ELm-yfmcJCoyejhhbpAlFu3QSPAUKrgODQDU-JYq5qcxNZjVEWP-ioGDNOgwPHQaWPDCnqRKnbgXA0eYPsHvB4tc2LRtc0fOWd2vAa1ykQpmGMwW7OpMD8J3sPynhro0/s1600/Beside+the+road..jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjs-kXkwa1Ry3z_ELm-yfmcJCoyejhhbpAlFu3QSPAUKrgODQDU-JYq5qcxNZjVEWP-ioGDNOgwPHQaWPDCnqRKnbgXA0eYPsHvB4tc2LRtc0fOWd2vAa1ykQpmGMwW7OpMD8J3sPynhro0/s1600/Beside+the+road..jpg" height="480" width="640" /></a></div>
<div style="background-color: white; margin-bottom: 1.35em; text-align: center;">
<span style="font-size: 15px; line-height: 21.2999992370605px;"><span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;">Beside the road</span></span></div>
<div style="background-color: white; color: #444444; font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 15px; line-height: 21.2999992370605px; margin-bottom: 1.35em;">
I do some shopping and look in the antique shops. I'm always on the look out for something to draw a little profit on. Sometimes l get lucky, but not today. I carrry on a couple of miles. Darren is stopped beside the road. I haven't seen him for several years. Several wagons half made, he knocks them up on the side of the road out of bits and pieces. He's always making something. His partner turns up with a trolli pulled by a nice cob, she's been out to fetch water. They've got four horses, nothing that l fancy.<br style="line-height: 21.2999992370605px;" />I stop and rest a couple of hours and chat, then l'm glad to continue.</div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjJjFqdzMPh3yWghbUmiTYqVnUHgCbZ8SdbnEjzzUbKFMhxOqR6d267YouPjVuN3iO-6RCFi1j92qTxZ53D9HciO18h9bEjs9xlB12WuuF4Q-DuIrKecmc6UlKFrUimzA2Ug69-EhDCYP7v/s1600/Cotswold+Village..jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjJjFqdzMPh3yWghbUmiTYqVnUHgCbZ8SdbnEjzzUbKFMhxOqR6d267YouPjVuN3iO-6RCFi1j92qTxZ53D9HciO18h9bEjs9xlB12WuuF4Q-DuIrKecmc6UlKFrUimzA2Ug69-EhDCYP7v/s1600/Cotswold+Village..jpg" height="480" width="640" /></a></div>
<div style="background-color: white; margin-bottom: 1.35em; text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;"><span style="font-size: 15px; line-height: 21.2999992370605px;">Cotswold Village</span></span></div>
<div style="background-color: white; color: #444444; font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 15px; line-height: 21.2999992370605px; margin-bottom: 1.35em;">
I stop on the green in a pretty Cotswold village. It's good to be here. I'm a few miles from Stow on the Wold and am in good time for the horse fair. I've done 962 miles since l left the Pyrenees 12 weeks ago. The horse is looking good. It's nearly the end of October, next weekend the clocks will change. I'm getting ready for the winter. I'm heading north, l may buy some gloves.</div>
Horsedrawn travelhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14193357957502327320noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1302769187538212420.post-57732337682258945122014-10-15T11:19:00.003-07:002014-10-15T11:19:54.086-07:00Post 41 Northern France.<span style="color: #444444; font-family: "Trebuchet MS", sans-serif;">August the 21st. The family that invited me to dinner last night, all got up to see me off at 6.30am, and Jean-Jacques, their neighbour, made us all a coffee, they wished me courage and l wandered off down the lane with a nice warm feeling in my heart, the sun just coming up. Last week another family invited me to dinner and in the morning also got up at 6.00am to say goodbye.</span><br />
<span style="color: #444444; font-family: Trebuchet MS;"></span><br />
<span style="color: #444444; font-family: "Trebuchet MS", sans-serif;">18 miles to Villemardi, l'm now in flat arable country, huge fields of stubble. The farmers are busy harrowing the fields, l don't think it's very exciting work, driving along at walking pace, perhaps an hour to get from one end of the field to the other, up and down all day long. There is no livestock here, so there are almost no flies, much easier for Tarateeno, l'm really glad for him. When the flies are bad horses constantly fidget and throw their heads around. It's easier for me too. I re-nailed a front shoe on, they've done 721 miles, (1,160km). The hind shoes wear out quicker and l put some partly worn ones on last week. It's about 300 miles to Calais from here.</span><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEixC1iyE7UovsABKS0kV7KrOpk-20g0r6WOsQOBUaP58nhBOCrnRZhwgefBxBL5xhyphenhyphenQz91TdcUQD_mRKnDNvdcZhT_JfRsCBsLncCxgCBihsuiRN-PmjBffy5cn7Mg162C47PRYZly1W8Nq/s1600/Huge+fields.+No+livestock+so+no+flies,+great..jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span style="color: #444444; font-family: "Trebuchet MS", sans-serif;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEixC1iyE7UovsABKS0kV7KrOpk-20g0r6WOsQOBUaP58nhBOCrnRZhwgefBxBL5xhyphenhyphenQz91TdcUQD_mRKnDNvdcZhT_JfRsCBsLncCxgCBihsuiRN-PmjBffy5cn7Mg162C47PRYZly1W8Nq/s1600/Huge+fields.+No+livestock+so+no+flies,+great..jpg" height="480" width="640" /></span></a></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="color: black; font-family: "Trebuchet MS", sans-serif;">Huge fields. No livestock so no flies, great.</span></div>
<span style="color: #444444; font-family: "Trebuchet MS", sans-serif;">August 22nd. 16 miles to a nice stop next to a derelict water mill by le Loir near Moree. It is next to a busy road with heavy lorries, but the roar of the water drowns out the noise of the lorries. The roar of the water is quite pleasant.</span><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhoKpYWNqai_xCj-Zu8mr7gMqTaD84FuiTj8Hw6ZiSDfe1I932eRq6XfhbIg5wdYLiL4O0se-np0VIiFW1iGBj2MATWdubpxVAdwWC6YPuu2d_EbeZgjVXPAM5Nz_hxxDVpMIrOvkDSAx5A/s1600/Stopped+by+derelict+mill+beside+le+Loir,+nr+Moree..jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhoKpYWNqai_xCj-Zu8mr7gMqTaD84FuiTj8Hw6ZiSDfe1I932eRq6XfhbIg5wdYLiL4O0se-np0VIiFW1iGBj2MATWdubpxVAdwWC6YPuu2d_EbeZgjVXPAM5Nz_hxxDVpMIrOvkDSAx5A/s1600/Stopped+by+derelict+mill+beside+le+Loir,+nr+Moree..jpg" height="480" width="640" /></a></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
Stopped by derelict mill beside le Loir, nr Moree.</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
</div>
<span style="color: #444444; font-family: "Trebuchet MS", sans-serif;">August 23d. Found a shop that sold horse feed and bought another 25kg. Stopped at the Cafe de la Renaissance at St. Hilaire for a coffee. Chatted to Pascal and he very kindly invites me to stay at his farm, the people in the cafe are very friendly and l'm obliged to stay for a couple of drinks. Pascal has a big farmhouse, one sheep that sometimes wanders in the house and a swimming pool. He cooks a nice meal, several of his friends come round and l play the pipes, the people love hearing the pipes and some are moved to tears, it's very convivial, we drink a bit more wine. Tarateeno is loose in a field, at 5.30am the next morning he leans over the fence and bangs on the side of the wagon with his nose, to let me know it's time for breakfast, quite a nice way to be woken up. I give him his food and go for an early morning swim in the pool. Pascal invites me to stay another day and rest and l'm glad to. We go to the village brocante, (car boot sale) and a magnet draws us to the cafe, well it's a nice way to rest and the bubbly white wine slips down easily, the other people drink cassis, (kir) with theirs, but it's too strong for me mid-morning. The brocante is another excuse for a meal and we sit down with the rest of the village for a plate of chips and merquez sausages. While we're eating Pascal invites me and several people from the village for dinner. Pidgeon roasted over hot coals and sausages from the Cantal and a big helping of mashed potatoes and melted cheese. In the morning, Pascal gets up early and makes me a coffee and l'm soon on my way, glad to have had a rest. 26km, 16 miles and l reach Le Loir, as l cross the bridge a lady invites me to stop in her field of lovely lush grass. Virginie and her family live in a large old watermill. It's noon and l'm soon drinking a large whisky as an aperetif. Lunch is cold chicken and salmon and a bottle of delicious white wine. In the afternoon after a siesta, Virginie takes me to see some horses she looks after. They belong to a person who lives alone in a large decaying chateau, l think how lucky l am to live in the wagon and not the chateau. In the evening we have another nice meal and l play the pipes. In the morning, l set off in pouring rain with Argann who is eight years old, he enjoys steering the horse and we trot along to the next town, where his mum picks him up. Virginie presents me with sandwiches, plums, water, two pain aux raisins, carrots for the horse and a charm for good luck. By mid-day the sun has come out, l soon dry out and l'm glad to be alive.</span><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhmXxbqlIBTwBv_17w-WhBzwubqWsgMqu4zNBFqFgJtyyGj1fh3rvN2K3owG4dUh7U8goTc5dq09I7URXN7oXtG9F_VRMUnyUo0CV_-0R1WgOPxQRbq4A9u2v6XM_yRuPrDkRQIZoRC7t4y/s1600/Hind+shoe+worn+out+after+1,218+miles!.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhmXxbqlIBTwBv_17w-WhBzwubqWsgMqu4zNBFqFgJtyyGj1fh3rvN2K3owG4dUh7U8goTc5dq09I7URXN7oXtG9F_VRMUnyUo0CV_-0R1WgOPxQRbq4A9u2v6XM_yRuPrDkRQIZoRC7t4y/s1600/Hind+shoe+worn+out+after+1,218+miles!.jpg" height="640" width="480" /></a></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
Hind shoe worn out after 1,218 miles!</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
</div>
<span style="color: #444444; font-family: "Trebuchet MS", sans-serif;">August 28th. Set off at 7am, hind shoes are as thin as razors and will need changing today, l'm hoping to get to a suitable place to do it, it would be hopeless trying to do it in the long grass where l'm stopped. After about half an hour one of the shoes splits across the toe. I'm on a long straight lane traversing two huge muddy fields. There is no verge. I stop and shoe the horse in the road, at least it's flat. A few cars squeeze past and a lorry squeezes past while l'm nailing on. It takes me about half an hour to fit both shoes and in the end l'm quite pleased with the result. I notice the front shoes are worn out too, l'll have to do them today or tomorrow. I'm pretty tired, l give the horse a bucket of feed, wash my hands and face, then sit on the step of the wagon eating a spinach and salmon quiche that tempted me in the boulangerie. While l'm sitting there recovering, a small van stops, a lady and half a dozen little children pile out. They give me a bag of plums from their garden and enjoy looking at the wagon and horse. Soon on my way, l pass a second world war cemetary for German soldiers, more than 18,000 of them, l look at some of gravestones, many of the soldiers were in their early 20s, some were the same age as me. A persistent depressing drizzle sets in, l get to a busier road, the heavy lorries go past at 60mph and cover us in spray each time, l pull off down a lane and stop to rest by a water tower for a couple of hours.</span><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj1rUNXxbOUSiByyQbCY90ZcJgI4P10WHN_YVhve2DRFbqBAY1UU4ZrQbDtxsXman22BKOH2miIJ6KKkSSbFoRCxVGh6f4v7O1toglZQn6Mu1six6JEb2OzYoG50DDTx7iXbjgv5IU5eQ8-/s1600/Water+tower+stop,+nr+St+Andre-de-L'Eure..jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj1rUNXxbOUSiByyQbCY90ZcJgI4P10WHN_YVhve2DRFbqBAY1UU4ZrQbDtxsXman22BKOH2miIJ6KKkSSbFoRCxVGh6f4v7O1toglZQn6Mu1six6JEb2OzYoG50DDTx7iXbjgv5IU5eQ8-/s1600/Water+tower+stop,+nr+St+Andre-de-L'Eure..jpg" height="480" width="640" /></a></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="color: black; font-family: Times, "Times New Roman", serif;">Water tower stop, nr St Andre-de-L'Eure.</span></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: Times;"></span> </div>
<span style="color: #444444; font-family: "Trebuchet MS", sans-serif;">The sun comes out, l continue my way on the busy road, l've no choice. I've got a big windy hill to go up, happily l get to the top without any lorries stuck behind me. It's not much fun going up a long hill with a queue of lorries behind you when you're barely doing 3 miles an hour. 4.30 pm, l cross the Eure and find a suitable verge to stop on just north of Pacy. I've done 21 miles. I tether the horse, then go and fetch two pails of water for him. After a short rest l get on and put new front shoes on the horse. Annoying little flies buzz around mine and the horse's head, but we get the job done without any fuss. I'm bathed in sweat and trembling with the exertion. I don't have a stand to rest his foot on, like a farrier would and the horse is quite happy leaning and resting his leg across my knee, while l finish clinching the nails and rasping round the hoof, it exhausts me. I've barely finished when a lady and two children come to caress the horse, l wonder if they notice l'm about to expire? Happily they don't stop long and l get on and make some dinner. I'm really pleased to have got so far and got 4 new shoes on the horse. Now l can rest.</span><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjQoF6XgJEDHpHtTOySz-rosNenElj30hfUXamHEI7jkcLkuTqQDXy5YKrsLdq31tiK6zx8ul0_5POhK3ZTHcd7v7QT99Pk9IueOsQ5x7pF6UeVq5Y9wZqpyWDElUSZOVzUf7ybG-kASuyw/s1600/Gaillon,+there's%2Balways%2Bsome%2Bgrass%2Bin%2Btowns..jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjQoF6XgJEDHpHtTOySz-rosNenElj30hfUXamHEI7jkcLkuTqQDXy5YKrsLdq31tiK6zx8ul0_5POhK3ZTHcd7v7QT99Pk9IueOsQ5x7pF6UeVq5Y9wZqpyWDElUSZOVzUf7ybG-kASuyw/s1600/Gaillon,+there's%2Balways%2Bsome%2Bgrass%2Bin%2Btowns..jpg" height="480" width="640" /></a></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
Gaillon, there's always some grass in towns.</div>
<span style="color: #444444; font-family: "Trebuchet MS", sans-serif;">29th August. Got to Gaillon, very heavy traffic, the outskirts of most French towns are very ugly, with large industrial units and superstores, luckily there is usually plenty of lush grass around them and as it was almost mid-day l stopped next to a restaurant, tethered the horse on the grass, got water from the restaurant for the horse, then had my lunch there. I had my lunch and drank a pichet of red wine, by this time it was 1pm and most of the traffic had pulled off the road for lunch, my chance, fortified by the wine, to trot down to Les Andelys. Found a good piece of grass in a car park below the castle and next to the river Seine. Good grass for the horse but noisy traffic most of the night. Glad to leave at 7am the next day. I go to Lyons-la-Foret, it's a small, well heeled town, with nice old half-timbered buildings. They are celebrating the 70th anniversary of the liberation. They are having a sort of re-enactment in a field and lots of French people are dressed as allied soldiers and there are old American jeeps, l ask if l can pull in and rest the horse, l suggest they pretend l'm a refugee. Shortly after l'm sitting down to a meal with them. They are very kind and welcoming. I understand a Scottish regiment liberated the town, but l think the Germans had left already. I've run out of horse feed, so l mong a sack of dry bread from the bakery and mix it with some barley, so the horse is happy. It'll keep me going a couple of days. Later l get invited to drink champagne in the square, travelling has its ups and downs, you never know what will happen each day, l try to make the best of it.</span><br />
<span style="color: #444444;"></span><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg4VrPbakSA0sAzI4CrhUqAnJ9wIXhDMWTLNgJyRjxnZBnsoHi7c-CCPqIk98fsJ-_gzG5pLzS4z5GWJ8rA4CD3U3xvZYbJDP_DU7fo9-eyuq6-LZBfXkVCRHRNGEx1Elf-NLADigdBEGwo/s1600/Under+the+castle,+next+to+the+Seine+at+Les+Andelys.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg4VrPbakSA0sAzI4CrhUqAnJ9wIXhDMWTLNgJyRjxnZBnsoHi7c-CCPqIk98fsJ-_gzG5pLzS4z5GWJ8rA4CD3U3xvZYbJDP_DU7fo9-eyuq6-LZBfXkVCRHRNGEx1Elf-NLADigdBEGwo/s1600/Under+the+castle,+next+to+the+Seine+at+Les+Andelys.jpg" height="480" width="640" /></a></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="color: black; font-family: Times, "Times New Roman", serif;">Under the castle, next to the Seine at Les Andelys</span></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<span style="color: #444444;"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS;">I sometimes go past houses in need</span> of attention.</span></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhMzihyphenhyphenifbyG_Vz2aZzS-dFmPJd4mZQWnesYRHZSzsHfsI3egrzOhXXAa-ePpm3nSttLbtEU21RgL8wco_rsaZoW-F1qfMyGJMi7UUE3gg4TdsW3tqwURxwmNO57XCX5-OlSHxRX-IuFOoL/s1600/Some+houses+need+renovating..jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhMzihyphenhyphenifbyG_Vz2aZzS-dFmPJd4mZQWnesYRHZSzsHfsI3egrzOhXXAa-ePpm3nSttLbtEU21RgL8wco_rsaZoW-F1qfMyGJMi7UUE3gg4TdsW3tqwURxwmNO57XCX5-OlSHxRX-IuFOoL/s1600/Some+houses+need+renovating..jpg" height="480" width="640" /></a></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
Some houses need renovating.</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
</div>
<span style="font-family: Times;"><div style="text-align: left;">
<span style="color: #444444; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">4th September. I'm back at Crecy, it seems a long time since l came through here on a cold grey depressing afternoon in February and everything was shut. It's a nice sunny morning, I stop and drink coffee and dawdle round the shops. The people are friendly.</span></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<span style="color: #444444; font-family: Arial;"></span> </div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<span style="color: #444444; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">I'm excited and looking forward now to the prospect of getting back to England, but l'm also a bit anxious, l'm not quite there yet. I feel euphoric but also slightly ill and run down, l mentally prepare myself in case there is any delay, so that l'm not disappointed. Since l left England the law has changed and now l need a certificate from a veterinaire that the horse is in good health.</span></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<span style="color: #444444; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /> Sunday the 7th September. I reach Calais! I have to go to the stables of Natalie Aloo on the east side of Calais. Near the docks l go past dozens of homeless refugees that have no paperwork and hope to come to Britain. Their washing is all hanging on the fences drying. Some look listless and depressed, but brighten up when they see my horse and wagon. I stop and chat, they are really nice, friendly, and some speak good English. I admire them, they've had a much longer tougher journey than me and are faced with a daunting amount of uncertainty.</span></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhvnhe6MyEGUOl1Q-chT-nVR9YJbvu_0gqTtEm7JDhxPQGNnhspaiMUxCIaAZR0qDukYLx3KBsJU9XcWdX2GRP6NUvp_pKU7Ueu_7zyxaLqXDpqykholBxtOzhJf2mHb5VlJdlbY0CRnBG7/s1600/Near+Calais,+man+travelling+with+tractor!.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhvnhe6MyEGUOl1Q-chT-nVR9YJbvu_0gqTtEm7JDhxPQGNnhspaiMUxCIaAZR0qDukYLx3KBsJU9XcWdX2GRP6NUvp_pKU7Ueu_7zyxaLqXDpqykholBxtOzhJf2mHb5VlJdlbY0CRnBG7/s1600/Near+Calais,+man+travelling+with+tractor!.jpg" height="500" width="640" /></a></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
Near Calais, man travelling with tractor!</div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<span style="color: #444444; font-family: Arial;"></span> </div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<span style="color: #444444; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Feeling tired and worn out l reach the stables. Natalie is also anxious when she sees me and my tired, lean horse, but says l can stay and she will organise the vet to come and she'll try and help me. The Irish Army show jumping team are in the yard with their gleaming lorry and horses, en route to Italy, they give me a nice friendly welcome.</span></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<span style="color: #444444; font-family: Arial;"></span> </div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<span style="color: #444444; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">I spent Monday morning brushing the horse and cleaning the wagon to keep myself busy. Finally at 4pm, Florent Dumont the veterinaire sanitaire arrived and gave Tarateeno a certificate of good health. Then he very apologetically told me that l must now make an appointment with the ministry of agriculture, the nearest office, 60 miles away in Arras and go there with the certificate sanitaire from him so l could get another piece of paper stamped and that l had 48 hours from when he stamped the certificate to get this done and begin the next stage of the journey. He very kindly explained this carefully to make sure l understood and told me he'd help make the appointment for me. Unfortunately the office in Arras was shut so l'd have to wait until the next morning. I had heard of the Kafka-esque French bureaucracy and how it stifles France. It takes poor Florent much of the next morning on the telephone to organise an appointment for me between 2 and 4pm. I'm warned that the papers must be in perfect order or the lady in charge will say, 'non.' There is one train leaving from Calais that will get me there in time. Natalie takes me in her car at top speed to the station and l get on the train with one minute to spare. I have to change trains on the way and arrive in Arras at 10 minutes to four. I'm glad l don't bite my nails. The taxi gets me to the prefecture at 5 minutes to four. I rush into the building and to my dismay see a large queue of people. Glancing round the foyer l spot two ladies chatting, who obviously work there. I go over and wave my stamped documents and tell them l have a very important meeting with Madame....... ..... One of them immediately takes pity on me and leads me through the labyrinthine building to the office of the lady l must see. When l get there a formidable looking woman glares at me and immediately says, 'non.' I tell her l'm very tired and may l sit down. Then l patiently discuss what the problem is. In fact there isn't a problem it's simply she isn't very familiar with filling in simple forms or using a computer, [she labouriously types with one finger]. After half an hour, with help from me and much cursing she triumphantly beams at me, sighs with relief, stamps the forms and hands them to me. This done she relaxes and her heart melts. She offers to do a Google search to check the train times for me, l hurriedly thank her and say no! Then she kindly takes me and shows me the way out of the building, l thank her, shake her hand and leave. Outside l quickly ring John Parker International and arrange to be collected the next evening. What a relief!</span></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<span style="color: #444444; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">I had a lovely walk through the centre of Arras, sat outside a cafe and had a coffee, bought some chocolates for Natalie to thank her for her kindness and patience. I felt so glad that was over. Quite a funny end to my journey in France.</span></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<span style="color: #444444; font-family: Arial;"></span> </div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<span style="color: #444444; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Since February l've done 2,048 miles in France and l wouldn't have missed it for anything. I feel a real sense of achievement.</span></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhJcwKvDtavNyslzrYw7_5O87gTAofpV2AfAqWubWiELgcK_my4nd6vm3eEJBVtdhXl_GIz4l17zYtwgzZPv7QDR6AvKP5ExkuJiVm0_HOPvVcl5m-9NwJ3rX_643QzzOF_iBUI7zwgpUbq/s1600/Leaving+the+yard+of+Natalie+Aloo..jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhJcwKvDtavNyslzrYw7_5O87gTAofpV2AfAqWubWiELgcK_my4nd6vm3eEJBVtdhXl_GIz4l17zYtwgzZPv7QDR6AvKP5ExkuJiVm0_HOPvVcl5m-9NwJ3rX_643QzzOF_iBUI7zwgpUbq/s1600/Leaving+the+yard+of+Natalie+Aloo..jpg" height="480" width="640" /></a></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="color: black; font-family: Times, "Times New Roman", serif;">Leaving the yard of Natalie Aloo.</span></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<span style="color: #444444; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">At 6pm Fred Parker arrives with the trailer, we just finish loading the wagon onto it and the lorry arrives for Tarateeno, it's on its way back from Croatia with some other horses. I'm glad we're all going together. A nice calm crossing, by 10.30pm we're back in Hythe in the yard of John Parker International. The yard is full of members of the British Eventing team on their way to Spain or somewhere. I feel l've represented Britain too and done my best.</span></div>
</span><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi4ItGfW1cemjPe79FjGPmYYh8_bPK04DuNkLFzDFcEnB1lHJMds7rOMgfFLDjFLOoGqVnDP5UcEssB7EN41OPi16dAPyPQ_zw3aw-YVvsFpIlR1EXeA4HVdlfuV-9XiCsesZKlVCQO2kf1/s1600/In+queue+for+ferry,+Tarateeno+in+blue+lorry..jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi4ItGfW1cemjPe79FjGPmYYh8_bPK04DuNkLFzDFcEnB1lHJMds7rOMgfFLDjFLOoGqVnDP5UcEssB7EN41OPi16dAPyPQ_zw3aw-YVvsFpIlR1EXeA4HVdlfuV-9XiCsesZKlVCQO2kf1/s1600/In+queue+for+ferry,+Tarateeno+in+blue+lorry..jpg" height="480" width="640" /></a></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
In queue for ferry, Tarateeno in blue lorry.</div>
Horsedrawn travelhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14193357957502327320noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1302769187538212420.post-25174494404910761842014-10-03T08:11:00.000-07:002014-10-19T12:18:22.382-07:00Post 40 Les Pyrenees to north of the Loire<div style="background-color: white; color: #444444; font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 15px; line-height: 21.29px; margin-bottom: 1.35em;">
I decide to head north, l want to go to a horse fair in the Cotswolds. It's in October, maybe 900 miles, l expect l can make it.</div>
<div style="background-color: white; color: #444444; font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 15px; line-height: 21.29px; margin-bottom: 1.35em;">
North of Lannemezan l stop by an old communal washhouse or lavoir. It's a beautiful spot. There is a very faded notice, ' Il est rappelle que le lavoir est strictemente reserve au lavage du ligne et ne doit etre souille pas le nettoyage de tripes de cochons. Le Maire.' There aren't any bits of tripe floating in it. It's a hot day and there is no sign about not swimming in it, so l have a lovely deliciously cool bathe.</div>
<div class="separator" style="background-color: white; clear: both; color: #444444; font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 15px; line-height: 21.29px; margin-bottom: 1.35em; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjQNIohkVI1HMLsQu3Hq2lKKSiY-a9DSXNgjJgb2vAD7bH4esFlDlUkhlSyq6iU9tlthILaRcD0k8F_r2F43mxn6PgGHYG9DkhuOoXv8J42dA39fH7oS25jVa-BG6IeC_OAvJrQlNBGeYkR/s1600/Lavoir+for+washing+clothes+only!%2B(1).jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjQNIohkVI1HMLsQu3Hq2lKKSiY-a9DSXNgjJgb2vAD7bH4esFlDlUkhlSyq6iU9tlthILaRcD0k8F_r2F43mxn6PgGHYG9DkhuOoXv8J42dA39fH7oS25jVa-BG6IeC_OAvJrQlNBGeYkR/s1600/Lavoir+for+washing+clothes+only!%2B(1).jpg" height="480" width="640" /></a></div>
<div style="background-color: white; color: #444444; font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 15px; line-height: 21.29px; margin-bottom: 1.35em; text-align: center;">
<span style="color: black; font-family: Times, "Times New Roman", serif;">Lavoir for washing clothes only!</span> </div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div style="background-color: white; color: #444444; font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 15px; line-height: 21.29px; margin-bottom: 1.35em;">
The horse is fed up with the flies around his head so l lend him my Armani shirt to wear. He's pleased. It suits him, he can keep it. Later on l sit in the cool of the washhouse and play my pipes.</div>
<div class="separator" style="background-color: white; clear: both; color: #444444; font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 15px; line-height: 21.29px; margin-bottom: 1.35em; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiVS-F94kHT29x3HbTqvIdqg1FbInvfL7JEJD8rR61fi1_tmPf9ubVUZLpeVrofMXS8VDXZnFTMatd2KMLVtHFrPk_LcR0crFSH1HmNtg09y2GgIHWuctb8shRn1ne4d1D3zo3p0sFLhg4H/s1600/Tarateeno+wearing+my+shirt..jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiVS-F94kHT29x3HbTqvIdqg1FbInvfL7JEJD8rR61fi1_tmPf9ubVUZLpeVrofMXS8VDXZnFTMatd2KMLVtHFrPk_LcR0crFSH1HmNtg09y2GgIHWuctb8shRn1ne4d1D3zo3p0sFLhg4H/s1600/Tarateeno+wearing+my+shirt..jpg" height="480" width="640" /></a></div>
<div style="background-color: white; color: #444444; font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 15px; line-height: 21.29px; margin-bottom: 1.35em; text-align: center;">
<span style="color: black; font-family: Times, "Times New Roman", serif;">Tarateeno wearing my shirt</span></div>
<div style="background-color: white; color: #444444; font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 15px; line-height: 21.29px; margin-bottom: 1.35em;">
5pm the next day l get caught in a storm, the sky suddenly darkens, dramatic streaks of lightning, huge claps of thunder and the heavens open, l pull up a track and find some grass at the end if it. By the time l've unyoked and tethered the horse l'm soaked. I don't mind, just glad to be off the road. I've done another 20 miles. I'm tired and fall asleep. About 8pm l wake up, the storm has passed, it's stopped raining, there is a group of horses and a very bedraggled donkey looking over the fence and greeting Tarateeno.</div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjM4i5G5QBsyaJLL40cZxqabt2X8dG1FclONh2TD2D9mGyFzeTRXBo-gI4ncx3AN6zRCmBeWLSad0ftPNJLrwMA70hFJg8bu_N6zN9Wg4VCu3WwSTzcYrfmuNc8ginhyY8cJPfMYJwyt4iC/s1600/After+the+storm+a+group+of+horses+came+over..jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjM4i5G5QBsyaJLL40cZxqabt2X8dG1FclONh2TD2D9mGyFzeTRXBo-gI4ncx3AN6zRCmBeWLSad0ftPNJLrwMA70hFJg8bu_N6zN9Wg4VCu3WwSTzcYrfmuNc8ginhyY8cJPfMYJwyt4iC/s1600/After+the+storm+a+group+of+horses+came+over..jpg" height="480" width="640" /></a></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
After the storm a group of horses came over</div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div style="background-color: white; color: #444444; font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 15px; line-height: 21.29px; margin-bottom: 1.35em;">
Another day. l stop beside the Chapelle de Bretous. It's a beautiful spot with a well that is miraculous for healing deafness and rheumatisme, after drinking it l soon feel like an 18 year old. The clover is good and the horse is happy. I've been travelling fast and he is starting to look 'un peu efflanque.' Some French Gypsies invite me to stop with them. Really nice to have their company, they spoke French very rapidly with a strong accent. l played a few tunes on my pipes and they played guitar and sang. Later they grilled chicken and pieces of pork belly, delicious, we drank bottles of gris from La Camargue and the local red wine, rich and strong, then drank coffee and Armanac. A lovely end to the day. In the morning their cockeral awoke me a la bonne heure and l left. l stopped at 9.30am on some nice clover near to a church. There was a funeral going on. I had a walk round the village and watched the fish in the river. After the funeral one of the mourners chatted to me and invited me for a glass of Armanac. I must be in Gascony. The Armanac I'd had the night before was rough and fiery, this was smooth and velvety as it slid down my throat. I declined a second glass though. When l went back to the horse, the lady whose husband had died came and talked to me. She said she was really glad l'd arrived during the funeral and that her husband had been a keen horseman and would have liked it. She shook my hand and thanked me.<br />
It's really hot. August is always a bad month for flies, the horse is fed up with them. There are some huge flies, a type of Clegg, the locals call them Taons and the horse loathes them, they torment him in the afternoon and early evening.</div>
<div style="background-color: white; color: #444444; font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 15px; line-height: 21.29px; margin-bottom: 1.35em;">
3rd August. I've done 118 miles this week, good going, I'm pleased. I've crossed the river Garonne and the Dordogne, now near Perigeux. l stopped one night with an English couple, they gave me steak and chips, they told me they were keen to sell up and move back to Lancashire. In the morning Stephen got up early and made me a fried English breakfast, really kind. I wished him luck and perhaps l'll run into them one day on my way to Appleby. I stopped in a small village and put a shoe on the horse, another English couple came and chatted to me, they were hoping to sell up and move to Devon, l gave them the old horseshoe and wished them luck. I'm glad I'm not stuck somewhere l don't want to be, trying to sell a house! Other times l meet English people who are happy living here. 500,000 young French people live in England, they weren't happy in France, or at least thought they would have a better chance in the UK.</div>
<div style="background-color: white; margin-bottom: 1.35em;">
<div style="color: #444444; font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 15px; line-height: 21.29px;">
<span style="line-height: 21.2999992370605px;">After l fixed the shoe on l carried on until l came across a circus in the middle of nowhere. The Magic Rock Circus.</span></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; color: #444444; font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 15px; line-height: 21.29px; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhOpHhjngj4VIg5aFpRvnopZ2OhpdIVCDEHcGfYQB0uWG9J42v0FCzdyglkrg4QwqFMcOGPUw1k3C0qExZXwVPnVMrkGHr9xU8-heIaNV8KNiTFl5P5pEyjcYWAJIl5Dk1n6Ln3ISw6RA_f/s1600/The+Magic+Rock+Circus..jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhOpHhjngj4VIg5aFpRvnopZ2OhpdIVCDEHcGfYQB0uWG9J42v0FCzdyglkrg4QwqFMcOGPUw1k3C0qExZXwVPnVMrkGHr9xU8-heIaNV8KNiTFl5P5pEyjcYWAJIl5Dk1n6Ln3ISw6RA_f/s1600/The+Magic+Rock+Circus..jpg" height="480" width="640" /></a></div>
<div style="font-size: 15px; line-height: 21.29px; text-align: center;">
<span style="line-height: 21.2999992370605px;"><span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;">The Magic Rock Circus</span></span></div>
<div style="color: #444444; font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 15px; line-height: 21.2999992370605px; margin-bottom: 1.35em;">
They have lots of horses that they do tricks with, l rather fancied the Ardennes heavy horse. The people were really friendly.<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhGh_UGUUbOxNw3qr3-TIJOCc6ASXfY62SrWLOdZ0d2jMuJPiKnWNfS4WiRCWZT8gDMSPwW00DFOaMAwIDr2uPPtPdPWAF19WoycTl9ybic-7tqIOc4C0_7mAGgfreIJQnwjE04y97Lw5cX/s1600/Screenshot_2014-10-15-20-47-08-1.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhGh_UGUUbOxNw3qr3-TIJOCc6ASXfY62SrWLOdZ0d2jMuJPiKnWNfS4WiRCWZT8gDMSPwW00DFOaMAwIDr2uPPtPdPWAF19WoycTl9ybic-7tqIOc4C0_7mAGgfreIJQnwjE04y97Lw5cX/s1600/Screenshot_2014-10-15-20-47-08-1.png" height="430" width="640" /></a></div>
<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; font-size: 15px; line-height: 21.29px; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiyUeiu3BMP7P3z7Vrzug83Rp4jkmCt2Vs7Ocu4mKF8_ZHfi3Cb3zq18Vj2gc8_8rZc5iJjuk_bLu3SEDegyohM4786EDcHGo2o2vgUs9ary-NQ6iFcDdczM6ql3_DVjnwyfQS-4-j6wyB1/s1600/Interior+of+Vickers+trailer,+used+as+changing+room.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiyUeiu3BMP7P3z7Vrzug83Rp4jkmCt2Vs7Ocu4mKF8_ZHfi3Cb3zq18Vj2gc8_8rZc5iJjuk_bLu3SEDegyohM4786EDcHGo2o2vgUs9ary-NQ6iFcDdczM6ql3_DVjnwyfQS-4-j6wyB1/s1600/Interior+of+Vickers+trailer,+used+as+changing+room.jpg" height="480" width="640" /></a></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 1.35em; text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;"><span style="font-size: 15px; line-height: 21.2999992370605px;">Interior of Vickers trailer, used as changing room</span></span></div>
<div style="color: #444444; font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 15px; line-height: 21.2999992370605px; margin-bottom: 1.35em;">
They were not performing that night, but it was lovely watching them practising, later we ate a meal and some people played music, another lovely evening, if l'd been 30 years younger l would have stayed.</div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiaTFKjFCrPTH3IChSEKZJA2cTfc4YM8kBpvFPMl9H6TT8uHU_n6BCkfx6iaxearWvDVG8ZGuAkH-u6e3hg-W1NJHQYFK9BCQ6FsmYjkYX9Wuhrd_cNRkCtDvqWjsX64gX9583oj9Fl2TlB/s1600/Old+Vickers+trailer+used+by+the+circus..jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiaTFKjFCrPTH3IChSEKZJA2cTfc4YM8kBpvFPMl9H6TT8uHU_n6BCkfx6iaxearWvDVG8ZGuAkH-u6e3hg-W1NJHQYFK9BCQ6FsmYjkYX9Wuhrd_cNRkCtDvqWjsX64gX9583oj9Fl2TlB/s1600/Old+Vickers+trailer+used+by+the+circus..jpg" height="480" width="640" /></a></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 1.35em; text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;"><span style="font-size: 15px; line-height: 21.2999992370605px;">Old Vickers trailer used by the circus</span></span></div>
<div style="color: #444444; font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 15px; line-height: 21.29px;">
<span style="line-height: 21.2999992370605px;">They had an old Vickers caravan that had come from England years ago.</span><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiKOR97-621otUcUkI7XuzdUAFKSAGRg3M4-a0jNLlTAm2FBOJHkwXRSxvOX8Imb15po20Ks9o2vJsQgr4njqvsAUfBgYaFHKY_ZeInawq8CqfM-MBraVbjEWV9jCXOqmLaIgvvPtcPx4V8/s1600/Jumilhac-le-Grand+aire+de+Camping+6th+Aug..jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiKOR97-621otUcUkI7XuzdUAFKSAGRg3M4-a0jNLlTAm2FBOJHkwXRSxvOX8Imb15po20Ks9o2vJsQgr4njqvsAUfBgYaFHKY_ZeInawq8CqfM-MBraVbjEWV9jCXOqmLaIgvvPtcPx4V8/s1600/Jumilhac-le-Grand+aire+de+Camping+6th+Aug..jpg" height="480" width="640" /></a></div>
</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="background-color: white; color: #444444; font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 15px; line-height: 21.29px; margin-bottom: 1.35em;">
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="color: black; font-family: Times, "Times New Roman", serif;">Jumihac-le-Grand aire de Camping 6th August</span></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
</div>
At Jumihac-le-Grand, I stop in the aire de camping car, (these places are provided for camping cars in many villages and towns and are free. If they have good grass I stop in them). Sometimes people ask if my wagon is a camper van, I reassure them, “bien sur, mais Anglais.” It’s right next to a lovely chateau. The village has everything I need, a tap, a WC, two cafes, a grocers, bakery and plenty of good grass for Tarateeno. I shall stop here a day and rest, the horse needs it. When he’s working hard I give him hard food, he’s eaten 20kg this week and he gets a salt lick. Although I often stop out in the wildest remotest places I can, it makes the travelling more varied and interesting to stop in towns and villages and meet more people. I get a chance to have a good look round. If the aire de camping doesn’t have grass, I sometimes find some next to a cemetery and cemeteries always have a tap, although most of the flowers are plastic. French cemeteries are depressing granite and gravel monstrosities and have none of the charm of an English village cemetery.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="background-color: white; color: #444444; font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 15px; line-height: 21.29px; margin-bottom: 1.35em;">
13<sup><span style="font-size: x-small;">th</span></sup> August. I've travelled 300 miles in the last 3 weeks. There has been plenty of rain in this region and there is a flush of grass. Last night I dreamt there as a storm, I woke at 2am, it wasn’t a dream, heavy rain, thunder and lightening, it didn't stop raining until 8am. Went into Bussiere-Poitevine brought 50kilos of granules for the horse, I don’t really want the weight of it in the wagon, but it’s not easy to find places that sell horse feed and being in France the place will often shut anyway. If it’s not the two hour lunch break, there is a host of other excuses for not being open. If the shop is open its likely to be expensive, as my friend Xavier said “Ca coute la peau des couilles”. (“it cost the skin of my balls”.) Luckily this is a flatter region of France so I can take the extra weight. Hopefully the weight will soon be on the horse and not in the wagon.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="background-color: white; color: #444444; font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 15px; line-height: 21.29px; margin-bottom: 1.35em;">
6 miles and I find a lovely spot to stop, the horse can have an easy day. After a stormy night horses sometimes look a bit “hagridden”. I spent the afternoon sweeping out the wagon and tidying and playing my pipes in the sunshine.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="separator" style="background-color: white; clear: both; color: #444444; font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 15px; line-height: 21.29px; margin-bottom: 1.35em; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjL2tNJJAlqsEl6ZqJgJ8FMMyrr-Z7Du3NRTpSe_bMVHh726KR3BS_9an9QjUYlMhD9DQ8RhqeLHLOkYzSXCNw95ko7LzNZdE4RJa7jXYS4eAp9neNN_5Q9obxN3f22aRwE0zg_2UEqIlH4/s1600/Beside+the+Cher+at+Blere..jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjL2tNJJAlqsEl6ZqJgJ8FMMyrr-Z7Du3NRTpSe_bMVHh726KR3BS_9an9QjUYlMhD9DQ8RhqeLHLOkYzSXCNw95ko7LzNZdE4RJa7jXYS4eAp9neNN_5Q9obxN3f22aRwE0zg_2UEqIlH4/s1600/Beside+the+Cher+at+Blere..jpg" height="480" width="640" /></a></div>
<div style="background-color: white; color: #444444; font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 15px; line-height: 21.29px; margin-bottom: 1.35em; text-align: center;">
<span style="color: black; font-family: Times, "Times New Roman", serif;">Beside the Cher at Blere.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="background-color: white; color: #444444; font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 15px; line-height: 21.29px; margin-bottom: 1.35em;">
19<sup><span style="font-size: x-small;">th</span></sup> August. 5:30am gave the horse a Kg of hard food and watered him. Set off at 6:30am. Nice watching the sunrise, stopped in a village and brought a croissant and a pain au raisin for breakfast. Got to the river Indre at 10:30am rested two hours, tethered the horse on good clover and gave him another Kg of food and got water out of the river for him. I had a coffee in the café. Carried on through nice open, fairly flat arable farmland, another two hours to Blere and stopped beside the river Cher.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="separator" style="background-color: white; clear: both; color: #444444; font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 15px; line-height: 21.29px; margin-bottom: 1.35em; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhUUoWTNbXxnr3UUd6Y2cl1DkZaLPSxYvX6zTk4W7KM5keZGGQ9XBpdjttGZTQkCTOucpzjH0jJc1rBVNSedQwhsTnkKqRqpLxnOH-t8GEWAy8zfkQamOph8b765C_S5kcZazkl2Fi0X-lJ/s1600/Stop+by+sewage+works,+railway+line+and+main+road..jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhUUoWTNbXxnr3UUd6Y2cl1DkZaLPSxYvX6zTk4W7KM5keZGGQ9XBpdjttGZTQkCTOucpzjH0jJc1rBVNSedQwhsTnkKqRqpLxnOH-t8GEWAy8zfkQamOph8b765C_S5kcZazkl2Fi0X-lJ/s1600/Stop+by+sewage+works,+railway+line+and+main+road..jpg" height="480" width="640" /></a></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="background-color: white; color: #444444; font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 15px; line-height: 21.29px; margin-bottom: 1.35em; text-align: center;">
<span style="color: black; font-family: Times, "Times New Roman", serif;">Stop by sewage works, railway line and main road.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="background-color: white; color: #444444; font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 15px; line-height: 21.29px; margin-bottom: 1.35em;">
good grass doe the horse, gave him another Kg of food, I sat outside the café and drank a Perrier tranche. Rested two hours and set off at 4:30pm, got to Amboise at 7pm, it's a busy ton and lots of traffic, I felt like the pied piper as the cares all followed me across the river Loire. I found some grass tucked away between a sewage works, a railway line, an electricity substation and a main road. not my best stop and it's noisy, but by 7:30pm and after 26miles it's the best I can do. the horse doesn't care, he's more interested in the next Kg of food, 10:30pm moved the horse to fresh grass and to where i can see him through the window and gave him another Kg of food, (5Kg total) and a drink and I'm ready for bed. It was a long day and I'm tired, but pleased to have got this part of the journey done. Hopefully tomorrow will be an easier day. Woke at 3:30am, it really is noisy here. Goods trains throughout the night. Read until 5:30am, fed the horse.</div>
<div class="separator" style="background-color: white; clear: both; color: #444444; font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 15px; line-height: 21.29px; margin-bottom: 1.35em; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiMABmiAvltWfwPZXTX12ufoQJ0YrCuR3FPy8ny2QwOZGigo2NwxWjm_8-dlJaLOF6_lzosMN-GPOKDeFZhEtS0ULM03L38kCB8ndW5izn42x5QtrlNWHNx06K8k8KT37h3ZP1jAAKCp-6F/s1600/6.45am+beside+the+Loire+at+Amboise..jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiMABmiAvltWfwPZXTX12ufoQJ0YrCuR3FPy8ny2QwOZGigo2NwxWjm_8-dlJaLOF6_lzosMN-GPOKDeFZhEtS0ULM03L38kCB8ndW5izn42x5QtrlNWHNx06K8k8KT37h3ZP1jAAKCp-6F/s1600/6.45am+beside+the+Loire+at+Amboise..jpg" height="480" width="640" /></a></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="background-color: white; color: #444444; font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 15px; line-height: 21.29px; margin-bottom: 1.35em; text-align: center;">
<span style="color: black; font-family: Times, "Times New Roman", serif;">6.45am beside the Loire at Amboise.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="background-color: white; color: #444444; font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 15px; line-height: 21.29px; margin-bottom: 1.35em;">
Set off in dark at 6:30am, (the days are getting shorter), I couldn't get away quick enough from this terrible place, got to a big verge with good grass at 7:30am, pulled over, tethered the horse, boiled some water in my kelly kettle, made some tea and went back to bed. slept for an hour and felt better. Carried on 8 miles through lovely country, on the way I stopped and asked a kind lady on a dairy farm if I could have some water and barley for the horse, she and her husband were really nice and gave me several kilos of barley. late I pulled over by an old derelict cottage. After a while the owner came along, was really friendly and invited me to come and have dinner with his family. I moved the wagon down to his farm, a lovely peaceful place, shortly after, I was eating delicious homemade saucisson and merguez, the best I've eaten in France and drinking lovely wine, made in the village. After aperetifs the family proudly showed me to pigs they were fattening, they were also called Saucisson and Merguez and will be ready to eat next month. Later we ate duck and chicken and ratatouille and drank more wine. Everything came from the farm. What a contrast from the day before.</div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div style="background-color: white; font-size: 15px; line-height: 21.29px; margin-bottom: 1.35em; text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;"></span><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjWoi5oPwbp-T07txaN_5nFGv3wMyD6v0iHNf0BUsLtKMtim4PJZ_jvQTuyR0axcB1IaI2iK8CHg4lLly6tj_wcBLR1guNIdKpkdgrQ-yKNuvrAiEUS141vfzFoa_XJMI6CvekGOYOLsjgm/s1600/Nice+bit+of+clover+in+hamlet+of+Bay,+nr+Ladignac.+(1).jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjWoi5oPwbp-T07txaN_5nFGv3wMyD6v0iHNf0BUsLtKMtim4PJZ_jvQTuyR0axcB1IaI2iK8CHg4lLly6tj_wcBLR1guNIdKpkdgrQ-yKNuvrAiEUS141vfzFoa_XJMI6CvekGOYOLsjgm/s1600/Nice+bit+of+clover+in+hamlet+of+Bay,+nr+Ladignac.+(1).jpg" height="480" width="640" /></a></div>
<span style="font-family: Times;">Nice bit of clover in hamlet of Bay, nr Ladignac.</span></div>
Horsedrawn travelhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14193357957502327320noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1302769187538212420.post-13165508499577984532014-08-17T10:15:00.000-07:002014-10-09T04:31:18.663-07:00Post 39. Shoeing draft animals<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgY-1gOuYJ26pVS2Jc8vng4QgyQWa9UxA85yMToJkm1nxvuK7jb1p-RGE5grC6wJ5xJzOxzAAXQ4VOYNvHCZpnD4jjuyHPmwiWm6XIF5eUhRWw5opaw0ioMe-609l_sHXNA6GlXVzsfdtoW/s1600/Crate+for+shoeing+oxen.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgY-1gOuYJ26pVS2Jc8vng4QgyQWa9UxA85yMToJkm1nxvuK7jb1p-RGE5grC6wJ5xJzOxzAAXQ4VOYNvHCZpnD4jjuyHPmwiWm6XIF5eUhRWw5opaw0ioMe-609l_sHXNA6GlXVzsfdtoW/s1600/Crate+for+shoeing+oxen.jpg" height="480" width="640" /></a></div>
<div style="background-color: white; font-size: 15px; line-height: 21.299999237060547px; margin-bottom: 1.35em; text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;">Crate for shoeing oxen</span></div>
<div style="background-color: white; color: #444444; font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 15px; line-height: 21.299999237060547px; margin-bottom: 1.35em;">
In France, oxen were used on farms as draft animals until the 1960s. To shoe them, they were put in a crate and suspended from slings and their legs were tied up. Many towns and villages still have these crates. These crates or 'crushes' can also be used to restrain cows, while their feet are trimmed or medicine is administered. Wooden crates like these were also used in Britain, but have mostly disappeared, farmers have steel ones.</div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgFl46S7-8UjgIZZOQVmem5p6AzAH51Ml2sAUxniNsfzpRG7ZQqD9xEQwcTRqeutTx61fEMZmJ3JSz3FNYOE2xmrKi61ZlPb3twO-996xyL33ooJsqsAn7Yi24ENRdkpqeIXizDxAl03_ff/s1600/Crate+for+shoeing+oxen+with+slings..jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgFl46S7-8UjgIZZOQVmem5p6AzAH51Ml2sAUxniNsfzpRG7ZQqD9xEQwcTRqeutTx61fEMZmJ3JSz3FNYOE2xmrKi61ZlPb3twO-996xyL33ooJsqsAn7Yi24ENRdkpqeIXizDxAl03_ff/s1600/Crate+for+shoeing+oxen+with+slings..jpg" height="458" width="640" /></a></div>
<div style="background-color: white; margin-bottom: 1.35em; text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;"><span style="font-size: 15px; line-height: 21.299999237060547px;">Crate for shoeing oxen with slings</span></span></div>
<div style="background-color: white; margin-bottom: 1.35em;">
<div style="color: #444444; font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 15px; line-height: 21.299999237060547px;">
Cows and oxen have cloven hooves, so you need a pair of shoes for each foot, the clip goes on the inside of the cleft and the shoe is nailed on the outside edge. Sheep, goats and pigs also have cloven hooves. Animals with cloven hooves can get 'foot and mouth' disease, donkeys and horses cannot.</div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; color: #444444; font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 15px; line-height: 21.299999237060547px; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEikVrLIj5OVCn2Faf4Td96KhNkoW8GN8kbQF_Y7JlsQwJrqXjaYP4OyP8470f0LDXmIS45-erc2GM8I1ZDkcgQ4P53ZksNvvqebB2gWCYTmTE2LbeCPD2LDx2LKjpf5c-TKqCKn2PQOHSx4/s1600/Ox+shoes..jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEikVrLIj5OVCn2Faf4Td96KhNkoW8GN8kbQF_Y7JlsQwJrqXjaYP4OyP8470f0LDXmIS45-erc2GM8I1ZDkcgQ4P53ZksNvvqebB2gWCYTmTE2LbeCPD2LDx2LKjpf5c-TKqCKn2PQOHSx4/s1600/Ox+shoes..jpg" height="480" width="640" /></a></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;"><span style="font-size: 15px; line-height: 21.299999237060547px;">Ox shoes</span></span></div>
</div>
<div style="background-color: white; margin-bottom: 1.35em;">
<div style="color: #444444; font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 15px; line-height: 21.299999237060547px;">
These ox shoes l found at a brocante sale and were made in a factory, one of them had never been used.</div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; color: #444444; font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 15px; line-height: 21.299999237060547px; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi2emskc5qBVQFXasMDvJnlXoUCP4Ej3RsOYYRK19DsIv_NDpNzVG_a6FIvSuWXIX6EjAH1tL7A9vGcQureXBgwY2nbgTaXPG_YpXoVuzJQH_hZsUc5oZfjaSHFXnc3LzfZGc3zPN-e_fG5/s1600/Clips+on+shoes+of+oxen..jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi2emskc5qBVQFXasMDvJnlXoUCP4Ej3RsOYYRK19DsIv_NDpNzVG_a6FIvSuWXIX6EjAH1tL7A9vGcQureXBgwY2nbgTaXPG_YpXoVuzJQH_hZsUc5oZfjaSHFXnc3LzfZGc3zPN-e_fG5/s1600/Clips+on+shoes+of+oxen..jpg" height="480" width="640" /></a></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;"><span style="font-size: 15px; line-height: 21.299999237060547px;">Clips on shoes of oxen.</span></span></div>
</div>
<div style="background-color: white; font-size: 15px; line-height: 21.299999237060547px; margin-bottom: 1.35em;">
<div style="color: #444444; font-family: Calibri, sans-serif;">
By the end of the 19th century, there were about a million work horses in Britain, they needed shoeing at least four times a year, each horse has four feet, so that's at least 16 million horse shoes and at least 112 million nails. These were heavy horses, each shoe weighs nearly a kilo, 16,000 tons of iron, it was a motor for the industrial revolution. It made sense to try and produce them in factories more efficiently and the mechanised production of horse shoe nails was important.</div>
</div>
<div style="background-color: white; color: #444444; font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 15px; line-height: 21.299999237060547px; margin-bottom: 1.35em;">
Good farriers can still make shoes by hand, a skilled farrier can forge a shoe in about 15 minutes and stamp the holes for the nails. It takes a lot of practice to do well.</div>
<div style="background-color: white; color: #444444; font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 15px; line-height: 21.299999237060547px; margin-bottom: 1.35em;">
There are many farriers who are not very skilled, they may well shorten your horses life and prevent you from succeeding in what you are trying to do with your horse. I watch my farriers carefully and see how they work and behave. I watch to see if they are clumsy, if they are struggling, do they handle the horse confidently and knowledgeably, are their tools worn out or in bad condition? There are lots of clues to look for, l avoid ones that are very overweight or alcoholic, ones that are nervous of horses. I look for ones who are interested in what l am doing with my horse, ones who have a passion for their work, ones that don't rush. Often the route l choose to take is decided by whether l know a good farrier in that direction. Good farriers are calm and patient.</div>
<div style="background-color: white; color: #444444; font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 15px; line-height: 21.299999237060547px; margin-bottom: 1.35em;">
It's my duty as the owner of the horse to make sure my horse behaves itself for the farrier. I make sure it knows how to stand still and be patient and can tolerate having its legs handled really well. If my horse is fidgeting, ill-mannered, disrespectful or frightened, it's dangerous for the farrier and horse and it will be difficult for the farrier to do a good job. I have heard of people sedating their horse so it can be shod. This is a very lazy, expensive shortcut. Learn how to train your horse. In the old days horses were glad to be shod, it was a chance to rest. If your horse messes around when you pick up its feet, ride it hard for 20 miles, it should be all sweaty and its head hanging low, then pick its feet up again. If it messes around, straight-away jump on and ride it hard for 10 minutes then try again, your horse will soon get the idea. A tired horse is not a bad one. Fat, lazy, underworked horses are trouble.</div>
<div style="background-color: white; color: #444444; font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 15px; line-height: 21.299999237060547px; margin-bottom: 1.35em;">
The shoes for my horse are made out of flat mild steel bar, 12mm thick and 25mm wide. They have 6 tungsten pins in each shoe, as well as giving extra wear the tungsten pins help the horse grip the road surface. [Shoeing horses is a compromise, ideally they would be unshod, but a 'road horse' doing 2,500 miles a year has to be shod]. Sometimes people tell me it's very bad for the joints of the horse to be shod like this. Interestingly my horses rarely have any health problems, l had an old mare who worked pulling a wagon until she was about 25 years old. After that she continued to be ridden lightly until she was 30. She was still sound then. Tarateeno, the gelding l'm using now has pulled my wagon, to date, more than 8,700 miles and has done several hundred hours of ridden work, shod like this. He's 8 years old. What really plays havoc with the health of a horse is, being overweight ,lack of exercise and boredom, which is sadly the lot of many horses.</div>
<div style="background-color: white; margin-bottom: 1.35em;">
<div style="color: #444444; font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 15px; line-height: 21.2999992370605px;">
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjUVb4RmINk5iEyB2LOYL1d-2gp3nxh5u90O9IbcqmToxF2NLx2LzwgpBC9MHe9H8xQPmVLsFT7Y3m_8tdj1SH_2UBb1RvzhrEEgMoc-zycYKKiNPwwsXBUM1yvWsHsLhFfWS-SDk3C0F0Y/s1600/Two+semi-fullered+shoes+and+a+plain+stamped..jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjUVb4RmINk5iEyB2LOYL1d-2gp3nxh5u90O9IbcqmToxF2NLx2LzwgpBC9MHe9H8xQPmVLsFT7Y3m_8tdj1SH_2UBb1RvzhrEEgMoc-zycYKKiNPwwsXBUM1yvWsHsLhFfWS-SDk3C0F0Y/s1600/Two+semi-fullered+shoes+and+a+plain+stamped..jpg" height="640" width="480" /></a></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<span style="color: black; font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif; line-height: 21.2999992370605px;">Two semi-fullered shoes and plain stamped</span></div>
I typically get about 500 miles out of a set of shoes. I have had a couple of sets that did a 1,000 miles. This is extreme shoeing, most horses couldn't take shoes like this.</div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; color: #444444; font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 15px; line-height: 21.2999992370605px; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgeZbdrqYl-UjdIZ2WnWWJSxwLVbY_c0c7AwdBXMnHgfVuYSL4vhEZd3P304Yn4ohgfWZDtOwib0-URSDPI42bOkao-jg8BztRJMtUy0eu4QgT703WE9NRsQVfQUoO9WTvHfCb4Lw7SKtCI/s1600/Hind+shoe+after+466+miles.+Toe+clip+worn+away..jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgeZbdrqYl-UjdIZ2WnWWJSxwLVbY_c0c7AwdBXMnHgfVuYSL4vhEZd3P304Yn4ohgfWZDtOwib0-URSDPI42bOkao-jg8BztRJMtUy0eu4QgT703WE9NRsQVfQUoO9WTvHfCb4Lw7SKtCI/s1600/Hind+shoe+after+466+miles.+Toe+clip+worn+away..jpg" height="480" width="640" /></a></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<div style="font-size: 15px; line-height: 21.2999992370605px;">
<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; font-size: 15px; line-height: 21.2999992370605px; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhrQa7B-LKvufrS9XfhGYn2t9-44OCny6AY0u3yTFBB5e11QFV4WlPhZx8jENdOaDovk5f1Mod3KCumJSuk4KhYulcIDYo8DEgdRmzpYmMfHDzsB_XkVgTJDJDIampVx-CXai5KvH5Uixwq/s1600/Tools+to+fit+a+shoe+on+cold..jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhrQa7B-LKvufrS9XfhGYn2t9-44OCny6AY0u3yTFBB5e11QFV4WlPhZx8jENdOaDovk5f1Mod3KCumJSuk4KhYulcIDYo8DEgdRmzpYmMfHDzsB_XkVgTJDJDIampVx-CXai5KvH5Uixwq/s1600/Tools+to+fit+a+shoe+on+cold..jpg" height="420" width="640" /></a></div>
<span style="font-size: 15px; line-height: 21.2999992370605px;">Tools to fit a shoe on cold</span></div>
</div>
<div style="background-color: white; font-size: 15px; line-height: 21.2999992370605px; margin-bottom: 1.35em;">
<div style="color: #444444; font-family: Calibri, sans-serif;">
Sometimes l lose a shoe on the way. I have to be able to remove loose shoes and fix them back on . I have a few special tools. I can normally do it 'cold.' Sometimes l heat the shoes in a stick fire outside or if it's winter, in my wood burner. I have a pair of molegrips to hold the hot shoes and a pair of welding gloves. </div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; color: #444444; font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEidSAjl2cIPhN6GybHURArs1gOQcl0sETjavb2vDaDqbPdDojxhpaWMBMSMYi355_fz9kwJfXPAL1C6a9z0hzmghgPWOfd38Cqy3CEvxLaLEiDorbw_ZwX-rePTAukNvHd_kKr4jXsoJQuG/s1600/Molegrips+and+welding+gloves+to+hold+hot+shoe..jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEidSAjl2cIPhN6GybHURArs1gOQcl0sETjavb2vDaDqbPdDojxhpaWMBMSMYi355_fz9kwJfXPAL1C6a9z0hzmghgPWOfd38Cqy3CEvxLaLEiDorbw_ZwX-rePTAukNvHd_kKr4jXsoJQuG/s1600/Molegrips+and+welding+gloves+to+hold+hot+shoe..jpg" height="480" width="640" /></a></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;">Molegrips and welding gloves to hold to hot shoe</span></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div style="color: #444444; font-family: Calibri, sans-serif;">
Heating the shoes makes them soft and l can shape them a bit, l use the head of my sledge hammer as an anvil or sometimes the edge of the curb or a stone. I have to improvise, because there is a limit to how much it's reasonable to ask a horse to pull, its not possible to have every tool l'd like, the tools l have normally perform more than one task. I would always prefer to have a good farrier to shoe my horse, but sometimes l'm in the middle of nowhere and l need it done straight-away. Occasionally l've found a farrier and they've been so bad at it, l wished l'd done it myself.</div>
<div style="color: #444444; font-family: Calibri, sans-serif;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhOPWsBNuMwYjRX3BiKNmqVH3hzh4zBXKOtDUDcTn8mVs4KR6LkVDtTFaFmRLfFlCVpMP15EnEQJ_41c_QmGhZKzZjurXBcP919TH9V5kIyH6tNsJKsJSkWbujUj7cuTyIxNtTUpg7wqkGD/s1600/Granite+lintel,+at+old+blacksmiths,+Bussiere-Boffy.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em; text-align: center;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhOPWsBNuMwYjRX3BiKNmqVH3hzh4zBXKOtDUDcTn8mVs4KR6LkVDtTFaFmRLfFlCVpMP15EnEQJ_41c_QmGhZKzZjurXBcP919TH9V5kIyH6tNsJKsJSkWbujUj7cuTyIxNtTUpg7wqkGD/s1600/Granite+lintel,+at+old+blacksmiths,+Bussiere-Boffy.jpg" height="180" width="640" /></a></div>
<div style="color: #444444; font-family: Calibri, sans-serif;">
<span style="color: black; font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif; text-align: center;">Granite lintel, at old blacksmiths, Bussiere-Boffy</span></div>
</div>
Horsedrawn travelhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14193357957502327320noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1302769187538212420.post-65869414628569085062014-08-12T07:48:00.002-07:002014-10-15T10:01:19.596-07:00Post 38 Les Pyrenees<div style="background-color: white; color: #444444; font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 15px; line-height: 21.29px; margin-bottom: 1.35em;">
Now that l'm out of La Garrigue l notice how quiet it is without the Cigales making such a noise. [Cigales are a large insect and like grass hoppers rub their back legs together to make a noise and it's incredibly loud]. l can hear skylarks and buzzards again. It's really green here and the grass is lush. The horse is content. At Montreal l stop in a grove of walnut trees, a lady with her little grandson brings me a bottle of beer, they chat and look at the horse. I head across country on peaceful roads, in the distance the mountains are rearing up 10,000 feet.</div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhX6lIMnh0kXE1AnipOz4DuFKX4aBno74t781RSzL3vQzSxDEW2FXumDt8drS9ntZPDwB7UbmLiMhQkfTSDkXk9jy0PQxwbBHXnFkFCF0fSY83FaBdK6DFi5i2TgFs8W7r644Cqi7ZkgOj4/s1600/Out+of+La+Garrigue+near+Carcassonne..jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhX6lIMnh0kXE1AnipOz4DuFKX4aBno74t781RSzL3vQzSxDEW2FXumDt8drS9ntZPDwB7UbmLiMhQkfTSDkXk9jy0PQxwbBHXnFkFCF0fSY83FaBdK6DFi5i2TgFs8W7r644Cqi7ZkgOj4/s1600/Out+of+La+Garrigue+near+Carcassonne..jpg" height="480" width="640" /></a></div>
<div style="background-color: white; font-size: 15px; line-height: 21.29px; margin-bottom: 1.35em; text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;">Out of La Garrigue near Carassonne</span></div>
<div style="background-color: white; color: #444444; font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 15px; line-height: 21.29px; margin-bottom: 1.35em;">
11th of July. A hind shoe comes off the horse going through a village . I stop and fix it back on, a kind man who keeps bees, telephones Le Maire for me and arranges for me to stop at Rochefort- Les- Cascades, a lovely spot by some waterfalls. The grass is good and there is a spring for drinking water. I'm quite tired after walking 12 miles and fixing shoes on tires me out, but as soon as l've stopped some Dutch people come over and chat to me, they are nice to talk to and buy two of my pieces of copperwork. Everytime people come and chat to me is an opportunity to sell something.</div>
<div style="background-color: white; color: #444444; font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 15px; line-height: 21.29px; margin-bottom: 1.35em;">
I'd just sat on the bed to rest, when l hear horses coming. It's a Frenchman with two horses, one he rides, the other carries his belongings. He is camped on the other side of the hill but has come to water his horses, [l'm not sure why he didn't camp by the water]. He comes and chats to me, he's been travelling for 3 weeks and knows all about it. He starts to tether one of his horses too close to mine and this is dangerous, so l get him to move it further away. The other horse he leaves loose, l warn him that when the loose mare goes to see my horse she may get tangled in the chain. He tells me that will not be a problem. A few moments later the mare goes over to my horse, my horse chases her off and she catches her legs on the chain, luckily neither my horse or his mare is injured. Anyway we chat about travelling with horses. I notice that the mare he is riding has a saddle sore. I ask him if he's read Aime Tschiffleys book Southern Cross to Pole star. [In the 1920s Tschiffley rode two horses from Buenos Aires to Washington, about 10,000 miles]. The Frenchman says he hasn't but says he knows the book, he's also adamant, despite not reading the book, that Tschiffley rode south and not north. I find this a bit frustrating, so l suggest that we have a bet and whoever is wrong gives the other his horse! Suddenly the Frenchman is not so sure of his ground and not quite brave enough to shake hands on it. Shame l would have liked his mare.</div>
<div style="background-color: white; color: #444444; font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 15px; line-height: 21.29px; margin-bottom: 1.35em;">
While we are talking a small group of young foreign exchange students comes to look at the horse and wagon. They come from Russia, Albania and Serbia, they are nice to talk to, they are a bit fed up, they were dropped off by a minibus some hours before and there is nothing here except a waterfall. I'm glad of their company, they're still enthusiastic about their life ahead, whereas the Frenchman [who is 38], for the moment, is burdened by his disappointments and failures.<br />
The Frenchman is a bit disparaging about travelling with a wagon because l have to use roads, whereas he can use bridleways, though he does concede that it looks a more comfortable way to travel. He asks me how long it takes to get ready in the morning, he is surpised when l say 5 minutes. He tells me it takes him one and a half hours! Some years ago l talked to a man who'd been a mule driver in the British army in Burma during the second war. He told me that as part of their training they had to be able to load the mules up in pitch darkness within a few minutes. [I didn't mention this to the Frenchman]. The mules arrived by ship from South America to India. They were unbroken. The mules were trained intensively for 6 weeks, by which time they were expected, literally, to be bombproof and ready to use. The methods the army used were sensible, practical and efficient. The army produced manuals on how to do things and these manuals are a useful source of information today.</div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjd2MINbJ-7jbdnpuD9FqTAjmzp1ObUvsDYNQNzAtU7ByrpuCO0J8GlJ3Y9m6xtsqKG1a0EdXphYrEWRqcSE7VWnrDbDt8wHuqpKzpYC4J8fdsFzphY1ZgQ53j8YtqVeAtfYnOjOCuQmDTN/s1600/4,511+feet.+Snow+on+the+mountains+in+distance..jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjd2MINbJ-7jbdnpuD9FqTAjmzp1ObUvsDYNQNzAtU7ByrpuCO0J8GlJ3Y9m6xtsqKG1a0EdXphYrEWRqcSE7VWnrDbDt8wHuqpKzpYC4J8fdsFzphY1ZgQ53j8YtqVeAtfYnOjOCuQmDTN/s1600/4,511+feet.+Snow+on+the+mountains+in+distance..jpg" height="480" width="640" /></a></div>
<div style="background-color: white; font-size: 15px; line-height: 21.29px; margin-bottom: 1.35em; text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;">4,511 feet. Snow on the mountains in distance</span></div>
<div style="background-color: white; color: #444444; font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 15px; line-height: 21.29px; margin-bottom: 1.35em;">
13th July. Climbed 17km, [10miles] up to the Col de Pegure, 1,375 metres [4,511 feet]. It was quite a climb but the horse was fine. We ambled up. Plenty of places to pull over, a couple of times l stopped and gave him a five minute rest, during which he happily ate the grass. [If the horse stands listlessly without eating, he is either very tired or tired and thirsty]. I listen to his breathing when l go up a long hill, so that l know how he's doing. At 990 metres l stopped at a cafe and had a coffee for 15 minutes. Further on l stopped at a spring and the horse drank a bucket of water and l sponged him down. At the top the views are great and there is snow on some of the mountains. I'm really pleased to get up here and just near the top is a lovely stop with plenty of good grass. After a rest l get on with some tinsmithing in the sunshine. It's lovely and peaceful up here, birds singing and the gentle sound of bells on the cows, drifting up from the valley, 2,000 feet below. In the evening it feels strange being so high up, I'm several miles from anywhere, there's the sound of a light breeze in the trees, the sound of Tarateeno crunching the grass and the jingling of his chain, apart from that, nothing. During the night heavy rain wakes me. I lie awake listening to it, wondering where l should head next, where ever l go from here will be lower down. As the crow flies l'm less than 10 miles from Spain.</div>
<div style="background-color: white; color: #444444; font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 15px; line-height: 21.29px; margin-bottom: 1.35em;">
The next day l wake up in a cloud. It's a problem sometimes when high up. I have a long descent to 300 metres, it feels very low down. It's hot and humid, l stop beside a lovely lake and have a delicious swim and wash some clothes. In the evening a young Frenchman stops nearby in his truck, which he travels in. We get chatting and he shares a couple of his beers with me. Good company and a chance to speak a bit of French. Early in the morning l have another swim and go on my way. I go up a short steep hill and nearly at the top the nails shear off a front shoe. Happily it's still early and there aren't any flies about. I hate having to fix shoes on when it's hot and flies are all buzzing around my head. I'm hot when l'm finished, and wish l could have another swim.</div>
<div style="background-color: white; color: #444444; font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 15px; line-height: 21.29px; margin-bottom: 1.35em;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjnI7Y4ZIqGfEu54BT36fd9XPDn0VuM4f5Ev4_8qS0b-zy-ZVI5RLWdwvC9cZpwoKl4g6snFGloO-WW9y53imQZtXWfe4J9gBS3KL_1C8zsVAdgafKtFbXo4VY-p86X9WmTp3oONUESQwGC/s1600/Field+of+tobacco+in+Haute+Garonne..jpg" imageanchor="1" style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: medium; line-height: normal; margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em; text-align: center;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjnI7Y4ZIqGfEu54BT36fd9XPDn0VuM4f5Ev4_8qS0b-zy-ZVI5RLWdwvC9cZpwoKl4g6snFGloO-WW9y53imQZtXWfe4J9gBS3KL_1C8zsVAdgafKtFbXo4VY-p86X9WmTp3oONUESQwGC/s1600/Field+of+tobacco+in+Haute+Garonne..jpg" height="494" width="640" /></a></div>
<div style="background-color: white; font-size: 15px; line-height: 21.29px; margin-bottom: 1.35em; text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;">Field of Tabacco in Haute Garonne</span></div>
<div style="background-color: white; color: #444444; font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 15px; line-height: 21.29px; margin-bottom: 1.35em;">
For a few days l travel in the Haut Garonne, it's flatter, l go past fields of tobacco, it took me a while to realise what it was. It's really hot. I try and set off at 6.30am while it's cooler and before the flies get bad. Each day l try and stop in the shade, preferably next to a river. One day l stop on a village green under some trees to have my lunch. A man comes over and asks what l'm doing and tells me he's Le Maire, (an oddity of thr French language is that if Le Maire happens to be a woman, she is called Madame Le Maire). l shake his hand and declare l'm enchanted and explain l'm having my lunch while the horse rests. Lunch is a sacred time in France and Le Maire is happy and wouldn't dream of disturbing me and tells me where l can get water. A bit later on a man in his 60s, wearing faded blue trousers comes over and invites me to stay at his farm on the edge of the village. He's called Pierre and is very kind. He's got seven sheep and an old Massey Ferguson 35 tractor. His pastime is clocks and he's got lots of them. He lives alone in a big house, like so many people in rural France. In the evening he cooks a large piece of steak, we share it, it's very tender and goes well with a bottle of red wine. After we've eaten he offers me a glass of homemade liquor, but l decline as l've drunk enough, he's keen for me to taste it though, so he dips a large sugarlump in it and gives it to me. It is delicious l have to admit. In the morning it feels like there is no enamel left on my teeth, but l think that was the sugar.</div>
<div class="separator" style="background-color: white; clear: both; color: #444444; font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 15px; line-height: 21.29px; margin-bottom: 1.35em; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi3RTFHxU23quY-sOVAsI4CqetoYWSktHUK11da4EYrZi162vk9BI0q3th8BR9xng5N5RwT9nuekOgr4a1WWBKD_j8ONuByCAPw5P2_674GQVvuoL3atrkAmAF7SL0gflvQHzz4PqeM-Urb/s1600/Miniature+pony+comes+to+say+hullo..jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi3RTFHxU23quY-sOVAsI4CqetoYWSktHUK11da4EYrZi162vk9BI0q3th8BR9xng5N5RwT9nuekOgr4a1WWBKD_j8ONuByCAPw5P2_674GQVvuoL3atrkAmAF7SL0gflvQHzz4PqeM-Urb/s1600/Miniature+pony+comes+to+say+hullo..jpg" height="640" width="478" /></a></div>
<div style="background-color: white; color: #444444; font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 15px; line-height: 21.29px; margin-bottom: 1.35em; text-align: center;">
<span style="color: black; font-family: Times, "Times New Roman", serif;">Miniature pony comes to say hullo.</span></div>
<div style="background-color: white; color: #444444; font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 15px; line-height: 21.29px; margin-bottom: 1.35em;">
18th July. I thank Pierre and say goodbye, l'm glad to have stayed with him. It's hot and humid, for a while l travel beside the river, l go through a village, a lady offers me coffee. l go past a supermarket, l should do some shopping but it's too much effort, l'd rather be on my way. There is a big hill to climb, when l get to the top there are good views of the mountains. At the gateway of a farm there is a family standing, watching, two little girls and their parents. I stop and chat and the children give the horse some bread. Their mum asks me if l'd like some vegetables, she comes back with some courgettes, a white cucumber and six eggs, then she goes back and digs up some potatoes for me. I thank them and go on my way, they were pleased l stopped. By 11.30am l've done 15 miles, l stop on some grass beside the river Ger at Pointis-Innard. A lady comes along and chats and tells me Gypsies used to stop here.</div>
<div style="background-color: white; color: #444444; font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 15px; line-height: 21.29px; margin-bottom: 1.35em;">
I rest and have a wash in the river. It's too hot to do much else. In the evening a lady turns up on a bicycle with a pot of delicious hot vegetable soup, a bottle of red wine, a piece of sponge cake, a jar of marmalade and a nougat tarte with macarons and raspberries. Good luck l didn't go shopping. </div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhWqeCTwpIGqAONPgS0jkrVWAJt1uxvNAvSR9zfrY3SdPhBuUdlBdrizqa7UfwToo-QOq0gCwtQvPNBrEQ5tGDmdNIBWeE6KxL1ScWQJHD3M39nf32sX1MqIXIo3c4WOFItFz9-sSP5kmlp/s1600/St.Bertrand-de-Comminges..jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhWqeCTwpIGqAONPgS0jkrVWAJt1uxvNAvSR9zfrY3SdPhBuUdlBdrizqa7UfwToo-QOq0gCwtQvPNBrEQ5tGDmdNIBWeE6KxL1ScWQJHD3M39nf32sX1MqIXIo3c4WOFItFz9-sSP5kmlp/s1600/St.Bertrand-de-Comminges..jpg" height="480" width="640" /></a></div>
<div style="background-color: white; font-size: 15px; line-height: 21.29px; margin-bottom: 1.35em; text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;">St.Bertrand-de-Comminges</span></div>
<div style="background-color: white; color: #444444; font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 15px; line-height: 21.29px; margin-bottom: 1.35em;">
I go back into the Pyrenees, just south of St. Bertrand de Comminges. I rest a couple of days. I stop beside a lake. A very small pony comes to say hello. In the evening l photograph a flying saucer land in the lake. It made quite a noise, the horse carried on eating.</div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjSa97DS50qKePpBXt_TbXuTeajBHXWsYvaY4KCwxlxX9wStryHphHvzMav73ehLu9aR_Qr00kD3z8Q305vrFsebp3QyryLhOxa09_O4IJn66lGBSHKy29Okr1FNMxf8PHYUgckRUyx6uq4/s1600/Saucer+lands+in+lake+next+to+me,+so+took+a+photo..jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjSa97DS50qKePpBXt_TbXuTeajBHXWsYvaY4KCwxlxX9wStryHphHvzMav73ehLu9aR_Qr00kD3z8Q305vrFsebp3QyryLhOxa09_O4IJn66lGBSHKy29Okr1FNMxf8PHYUgckRUyx6uq4/s1600/Saucer+lands+in+lake+next+to+me,+so+took+a+photo..jpg" height="480" width="640" /></a></div>
<div style="background-color: white; font-size: 15px; line-height: 21.29px; margin-bottom: 1.35em; text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;">Saucer lands in lake next to me, so took a photo</span></div>
<div style="background-color: white; color: #444444; font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 15px; line-height: 21.29px; margin-bottom: 1.35em;">
I go to the market at Montrejeau. Live poultry and rabbits are being sold to eat. I watch the customers feel the birds for plumpness, then the lady ties the hens legs together with a piece of bindertwine and the pleased customer goes off with the birds slung upside down held by the string. There is a horse butcher. He has nice pictures of horses in his booth.</div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg0O4B9StxjV3KuA2EH9ga-6HFKhrWgl0OeapH_5IWR32gjqpoDf7gmNxGo-VA0WLNjcuW1_ju9YN5bSEKMIfNcHaeisxhMXRu06seVmAFs86tRDCDD9RNU-QBEiR-tAKg_cTLpnmcuGYBZ/s1600/Horse+butcher+at+market+in+Montrejeau..jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg0O4B9StxjV3KuA2EH9ga-6HFKhrWgl0OeapH_5IWR32gjqpoDf7gmNxGo-VA0WLNjcuW1_ju9YN5bSEKMIfNcHaeisxhMXRu06seVmAFs86tRDCDD9RNU-QBEiR-tAKg_cTLpnmcuGYBZ/s1600/Horse+butcher+at+market+in+Montrejeau..jpg" height="480" width="640" /></a></div>
<div style="background-color: white; font-size: 15px; line-height: 21.29px; margin-bottom: 1.35em; text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;">Horse butcher at market in Montrejeau</span></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
Horsedrawn travelhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14193357957502327320noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1302769187538212420.post-11417510028984031192014-07-21T08:27:00.002-07:002014-07-21T08:27:45.957-07:00Post 37. La Garrigue and the Circus Roulotte<div style="background-color: white; color: #444444; font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 15px; line-height: 21.299999237060547px; margin-bottom: 1.35em;">
When l first got to La Garrigue, l found it a strange, unfamiliar environment . After a few weeks l'm getting used to it. I enjoy the heat, it's in the 30s a lot of the time, l like the dramatic thunderstorms. l've learned more about the plants and the creatures that live here. It's a land of scrubby holm oaks, micocolier, acacia, olive groves, grapevines, fig trees, small fields of wheat, dried up river beds, rocky outcrops, huge cacti.......</div>
<div style="background-color: white; color: #444444; font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 15px; line-height: 21.299999237060547px; margin-bottom: 1.35em;">
The people are kind and friendly. I'm starting to understand a little more more French. There are some lovely small medieval towns, l've been travelling around St'Hippolytes du Fort, Sauve, Quissac and Sommieres, I like the sound of the names. l've not been going far and l've started to get to know a few people. I've enjoyed going to the markets, brocantes and vide greniers, [like car boot sales]. At Sommieres vide grenier there were quite a few rusty old rifles and shotguns for sale, all sorts of knives are for sale. People love nice knives here, they use them for slicing saucisson and other food whilst on picnics, not for stabbing people. I've enjoyed sitting outside cafes in the shade drinking Perrier tranche, while the horse stands in the shade under a plane tree or mulberry, eating a bucket of cereal and having a drink from the fountain.</div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjXwLAyj8x54n4qirNHMAf8KDnXGLzx60kminpJBYx8uECHkFCgiPcoVDeZA_sHEjf3v6Qr4kUhePg5AtBnqf_ufBeZ8Zl9oTB6cnNfdZ3fddJKhAH_f19xW4aPSLUNzKgQUSFv_uqR7qqW/s1600/Crossing+dried+up+river+at+St.+Hippolytes+du+Fort..jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjXwLAyj8x54n4qirNHMAf8KDnXGLzx60kminpJBYx8uECHkFCgiPcoVDeZA_sHEjf3v6Qr4kUhePg5AtBnqf_ufBeZ8Zl9oTB6cnNfdZ3fddJKhAH_f19xW4aPSLUNzKgQUSFv_uqR7qqW/s1600/Crossing+dried+up+river+at+St.+Hippolytes+du+Fort..jpg" height="480" width="640" /></a></div>
<div style="background-color: white; margin-bottom: 1.35em; text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;"><span style="font-size: 15px; line-height: 21.299999237060547px;">Crossing dried up river at St. Hippolytes du Fort</span></span></div>
<div style="background-color: white; color: #444444; font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 15px; line-height: 21.299999237060547px; margin-bottom: 1.35em;">
I stopped one day for lunch in Quissac. Whilst there l met a very kind English lady called Nella. She invited me to come and see her Lusitano horses and her circus roulotte.<br />A few days later l went there. I stayed for two weeks.</div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhhuANFOtSW5p5lmB8OKuHeoDy_OZ0q21zUmNGUovW_GLt11xSP-rWNhM4cyJp2k3zDa8jciFL0feCHu6ShjsU6w6zY3sDUnNIK2dM6J4oDJAu7rOQqVcDeUATHx0cA-8b0JJ9E2LJAiUtw/s1600/Next+to+Alphonso's+circus+roulotte..jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhhuANFOtSW5p5lmB8OKuHeoDy_OZ0q21zUmNGUovW_GLt11xSP-rWNhM4cyJp2k3zDa8jciFL0feCHu6ShjsU6w6zY3sDUnNIK2dM6J4oDJAu7rOQqVcDeUATHx0cA-8b0JJ9E2LJAiUtw/s1600/Next+to+Alphonso's+circus+roulotte..jpg" height="480" width="640" /></a></div>
<div style="background-color: white; font-size: 15px; line-height: 21.299999237060547px; margin-bottom: 1.35em; text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;">Next to Alphonso's circus roulette</span></div>
<div style="background-color: white; color: #444444; font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 15px; line-height: 21.299999237060547px; margin-bottom: 1.35em;">
Her circus roulotte is very comfortable and spacious. People come and have holidays in it. I read some of the comments in her visitors book and people have had a lovely time staying in it, but Nella is very kind and hospitable and it would be hard not to feel welcome and happy there. You can look at her blog, <a href="http://alfonsoscircusroulotte.blogspot.fr/" style="color: #0068cf; cursor: pointer; font-weight: inherit;" target="_blank">alfonsoscircusroulotte.blogspot.fr</a></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhUXEOP5LWlQQfNOkhbUQbZKxq8776SwuhPI3H-_oK22_raeQrTNoUCc7cCBVdcCu0KhQMRnx6Ns1VMmrFE0XSHuEbPVp8bj_yhM3YVW7IHO2PaXTNa3LJc1wopEVjdRk_egwmS6clebDoC/s1600/Living+room+in+circus+roulotte..png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhUXEOP5LWlQQfNOkhbUQbZKxq8776SwuhPI3H-_oK22_raeQrTNoUCc7cCBVdcCu0KhQMRnx6Ns1VMmrFE0XSHuEbPVp8bj_yhM3YVW7IHO2PaXTNa3LJc1wopEVjdRk_egwmS6clebDoC/s1600/Living+room+in+circus+roulotte..png" height="440" width="640" /></a></div>
<div style="background-color: white; font-size: 15px; line-height: 21.299999237060547px; margin-bottom: 1.35em; text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;">Living room in circus roulotte</span></div>
<div style="background-color: white; color: #444444; font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 15px; line-height: 21.299999237060547px; margin-bottom: 1.35em;">
I also enjoyed seeing her horses. I quite fancy having a Lusitano horse, Nella told me they are the horses of kings, well why not then, they come from Portugal, no good to pull a wagon though.</div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEioGoGFK8NcnX1TY_kvMbGXJy3huGUDe4IvMe_6VRvSF2b3E1ExoLfbWDIhsLSStjNT7mnP0cTsElDw0ZIwPC4oJL_I1kH1lFVCldtvYLzU-8E5yEkSwwEzqxpFMQfpFma_QEp9aZ12kQDj/s1600/The+bedroom++in+the+circus+roulotte..png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEioGoGFK8NcnX1TY_kvMbGXJy3huGUDe4IvMe_6VRvSF2b3E1ExoLfbWDIhsLSStjNT7mnP0cTsElDw0ZIwPC4oJL_I1kH1lFVCldtvYLzU-8E5yEkSwwEzqxpFMQfpFma_QEp9aZ12kQDj/s1600/The+bedroom++in+the+circus+roulotte..png" height="430" width="640" /></a></div>
<div style="background-color: white; font-size: 15px; line-height: 21.299999237060547px; margin-bottom: 1.35em; text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;">The bedroom in the circus roulotte</span></div>
<div style="background-color: white; color: #444444; font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 15px; line-height: 21.299999237060547px; margin-bottom: 1.35em;">
Nella organised her farrier to come and shoe my horse. Antoine, the farrier, made a lovely job of fitting the handmade shoes l'd had sent out from England. He was interested in how the shoes were made and told me to come over to his forge a couple of days later and he'd make me some more spare shoes. I rode my horse over and watched Antoine forge me some heavy shoes. He made a lovely job of them. Outside it was very hot, in his forge the heat was incredible. I shall be interested to see how many miles l get out of his shoes. I tried to pay him for the shoes but he wanted to give them to me as he liked what l was doing and wanted to help me on my way.</div>
<div style="background-color: white; color: #444444; font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 15px; line-height: 21.299999237060547px; margin-bottom: 1.35em;">
I made myself a hammock out of a piece of tarpaulin. It's nice having a siesta in it. Cooler than in the wagon. There are peaches on the trees now and some of the figs are ready. I can pick them on my way. It's July, the grass is all burned off here by the sun, l need to head quickly to fresher greener country, so the horse has enough to eat. I went down to St-Guilhem-le Desert and stopped at Aniane. Very hot and dry, 35km, 22 miles. I stopped in the town on some rough grass. In the evening there was a free outdoor concert in the square nearby, the band was really good, they played tango music and people danced really well, a nice end to the day.</div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEihWOhpy6MNMPbJIR6k8PT6_wgaYAyHtTymqMLNUH3LopJ9KbUrSzXi-X3PfeddCgsZ0PLljd2_frWVYAyCc3XItGZstj3YR4NvUYyJqTKopapBXyiDkr6fuoSCrJo6g5fz2nZaUaOQeY8i/s1600/Holly+fast+asleep+in+my+hammock..jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEihWOhpy6MNMPbJIR6k8PT6_wgaYAyHtTymqMLNUH3LopJ9KbUrSzXi-X3PfeddCgsZ0PLljd2_frWVYAyCc3XItGZstj3YR4NvUYyJqTKopapBXyiDkr6fuoSCrJo6g5fz2nZaUaOQeY8i/s1600/Holly+fast+asleep+in+my+hammock..jpg" height="480" width="640" /></a></div>
<div style="background-color: white; font-size: 15px; line-height: 21.299999237060547px; margin-bottom: 1.35em;">
</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;">Holly Fast asleep in my hammock</span></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><br /></span></div>
<span style="color: #444444; font-family: Calibri, sans-serif;">The next day l did another 22 miles and stopped by a decaying old church, l tethered the horse on the rough grass beside it. Later in the day a choir turned up and sang beautiful renaissance music, the sound of it drifted through the broken windows of the church and uplifted my spirits, the horse listened too, l think he liked it. Did another 12 miles today and stopped beside the river, L'Orb, it's fast flowing and comes down from the Montagnes Noire, [the Black Mountains]. Most of the rivers are dried up in this region during the summer. It's a good spot for a night, but the grass is very sparse. I'm feeding the horse about two kilos of good quality hard food a day, he's looking well. I also give him salt.</span><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh0js_FMl-cfzSymfG8zXzZYnPznzzA95Uf4ysx9UC9IxFKq_5F-zeOTyAzY9lpSPUbDve1WQDaobVFmo468dAlz0ZiA0IX1nKEQ2ZMLkDGeBSNmorvDm6-4sPFxbHMEjn-KPPk_YO2TE4D/s1600/Paddling+in+L'Orb,+4th+July..jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh0js_FMl-cfzSymfG8zXzZYnPznzzA95Uf4ysx9UC9IxFKq_5F-zeOTyAzY9lpSPUbDve1WQDaobVFmo468dAlz0ZiA0IX1nKEQ2ZMLkDGeBSNmorvDm6-4sPFxbHMEjn-KPPk_YO2TE4D/s1600/Paddling+in+L'Orb,+4th+July..jpg" height="480" width="640" /></a></div>
<div style="background-color: white; font-size: 15px; line-height: 21.299999237060547px; margin-bottom: 1.35em; text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;">Paddling in L'Ord, 4th July</span></div>
<div style="background-color: white; color: #444444; font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 15px; line-height: 21.299999237060547px; margin-bottom: 1.35em;">
Saturday July 5th. Very hot did another 20 miles, l went through a small village at 8am, a man stopped to talk to me, he was kind and gave me a bottle of wine made in the village. l have wrapped it in a piece of wet cloth to keep it cool, l shall try some later, if l have a visitor l can share it. In the next village l chatted to a man and he gave the horse water and gave me a nice cold glass of coke, his neighbours came out to talk and we had a good laugh. I went up the road a 100 metres and a man spoke to me in French with a Northern Ireland accent. He warned me that the local people were unfriendly and didn't like strangers!<br />At the next village some friendly children came and chatted, very good for my French, their mum came over, she was friendly too and told me the spring water was good. Cold and delicious. Later on l stopped on some rough dried up grass between some vineyards, a man on a moped came by and stopped, he was friendly, chatted, bought a copper candle holder off me and asked if he could come back later and talk more as he was interested in what l was doing. He came back with a large bottle of cold beer and three eggs for me and we had a lovely evening chatting. I shared the bottle of wine with him and it was good. Not everyone is kind and friendly that l meet, but l have the feeling that they might have been if l'd handled the encounter better.</div>
<div style="background-color: white; color: #444444; font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 15px; line-height: 21.299999237060547px; margin-bottom: 1.35em;">
In the last week l've travelled 90 miles west towards the Pyrenees and am near Carcassonne. It's great to be travelling fast again. Suddenly l'm out of La Garrigue. Tonight I'm stopped beside the river L'Orbiel, it's flowing fast and l'm next to a weeping willow. It's much greener here and good grass for the horse. I feel a sense of achievement spending time getting used to, and travelling through such a dry arid region, the horse is well and is looking great. At first he was uncertain about some of the strange vegetation, huge aloe veras and the different sounds of the insects, but soon got used to it. I'd be interested to go back to the Garrigue in winter and see how it looks.</div>
Horsedrawn travelhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14193357957502327320noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1302769187538212420.post-40682541045258419572014-06-15T03:47:00.002-07:002014-06-15T03:47:31.663-07:00Post 36 Les Saintes Maries de la Mer.<div style="background-color: white; color: #444444; font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 15px; line-height: 21.299999237060547px; margin-bottom: 1.35em;">
21st May. Every year many Gypsies come to Les Saintes Maries de la Mer from around Europe, for a pilgrimage. On the 24th, Sara la Kali is carried from the church and out into the sea, the local Camargue horses are ridden in procession. For several days there is music and dancing in the streets and cafes.</div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhIgrAkdy4Hy_mzm-SP9yNXKMYCSl1T1dDmbVFjzsXzoF1fP_PlNBsvoe7lSjBGSof76PtrvBQLoAFq2y0g1MdVwGfl72WTRgPTpYp-Oj_2Nq1DcU29l2OrthSyGdBVOCDCn_hUD6NYyr7w/s1600/20140513_104052.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhIgrAkdy4Hy_mzm-SP9yNXKMYCSl1T1dDmbVFjzsXzoF1fP_PlNBsvoe7lSjBGSof76PtrvBQLoAFq2y0g1MdVwGfl72WTRgPTpYp-Oj_2Nq1DcU29l2OrthSyGdBVOCDCn_hUD6NYyr7w/s1600/20140513_104052.jpg" height="480" width="640" /></a></div>
<div style="background-color: white; color: #444444; font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 15px; line-height: 21.299999237060547px; margin-bottom: 1.35em;">
<br /></div>
<div style="background-color: white; color: #444444; font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 15px; line-height: 21.299999237060547px; margin-bottom: 1.35em;">
As well as a pilgrimage, it's an opportunity to make money. There are hundreds of sightseers and tourists and they introduce a terrible predatory voyeurism to the event. An English journalist stopped a Romanian Gypsy violinist in the middle of a tune to interview him, she said to him, 'there seems to be a special sort of symbiosis between Sara le Kali and the Gypsies,' he replied, 'Oh yes, we make money out of her! I like the honesty of the reply and is definitely better than fraudulent piety.</div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg1-zjURrcE_1Y-FagWpWuJVVwhLbfidrCMDXNqaCPOBvXKnsiviSyJQCtTjaBomEXQlogDGdlbpWTvj8nGQ8T6R1fXyu3r_rhZ1W7VBYe1gAL-jZOu0E55SfOIKQ6v8sQpyvTpX6J2WWiZ/s1600/Sara+la+Kali.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg1-zjURrcE_1Y-FagWpWuJVVwhLbfidrCMDXNqaCPOBvXKnsiviSyJQCtTjaBomEXQlogDGdlbpWTvj8nGQ8T6R1fXyu3r_rhZ1W7VBYe1gAL-jZOu0E55SfOIKQ6v8sQpyvTpX6J2WWiZ/s1600/Sara+la+Kali.png" height="640" width="460" /></a></div>
<div style="background-color: white; margin-bottom: 1.35em; text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;"><span style="font-size: 15px; line-height: 21.299999237060547px;">Sara la Kali</span></span></div>
<div style="background-color: white; color: #444444; font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 15px; line-height: 21.299999237060547px; margin-bottom: 1.35em;">
It's a chance for me to make some money too. l stop my wagon, right on the sea front beside Jan, who came down from Holland in his roulotte thirty seven years ago and now travels in the south of France. He is very kind and friendly and he lets me put my horse in a field with his horse, which is perfect, l'm really grateful to him.</div>
<div style="background-color: white; color: #444444; font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 15px; line-height: 21.299999237060547px; margin-bottom: 1.35em;">
Francois, a French basket maker, is also next to me with his roulotte and when l try to buy a basket off him, he gives it to me, which is really kind . There is an English lady in her 70s and she comes down every year in an ancient camper van, she is very kind too. I get busy making copper candle holders and l have some already made and a basket of pegs to sell. People enjoy watching me working and everything sells. I'm really pleased and selling things is also a chance to practise speaking French.</div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhOo9OlsID6XlNFflh3cwL2Gcm2NQQFwo0hbQ9aOB5O3DHt7yc100QmdlSMF4dsaFkC-JSd_Io7hwWb6pwOJMo5POuCIjHeyyIHVEzfsJc6FAYXPz3g_bT-gUt-IFQmHc1WTllF7CzmYB0g/s1600/Tinkering.+Photo+by+Belle+Benfield..png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhOo9OlsID6XlNFflh3cwL2Gcm2NQQFwo0hbQ9aOB5O3DHt7yc100QmdlSMF4dsaFkC-JSd_Io7hwWb6pwOJMo5POuCIjHeyyIHVEzfsJc6FAYXPz3g_bT-gUt-IFQmHc1WTllF7CzmYB0g/s1600/Tinkering.+Photo+by+Belle+Benfield..png" height="640" width="456" /></a></div>
<div style="background-color: white; margin-bottom: 1.35em; text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;"><span style="font-size: 15px; line-height: 21.299999237060547px;">Tinkering. Photo by Belle Benfield</span></span></div>
<div style="background-color: white; color: #444444; font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 15px; line-height: 21.299999237060547px; margin-bottom: 1.35em;">
It's a very relaxed atmosphere and people are here to enjoy themselves.</div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEggh9n0XXiOVmrpzkzwp40g43_D7nJgieXUFSN2vQ0twzYN6gZBN3oAeuVDrduJ-AnalUKd95Y9H1Lq7E354tmCxW9hm6Iu7YbP-g5TTVC8PQE9nSe27K5ETCpVpgSQ9Uvjd8O022-IFVR0/s1600/Flamenco+dancers..jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEggh9n0XXiOVmrpzkzwp40g43_D7nJgieXUFSN2vQ0twzYN6gZBN3oAeuVDrduJ-AnalUKd95Y9H1Lq7E354tmCxW9hm6Iu7YbP-g5TTVC8PQE9nSe27K5ETCpVpgSQ9Uvjd8O022-IFVR0/s1600/Flamenco+dancers..jpg" height="480" width="640" /></a></div>
<div style="background-color: white; margin-bottom: 1.35em; text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;"><span style="font-size: 15px; line-height: 21.299999237060547px;">Flamenco dancers</span></span><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgODh_bN4Y4MtxmjQj8vPzUMAT0UYV7ppgr_S3MM7gIK_YVEpM01AldmG8-0WWGS5tHLaHbmm8wJkx0keSwawJlo-LDHaFcHND2SEn1k0ygRxscH0Ju6CPxV4nZKiJduf8_q54Lz-STQkZ6/s1600/Flamenco.+Photo+by+Belle+Benfield..png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgODh_bN4Y4MtxmjQj8vPzUMAT0UYV7ppgr_S3MM7gIK_YVEpM01AldmG8-0WWGS5tHLaHbmm8wJkx0keSwawJlo-LDHaFcHND2SEn1k0ygRxscH0Ju6CPxV4nZKiJduf8_q54Lz-STQkZ6/s1600/Flamenco.+Photo+by+Belle+Benfield..png" height="452" width="640" /></a></div>
<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: 15px; line-height: 21.299999237060547px;">Flamenco. Photo by Belle Benfield</span><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEigWcNtqp81cmXnZmg95__80Gb6aHdhzDhuhf-NwwAHg75IaLZk802u47c5my6I7V9EA5Jk32DcOYCuVilVV8ewhzOW5eRlASZzzZ_aSwdkihCiKud5dA0HlMviz0nerhHZ6m9MAYOhuAKU/s1600/Hungarian+music..jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEigWcNtqp81cmXnZmg95__80Gb6aHdhzDhuhf-NwwAHg75IaLZk802u47c5my6I7V9EA5Jk32DcOYCuVilVV8ewhzOW5eRlASZzzZ_aSwdkihCiKud5dA0HlMviz0nerhHZ6m9MAYOhuAKU/s1600/Hungarian+music..jpg" height="480" width="640" /></a></div>
<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;"><span style="font-size: 15px; line-height: 21.299999237060547px;">Hungarian music</span></span></div>
<div style="background-color: white; color: #444444; font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 15px; line-height: 21.299999237060547px; margin-bottom: 1.35em;">
It's lovely hearing Gypsy music from Spain, Hungary and Romania and jazz Manouche. In the mornings l get up early and go to a cafe and treat myself to a grande creme. During the days it's very busy and it's exhausting talking to hundreds of people and having large cameras pointed intrusively at me, but it's an occupational hazard and l make the best of it. After long hot days in the sun, tinsmithing, it's nice to have something to eat in a cafe and then wander around listening to the music. Long after the sightseers have gone home some of the musicians continue to play for their own pleasure and the music takes on a new better quality.</div>
<div style="background-color: white; margin-bottom: 1.35em;">
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; color: #444444; font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 15px; line-height: 21.299999237060547px; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhWkOmDYLcxTSsowfS8iGad0wql4LcYQ1lRwXNHXqhy4E7PTjeRlzV8R1yUORPGdquTOX2er95zNdoTbUldYrJhxajMiifHZxCrEf4xp8RlHuGr77G1wRPuEdzBil_oc4GzQUR6cBodBkGK/s1600/Flamingoes,+photo+by+Belle+Benfield..png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhWkOmDYLcxTSsowfS8iGad0wql4LcYQ1lRwXNHXqhy4E7PTjeRlzV8R1yUORPGdquTOX2er95zNdoTbUldYrJhxajMiifHZxCrEf4xp8RlHuGr77G1wRPuEdzBil_oc4GzQUR6cBodBkGK/s1600/Flamingoes,+photo+by+Belle+Benfield..png" height="452" width="640" /></a></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;"><span style="font-size: 15px; line-height: 21.299999237060547px;">Flamingoes, photo by Belle Benfield</span></span></div>
</div>
<div style="background-color: white; margin-bottom: 1.35em;">
<div style="color: #444444; font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 15px; line-height: 21.299999237060547px;">
After a week here l'm exhausted but content, l've ridden my horse in the Mediteranean, nine months ago l rode him in the sea in Cumbria. Now it's good to be on my way again.</div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; color: #444444; font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 15px; line-height: 21.299999237060547px; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhpb0PXGkbkvvrmbPE-9Y8bbvXmq7CB9zq16ED3W7qcg9kN8EgKcQ7kfF-92X3r1rkfoE-dpP3PFVxOk7JUVSXK4dkhce92GQzLDuat3Q9JSrmpsCcDKE5Tas1ESAjr1ZN-yBPcla9g39z2/s1600/Leaving+Les+Saintes+Maries..jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhpb0PXGkbkvvrmbPE-9Y8bbvXmq7CB9zq16ED3W7qcg9kN8EgKcQ7kfF-92X3r1rkfoE-dpP3PFVxOk7JUVSXK4dkhce92GQzLDuat3Q9JSrmpsCcDKE5Tas1ESAjr1ZN-yBPcla9g39z2/s1600/Leaving+Les+Saintes+Maries..jpg" height="480" width="640" /></a></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-size: 15px; line-height: 21.299999237060547px;"><span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;">Leaving Les Saintes Maries</span></span></div>
</div>
Horsedrawn travelhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14193357957502327320noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1302769187538212420.post-6569522449051904012014-06-04T08:56:00.001-07:002014-06-13T00:44:00.622-07:00Post 35. La Camargue<br />
<div style="background-color: white; color: #444444; font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 15px; line-height: 21.299999237060547px; margin-bottom: 1.35em;">
10th May. I got to a lovely town called Sommieres, l stopped by the river near the arena or bullring and watched the young men learning how to be Razeteurs. The bull doesn't get hurt. The young men have to run pretty fast and try and pluck a ribbon from between the bulls horns; before the bull gets to them they have to jump out of the ring at the last moment, the bull is very athletic and good at jumping too.</div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgd2B47NWyLRL3z3bNL1H4LgS7zl1jIIiiEF40uX2kat0Tthg8Lk9up18QARQlhMRJtWXKhv5KjCZ00Zm3xV_g75wvJ_Nmite0ksxsMrDaoAR259PtzRf6qnf_FP_jPFmdXKP3HNabrgQgX/s1600/Poppies+near+St.+Laurent-d'Aigouze+en+Camargue..jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgd2B47NWyLRL3z3bNL1H4LgS7zl1jIIiiEF40uX2kat0Tthg8Lk9up18QARQlhMRJtWXKhv5KjCZ00Zm3xV_g75wvJ_Nmite0ksxsMrDaoAR259PtzRf6qnf_FP_jPFmdXKP3HNabrgQgX/s1600/Poppies+near+St.+Laurent-d'Aigouze+en+Camargue..jpg" height="560" width="640" /></a></div>
<div style="background-color: white; font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 15px; line-height: 21.299999237060547px; margin-bottom: 1.35em; text-align: center;">
Poppies near St. Laurent-d'Aigouze en Camargue</div>
<div style="background-color: white; color: #444444; font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 15px; line-height: 21.299999237060547px; margin-bottom: 1.35em;">
It's pleasantly hot, dry and dusty here, there are berries on some of the Mulberry trees, they taste a bit like blackberries. The nuts are ripening on the almond trees. I watched two ladies fishing and catching mullet near St. Laurent d'Aigouze, they had a stick fire and cooked them straight-away. Later they gave me two that they'd just caught and l cooked them, delicious.</div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjimtG1uRKAH7EVOXbQxsxBhA-nI8iLLKuizX_pb-wR8Rr3Q8f-d3gy2q4LKRN7uo4cCBggKqz41L9Kwf79rZICWsGUbVAlBe3LC17bjAj0LKSEmLGnsy-qlbOOVtN0eeQzVMd25Ofj4vpr/s1600/Cooking+mullet+for+dinner,+in+Camargue..jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjimtG1uRKAH7EVOXbQxsxBhA-nI8iLLKuizX_pb-wR8Rr3Q8f-d3gy2q4LKRN7uo4cCBggKqz41L9Kwf79rZICWsGUbVAlBe3LC17bjAj0LKSEmLGnsy-qlbOOVtN0eeQzVMd25Ofj4vpr/s1600/Cooking+mullet+for+dinner,+in+Camargue..jpg" height="640" width="480" /></a></div>
<div style="background-color: white; margin-bottom: 1.35em; text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;"><span style="font-size: 15px; line-height: 21.299999237060547px;">Cooking mullet for dinner, in Camargue</span></span></div>
<div style="background-color: white; color: #444444; font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 15px; line-height: 21.299999237060547px; margin-bottom: 1.35em;">
I've travelled 800 miles [1,300 km],since l arrived in Calais, l'm elated to reach the Mediterranean. It's been quite a journey. It's taken 14 weeks, but three of those weeks l didn't travel and l had the odd day off too.</div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj_WTqqavMkuFwySdGV5R84qVEYYcP-xgiFKC87wxJAodxeLtn5XpWOM4w8xgSx6r5N7TJZULays1zIcwZ4EToDdUXsppXXx_AIHyodW9PUGpl5Au7w8XKcDcQdzPoG9BXWUuKTB_XJE2hP/s1600/Stop'd+at+Quissac+for+a+coffee..jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj_WTqqavMkuFwySdGV5R84qVEYYcP-xgiFKC87wxJAodxeLtn5XpWOM4w8xgSx6r5N7TJZULays1zIcwZ4EToDdUXsppXXx_AIHyodW9PUGpl5Au7w8XKcDcQdzPoG9BXWUuKTB_XJE2hP/s1600/Stop'd+at+Quissac+for+a+coffee..jpg" height="480" width="640" /></a></div>
<div style="background-color: white; font-size: 15px; line-height: 21.299999237060547px; margin-bottom: 1.35em; text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;">Stop'd at Quissac for a coffee</span></div>
<div style="background-color: white; color: #444444; font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 15px; line-height: 21.299999237060547px; margin-bottom: 1.35em;">
If you drove here in a car you wouldn't experience much at all. You wouldn't smell the Jasmine as you went through Aigues-Mortes, you'd have trouble parking, you'd be on big boring roads, you'd have to fill up with petrol......</div>
<div style="background-color: white; color: #444444; font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 15px; line-height: 21.299999237060547px; margin-bottom: 1.35em;">
You wouldn't stop for the night down an old track and hear the birds singing, flamingoes flying over in the sunset, you wouldn't hear a thousand frogs croaking, you wouldn't sit round a stick fire cooking tender steaks of the taureau, [the bull], you wouldn't shake hands with the horseman who was proud of the huge grey mules he'd purchased from Spain...... if you worked out the time you spent earning the money to buy and run your car, the time you spent sitting in your car travelling to and from work, you'd be surprised to find you were also going about the same speed as my horse, but with more inconvenience and little real pleasure; if you factored in the noise pollution and general degradation to the environment, you might find that you were going backwards.</div>
<div style="background-color: white; color: #444444; font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 15px; line-height: 21.299999237060547px; margin-bottom: 1.35em;">
On one side of the track are tough Camargue ponies, suited to this harsh but beautiful landscape, they are lean and look well, [you don't see fat ponies here], on the other side of the track are the black bulls of the Camargue, with their long sharp horns. A grass snake slivers across the track.</div>
<div style="background-color: white; color: #444444; font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 15px; line-height: 21.299999237060547px; margin-bottom: 1.35em;">
13th May. The Rhone Delta. I cross a river on a ferry, l like the idea, 'the ferryman takes me to the other side.' Have you ever been to the other side?</div>
<div style="background-color: white; color: #444444; font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 15px; line-height: 21.299999237060547px; margin-bottom: 1.35em;">
The ferry goes every half an hour, l have quarter of an hour to wait so l have a drink in the cafe, the horse waits patiently in the road, he's not tied up, he just stands there nicely, a car pulls up behind him and forms a queue. I finish my coffee and the ferry arrives.</div>
<div style="background-color: white; font-size: 15px; line-height: 21.299999237060547px; margin-bottom: 1.35em;">
<div style="color: #444444; font-family: Calibri, sans-serif;">
The horse walks up the metal ramp onto the ferry, l think he quite likes the sound of his feet on the metal.The engines of the ferry are really noisy, the horse stands quietly. On the other side of the river the metal ramp slams and grinds noisily onto the tarmac and we continue on our way.</div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; color: #444444; font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjq5rWUi4_EaktCArac7SHol9OMcbV-g00JiMKT4c0OBrsqdCNM3old5O4N51107K2gn3wMEjQgi505JgLZ_9U-O3hMrT__C24hgqOYeIaLiwqk-IzqcGdyitZ0-Xf69xlWMxq8vZKo2YW5/s1600/Horse+is+not+too+bothered.-1.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjq5rWUi4_EaktCArac7SHol9OMcbV-g00JiMKT4c0OBrsqdCNM3old5O4N51107K2gn3wMEjQgi505JgLZ_9U-O3hMrT__C24hgqOYeIaLiwqk-IzqcGdyitZ0-Xf69xlWMxq8vZKo2YW5/s1600/Horse+is+not+too+bothered.-1.jpg" height="600" width="640" /></a></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;">Horse is not too bothered</span></div>
</div>
<div style="background-color: white; margin-bottom: 1.35em;">
<div style="color: #444444; font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 15px; line-height: 21.299999237060547px;">
The horse had never been on a ferry before like this. It's worth remembering that the instincts of a horse are never far from the surface; in times of perceived danger their instinct is to run as fast as they can. Not a great idea on a ferry whilst yoked up to a wagon. Just in case there was a problem l had a towel ready to put over his head, so that he wouldn't be able to see. It's hard to bolt when you can't see and what you can't see you don't worry about. Having success with horses is all about good preparation and training, before you take them to a show or on the road. Harvey Smith the show jumper said, 'you win your rosettes at home, you just collect them at the showground.'</div>
<div style="color: #444444; font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 15px; line-height: 21.299999237060547px;">
<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; color: #444444; font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 15px; line-height: 21.299999237060547px; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgJf8FJlgEyR1i2PEvaMXMWaiICBeL73OcXSNVszaf-Y5ICPVVfePGAzM9nHUmIHounhUjvfWrnGVQDMUwNw0Gx_u6pXPo3giuyFEMT5cxsuEIPeltdqUUcHnKmVI68dctVXj57CSn4gVFM/s1600/The+Rhone+Delta..jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgJf8FJlgEyR1i2PEvaMXMWaiICBeL73OcXSNVszaf-Y5ICPVVfePGAzM9nHUmIHounhUjvfWrnGVQDMUwNw0Gx_u6pXPo3giuyFEMT5cxsuEIPeltdqUUcHnKmVI68dctVXj57CSn4gVFM/s1600/The+Rhone+Delta..jpg" height="480" width="640" /></a></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;"><span style="font-size: 15px; line-height: 21.299999237060547px;">The Rhone Delta</span></span></div>
</div>
<div style="background-color: white; color: #444444; font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 15px; line-height: 21.299999237060547px; margin-bottom: 1.35em;">
There are Camargue ponies everywhere, along the sides of the road are 'Promenades a Cheval,' a couple of dozen horses will be tied up next to each other, all saddled up, patiently waiting to be ridden. An English 'horsey' person might describe the scene as, 'bored horses stand waiting to be ridden,' but they've got it the wrong way round. If you want to see bored ponies, go to an English riding establishment, watch the bored horses pawing the ground, fidgeting and pulling back on their lead ropes because they've never been taught how to be tied up and stand quietly. These horses know the value of standing quietly, conserving their energy. I doubt if any of these horses ever get laminitus. They're lean and fit. Not all the horses are Camargue ponies, some of the larger ones are Spanish.</div>
<div style="background-color: white; color: #444444; font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 15px; line-height: 21.299999237060547px; margin-bottom: 1.35em;">
For some days a strong wind blows from the north, maybe it's the Mistral, l don't know, it doesn't drive me any madder, despite its reputation. It does keep the midges and mosquitos away.<br />
17th May. Went to St.Gilles, set off at 7am and got there at 11am, 20 miles [33km], went past lots of rice paddies, needed some shopping, bought a plastic tool in the pharmacie for removing ticks. It works well. Chemists in rural France sell veterinary supplies too.</div>
<div style="background-color: white; color: #444444; font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 15px; line-height: 21.299999237060547px; margin-bottom: 1.35em;">
I'm back in the Garrigue, l see date palms, huge cacti flowering. The wind drops, the temperature rises to 32oc. l stop by a canal, l spend the afternoon reading on the bed, well dozing really, it's cooling down a bit by 8pm, l make some dinner, then play my pipes, at 9pm the midges come out for their dinner, that's me and the horse. I retire to the wagon, the midges are French and are too polite to come in the wagon, Scottish ones do and are much fiercer. The mosquitos don't bother me, they prefer the blood of ladies and children, the horse gets lots on him but he doesn't seem bothered. In the morning l get up early and go back into St.Gilles, l have a look around and find a nice piece of grass in the large car park. There's shade for the horse and the grass is still green, so the horse is happy. There's a tap nearby. I buy a piece of pizza and a small quiche Lorraine and that's me organised for the day. I lie on the bed reading and sipping water laced with lemon juice, the water tastes slightly brackish and the lemon disguises it. Apparently St. Jacques de Compestela also came here, but this isn't really a touristy place. I like it, it's slightly run down and no one bothers you.</div>
<div style="background-color: white; color: #444444; font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 15px; line-height: 21.299999237060547px; margin-bottom: 1.35em;">
After a couple of days l go back down to the Camargue and go to the Gypsy pilgrimage at Les Saintes Maries de la Mer<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjAFckjMv968xAVLnYhbKBLyFc106iLe4ZmpW6OUmKmdMD79yQCcGy-0uzRAx1MXhWvtJ3z_eAT8OczEaGa4DFbVi8s_VsWNWuJ16fZ61bxCuiU-w_k5M3yig6_53RBgmNrkrK3aFmikJKy/s1600/Horse+is+not+too+bothered.-1.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjAFckjMv968xAVLnYhbKBLyFc106iLe4ZmpW6OUmKmdMD79yQCcGy-0uzRAx1MXhWvtJ3z_eAT8OczEaGa4DFbVi8s_VsWNWuJ16fZ61bxCuiU-w_k5M3yig6_53RBgmNrkrK3aFmikJKy/s1600/Horse+is+not+too+bothered.-1.jpg" height="300" width="320" /></a></div>
</div>
Horsedrawn travelhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14193357957502327320noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1302769187538212420.post-46483223923961939392014-05-17T15:31:00.000-07:002014-05-20T09:18:52.028-07:00Post 34 The Mediterranean.<div style="background-color: white; color: #444444; font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 15px; line-height: 21.299999237060547px; margin-bottom: 1.35em;">
22nd April. I'm in a wild mediterranean landscape between the hills of the Cevennes and the Camargue. Fig trees, grape vines, olive trees, scrubby Holm oaks, Acacia and Thyme thrive here. I stopped at St. Hippolyte du Fort and fixed a shoe back on the horse, they've done 300 miles and the nails are starting to break. I'm stopped on some grass near a supermarket and a busy road, it's ages since l've stopped somewhere noisy. The ground is hard and it's difficult to bang the tether pin in. The people are friendly and stop and chat to me. In the morning l stroll over to the supermarket and get a few bits, l don't need much. I'm out of practise at shopping.</div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgzNQfskqCQGmzZifcaF4nQtLryEN4jzTT0JkFW52BHwPJMA3UdI9ixWlKneM5Xc5u-o_MxUutgqRK2czVxbr-v4ZeVCjGY8B5T5_wvr6mMbscyARAOE2vupXCcB9P1wAUHJsTNN7dUPMZw/s1600/Noisy+stop,+handy+for+supermarket..jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgzNQfskqCQGmzZifcaF4nQtLryEN4jzTT0JkFW52BHwPJMA3UdI9ixWlKneM5Xc5u-o_MxUutgqRK2czVxbr-v4ZeVCjGY8B5T5_wvr6mMbscyARAOE2vupXCcB9P1wAUHJsTNN7dUPMZw/s1600/Noisy+stop,+handy+for+supermarket..jpg" height="480" width="640" /></a></div>
<div style="background-color: white; color: #444444; font-size: 15px; line-height: 21.299999237060547px; margin-bottom: 1.35em; text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;">Noisy stop, handy for supermarket</span></div>
<div style="background-color: white; color: #444444; font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 15px; line-height: 21.299999237060547px; margin-bottom: 1.35em;">
I carry on to Pompignan. On the way a young Frenchwoman stops to chat, invites me to lunch and organises a field for me to stop in, really kind. She cooks a nice Canelloni for lunch. After lunch I'm tired and have a siesta and don't wake up until 2am! Heavy rain wakes me and lasts for an hour, afterwards the scent of the flowers is beautiful. The sound of crickets and frogs croaking is incredibly loud. This is another somnambulant village but it does have a cafe and a bakery.While l'm at Pompignan, l hear of some people near Lasalle, who have two mules, but need help to learn how to use them, so l go there.</div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjDVjZanM7crT04UqqptonUZo1SXAs_98bZQ5-UQTHinoGlWiGs9LG7tIeTez-uosfKY8-NpJsKqS1-WwmBWKe0ZTJnvRXeiQPRguFVSD4JjFghHUjcXRyTwIsR4d6ixEBFp5OdMXjKKniH/s1600/Nr+Pompignan,+22+April.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjDVjZanM7crT04UqqptonUZo1SXAs_98bZQ5-UQTHinoGlWiGs9LG7tIeTez-uosfKY8-NpJsKqS1-WwmBWKe0ZTJnvRXeiQPRguFVSD4JjFghHUjcXRyTwIsR4d6ixEBFp5OdMXjKKniH/s1600/Nr+Pompignan,+22+April.jpg" height="480" width="640" /></a></div>
<div style="background-color: white; margin-bottom: 1.35em; text-align: center;">
<span style="color: #444444; font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;"><span style="font-size: 15px; line-height: 21.299999237060547px;">Nr Pompignan, 22 April.jpg</span></span></div>
<div style="background-color: white; color: #444444; font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 15px; line-height: 21.299999237060547px; margin-bottom: 1.35em;">
It's a smallholding and about ten enthusiastic young people in their twenties are living there and trying to learn how to live off the land, most of them, l think come from cities. It's really nice to have their company and help them with the mules. One mule has an injured leg, so we leave him to recover. The other mule is pushy and ill-mannered at first, but soon learns to behave himself. We make good progress and the best mule is soon learning how to pull things around. They are lucky to have found such a good mule.</div>
<div style="background-color: white; color: #444444; font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 15px; line-height: 21.299999237060547px; margin-bottom: 1.35em;">
The hills here are full of sweet chestnut. In the autumn, harvesting the chestnuts is an important part of the year. Pedro the mule will be able pull large quantities of them back down the hill to the farmhouse. The chestnuts are sold by the kilo to a cooperative. The mule will also be able to bring back large quantities of firewood. Most of the houses in rural France appear to be heated by firewood, in the colder parts the carefully stacked firewood is impressive. A lot of people in France work as wood cutters.</div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjg6uGkui-7qqza1xhGhTbDq8dllpvncJfV_9KQguweUCCpkMMG3YkDFkbbpVtgozLBXfSPZ-ZQYkIKxAPxkbkgqcLntvlBWZpepL9LugQHL1-hiapMA7TZgJD75D2hjT1tWJhn_Kb4cSHZ/s1600/Pedro+was+ill-mannered,+but+he's+getting+nice+now..jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjg6uGkui-7qqza1xhGhTbDq8dllpvncJfV_9KQguweUCCpkMMG3YkDFkbbpVtgozLBXfSPZ-ZQYkIKxAPxkbkgqcLntvlBWZpepL9LugQHL1-hiapMA7TZgJD75D2hjT1tWJhn_Kb4cSHZ/s1600/Pedro+was+ill-mannered,+but+he's+getting+nice+now..jpg" height="480" width="640" /></a></div>
<div style="background-color: white; color: #444444; font-size: 15px; line-height: 21.299999237060547px; margin-bottom: 1.35em; text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;">Pedro was ill-mannered, but he's getting nice now</span></div>
<div style="background-color: white; margin-bottom: 1.35em;">
<div style="color: #444444; font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 15px; line-height: 21.299999237060547px;">
8th May. I've been stopped at the smallholding for two weeks and been showing some of the people here how to train the mule each day. The mule has really improved and can now be used for a variety of jobs. [It's not hard to train an equine to do simple jobs around the place. Ponies that have been 'outgrown' can easily learn to pull a cart or drag back firewood].</div>
<div style="color: #444444; font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 15px; line-height: 21.299999237060547px;">
<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; color: #444444; font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 15px; line-height: 21.299999237060547px; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiYBX50WyRoakRfBthTJReHrD-FB3yJsI_FbL93hBkrcD562YDsw1fuga-p4JlU77y-MRZt1-7nrPAJyU0mzwLC3Zodw9TtBT1z1W0MFbDF06QgvfD03Mq4XB4xATUIR8B9B612hQmdmfi0/s1600/Xavier,+Pedro+and+Sara+and+Leon..jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiYBX50WyRoakRfBthTJReHrD-FB3yJsI_FbL93hBkrcD562YDsw1fuga-p4JlU77y-MRZt1-7nrPAJyU0mzwLC3Zodw9TtBT1z1W0MFbDF06QgvfD03Mq4XB4xATUIR8B9B612hQmdmfi0/s1600/Xavier,+Pedro+and+Sara+and+Leon..jpg" height="472" width="640" /></a></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-size: 15px; line-height: 21.299999237060547px;"><span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;">Xavier, Pedro and Sara and Leon</span></span></div>
</div>
<div style="background-color: white; margin-bottom: 1.35em;">
<div style="color: #444444; font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 15px; line-height: 21.299999237060547px;">
Yesterday we used the mule to 'harrow' a piece of ground. That was a real success. The fields are tiny, terraces carved out of the steep hillside. We have got no suitable bridle or bit for the mule and because of the small fields and inexperience of his handlers, it is easier to have one person leading the mule and another one steering the implement for cultivating the ground. Although this is a bit inefficient, it's still a lot quicker than digging the ground by hand and the two people have to work as a team and help each other. It's more about quality of life here than being very efficient, but as they learn more they will improve.</div>
<div style="color: #444444; font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 15px; line-height: 21.299999237060547px;">
<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; color: #444444; font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 15px; line-height: 21.299999237060547px; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEghjuSRb9Xw-D59ZADMZwguB7yeY7fPk4ThNg1wgQ-wFruXZxIIBjqkwOcWDQNcw3KzZNy6xMDJ5-65k3DXNcI-zpSCKys2h5avQYkqBCa3bNV4XXVE7vC7tJv80Qirw7HxZXH_VbZAqcJ5/s1600/Panniers+are+good+to+carry+things..jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEghjuSRb9Xw-D59ZADMZwguB7yeY7fPk4ThNg1wgQ-wFruXZxIIBjqkwOcWDQNcw3KzZNy6xMDJ5-65k3DXNcI-zpSCKys2h5avQYkqBCa3bNV4XXVE7vC7tJv80Qirw7HxZXH_VbZAqcJ5/s1600/Panniers+are+good+to+carry+things..jpg" height="480" width="640" /></a></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;"><span style="font-size: 15px; line-height: 21.299999237060547px;">Panniers are good to carry things</span></span></div>
</div>
<div style="background-color: white; font-size: 15px; line-height: 21.299999237060547px; margin-bottom: 1.35em;">
<div style="color: #444444; font-family: Calibri, sans-serif;">
In southern France much of the land was cultivated using one or two mules and there are quite a lot of suitable implements lying around that are still serviceable. In Britain the available horsedrawn equipment is generally only suitable for heavy horses. It is possible in France to buy new equipment too, which is handy and some vineyards and farms still use mules.</div>
<div style="color: #444444; font-family: Calibri, sans-serif;">
<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; color: #444444; font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgzfH17EYs0x6EKQajjcXJwxbpDIXMF2op9TjGXJufNQN9PwqqDpW89AVwRSb43YHxz5o-dkSAWUgwrb9C_l15LGXyifefNQ0FvGbN-Rif4jSNCPY9Pmjz89pNKhBsLBcm7Vyfzr1MO4hHW/s1600/Leah+and+Xavier+using+a+harrow..jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgzfH17EYs0x6EKQajjcXJwxbpDIXMF2op9TjGXJufNQN9PwqqDpW89AVwRSb43YHxz5o-dkSAWUgwrb9C_l15LGXyifefNQ0FvGbN-Rif4jSNCPY9Pmjz89pNKhBsLBcm7Vyfzr1MO4hHW/s1600/Leah+and+Xavier+using+a+harrow..jpg" height="480" width="640" /></a></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;">Leah and Xavier using a harrow</span></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgKqjz9iM8Kank7THepO6q_Hhs4_IQyKNB61UjVqGldOgfXJ_V0HGjGyRK-00oIhNLOvS3PTWM14c-vnwmmFQiU07ireeoGLXw0V4WUij49sAaMFHzofTJ_7y5oF0ebA2beCbDJknXTUMCI/s1600/20140508_175552.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgKqjz9iM8Kank7THepO6q_Hhs4_IQyKNB61UjVqGldOgfXJ_V0HGjGyRK-00oIhNLOvS3PTWM14c-vnwmmFQiU07ireeoGLXw0V4WUij49sAaMFHzofTJ_7y5oF0ebA2beCbDJknXTUMCI/s1600/20140508_175552.jpg" height="480" width="640" /></a></div>
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhdErYdexiy0tO41w9cHt_pLOeqEJGDOBx0CqfsHELIq3v6y2IKQSTi_Yqv2FYUcOZ6GIp_cXlRsxEPfLJSZFNSK-lMSlSz29ruqLewOKOdwIeZ3BcSM77hpfn1ej-Nwuo_hps2SZbD17Rz/s1600/20140508_175648.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhdErYdexiy0tO41w9cHt_pLOeqEJGDOBx0CqfsHELIq3v6y2IKQSTi_Yqv2FYUcOZ6GIp_cXlRsxEPfLJSZFNSK-lMSlSz29ruqLewOKOdwIeZ3BcSM77hpfn1ej-Nwuo_hps2SZbD17Rz/s1600/20140508_175648.jpg" height="480" width="640" /></a></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;"><br /></span></div>
</div>
<div style="background-color: white; color: #444444; font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 15px; line-height: 21.299999237060547px; margin-bottom: 1.35em;">
Yesterday we prepared some ground to sow some maize, it was hard work for one mule, so we finished the job with my horse. As well as maize they are growing chick peas, vegetables, fruit, some barley for beer and some oats. The farm has a good spring and a good stream, the ground appears to be very fertile and l don't think the young people will have too much trouble managing. They are resourceful. They killed two goats this morning and a ram to eat.<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjGL9X1-O9GiRYUK57IGdyoI5QjAo5j1eEnGsqAMCjCGduVavtVS-iNyPgMVp6xUGw001iZ7RFwuc3J82_5mDYpoPm5Vm5HUAMAZ52bf3GpWcNiPC04wGjmJ8J5YKHsq18S_RqgETCYAvFU/s1600/20140508_175844.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjGL9X1-O9GiRYUK57IGdyoI5QjAo5j1eEnGsqAMCjCGduVavtVS-iNyPgMVp6xUGw001iZ7RFwuc3J82_5mDYpoPm5Vm5HUAMAZ52bf3GpWcNiPC04wGjmJ8J5YKHsq18S_RqgETCYAvFU/s1600/20140508_175844.jpg" height="480" width="640" /></a></div>
<br /></div>
<div style="background-color: white; color: #444444; font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 15px; line-height: 21.299999237060547px; margin-bottom: 1.35em;">
We have improvised some of the harness, using car safety belting. That works well for the traces. I'm really pleased how the young people are now getting on and using the best mule to do various jobs. They are pleased too, so tomorrow l shall head south down to La Camargue. It's been a real pleasure to stay at the farm and l feel like the horse and l have had a good rest.</div>
Horsedrawn travelhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14193357957502327320noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1302769187538212420.post-16656719906542827692014-05-17T15:21:00.001-07:002014-05-17T15:21:08.836-07:00Post 33 Tethering Horses.<div style="background-color: white; color: #444444; font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 15px; line-height: 21.299999237060547px; margin-bottom: 1.35em;">
Unless l'm offered a field with a good fence for the night, l need some way to secure my horse, so that he doesn't wander into the road, so l have to tether it. In the old days when armies had cavalry, when they were on a campaign, all the horses were tethered or picketed, even expensive chargers belonging to generals.</div>
<div style="background-color: white; color: #444444; font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 15px; line-height: 21.299999237060547px; margin-bottom: 1.35em;">
Some people might think it was a bad idea or cruel to tether a horse. Done well it is very good for a horse, it makes them much safer and calmer, prevents them getting injured.</div>
<div style="background-color: white; color: #444444; font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 15px; line-height: 21.299999237060547px; margin-bottom: 1.35em;">
l get him used to the feel of a rope around his legs, then a piece of plastic hose pipe and then a chain. This is a great thing to do, even if you never tether your horse, because when your horse feels something strange around its legs it is less likely to panic. If your horse is in harness it will not worry if it gets its leg over a trace, or if it gets its leg caught in some sheep fencing, it will wait for you to come and help it, if it isn't used to things round its legs, it may well break its leg as it frantically tries to release itself. A horse that is good on a tether learns to stand still and wait, it's also better at being shod.</div>
<div style="background-color: white; color: #444444; font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 15px; line-height: 21.299999237060547px; margin-bottom: 1.35em;">
Many young horses are put straight on a tether, without any preparation and after a struggle they learn all this themselves, without you doing anything, but there is a small risk. Until they are good on a tether, l tether them on level ground and not near anything that will injure them. I tie them up first in a yard for a few hours, until they are hungry, then tether them on some nice sweet grass, they soon get the hang of it and look forward to it. I keep an eye them.</div>
<div style="background-color: white; color: #444444; font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 15px; line-height: 21.299999237060547px; margin-bottom: 1.35em;">
After a while horses love their tether, they learn to use it to rub and massage themselves.</div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiuev1lC3LDNHL87bQ-vEeX2m2svCfW7XCRfxAb-d1E4jYtzDShCSN5h4A77EWOQc3SW5SS99606-V6ea6nKZc3V7dpZHvPyFErlMjns6W3hi7JtwNiAMYb27s1S1aoUgYl251owKI_juhl/s1600/Tether+pin+and+tether+chain..jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiuev1lC3LDNHL87bQ-vEeX2m2svCfW7XCRfxAb-d1E4jYtzDShCSN5h4A77EWOQc3SW5SS99606-V6ea6nKZc3V7dpZHvPyFErlMjns6W3hi7JtwNiAMYb27s1S1aoUgYl251owKI_juhl/s1600/Tether+pin+and+tether+chain..jpg" height="480" width="640" /></a></div>
<div style="background-color: white; margin-bottom: 1.35em; text-align: center;">
<span style="color: #444444; font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;"><span style="font-size: 15px; line-height: 21.299999237060547px;">Tether pin and tether chain</span></span></div>
<div style="background-color: white; color: #444444; font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 15px; line-height: 21.299999237060547px; margin-bottom: 1.35em;">
To tether them l have a length of chain about 25 feet [8m] long, it has three swivels in it, otherwise the chain will go solid when the horse rolls, and that's one way they can injure themselves. The peg, or tether pin, is 25mm in diameter,[1"] and about 600mm [2'] long, with a point on one end and a small head on the other. I may need a longer one on soft ground, on sandy ground l have to fix the chain to a shrub or tree.</div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiMkBqh6Pe-AMVtNQ5P2x2PDIlUuwAb2n3-QcEBSruAbd_WGulOoH8w3dsIW9OpDnAY7h02w63Q-tSWyOW5LLtLFLnSTusvkEfsuCifa2ITTQvJWrHxycBBGsD7TH14aiojXecTJKatbtZu/s1600/Swivel+and+clip+on+tether+chain..jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiMkBqh6Pe-AMVtNQ5P2x2PDIlUuwAb2n3-QcEBSruAbd_WGulOoH8w3dsIW9OpDnAY7h02w63Q-tSWyOW5LLtLFLnSTusvkEfsuCifa2ITTQvJWrHxycBBGsD7TH14aiojXecTJKatbtZu/s1600/Swivel+and+clip+on+tether+chain..jpg" height="480" width="640" /></a></div>
<div style="background-color: white; margin-bottom: 1.35em; text-align: center;">
<span style="color: #444444; font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;"><span style="font-size: 15px; line-height: 21.299999237060547px;">Swivel and clip on tether chain</span></span></div>
<div style="background-color: white; color: #444444; font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 15px; line-height: 21.299999237060547px; margin-bottom: 1.35em;">
To the end of the chain you need a neck strap, [l use a length of car safety belt], to which l fix a clip, or l can fix the chain to a head collar.</div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhJ95Z-TA98NHeTdqBN33SZRtTjDMr8LDtJ7EWi5rioUqJ-tIE-WxvCpn4HCoVJRDNjuP-3eZAuYqjBvAU3LM5x2E6kPXHceJxP4ysX3orbglfBDVnbc-8ADxHYhZP3LwHROzDPNCYsNuix/s1600/Neck+strap+made+from+car+safety+belt..jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhJ95Z-TA98NHeTdqBN33SZRtTjDMr8LDtJ7EWi5rioUqJ-tIE-WxvCpn4HCoVJRDNjuP-3eZAuYqjBvAU3LM5x2E6kPXHceJxP4ysX3orbglfBDVnbc-8ADxHYhZP3LwHROzDPNCYsNuix/s1600/Neck+strap+made+from+car+safety+belt..jpg" height="376" width="640" /></a></div>
<div style="background-color: white; margin-bottom: 1.35em; text-align: center;">
<span style="color: #444444; font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;"><span style="font-size: 15px; line-height: 21.299999237060547px;">Neck strap made from car safety belt</span></span></div>
<div style="background-color: white; color: #444444; font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 15px; line-height: 21.299999237060547px; margin-bottom: 1.35em;">
When l stop on the sides of roads there often isn't enough grass for the whole length of the chain, so l may have to move the tether several times, it depends on the quality of the grass. The grass near the hedge will normally be coarse and long and the horse will prefer the shorter sweeter grass near the road. I try to tether the horse near the back of the wagon at night time so that l can see it out of the window and make sure it's ok. It's lovely hearing the horse crunching grass at night time. The horse is glad to be near the wagon too, it feels safer. I'm careful not to tether the horse so close to the wagon that it can rub its bottom on it. He'll wait until 3 am to do it and wake me up.</div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgegQacYsSIh380Y6vZEo_cPtNT5eDcNACyB5dAS6384HqrV5hj8epRqSKR3wxA89K_wTWpPGtjD-FAeChd-iE1scDxV5ZvCgdgbzcCXiCZyaDLCjqDj7FQYG-2_y3VV3sdoQ4unwtm4coM/s1600/Horse+tethered+on+Blackheath,+London..jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgegQacYsSIh380Y6vZEo_cPtNT5eDcNACyB5dAS6384HqrV5hj8epRqSKR3wxA89K_wTWpPGtjD-FAeChd-iE1scDxV5ZvCgdgbzcCXiCZyaDLCjqDj7FQYG-2_y3VV3sdoQ4unwtm4coM/s1600/Horse+tethered+on+Blackheath,+London..jpg" height="480" width="640" /></a></div>
<div style="background-color: white; margin-bottom: 1.35em; text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;"><span style="font-size: 15px; line-height: 21.299999237060547px;">Horse tethered on Blackheath, London</span></span></div>
<div style="background-color: white; color: #444444; font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 15px; line-height: 21.299999237060547px; margin-bottom: 1.35em;">
Sometimes at horse fairs, children like to go round at night letting horses off their tethers. The younger horses will run around but the older more experienced horses tend to just stay near their own wagon. I remember one morning at Stow horse fair, in the Cotswolds, waking up and my old mare was lose, but she was just standing between the shafts waiting for me to get up, and that was lovely.</div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh0hZUnLSuR3hOdfzxLzHTooivd-5wjxF_SqydWG2rR52n4z2fUJfAq0VRwqO8u8sKfGoQx7lIgJjL_NZL3x9aHtcBiDq8HOJz3yEyXHppxrBLu1NvscoaTdXSKHNTe0pdMyb5qaDs45sgB/s1600/Belle+rolling+by+Soulby+Bridge,+whilst+tethered.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh0hZUnLSuR3hOdfzxLzHTooivd-5wjxF_SqydWG2rR52n4z2fUJfAq0VRwqO8u8sKfGoQx7lIgJjL_NZL3x9aHtcBiDq8HOJz3yEyXHppxrBLu1NvscoaTdXSKHNTe0pdMyb5qaDs45sgB/s1600/Belle+rolling+by+Soulby+Bridge,+whilst+tethered.jpg" height="480" width="640" /></a></div>
<div style="background-color: white; margin-bottom: 1.35em; text-align: center;">
Belle rolling by Soulby Bridge, whilst tethered</div>
<div style="background-color: white; color: #444444; font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 15px; line-height: 21.299999237060547px; margin-bottom: 1.35em;">
Other advantages of tethering a horse is that it learns to cross its legs over to move sideways and sidepass, a very good thing for a driving or riding horse. A horse that has been tethered alongside a road soon gets used to lorries and cars. A horse that ties up well and tethers well is more valuable. It's also possible to use pieces of grass that are not fenced.</div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiYGj_2hOUSnn8rJcyJveSIbGlQelNx7Zu5pkE56Jb_SVGunNTMS22uADMdF-rgAYsRPwoBPOW9GG7MO5vIJ06PkcjQDHYDQLq0WA4pOI1V-x4-a6lQ44bkHz_02uizW4QksXgjWY9T-8Bl/s1600/Horses+tethered+at+Appleby..jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiYGj_2hOUSnn8rJcyJveSIbGlQelNx7Zu5pkE56Jb_SVGunNTMS22uADMdF-rgAYsRPwoBPOW9GG7MO5vIJ06PkcjQDHYDQLq0WA4pOI1V-x4-a6lQ44bkHz_02uizW4QksXgjWY9T-8Bl/s1600/Horses+tethered+at+Appleby..jpg" height="480" width="640" /></a></div>
<div style="background-color: white; margin-bottom: 1.35em; text-align: center;">
<span style="color: #444444; font-family: Calibri, sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: 15px; line-height: 21.299999237060547px;">Horses tethered at Appleby</span></span></div>
Horsedrawn travelhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14193357957502327320noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1302769187538212420.post-35649576506517292202014-05-09T03:34:00.001-07:002014-05-20T09:08:55.779-07:00Post 32. Les Gorges du Tarn et Les Cevennes<div style="background-color: white; color: #444444; font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 15px; line-height: 21.299999237060547px; margin-bottom: 1.35em;">
14th of April. 12 miles, [19km]. Hot and sunny again. I went through the village of le Messegros, bought some food and sat outside a cafe and had a coffee. I chatted to the secretary of le Marie and she let me use le wifi to check my emails. It's really nice to get my emails and sometimes people make kind comments about my blog, which l appreciate. The villages in this part are very old and interesting. A Flemish couple invited me to lunch, I enjoy having nice food with people and while we're talking often learn useful information about the locality and the route I'm taking.<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjhWSVWvlPnZ9kphahpEOcMu35a_rrYdxzmyDuHF4hI9CwfVEnRTnfDyO-EUisU5Q4TD8ye2XB8tCeIjtrpxNNL1eaCY7A42PGgQsNN5AMhO2-FcHZLBUss1zTBSV-kT3hA1iMF-3Kgp3qE/s1600/It's+a+1,450+feet+%5B441m%5D+drop+down+to+river..jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em; text-align: center;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjhWSVWvlPnZ9kphahpEOcMu35a_rrYdxzmyDuHF4hI9CwfVEnRTnfDyO-EUisU5Q4TD8ye2XB8tCeIjtrpxNNL1eaCY7A42PGgQsNN5AMhO2-FcHZLBUss1zTBSV-kT3hA1iMF-3Kgp3qE/s1600/It's+a+1,450+feet+%5B441m%5D+drop+down+to+river..jpg" height="480" width="640" /></a><br />
<span style="color: black; font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif; text-align: center;">It's a 1,450 feet drop down to the river</span></div>
<div style="background-color: white; color: #444444; font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 15px; line-height: 21.299999237060547px; margin-bottom: 1.35em;">
I carried on and stopped at Le Point Sublime, which has really great views of the gorge and river Tarn, 1,450 feet below [442m]. In the morning it was cold and when the sun came over the hill l stood warming myself and watched some birds of prey rising on the thermals and no doubt warming themselves too. I'm 700 miles south of Calais.</div>
<div style="background-color: white; color: #444444; font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 15px; line-height: 21.299999237060547px; margin-bottom: 1.35em;">
15th April. I descended the gorge to the village of La Malene. The road was steep and winding.<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjw6ZCF6dvcjQ1CPluBZyEKJjU77IOa5JWAJDhA4PTZWCFksQS_xDyk2N0fIMU7g_b6PGqcL5plsM2HxrQniy39twjZjP1n7V0B8_WOg7po3gpVqFG3ynit6bntyaxxvQExTQbIJqbSXBeK/s1600/Roads+are+quite+winding..jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em; text-align: center;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjw6ZCF6dvcjQ1CPluBZyEKJjU77IOa5JWAJDhA4PTZWCFksQS_xDyk2N0fIMU7g_b6PGqcL5plsM2HxrQniy39twjZjP1n7V0B8_WOg7po3gpVqFG3ynit6bntyaxxvQExTQbIJqbSXBeK/s1600/Roads+are+quite+winding..jpg" height="480" width="640" /></a><br />
<span style="color: black; font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif; text-align: center;">Roads are quite winding</span></div>
<div style="background-color: white; font-size: 15px; line-height: 21.299999237060547px; margin-bottom: 1.35em;">
<div style="color: #444444; font-family: Calibri, sans-serif;">
I had to wind the brake on hard.</div>
<div style="color: #444444; font-family: Calibri, sans-serif;">
<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; color: #444444; font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgVmBfFZXwnPMFP5H1j8LftxKmP0um9wZo6Xs36sK9twu6j4vR1liiu8wanBGj0AshFwxZCpvmUKxi1JCjjZd1rh-hF4rZ9IjzYVqUs-jcHq742SiuKYnK1FIscpAkNgRKRid_ojM59H6jR/s1600/Gorges+du+Tarn.+15th+April..jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgVmBfFZXwnPMFP5H1j8LftxKmP0um9wZo6Xs36sK9twu6j4vR1liiu8wanBGj0AshFwxZCpvmUKxi1JCjjZd1rh-hF4rZ9IjzYVqUs-jcHq742SiuKYnK1FIscpAkNgRKRid_ojM59H6jR/s1600/Gorges+du+Tarn.+15th+April..jpg" height="480" width="640" /></a></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;">Gorges du Tarn. 15th April</span></div>
</div>
<div style="background-color: white; color: #444444; font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 15px; line-height: 21.299999237060547px; margin-bottom: 1.35em;">
The horse can hold the wagon back a bit, using the britchin of his harness. If you didn't have a brake as well, the weight of the loaded wagon, 850kg, would push the horse too much and he'd lose his footing and you might have an accident.</div>
<div style="background-color: white; color: #444444; font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 15px; line-height: 21.299999237060547px; margin-bottom: 1.35em;">
Down in the gorge it's really hot and sunny.<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh3fBwHiDAZ_5tqoluxuvnQOWWOyQi4NJ0MlaSa8tDeBOAyt2GPYIUuDwhK0MzeuZiK1eWA7iS6osiZS69kAZ0FgLwHBV5-m-1LiOI_n-AROwo5n3ouQAcKxc4i_1R2qFpvRjRgBGBHFKML/s1600/Elm+brakeblock,+almost+worn+out..jpg" imageanchor="1" style="font-family: 'Times New Roman'; margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em; text-align: center;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh3fBwHiDAZ_5tqoluxuvnQOWWOyQi4NJ0MlaSa8tDeBOAyt2GPYIUuDwhK0MzeuZiK1eWA7iS6osiZS69kAZ0FgLwHBV5-m-1LiOI_n-AROwo5n3ouQAcKxc4i_1R2qFpvRjRgBGBHFKML/s1600/Elm+brakeblock,+almost+worn+out..jpg" height="480" width="640" /></a><br />
<span style="color: black; font-family: 'Times New Roman'; text-align: center;">Elm brakelock, almost worn out</span></div>
<div style="background-color: white; font-size: 15px; line-height: 21.299999237060547px; margin-bottom: 1.35em;">
<div style="color: #444444; font-family: Calibri, sans-serif;">
The road that winds its way along the gorge is narrow, there are huge, intimidating overhangs of rock, that almost touch the wagon roof, narrow low tunnels, that thankfully are not very long, just high enough to get through, l'm glad l have a good horse, a spooky, erratic horse would be exhausting to drive along here, there is little margin for error. After 15 miles the horse and l are getting tired, l'm really glad when l pass a campsite and they say it's fine for me to stay. It's 13 Euros, well that's fine, it's a lovely place, l'll have a good shower and sit on the terrace of the cafe and use le wifi. The people are very kind and l'm glad to be stopped. In all the years l've travelled l don't think l've ever stopped in a campsite before and l don't think many would let me. It's the first time l've paid to stop somewhere. I had a lovely nights rest and in the morning, the lady, Emilie, who runs the place took photos and gave me a bottle of the local wine.</div>
<div style="color: #444444; font-family: Calibri, sans-serif;">
<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; color: #444444; font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgK2AsJJsIHJPNKcTfUH1IknkQYBE6mwl21-P8TrC85xefcK0HWYZqE8tmRvPYl9AT0bg6t1UPw7dVKN7P2FZJAEqxPnLVhbYm4nE_lzG9FN7kGC79yNmLz0U0vdahyuT-yfoRLsmyrE_7C/s1600/Tunnels+through+gorge,+just+higher+than+wagon..jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgK2AsJJsIHJPNKcTfUH1IknkQYBE6mwl21-P8TrC85xefcK0HWYZqE8tmRvPYl9AT0bg6t1UPw7dVKN7P2FZJAEqxPnLVhbYm4nE_lzG9FN7kGC79yNmLz0U0vdahyuT-yfoRLsmyrE_7C/s1600/Tunnels+through+gorge,+just+higher+than+wagon..jpg" height="480" width="640" /></a></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;">Tunnels through gorge, just higher than wagon</span></div>
</div>
<div style="background-color: white; color: #444444; font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 15px; line-height: 21.299999237060547px; margin-bottom: 1.35em;">
16th April. I carried on up the gorge another 11 miles, [17km]. The gorge is so dramatic and imposing it tires me. Again there was nowhere to stop so I asked at the municipal camping of Ispagnac. They were also very friendly and welcoming, 'pas de problem.' They charged me 9 euros, which is fine, l'm glad to stop, the grass is good and l don't have to look for water and l can go up to the village on my own without the horse. I'm the only person at the campsite! Usually the weather isn't so good at this time of year. This year is unusually warm. I've been very lucky to be able to stop at these campsites and it's only possible because there is no one about.</div>
<div style="background-color: white; color: #444444; font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 15px; line-height: 21.299999237060547px; margin-bottom: 1.35em;">
Tarateeno still has remnants of his winter coat.l pulled some long soft and downy bits off his belly, l measured them, 8 inches long [200mm]. That's how he keeps warm in winter.<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgtDh4jG5pDmC4e4J2tLe3IPvrEcrlUHUh3rq4I3I-UiFcRdJZl43iq6td9lMAx4cTSmxk2HXIVIdsUSUbzvkX6Rc55hMHQOqnzlNaHw7VoI51aiXVpRHLjx7bHlV-5zRdTyGKQCUgQKgPb/s1600/8+inches+%5B200mm%5D+of+winter+coat..jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em; text-align: center;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgtDh4jG5pDmC4e4J2tLe3IPvrEcrlUHUh3rq4I3I-UiFcRdJZl43iq6td9lMAx4cTSmxk2HXIVIdsUSUbzvkX6Rc55hMHQOqnzlNaHw7VoI51aiXVpRHLjx7bHlV-5zRdTyGKQCUgQKgPb/s1600/8+inches+%5B200mm%5D+of+winter+coat..jpg" height="480" width="640" /></a></div>
<div style="background-color: white; color: #444444; font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 15px; line-height: 21.299999237060547px; margin-bottom: 1.35em;">
17th April. Went through Florac, a small town, climbed 500 metres, [1,640 feet] to an altitude of 1020 metres, [3,346 feet]. [It's almost as high as Ben Nevis in Scotland, the highest mountain in Britain]. It was a long old pull, 13 miles, [22km] in hot sunshine, the horse was tired and dripping with sweat from the exertion, but at the top of the hill we pulled onto a big piece of rough ground and after 10 minutes his flanks had stopped heaving and his breathing was back to normal, he's fit. That's the toughest hill we've had so far. There is a great sense of achievement getting up a hill like that. About a mile from the top l got 6 gallons, 30 litres of water from a spring. When we got to the top l unyoked the horse and put a little water in the bucket, just to wet his lips and rinse his mouth, then when he'd cooled down l gave him a whole bucket.</div>
<div style="background-color: white; color: #444444; font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 15px; line-height: 21.299999237060547px; margin-bottom: 1.35em;">
I'm on a ridge, called the Corniche des Cevennes, it's dry like a desert, scrubby pine trees and rough stony grazing, inhabited mainly by lizards. This bit is a desolate lonely place; with a bit of luck a beautiful shepherdess will turn up with some goats and l'll share some wine and food with her and see how it goes on from there, it gets cold at night up here.</div>
<div style="background-color: white; color: #444444; font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 15px; line-height: 21.299999237060547px; margin-bottom: 1.35em;">
I did read a book once by the writer Robert Louis Stephenson; he described coming up here with a donkey, an anesse, called Modestine, he had trouble to get her to go. Happily my horse walked up here quite willingly without any encouragement with a stick or goad. In the old days all sorts of methods were resorted to, to get up a hill, if your horse laid down in the shafts and refused to go on, you might try lighting a fire under it, we still have the expression today, 'light a fire under it,' but people have forgotten its origins.</div>
<div style="background-color: white; color: #444444; font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 15px; line-height: 21.299999237060547px; margin-bottom: 1.35em;">
I woke up in the morning refreshed, l looked out the window and the horse called a cheery greeting, that's good enough for me. It's quite cold in the mornings, l lit the stove and made tea, scrambled eggs and toast.</div>
<div style="background-color: white; color: #444444; font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 15px; line-height: 21.299999237060547px; margin-bottom: 1.35em;">
Despite his exertions yesterday, the horse looks great and l'm really pleased with him.</div>
<div style="background-color: white; margin-bottom: 1.35em;">
<div style="color: #444444; font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 15px; line-height: 21.299999237060547px;">
After breakfast, l went back to bed and read a book for the whole day, l thought we'd have the day off, the horse didn't mind. I moved his tether a couple of times, gave him some bread and he's drunk most of the water, so l'll head off in the morning. I wonder what l'll find down the road?</div>
<div style="color: #444444; font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 15px; line-height: 21.299999237060547px; margin-bottom: 1.35em;">
I set off at 8am, it's cold and my hands are a little numb, the horse walks along briskly for a while to warm up. In the night a chilly wind got up, reminding me l was 3,400 feet up and the weather can change suddenly.This is really lovely wild country, huge ranges of hills as far as the eye can see. l get to the village of le Pompidou, the villages have a wild remote feel about them too. l water the horse at the spring. These villages only exist because of the spring, there are no streams in this part . At 3,400 feet the weather can be bad even in April, you wouldn't want to be in a tent. The farmers don't bring their livestock up this high until later in the year. I've been very lucky with the weather, it's been a gamble.</div>
<div style="color: #444444; font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 15px; line-height: 21.299999237060547px; margin-bottom: 1.35em;">
People sometimes confuse this type of travelling with a camping holiday and they think it looks nice and romantic and an easy going free sort of life. Well it can be quite easy if you're used to it, if you know what you're doing, but there can be very tough times too. If you're not used to this way of life you might find it pretty tough, challenging, uncomfortable and at times scary. Constantly moving, not knowing where you were going to stop. There would be times when you felt unsafe and insecure. You have to learn to think differently, sieze chances, be resilient, have the impudence to dare and to leave most of what you learned before behind. If you can adapt to it the rewards are great. It's a life of extremes.</div>
<div style="color: #444444; font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 15px; line-height: 21.299999237060547px; margin-bottom: 1.35em;">
I stopped the night in a big layby in a pine wood, there was enough good grass for one horse. A nice French woman came by and chatted to me and said she had just built herself a wagon and was hoping to train her horse to pull it, it was good talking to her, who knows we may meet on the road one day? I asked her if she could take my water container in her car and fill it at a spring a mile away. This she kindly did, l thought it would be good practise for her too.<br />
My container for the horse holds 25 litres, that's 25 kilos, quite heavy to lift with one arm, and very heavy to carry more than a few yards. If you're 4 stone overweight, you're carrying that all the time, you may feel tired.</div>
<div style="color: #444444; font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 15px; line-height: 21.299999237060547px; margin-bottom: 1.35em;">
Some French people stopped and chatted to me.They asked me where l'd stop the night and were surprised that l was stopping there, 'camping sauvage' is not something most of them would do. If you have a van or camper, stop in the smaller towns, where they have parking for you and a tap, it's safer and more acceptable, l do it myself sometimes if there's some grass for the horse. I like waking in a village and getting a croissant for breakfast.<br />
A bit later some Spanish people came and chatted, they were very kind and friendly, if the people of Spain are like them l would like it there.</div>
<div style="color: #444444; font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 15px; line-height: 21.299999237060547px; margin-bottom: 1.35em;">
Ticks are a problem in the countryside, lt's important to keep your skin covered when walking through long vegetation. Sometimes the horse gets lots of them, especially round his muzzle. I loathe the way they bury their heads into your skin and spend days drinking your blood.</div>
<div style="color: #444444; font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 15px; line-height: 21.299999237060547px; margin-bottom: 1.35em;">
I go past a memorial to resistance fighters who died in the war, interestingly the first three dozen on the list are Germans, anti-fascists, as well as French names, there are also Spanish and Russians.</div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhGwAisSzMHdFEdUzWlvORFGyJ_lO6l5KohQJrJOzU2MuhZiE-cJDkfMC585m813cVvq5Dwcov87tIRaqtuirgqbmPxBGUsN6jQaqLhzqOFKFVa5SThm72PpswsnowpoLtm521rrg-6KOpp/s1600/St+Chely-du-Tarn..jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhGwAisSzMHdFEdUzWlvORFGyJ_lO6l5KohQJrJOzU2MuhZiE-cJDkfMC585m813cVvq5Dwcov87tIRaqtuirgqbmPxBGUsN6jQaqLhzqOFKFVa5SThm72PpswsnowpoLtm521rrg-6KOpp/s1600/St+Chely-du-Tarn..jpg" height="480" width="640" /></a></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 1.35em; text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;"><span style="font-size: 15px; line-height: 21.299999237060547px;">St Chely-du-Tarn</span></span></div>
<div style="color: #444444; font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 15px; line-height: 21.299999237060547px; margin-bottom: 1.35em;">
I'm often asked how much does a horse drink? This depends on several factors. How wet is the grass, was the dew heavy, is it salty grass beside the sea, how hot the sun is, is there a dry wind, how fit your horse is, the size of your horse, how hard is it working.....? Some horses seem to need more than others. A thirsty horse can drink 3 to 5 gallons, [11-19 litres] straight-away.</div>
<div style="color: #444444; font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 15px; line-height: 21.299999237060547px; margin-bottom: 1.35em;">
A litre of water weighs 1 kilo, it's heavy, you don't want to carry it more than you have to. I prefer stopping places that have water, but if l know they haven't, l get some on the way at a nearby house or farm. Very few people will refuse a horse water, although l have had it happen. When it's raining, horses get enough moisture from the wet grass. One summer it didn't stop raining, l didn't mind not having to find water for the horse, but it was hard to find dry firewood. As much as possible l try to water the horse on the way, it's easier.</div>
<div style="color: #444444; font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 15px; line-height: 21.299999237060547px; margin-bottom: 1.35em;">
How much water does a person need? I generally make sure l've at least one gallon [5 litres], that's enough for washing hands, drinking, cooking some rice and washing up, l can manage on less if l have to, l prefer to have two gallons, then l have enough to have a strip wash and a shave. I'm careful about the water l drink, but for washing most streams in hilly country will do, you usually get a pretty good idea by looking. See what's growing in the stream, is there rubbish in it, is there a farm or village above it, walk up the stream a bit, see if there's a dead sheep in it. If the horse doesn't drink it , it's bad.</div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; color: #444444; font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 15px; line-height: 21.299999237060547px; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg5MJHWistPx5BHATaQRCAy3_uBfjQESz23eYuiliOJPGqvnFtRhrF2vDAPqJ8h1dC9bUnStrdtsqvtWHJ94dBbhXRlYdNE_M41zu0-okoT4Y6rM002ObfsptgqmFjt-p1EUAXPB7zVMIhJ/s1600/Castelbouc,+Gorges+du+Tarn..jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg5MJHWistPx5BHATaQRCAy3_uBfjQESz23eYuiliOJPGqvnFtRhrF2vDAPqJ8h1dC9bUnStrdtsqvtWHJ94dBbhXRlYdNE_M41zu0-okoT4Y6rM002ObfsptgqmFjt-p1EUAXPB7zVMIhJ/s1600/Castelbouc,+Gorges+du+Tarn..jpg" height="480" width="640" /></a></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 1.35em; text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;"><span style="font-size: 15px; line-height: 21.299999237060547px;">Castelbouc, Gorges du Tarn</span></span></div>
<div style="color: #444444; font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 15px; line-height: 21.299999237060547px; margin-bottom: 1.35em;">
Sunday, 20th April. I came over the Col St.Pierre and suddenly l'm in a different country, the hill is covered in Holm oaks and l know l'm not far from the Mediteranean. I descend a steep winding hill to St. Jean-du-Gard, l stop and buy some bread then carry on to a bridge over the river Salendrinque, unusually there is access and rough grass to the river, usually there are signs saying keep out, but nothing here, so l pull over and make myself at home. I saw up some dead branches of walnut and light my stove, it's not very cold but it's started to rain. It rains all afternoon, l'm glad, it'll be good for the grass.l get a couple of visitors, nice ones, they chat about horses and as they speak slower here l can understand better, even though they pronouce some words very differently from further north. The people down here seem more forgiving about the way l speak French.<br />
I'm only 600 feet [180 metres] above sea level now, the grass here is 2 months ahead of what it would be in England. There are roses out in gardens, the leaves are out on the walnut, sweet chestnut and acacia, the thyme is flowering and l've seen bamboo with stems as thick as your wrist.</div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; color: #444444; font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 15px; line-height: 21.299999237060547px; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjXfjrqaareJOa7ToVwQp3uNFPm402eJPoHj1Lq95h2icQKuEEMUy-i35z5EIsUSF6JPOuyQThRSX1DCV7Y9UMvXF6RAE0fo_ML0zY3Mop7kKoqR2xDMgGnGFL_bufKp6xu-06nKqa0FDGA/s1600/Les+Cevennes..jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjXfjrqaareJOa7ToVwQp3uNFPm402eJPoHj1Lq95h2icQKuEEMUy-i35z5EIsUSF6JPOuyQThRSX1DCV7Y9UMvXF6RAE0fo_ML0zY3Mop7kKoqR2xDMgGnGFL_bufKp6xu-06nKqa0FDGA/s1600/Les+Cevennes..jpg" height="480" width="640" /></a></div>
<div style="color: #444444; font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 15px; line-height: 21.299999237060547px; margin-bottom: 1.35em;">
<br /></div>
<div style="color: #444444; font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 15px; line-height: 21.299999237060547px; margin-bottom: 1.35em;">
In the last five weeks l've crossed a range of huge hills, 300 miles of them, and l feel great and elated to be down here. Now l need to find somewhere else to go.</div>
</div>
Horsedrawn travelhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14193357957502327320noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1302769187538212420.post-61755874937624635602014-04-16T05:22:00.003-07:002014-04-16T05:22:44.407-07:00Post 31 The Aveyron.<div style="background-color: white; color: #444444; font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 15px; line-height: 21.299999237060547px; margin-bottom: 1.35em;">
It's hot and sunny here, has been for sometime, huge deep valleys, medieval villages that cling precariously to the hillsides. Rich red wine that goes with the colour of the soil. Cherry blossom in the hills, oregano, thyme and marjoram in the pastures, honey vinegar, walnut wine that tastes like cake, chestnut butter to spread on rock hard bread. [I eat the chestnut spread with a spoon and give the bread to the horse]. Stopped with Laurent, he makes and restores roulottes.</div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjqs6dRg2brR8ADMYjNOVa3JFGrE8Ca54qlkTlN4Cg3Xfb0rWYXfPk65FjUQQ7_YtoaQtWrSga1LYCoG1mQhs8NWUYwHPS_tgXOngXtlr0zCTOB425gKOvERfPWOSHgce7mMQMUBDO9jAGA/s1600/Roulotte+suitable+to+be+pulled+by+horse..jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjqs6dRg2brR8ADMYjNOVa3JFGrE8Ca54qlkTlN4Cg3Xfb0rWYXfPk65FjUQQ7_YtoaQtWrSga1LYCoG1mQhs8NWUYwHPS_tgXOngXtlr0zCTOB425gKOvERfPWOSHgce7mMQMUBDO9jAGA/s1600/Roulotte+suitable+to+be+pulled+by+horse..jpg" height="480" width="640" /></a></div>
<div style="background-color: white; font-size: 15px; line-height: 21.299999237060547px; margin-bottom: 1.35em; text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;">Roulotte suitable to be pulled by a horse</span></div>
<div style="background-color: white; color: #444444; font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 15px; line-height: 21.299999237060547px; margin-bottom: 1.35em;">
Put the wagon in his yard and horse in a field. In the evening we sat around outside and ate spicy merguez sausages, cooked over the hot coals of the fire. Frederick, who plays bagpipes came round and we played a few tunes. Pernod and petanque, [a ball game], the pernod leaves you cataractic in the morning and trying to wonder what you were doing, then a French farmer comes to complain about a horse in his field, l grab his unwilling hand and shake it and tell him l'll get it 'toute suite.' I don't feel guilty, he'd rob me if he got the chance and pretend he hadn't.</div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgPWeT236DjXcABCcnzHEAB35i4si47hGaKSs3rk38HKWqx_XrMMpFw033e7TAhnZg7e7aFqXpjPn92h2n_QP_Lh-2YvuB4Xrns1DMzT5eqrVqnZ5PR0DeRJL8roDG5VRfsgKFJ55H9GVMu/s1600/20140410_183253.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgPWeT236DjXcABCcnzHEAB35i4si47hGaKSs3rk38HKWqx_XrMMpFw033e7TAhnZg7e7aFqXpjPn92h2n_QP_Lh-2YvuB4Xrns1DMzT5eqrVqnZ5PR0DeRJL8roDG5VRfsgKFJ55H9GVMu/s1600/20140410_183253.jpg" height="480" width="640" /></a></div>
<div style="background-color: white; color: #444444; font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 15px; line-height: 21.299999237060547px; margin-bottom: 1.35em;">
<br /></div>
<div style="background-color: white; color: #444444; font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 15px; line-height: 21.299999237060547px; margin-bottom: 1.35em;">
The horse likes to eat good food too, and like the French farmer is thinking about the next meal while eating this one. You have to feed your horse any way you can. Many times in England l've stopped and tethered my horse on a wide verge beside a road and people have slowed down in their cars and shouted, 'buy a field you f...ing gyppo bas...d. It hardens you, but it doesn't make it ok. If l bought a field l'd be stuck there, l'd soon be putting a sign up, 'keep out.' I don't want that, l like to travel.</div>
<div style="background-color: white; color: #444444; font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 15px; line-height: 21.299999237060547px; margin-bottom: 1.35em;">
There's always been conflict between people who are nomadic and those who are settled. The settled people produce paperwork to say they own the land, even though the nomads might have been using it for centuries or more. I try to find stopping places where l don't get noticed, where l'll be left in peace, but it's often not possible.</div>
<div style="background-color: white; color: #444444; font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 15px; line-height: 21.299999237060547px; margin-bottom: 1.35em;">
<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi58fI4OQesnJ4pioK5FpQTOIun_UFgPe_kE23Fz8RpfwI1JAlv5G27b_pWy4U8_aoRDJAs3ixKRgzpiDNggQoLaQ232DJ3GxqL7qH9p4wSDXpx4_C-2RbhIVIILvUpnRLZcj_YwKo0AUf_/s1600/20140413_082847.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi58fI4OQesnJ4pioK5FpQTOIun_UFgPe_kE23Fz8RpfwI1JAlv5G27b_pWy4U8_aoRDJAs3ixKRgzpiDNggQoLaQ232DJ3GxqL7qH9p4wSDXpx4_C-2RbhIVIILvUpnRLZcj_YwKo0AUf_/s1600/20140413_082847.jpg" height="480" width="640" /></a></div>
<div style="background-color: white; color: #444444; font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 15px; line-height: 21.299999237060547px; margin-bottom: 1.35em;">
13th April.10 miles [17km] up over the Causse de Severac. A long climb up to the Col de Lagarde 810 metres [2657 feet]. Dry limestone ,waterless hills, thousands of cowslips. Got to Severac, it's a charmless place, bought a cake, a 'toi et moi,' a sort of eclair, coffee one end, chocolat the other. Watered the horse at the fountain, carried on, got some water from a house for me, the old man who gave it to me said he preferred white wine to water.</div>
<div style="background-color: white; color: #444444; font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 15px; line-height: 21.299999237060547px; margin-bottom: 1.35em;">
It's quite a steep hill out of the town, it's Palm Sunday and old couples are driving up to the cemetary to put offerings on their relatives graves, the road is narrow and they are delayed momentarily by a horse plodding up the hill, several of them wave happily to me, but the last car, an old man with his wife, beeps his horn angrily and shakes his fist. I expect if he'd seen a man with a beard riding a donkey, he'd have been unpleasant to him too.</div>
<div style="background-color: white; color: #444444; font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 15px; line-height: 21.299999237060547px; margin-bottom: 1.35em;">
A bit further on and l stopped at the source of the Aveyron. I drank the water and l'm still alive, it tasted much better than the tap water. It was a good place to stop for the night.</div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgDebDmDoY0wCamj924KpJGuLHLaNooYkNOTKZ1NF2Illlh5HdDP_LGfQQ-YFxlKhRptBuc1ctWOCqDiapePPIELNn63cSqLd5Z28PWMswRjR5hMGYDwqhIUbdIeXNTkNW-mZP4A7ZlC83s/s1600/The+source+of+the+Aveyron..jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgDebDmDoY0wCamj924KpJGuLHLaNooYkNOTKZ1NF2Illlh5HdDP_LGfQQ-YFxlKhRptBuc1ctWOCqDiapePPIELNn63cSqLd5Z28PWMswRjR5hMGYDwqhIUbdIeXNTkNW-mZP4A7ZlC83s/s1600/The+source+of+the+Aveyron..jpg" height="480" width="640" /></a></div>
<div style="background-color: white; font-size: 15px; line-height: 21.299999237060547px; margin-bottom: 1.35em; text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;">The source of the Aveyron</span></div>
Horsedrawn travelhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14193357957502327320noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1302769187538212420.post-72878046897673274492014-04-16T05:15:00.000-07:002014-04-16T05:15:01.185-07:0030 Working donkeys<div style="background-color: white; color: #444444; font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 15px; line-height: 21.299999237060547px; margin-bottom: 1.35em;">
After Maurs, l headed east along the river Lot. This is beautiful country and some of the people speak the patois of Occitan. The villages are really attractive. Beside the river there are small, very fertile fields, ideal for growing vegetables. The hillsides are steep and wooded. The woods are abundant with chestnut, hazel and walnut trees. A very good honey is produced here, and at this time of year the bees are busy collecting pollen from the flowers of the chestnuts.</div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg3kXy2L-nwWHgpS5RFrpYWESyNlXYsnnzljvZOcOQZ3K7s9x1-7VZrEJPFyWIp849pMOPiAW5UyNwWsq_9TUGVQkdKef1emYjWm1bxvZVvITqM-O_4eD1DwQmehl2jrh0TwkmnOeosG266/s1600/Bilingual+signs,+French+and+Occitan..jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg3kXy2L-nwWHgpS5RFrpYWESyNlXYsnnzljvZOcOQZ3K7s9x1-7VZrEJPFyWIp849pMOPiAW5UyNwWsq_9TUGVQkdKef1emYjWm1bxvZVvITqM-O_4eD1DwQmehl2jrh0TwkmnOeosG266/s1600/Bilingual+signs,+French+and+Occitan..jpg" height="480" width="640" /></a></div>
<div style="background-color: white; font-size: 15px; line-height: 21.299999237060547px; margin-bottom: 1.35em; text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;">Bilingual signs, French and Occitan</span></div>
<div style="background-color: white; color: #444444; font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 15px; line-height: 21.299999237060547px; margin-bottom: 1.35em;">
I stopped the night with Cedric, he has a smallholding. He uses donkeys and an old Cob de Normandie for many of the jobs. In the morning he prepared some ground for potatoes, using two good strong donkeys.</div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEipZ-cr-YxnnQw7JVZM6vgW8WPj_usQFlyyQYr1Jej9j7nQT_yEUBsvhibyntp977ZwYkf7qf_DORha2r8qxK1Ofq9ry8gMhbPxi0pi7ZOy827_lQAEZlMnIZC-Ar3XqTQHqhLqn7awdt9L/s1600/Two+good+strong+donkeys..jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEipZ-cr-YxnnQw7JVZM6vgW8WPj_usQFlyyQYr1Jej9j7nQT_yEUBsvhibyntp977ZwYkf7qf_DORha2r8qxK1Ofq9ry8gMhbPxi0pi7ZOy827_lQAEZlMnIZC-Ar3XqTQHqhLqn7awdt9L/s1600/Two+good+strong+donkeys..jpg" height="480" width="640" /></a></div>
<div style="background-color: white; font-size: 15px; line-height: 21.299999237060547px; margin-bottom: 1.35em; text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;">Two good strong donkeys</span></div>
<div style="background-color: white; color: #444444; font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 15px; line-height: 21.299999237060547px; margin-bottom: 1.35em;">
In the afternoon he used his old cob to bank up some ground, ready to plant pumpkins. He led the horse, while his friend Samuel handled the plough. Cedric could have done it on his own, guiding the horse using the reins, but he'd been kicked a few days before, in the chest, by a big fat, ill-mannered Breton mare and was feeling rather sore.</div>
<div style="background-color: white; color: #444444; font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 15px; line-height: 21.299999237060547px; margin-bottom: 1.35em;">
He has a lot of beehives, he also has orchards and makes a lot of apple juice. He has twenty sheep and two well trained border collies. He'd trained them himself and they worked well. The sheep eat the grass in the orchards. They are good for this as they don't damage the trees. In the evening he cooked potatoes, that he'd grown and cooked slightly spicy Merguez sausages made from his sheep. His jumper was made from the wool of his sheep. It was good chatting to him. He showed me a basket he'd made from Clematis.</div>
<div style="background-color: white; color: #444444; font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 15px; line-height: 21.299999237060547px; margin-bottom: 1.35em;">
He has a selection of small ploughs, harrows, a mower,suitable for a pair of donkeys to pull and also some carts and sledges. Sledges are very useful on the steep slopes and are easily made. In the morning Cedric gave me honey, eggs and applejuice.</div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiF8R3zWgD2FFpMtyROnZ0pE9lbOLb0BLoT8X98cDIh64Cct1EOhSsiTYZaQ7APRpab7huNSAfJs0c39ak0I0qnclnzDycMVu9vA6EJ3z7nd5g8KX3Aap61ApKVw6G8IZpNmcGyZ3XnVrcd/s1600/Small+harrow+for+a+donkey..jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiF8R3zWgD2FFpMtyROnZ0pE9lbOLb0BLoT8X98cDIh64Cct1EOhSsiTYZaQ7APRpab7huNSAfJs0c39ak0I0qnclnzDycMVu9vA6EJ3z7nd5g8KX3Aap61ApKVw6G8IZpNmcGyZ3XnVrcd/s1600/Small+harrow+for+a+donkey..jpg" height="480" width="640" /></a></div>
<div style="background-color: white; font-size: 15px; line-height: 21.299999237060547px; margin-bottom: 1.35em; text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;">Small harrow for a donkey</span></div>
<div style="background-color: white; color: #444444; font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 15px; line-height: 21.299999237060547px; margin-bottom: 1.35em;">
I carried on 8 km, [5 miles], and crossed the river Lot. On the other side l stopped with Yannick, who is a professional beekeeper. He had also worked as a beekeeper in Roumania and gave me useful information about that country. We drank wine made from unripened walnuts, that his partner Anne had made. Delicious, l love the taste of walnuts. After lunch l rested and played a tune on my pipes for Anne and her little girl. I'd hardly finished playing, when a couple in a car stopped to look at the wagon. It turned out that Jean-Pierre also plays the pipes, in fact he's one of the best pipers in France and I'd heard of him. Later they took me back to their lovely old 16th century house and Jean-Pierre played me his pipes, l was really pleased and it was interesting talking to him and Diana, his wife, while we ate hazelnut cake.</div>
<div style="background-color: white; color: #444444; font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 15px; line-height: 21.299999237060547px; margin-bottom: 1.35em;">
Friday 4th April. I went up to the medieval village of Conques, it's a tough pull up the hill and some of the cobbles are slippery and the streets are narrow. It's one of the routes of St Jacques de Compostelle, [he was an apostle] and many pilgrims come through the village and pray at the church. At this time of year it is very quiet in Conques, perfect for me.</div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhSlxNEIb903gwV6ECvHef132eKx9mB-XRQqoED5QEUEmEpok-fVmMgZB_RJC4P1dq0t1VxB6GRg2rK-3wHBpLtXYqryER5ZFzyxf62QNY_DtG8L2qktTFgHt2XLPzyFyu7A1cIa2LVrtpI/s1600/Conques,+very+narrow+streets..jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhSlxNEIb903gwV6ECvHef132eKx9mB-XRQqoED5QEUEmEpok-fVmMgZB_RJC4P1dq0t1VxB6GRg2rK-3wHBpLtXYqryER5ZFzyxf62QNY_DtG8L2qktTFgHt2XLPzyFyu7A1cIa2LVrtpI/s1600/Conques,+very+narrow+streets..jpg" height="472" width="640" /></a></div>
<div style="background-color: white; margin-bottom: 1.35em; text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;"><span style="font-size: 15px; line-height: 21.299999237060547px;">Conques, very narrow streets</span></span></div>
<div style="background-color: white; color: #444444; font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 15px; line-height: 21.299999237060547px; margin-bottom: 1.35em;">
I went past a saddler. Lin Alberici, the saddler came out to see the horse and wagon. I asked him if he might be able to repair a piece of the harness, 'toute de suite,' [straight-away] for me? He said he could. It was nearly mid-day, so l arranged to come back at 2pm, [French people have a two hour lunch, then work later]. That was great as it gave me time to tether the horse and get sorted out. I got back to the saddlers a little early and his neighbours invited me in for a glass of wine, while l waited for him to re-open. Lin was very kind and friendly and worked quickly and efficiently, while we chatted. It was great to watch him working. He also cut me some spare straps of leather, in case l needed to do more repairs and he wouldn't accept any payment, that was really generous and kind of him and has helped me on my way.</div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh2O9K16GkHi15Hrcmei3HEXMkW2IAsQ7ZFhP4vaiEcrE19l7SflvgacAnIoasImcVDTLVBLlmx77k8TEKaJPhllhaoTzEhS5SiCSWucobHGWNfHiZpv_aJ-zP_kfwVacMACFtG5saIyoi1/s1600/rooftops+in+Conques.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh2O9K16GkHi15Hrcmei3HEXMkW2IAsQ7ZFhP4vaiEcrE19l7SflvgacAnIoasImcVDTLVBLlmx77k8TEKaJPhllhaoTzEhS5SiCSWucobHGWNfHiZpv_aJ-zP_kfwVacMACFtG5saIyoi1/s1600/rooftops+in+Conques.jpg" height="480" width="640" /></a></div>
<div style="background-color: white; font-size: 15px; line-height: 21.299999237060547px; margin-bottom: 1.35em; text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;">Rooftops in Conques</span></div>
<div style="background-color: white; color: #444444; font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 15px; line-height: 21.299999237060547px; margin-bottom: 1.35em;">
These villages aren't inhabited by thieves and l feel safe going off and leaving the horse and wagon, when l got back to where l'd tethered the horse, some men were playing boules near him, he enjoyed watching.</div>
<div style="background-color: white; color: #444444; font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 15px; line-height: 21.299999237060547px; margin-bottom: 1.35em;">
Later on l walked around the village and visited the church. I'm not in any hurry, so l can take my time to enjoy looking at things. I ate my dinner in the Auberge St. Jacques, l chose the, 'menu de pelerin' [pilgrims menu]. It was really good and l felt l could get used to being a pilgrim. After the meal l sat on the steps of the church and listened to the mass and the chanting. It felt good to be here in such a lovely place, it felt good to have got here, 600 miles, [950km] south of Calais.</div>
<div style="background-color: white; color: #444444; font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 15px; line-height: 21.299999237060547px; margin-bottom: 1.35em;">
5th April. I went to Espeyrac and stopped there. I'm still on the route of the pilgrims and there are taps for the pilgrims to get drinking water along the way, handy for me too. A lady told me to stop in the park and that no one would mind. A lovely spot beside the river.</div>
<div style="background-color: white; color: #444444; font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 15px; line-height: 21.299999237060547px; margin-bottom: 1.35em;">
7th April. It's very hot and sunny today. I got to Estaing about 11am, another small medieval town. I stopped by the river and unyoked the horse for a rest. A young man on a horse, a Camargue X Espagnol, rode into the river, so l jumped on my cob and rode him in too. He was glad to see another horse and they enjoyed splashing and having a drink.</div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi8wEP4vNrW15Ie_Mr7EVcknHlS8SYSZI-Hr5OyZWQybVwO4yTyhOmug6MBMAlhvBqk_6r0EsCv4iqL8QYLxw_B4ZGWeGhnng1LxevP5CpCVrapnFnydhW9byPm4uFkFcSxgVBYJBPOYBv9/s1600/Fed+up+with+flies+at+Estaing,+river+Lot,+7th+March.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi8wEP4vNrW15Ie_Mr7EVcknHlS8SYSZI-Hr5OyZWQybVwO4yTyhOmug6MBMAlhvBqk_6r0EsCv4iqL8QYLxw_B4ZGWeGhnng1LxevP5CpCVrapnFnydhW9byPm4uFkFcSxgVBYJBPOYBv9/s1600/Fed+up+with+flies+at+Estaing,+river+Lot,+7th+March.jpg" height="480" width="640" /></a></div>
<div style="background-color: white; font-size: 15px; line-height: 21.299999237060547px; margin-bottom: 1.35em; text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;">Fed up with flies at Estaing, river Lot, 7th April</span></div>
<div style="background-color: white; color: #444444; font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 15px; line-height: 21.299999237060547px; margin-bottom: 1.35em;">
I tethered the horse and did some shopping, then sat on the terrace and had a milky coffee. I carried on through, Espalion, busy with impatient lorries, got to St. Come d'Olt, late afternoon, 18 miles [30km]. I was hot,tired and thirsty, but this is a lovely small medieval village. I went through the narrow streets and over the narrow bridge and pulled onto some nice grass right beside the river.<br />I washed the horse, then got a pail of water and washed my hair, which revived me a bit. Then l had to lie on the bed for a bit and rest. It's tiring never knowing how far l've got to go to find a place to stop and not knowing what it's going to be like, when l get there. In the morning it was raining, l'm glad, l moved the horse to new grass and went back to bed, it's nice here and l'll rest for the day. The shops are close by, an epicerie, two boulangeries and several cafes.</div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg9aZrFzTy7nR4gQp_oIV2bTiB1iBGgDQ5zmNgpIkTkdD5MEPaXEbgsqypZUWKRqq5twcyTCK0fmE8eMxMeIICCcu-Iz3o8y0IDLIY9MYxafY63O3DPE1vOYYsqPOqATgwNyygxmw2Abiea/s1600/Having+a+nice+paddle+in+the+evening.+River+Lot.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg9aZrFzTy7nR4gQp_oIV2bTiB1iBGgDQ5zmNgpIkTkdD5MEPaXEbgsqypZUWKRqq5twcyTCK0fmE8eMxMeIICCcu-Iz3o8y0IDLIY9MYxafY63O3DPE1vOYYsqPOqATgwNyygxmw2Abiea/s1600/Having+a+nice+paddle+in+the+evening.+River+Lot.jpg" height="480" width="640" /></a></div>
<div style="background-color: white; font-size: 15px; line-height: 21.299999237060547px; margin-bottom: 1.35em; text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;">Having a paddle in the evening, River Lot</span></div>
<div style="background-color: white; color: #444444; font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 15px; line-height: 21.299999237060547px; margin-bottom: 1.35em;">
In the last 12 months l've travelled 2,560 miles, [4,119 km], with my wagon. During that time the horse has had 158 days rest. He's pulled the wagon for about 850 hours and spent the other 7,880 eating or resting, Oh and he's been swimming a couple of times. </div>
Horsedrawn travelhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14193357957502327320noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1302769187538212420.post-54841207021158775772014-04-08T03:07:00.004-07:002014-04-16T05:25:24.100-07:00Post 29 Breton horses.<div style="background-color: white; color: #444444; font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 15px; line-height: 21.299999237060547px; margin-bottom: 1.35em;">
1st April, hot and sunny, did 20 miles [33km], a long day, my feet are tired, l'm almost at Maurs. I took photos of some cows, l like the colour of them and their horns, some of them are wearing bells.</div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjImHT47yU_VZryysYPC7lskPLzHW_WklqTOvTCP88nFxqoIKiiYq6W9RoMpKEEJsPMg81eUZkrL2trGO2MaR2BnZH8IKK-SM5Z3kmnEe6iCTlSYb9AnW6AAJ1u0jjnsN2FBKzxm3PxtAnC/s1600/Cattle.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjImHT47yU_VZryysYPC7lskPLzHW_WklqTOvTCP88nFxqoIKiiYq6W9RoMpKEEJsPMg81eUZkrL2trGO2MaR2BnZH8IKK-SM5Z3kmnEe6iCTlSYb9AnW6AAJ1u0jjnsN2FBKzxm3PxtAnC/s1600/Cattle.jpg" height="496" width="640" /></a></div>
<div style="background-color: white; font-size: 15px; line-height: 21.299999237060547px; margin-bottom: 1.35em; text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;">Cattle</span></div>
<div style="background-color: white; color: #444444; font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 15px; line-height: 21.299999237060547px; margin-bottom: 1.35em;">
I saw quite a few Breton horses today and tonight l'm stopped at a place where there is a stallion. It's several hundred miles from Brittany, but the breed is popular. They are fattened for meat. They make good strong draught horses, when they are not so fat. Some people might object to them being eaten, but if they weren't, they would have died out in the 1960s when farmers no longer needed them. In Britain, breeds like the Suffolk Punch and Dales have almost died out and have a tiny gene pool. I had a Dales stallion a few years ago, it was useless.</div>
<div style="background-color: white; color: #444444; font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 15px; line-height: 21.299999237060547px; margin-bottom: 1.35em;">
I watched a mare being served by the stallion.</div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi6GRYFtjsurbxGwvkcXaKCuOiHTYEXzDhBpIjqTTi5A8brW9iJDYbeasBgkiITtuKeVadeXh9cUAB5aJvhwLzG4-wrKZlhuuwpaQN4BJwfGhOLtFRMi94e0tNvSAb0sk20ZdiO8B0bet0A/s1600/Breton+Stallion.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi6GRYFtjsurbxGwvkcXaKCuOiHTYEXzDhBpIjqTTi5A8brW9iJDYbeasBgkiITtuKeVadeXh9cUAB5aJvhwLzG4-wrKZlhuuwpaQN4BJwfGhOLtFRMi94e0tNvSAb0sk20ZdiO8B0bet0A/s1600/Breton+Stallion.jpg" height="518" width="640" /></a></div>
<div style="background-color: white; font-size: 15px; line-height: 21.299999237060547px; margin-bottom: 1.35em; text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;">Breton Stallion</span></div>
<div style="background-color: white; color: #444444; font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 15px; line-height: 21.299999237060547px; margin-bottom: 1.35em;">
Daniel, who owns the stallion said l could tether my horse up the track. I was glad as the horse was tired, l was too.</div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhycKTXPoXYfO3LuXTPUbeF3b7iBRyz4dbNrdQFwlDFi95-FRQkQ77sFx_-UFZpxoSntjSQu-7LWSqOlwVx9Q8vko5j2zm-y3FXhZLtpjpH9TZTNBTKqZLZg8fU-QhlskEHsB_8Z0L4o6t_/s1600/Two+very+fat+Breton+mares..jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhycKTXPoXYfO3LuXTPUbeF3b7iBRyz4dbNrdQFwlDFi95-FRQkQ77sFx_-UFZpxoSntjSQu-7LWSqOlwVx9Q8vko5j2zm-y3FXhZLtpjpH9TZTNBTKqZLZg8fU-QhlskEHsB_8Z0L4o6t_/s1600/Two+very+fat+Breton+mares..jpg" height="492" width="640" /></a></div>
<div style="background-color: white; font-size: 15px; line-height: 21.299999237060547px; margin-bottom: 1.35em; text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;">Two very fat Breton mares</span></div>
<div style="background-color: white; color: #444444; font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 15px; line-height: 21.299999237060547px; margin-bottom: 1.35em;">
Daniel asked me the age of my horse, l told him he was eight. He said there is an expression in France, which roughly translates as, 'until eight a horse is good for you, after eight it is good for a friend, at 16 it is good for your enemy.'</div>
<div style="background-color: white; color: #444444; font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 15px; line-height: 21.299999237060547px; margin-bottom: 1.35em;">
When horses are too fat and full of grass they are very hard to train or do anything with. If your horse looks this fat at the beginning of spring you aren't looking after it properly. A fat horse is also unhappy. Your horse should look a little lean at the end of winter and it will be better for it. If your horse is a 'good doer,' and doesn't do much work, don't feed it hard food and if it has to have hay, feed it hay from last year.If it wastes hay, you are giving it too much and wasting money.Don't put a rug on it, instead,let it run around to keep warm, this is what they have to do in the wild.</div>
<div style="background-color: white; color: #444444; font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 15px; line-height: 21.299999237060547px; margin-bottom: 1.35em;">
Horses have been bred for centuries to do hard work on the minimum of feed. What does work mean? My cob usually pulls 850kg, about 5 or 6 hours a day, 6 days a week. When your horse is fit there will be little or no fat on him, if your horse is unfit his sweat will be white and foamy, when he's fit his sweat will be clear. If he isn't sweating you haven't worked him enough.</div>
<div style="background-color: white; color: #444444; font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 15px; line-height: 21.299999237060547px; margin-bottom: 1.35em;">
Horses that get too fat often get a terribly painful illness called laminitis, the best thing then is to shoot your horse and put it out of its misery. Vets don't tell you this, they make money out of ill, suffering animals, not dead ones. Of course they still charge you if the animal dies.</div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjxN9o4jSScmgr4uVII1Bpfvp2l-wkW6RTOKY596Bmp_Y-3De4xJONSsuBBuvdTtkAWD7JxX39gGhlAynvupPLrfmP1xOPJSbG0TZDRmtMDvAGKVBLOcv5BoJjMElJdkg6sYtI-ViJPRs_0/s1600/Breton+mares+and+foal..jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjxN9o4jSScmgr4uVII1Bpfvp2l-wkW6RTOKY596Bmp_Y-3De4xJONSsuBBuvdTtkAWD7JxX39gGhlAynvupPLrfmP1xOPJSbG0TZDRmtMDvAGKVBLOcv5BoJjMElJdkg6sYtI-ViJPRs_0/s1600/Breton+mares+and+foal..jpg" height="380" width="640" /></a></div>
<div style="background-color: white; font-size: 15px; line-height: 21.299999237060547px; margin-bottom: 1.35em; text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;">Breton mares and foal</span></div>
<div style="background-color: white; color: #444444; font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 15px; line-height: 21.299999237060547px; margin-bottom: 1.35em;">
I tethered my horse near to a couple of Breton mares. One had just had a foal, the other mare was about to drop hers.</div>
Horsedrawn travelhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14193357957502327320noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1302769187538212420.post-69034859397190911732014-04-07T06:28:00.004-07:002014-04-07T06:28:40.809-07:00Post 28. La Dordogne<div style="background-color: white; color: #444444; font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 15px; line-height: 21.299999237060547px; margin-bottom: 1.35em;">
26th March. I stopped in a picnic area. It has a tap, which is good as l need to wash some clothes, and it has a compost toilet, l've never seen one before in a picnic area.</div>
<div style="background-color: white; font-size: 15px; line-height: 21.299999237060547px; margin-bottom: 1.35em;">
<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;"></span></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj3WAVUqLznE3OETbKKGmszawJGcxZTzzHPNXYknaSu-0AZoxP4Lw2QVkEbPENwBGPMb2q59aFSrI2_4LQl79vGNdos1Q6qdmDtbbAoemnAxTgWDLuC_HG1JmG_Q0f4sCiz8DR0nNDoAxdj/s1600/Robinet+in+pique+nique+area..jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj3WAVUqLznE3OETbKKGmszawJGcxZTzzHPNXYknaSu-0AZoxP4Lw2QVkEbPENwBGPMb2q59aFSrI2_4LQl79vGNdos1Q6qdmDtbbAoemnAxTgWDLuC_HG1JmG_Q0f4sCiz8DR0nNDoAxdj/s1600/Robinet+in+pique+nique+area..jpg" height="480" width="640" /></a></span></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;">Robinet in pique nique area</span></div>
<br />
<div style="background-color: white; color: #444444; font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 15px; line-height: 21.299999237060547px; margin-bottom: 1.35em;">
The next morning, as l was about to leave two Gendarmes stopped and asked to see my passport. They were friendlier and l chatted to them. One of them told me it was market day in Lapleau and l got all excited, thinking of stalls laden with delicious food. When l got to Lapleau there was one lady selling crepes and a man selling vegetables, only they weren't selling them as l was the only person there. I felt obliged to buy something and help the economy, so bought some carrots for the horse. I told the man the horse liked them and he gave me some extra ones. I bought some crepes from the lady, l should have told her the horse liked them too, l missed a trick! I ate them later, delicious.</div>
<div style="background-color: white; color: #444444; font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 15px; line-height: 21.299999237060547px; margin-bottom: 1.35em;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiXI7B_HUkp3KCnwQw4cMybHxNSRaszHXo6qSp26CjQdAloMwDjsZCoYjBo-K5YQj5tCswBTFcWjk2rxKPxyjAJyo30qwhOmW76XOfIzuucZ5Rben5n6RRs0t126OJdpyYF5u6Dt8hUP296/s1600/Gorge+near+Lapleau.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; color: #444444; float: right; font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiXI7B_HUkp3KCnwQw4cMybHxNSRaszHXo6qSp26CjQdAloMwDjsZCoYjBo-K5YQj5tCswBTFcWjk2rxKPxyjAJyo30qwhOmW76XOfIzuucZ5Rben5n6RRs0t126OJdpyYF5u6Dt8hUP296/s1600/Gorge+near+Lapleau.jpg" height="480" width="640" /></a><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiXI7B_HUkp3KCnwQw4cMybHxNSRaszHXo6qSp26CjQdAloMwDjsZCoYjBo-K5YQj5tCswBTFcWjk2rxKPxyjAJyo30qwhOmW76XOfIzuucZ5Rben5n6RRs0t126OJdpyYF5u6Dt8hUP296/s1600/Gorge+near+Lapleau.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; color: #444444; float: right; font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><br /></a></div>
<div style="background-color: white; color: #444444; font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 15px; line-height: 21.299999237060547px; margin-bottom: 1.35em;">
<br /></div>
<div style="background-color: white; color: #444444; font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 15px; line-height: 21.299999237060547px; margin-bottom: 1.35em;">
<br /></div>
<div style="background-color: white; color: #444444; font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 15px; line-height: 21.299999237060547px; margin-bottom: 1.35em;">
<br /></div>
<div style="background-color: white; color: #444444; font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 15px; line-height: 21.299999237060547px; margin-bottom: 1.35em;">
<br /></div>
<div style="background-color: white; color: #444444; font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 15px; line-height: 21.299999237060547px; margin-bottom: 1.35em;">
<br /></div>
<div style="background-color: white; color: #444444; font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 15px; line-height: 21.299999237060547px; margin-bottom: 1.35em;">
<br /></div>
<div style="background-color: white; color: #444444; font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 15px; line-height: 21.299999237060547px; margin-bottom: 1.35em;">
<br /></div>
<div style="background-color: white; color: #444444; font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 15px; line-height: 21.299999237060547px; margin-bottom: 1.35em;">
<br /></div>
<div style="background-color: white; color: #444444; font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 15px; line-height: 21.299999237060547px; margin-bottom: 1.35em;">
<br /></div>
<div style="background-color: white; color: #444444; font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 15px; line-height: 21.299999237060547px; margin-bottom: 1.35em;">
<br /></div>
<div style="background-color: white; color: #444444; font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 15px; line-height: 21.299999237060547px; margin-bottom: 1.35em;">
<br /></div>
<div style="background-color: white; color: #444444; font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 15px; line-height: 21.299999237060547px; margin-bottom: 1.35em;">
<br /></div>
<div style="background-color: white; color: #444444; font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 15px; line-height: 21.299999237060547px; margin-bottom: 1.35em;">
<span style="color: black; font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif; text-align: center;">Gorge near Lapleau</span></div>
Huge hills and wooded valleys 800 feet [240m] deep, the road winds backwards and forwards around the contours of the hills and the gradients are not bad for the horse. When l get to the bottom of the hill it takes about an hour to get up the other side. I went through Soursac . Soursac is quite a busy village, with a few shops. l met an English couple called Ron and Liz, they were very kind and invited me back to their place, they had enough grass for the horse. We had lunch in the garden and watched the first swallows arriving. I got my washing done and caught up with my emails. They have great views of the mountains, covered in snow, 30 miles east in the Auvergne. I was interested to meet them and see how they have adapted to living in France. I guess it's a success if they are happier and more content. They gave me dinner and l was glad l'd met them.<br />
<div style="background-color: white; color: #444444; font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 15px; line-height: 21.299999237060547px; margin-bottom: 1.35em;">
Down in the valleys the wood anenomes and ladies smock are flowering and the leaves are coming out on the birch and hazel and the grass is lush. This is a very uninhabited part of France, the few people l've met have been very friendly and l'm getting more confident speaking with them. I've seen more swallows today.</div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgUEO8NJPV-29so4qg6yICFhOXtDq5CvGhfWta3FClB3_-CbesZMnHuPeQSUKVTR7zSzJMphJZo1y86qQaiwGbPqPu1BQfvf2t2KADtGcd-CLdXeXhg8u2pHU-wjsT9CWMO5r8ghWRs5YA6/s1600/La+Dordogne,+29th+March..jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgUEO8NJPV-29so4qg6yICFhOXtDq5CvGhfWta3FClB3_-CbesZMnHuPeQSUKVTR7zSzJMphJZo1y86qQaiwGbPqPu1BQfvf2t2KADtGcd-CLdXeXhg8u2pHU-wjsT9CWMO5r8ghWRs5YA6/s1600/La+Dordogne,+29th+March..jpg" height="480" width="640" /></a></div>
<div style="background-color: white; font-size: 15px; line-height: 21.299999237060547px; margin-bottom: 1.35em; text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;">La Drodogne, 29th March</span></div>
<div style="background-color: white; color: #444444; font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 15px; line-height: 21.299999237060547px; margin-bottom: 1.35em;">
I crossed the Dordogne today at pont de Spontour. It's quite a nice looking village and when l got to the other side of the bridge there was a good place to stop. The swallows are flying up and down the river feeding. The village has enough houses for about a 1,000 people. At 6pm l walked through it, l thought l'd go to the cafe. When l got there, it said 'ferme definitive,' [ l can't do accents on this keyboard]. Cafe shut, forever. A bit further down the street there was l'hotel, judging by the faded, peeling paint and cracked windows it has been shut for some years. There is no shop. There was nobody about, birds where singing, but no sound of a radio or television, no smell of cooking, no voices, then l heard a door shutting, apart from that, nothing. The church bell chimes the hour, forlornly. It's slightly post-apocalyptic. Large parts of rural France are now inhabited only by the aged. Unemployment is high, many young French people now live in Britain. Back at the wagon I was glad to hear the sound of the horse crunching the grass and the sound of the stream.</div>
<div style="background-color: white; color: #444444; font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 15px; line-height: 21.299999237060547px; margin-bottom: 1.35em;">
It took me an hour to get up the hill in the morning, the sides of the hills are incredibly steep, and there are rockfalls, when l got to the top l could hear the river half a mile below. Although l'm only half a mile from where l started, l've done three miles.</div>
<div style="background-color: white; color: #444444; font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 15px; line-height: 21.299999237060547px; margin-bottom: 1.35em;">
I did 18km, [11miles] then stopped by a water tower in a woods. Just enough grass for the horse.</div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhOgP-MRxNO53tsDH50ToaTm9jBksNjAudsFKTEIr3b2O0JjeIEgEb2gyI69-aQZ4qVCwz2alF-ycj79bUOTC5a7TxKyDWQKT5ce0B5mxFOr-jr6MrkDEvxp4wxZtN0_5AI5bxGlToLE42S/s1600/Chateau+d'eau.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhOgP-MRxNO53tsDH50ToaTm9jBksNjAudsFKTEIr3b2O0JjeIEgEb2gyI69-aQZ4qVCwz2alF-ycj79bUOTC5a7TxKyDWQKT5ce0B5mxFOr-jr6MrkDEvxp4wxZtN0_5AI5bxGlToLE42S/s1600/Chateau+d'eau.jpg" height="480" width="640" /></a></div>
<div style="background-color: white; font-size: 15px; line-height: 21.299999237060547px; margin-bottom: 1.35em; text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;">Chateau d'eau</span></div>
<div style="background-color: white; color: #444444; font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 15px; line-height: 21.299999237060547px; margin-bottom: 1.35em;">
The next day l did 25km, [15miles] to Laroquebrou. Very hilly wooded countryside, nice villages, at one village l watered the horse at the fountain. A retired couple gave me a bottle of cold beer to drink and some crepes and an apple tartlette. Delicious. By the time l got to Laroquebrou the sun was going down and l was anxious to find somewhere to stop, l found some grass by the cemetary. It also has a tap. No one in the cemetary bothered me.</div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjnX8qMb9Wl6BKG_76jZERqvrhY16I6m0AQDV27hfZLL1OBISbxjcg9PXwivuhxVNy7E2pFr1FwiAeTZuk_JgC6Ojg_CxwHc-_JXuMfTVa9FWkRGFEUuoIMbow-U8StZRLmfDrGYR0eDhC7/s1600/31st+March,+having+a+drink..jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjnX8qMb9Wl6BKG_76jZERqvrhY16I6m0AQDV27hfZLL1OBISbxjcg9PXwivuhxVNy7E2pFr1FwiAeTZuk_JgC6Ojg_CxwHc-_JXuMfTVa9FWkRGFEUuoIMbow-U8StZRLmfDrGYR0eDhC7/s1600/31st+March,+having+a+drink..jpg" height="480" width="640" /></a></div>
<div style="background-color: white; font-size: 15px; line-height: 21.299999237060547px; margin-bottom: 1.35em; text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;">31st March, Having a drink</span></div>
Horsedrawn travelhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14193357957502327320noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1302769187538212420.post-9477249072498411202014-03-28T08:54:00.002-07:002014-03-28T08:54:57.137-07:00Post 27 Plateau de Millevaches<div style="background-color: white; color: #444444; font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 15px; line-height: 21.299999237060547px; margin-bottom: 1.35em;">
Although l walk a lot and my feet are used to it, l do sometimes get blisters. I'd rested for a week, until l got restless, then l walked 20 miles [30km] to get to somewhere new, in the meantime my feet had become soft. Sometimes a piece of grit or a badly fitting sock can cause it. I could feel one of my feet getting sore, but typically l ignored it, l didn't feel like stopping. I should have stopped, bathed my feet, dried them and put new socks on. Perhaps massaged my feet with olive oil. If l'd been Oddyseus, a nymph from the woods would have appeared and massaged my feet. Not even a siren called me. Now as a result of my neglect l have two painful blisters on my left foot. Prevention would have been better than the cure. I can only accept it. Three times a day l get a needle and push it right through the blister, then l squeeze the fluid out. This helps relieve the pressure and relieves the pain. Although it looks a bit gruesome, pushing the needle through doesn't hurt in the slightest. For a few days l shall bathe my feet and take care of them, they'll heal and callous over and l'll forget all about them until the next time. Pain is a funny thing, sometimes a gift perhaps, it makes you think differently. It's interesting how we often succeed in adapting to it. We can choose how we react to it. We can complain to others about it, but it takes more courage to accept it with stoicism and try and learn from it. I only mention it to try and give an honest and accurate description of my journey, it's nothing really.</div>
<div style="background-color: white; color: #444444; font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 15px; line-height: 21.299999237060547px; margin-bottom: 1.35em;">
21st March. I'm at about 2,500 feet [800m] it's colder and a bit mountainous, wintery. The roads are now narrow lanes, they wind back and forth, but the hills are not bad to get up. The horse plods along regardless of whether he goes up hill, down hill or on the flat, he doesn't vary his speed, he doesn't rush or bother trotting up hills. He knows to conserve his energy, l conserve mine too. Sometimes people travel with me for a few days, some of them tell me l should walk differently, l humour them, after a while they get tired, they go home, l carry on [I'm already at home], l haven't got any better ideas.</div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEirTm_GE0FYfcMKrrKOy8LM_IAm_Lk-6XVDCYDgakg5Yqd01didmqhOMd-Kp0OwD4QGEe9O0ixrzbuExfUAIhr_Whc86V6QdMq5hGt3bxlfrnH-uCCqMRkbNgAzvrIUjj5-9W0AdTI-pTYm/s1600/20140323_110705-1.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEirTm_GE0FYfcMKrrKOy8LM_IAm_Lk-6XVDCYDgakg5Yqd01didmqhOMd-Kp0OwD4QGEe9O0ixrzbuExfUAIhr_Whc86V6QdMq5hGt3bxlfrnH-uCCqMRkbNgAzvrIUjj5-9W0AdTI-pTYm/s1600/20140323_110705-1.jpg" height="640" width="454" /></a></div>
<div style="background-color: white; color: #444444; font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 15px; line-height: 21.299999237060547px; margin-bottom: 1.35em;">
<br /></div>
<div style="background-color: white; color: #444444; font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 15px; line-height: 21.299999237060547px; margin-bottom: 1.35em;">
I rested this morning and only intended to go a few miles today, but ended up doing another 13 miles [22km] , finding a place to stop as it got dark. It's a lovely peaceful stop, next to a stream. I met a lady who lives in the next village and comes from Manchester, she gave me some lovely cheese and asked her neighbour if l could stop in her field.</div>
<div style="background-color: white; color: #444444; font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 15px; line-height: 21.299999237060547px; margin-bottom: 1.35em;">
The next day l continued to the village of Peyrelevade. By the time l got there it was snowing. I got some firewood on the way and the lady in the cafe gave me some more. I stopped on some grass by le marie. There is a couple of small shops in the village, they have good food. Although it's snowing it's nice and cosy in the wagon. Le monsieur who has the pharmacie and also has some horses, brought me hard food for the horse. When l got up in the morning the lady from Manchester had left me 250 tea bags on the porch of the wagon.</div>
<div style="background-color: white; color: #444444; font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 15px; line-height: 21.299999237060547px; margin-bottom: 1.35em;">
I set off in the snow and climbed another 300 feet, beautiful country, went through the village of Marcy, there was a sign saying that the Nazis had burned it in 1944. I got to St Merd-les Oussines and stopped there, the people in le bar were friendly and said l could put my horse on some grass behind the village hall. Good to not have to go far.</div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgf_MBwxvyRHC5-zZeRegVkxvfwuy2CHtNV094KeY4tnWNvtZzjCJyClL8QBd2BZj4KvDFG64DlwFLIp1okKKU3BEG1nfrkziTiJ9M9lTEsFVpiQyaNHc_Qizv2K4fcZVHQc3bchk7qQ93L/s1600/20140323_103441.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgf_MBwxvyRHC5-zZeRegVkxvfwuy2CHtNV094KeY4tnWNvtZzjCJyClL8QBd2BZj4KvDFG64DlwFLIp1okKKU3BEG1nfrkziTiJ9M9lTEsFVpiQyaNHc_Qizv2K4fcZVHQc3bchk7qQ93L/s1600/20140323_103441.jpg" height="480" width="640" /></a></div>
<div style="background-color: white; color: #444444; font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 15px; line-height: 21.299999237060547px; margin-bottom: 1.35em;">
<br /></div>
<div style="background-color: white; color: #444444; font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 15px; line-height: 21.299999237060547px; margin-bottom: 1.35em;">
The next day l did a couple of miles and stopped in a peaceful stop, almost disturbingly peaceful, by the remains of a 2000 year old Gallo Roman funeral temple. They used to cremate people here; l'm not bothered by other peoples ghosts, only my own. It's high up, 850 metres [2788 feet]. I woke at 4.30am, heavy snow falling on the roof of the wagon, by 6.30am it turned to rain. The horse was cold, l gave him the last of the hard food and 'pain dur,' yoked him up and set off without breakfast. He was keen to get on and warm up. Sometimes when horses are cold it's hard to yoke them up because they are impatient to get going, to make matters worse your hands are often cold and stiff. The leather of the harness gets stiff too.</div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEicA2QNCHc0lvODe_vaUHA6_gY0am6nsbLAG3vPGxHRnf8m8KQNiWTpQYB7jbmQSMqkCjwPHnB0tL3Q43SwI4SCj52a7C7-tuu4iDXhQpVHPDLQ80tluPNoXywUKov5QyybN9lrPWJiHjdo/s1600/2,770+feet,+850+metres.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEicA2QNCHc0lvODe_vaUHA6_gY0am6nsbLAG3vPGxHRnf8m8KQNiWTpQYB7jbmQSMqkCjwPHnB0tL3Q43SwI4SCj52a7C7-tuu4iDXhQpVHPDLQ80tluPNoXywUKov5QyybN9lrPWJiHjdo/s1600/2,770+feet,+850+metres.jpg" height="480" width="640" /></a></div>
<div style="background-color: white; font-size: 15px; line-height: 21.299999237060547px; margin-bottom: 1.35em; text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;">2,770 feet, 850 metres</span></div>
<div style="background-color: white; color: #444444; font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 15px; line-height: 21.299999237060547px; margin-bottom: 1.35em;">
I've travelled for thousands of miles with horses and have done for years, l've gradually worked out what's efficient, what works well, how to have an easier time, l've often learned the hard way. Every year l get better at it and learn more. It's what l do.</div>
<div style="background-color: white; color: #444444; font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 15px; line-height: 21.299999237060547px; margin-bottom: 1.35em;">
I found some good dry oak on the way, when the weather is wet and cold, dry firewood makes all the difference. I bought two croissants and two bars of chocolate from the boulangerie 'vanette,' in a village, ate the croissants, 'on the hoof,' for my breakfast, beautiful countryside, ate some chocolate for lunch.</div>
<div style="background-color: white; color: #444444; font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 15px; line-height: 21.299999237060547px; margin-bottom: 1.35em;">
When the horse is thirsty he looks at puddles or sniffs at streams to let you know. If you ignore these signs for too long and the horse is tormented by thirst, you may suddenly find yourself and the horse and wagon in a lake! The horse will have a good drink and let you worry how to get out of the lake. I have heard of this happening. Horses are very patient generous creatures but do have their breaking point. Sometimes your ego gets in the way and you can push yourself and your horse too hard. Your horse has to rely on you to look after his needs, if you lose his trust, you may be in trouble.</div>
<div style="background-color: white; color: #444444; font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 15px; line-height: 21.299999237060547px; margin-bottom: 1.35em;">
I often pull over and let him eat on the way for a few minutes. A chance to look at my map or for me to drink some water. 22 km [13 miles]. l pulled over onto some quite good grass for this altitude. After tethering the horse and sawing up the oak, l lit the stove and sat on the bed, tired but pleased and drank a large glass of wine.</div>
<div style="background-color: white; color: #444444; font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 15px; line-height: 21.299999237060547px; margin-bottom: 1.35em;">
26th March. I've crossed the plateau de millevaches and l'm into different country. I feel elated to have crossed it, beautiful countryside, met some nice people, it was quite a challenge and l enjoyed it.</div>
<div style="background-color: white; color: #444444; font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 15px; line-height: 21.299999237060547px; margin-bottom: 1.35em;">
I went into a small town. Two gendarmes in a car told me to pull over into the square. One gendarme seemed very offended that l'd come through the town in my wagon. [The other one appeared to be mute]. The one who spoke desperately tried to find reasons why he was offended. He told me l was going too slowly and causing a 'bouchon,' a bottleneck, [there was one car behind me]. He told me I'd got to go more quickly through the town. He wanted me to feel intimidated and apologetic, but l felt more than equal to facing up to him, l looked at him and said , 'C'est le doit en France?' He looked at me slightly puzzled and said, 'le doit?' 'Oui,' l said, 'plus vittesse, c'est le doit?' He looked discouraged and muttered grumpily again that l must go quickly through the town, l beamed at him and said, 'Ah oui, d'accord je compris.' Then l led the horse as slowly as l could through the town, with the gendarmes following, l soon had a good 'bouchon' as no one wanted to overtake the gendarmes. After a while they got bored and left, as l went through the outskirts of the town several people said, 'magnifique' 'genial' . You can't please everyone, but l learned a bit more French.</div>
Horsedrawn travelhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14193357957502327320noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1302769187538212420.post-45851284096386728852014-03-28T08:48:00.001-07:002014-03-28T08:48:25.174-07:00Post 26 Creuse<div style="background-color: white; color: #444444; font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 15px; line-height: 21.299999237060547px; margin-bottom: 1.35em;">
16th March. Hot and sunny. In October when l was in Essex, a lady called Doreen came and chatted to me. She told me she lived in France and where she lived. I told her l'd call in when l was passing. I think she was surprised but pleased to see me. I had a nice lunch with her and her husband. They live in an old mill. After lunch she took me to see Francois. He has travelled a great deal in France and Italy with his horse drawn circus, [Cirque Bidon, see them on u tube], it was very interesting talking to him and he gave me useful information about travelling in Italy. It was interesting looking at his wagons and photos. I like to meet people who have a real passion for what they do. I stayed the night in his yard and he showed me his horses. One of them was a Comptoise, a big useful sort of workhorse. In the evening l sat in the kitchen of his farmhouse, he gave me dinner, and it was lovely sitting by a big log fire, chatting. There was a small monkey curled up beside the fire, it looked very content and for dinner ate a banana. Later, when l went out to the wagon, the full moon was up, it looked beautiful. What a lovely day.</div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiHbZGNszjSAj4j-MRUHtMMoJjugGkSU4O8Lzc_t9IDvw_6ffgS3gs4M6M8o-bCXozb1GCy2WLeltqCw3qI72iSL8deWZhZFxGpUn94TzujoCDyOTXlyjuLPeJgD33iuGhuL5UZOOV5Qp5-/s1600/Circus+roulotte.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiHbZGNszjSAj4j-MRUHtMMoJjugGkSU4O8Lzc_t9IDvw_6ffgS3gs4M6M8o-bCXozb1GCy2WLeltqCw3qI72iSL8deWZhZFxGpUn94TzujoCDyOTXlyjuLPeJgD33iuGhuL5UZOOV5Qp5-/s1600/Circus+roulotte.jpg" height="480" width="640" /></a></div>
<div style="background-color: white; font-size: 15px; line-height: 21.299999237060547px; margin-bottom: 1.35em; text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;">Circus Roulotte</span></div>
<div style="background-color: white; color: #444444; font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 15px; line-height: 21.299999237060547px; margin-bottom: 1.35em;">
17th March. In the morning, Francois gave me some postcards of his circus and l gave him some of my clothes pegs. I'm glad to have met him. We both understood the hardships and the joy that we'd encountered on the road, travelling with horses. You will never experience this in a car or a camper van.</div>
<div style="background-color: white; color: #444444; font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 15px; line-height: 21.299999237060547px; margin-bottom: 1.35em;">
I headed south, hoping to find a shop open. I got to a village, a lady came up to me and asked if l'd like some jam. I said, 'I'd love some' and was there a boulangerie? She told me there was, but that it was shut. She went off to get the jam and returned with some bread too. Really kind of her. Later on l was going along and stopped to look at some medieval wall paintings in a church. It's a hot day and nice to be in the cool of the church. The horse is content having a rest in the shade outside. Later a man called, Guillaume, came and talked to me. He told me that he'd backpacked in Scotland and been shown great kindness there, he asked me if l needed somewhere to stay. He took me to a friend of his with a field, it's up a large hill, [altitude 500 metres,1600 feet], luckily in the direction l'm headed. His friend, called, Guy, lives in a rather lovely Yurt, it's very well organised and 'tres vivable.' Guy told me he's 'Mongol' but really from Lorraine. He's 65 and is a retired metalworker. He cooked me dinner and Guillaume made a salad out of Pis en lit leaves, [dandelion] and thyme.</div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhIgASwc0bTxBq5eUTsINGJykiEw8H5h8jzWv6iVkVsJ0BZTRTZI3IDYXyHBQ2eMaoyObE32SABPeJUd3HkUnutZ6fXA0ThYAtFGYEEmQGvojjpDZqxWzFlo4IdTGJOGF0YRhRAN5EPif_l/s1600/Leather+lead+rope+made+by+Claude.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhIgASwc0bTxBq5eUTsINGJykiEw8H5h8jzWv6iVkVsJ0BZTRTZI3IDYXyHBQ2eMaoyObE32SABPeJUd3HkUnutZ6fXA0ThYAtFGYEEmQGvojjpDZqxWzFlo4IdTGJOGF0YRhRAN5EPif_l/s1600/Leather+lead+rope+made+by+Claude.jpg" height="480" width="640" /></a></div>
<div style="background-color: white; font-size: 15px; line-height: 21.299999237060547px; margin-bottom: 1.35em; text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;">Leather lead rope made by Claude</span></div>
<div style="background-color: white; color: #444444; font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 15px; line-height: 21.299999237060547px; margin-bottom: 1.35em;">
His neighbour, Claude is a horseman, and though now unable to ride, has one good Arab pony. Claude presented me with a beautiful plaited leather lead rope that he'd made, he also showed me other items, including a saddle that he'd made.</div>
<div style="background-color: white; color: #444444; font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 15px; line-height: 21.299999237060547px; margin-bottom: 1.35em;">
Later on another neighbour, called Celine, called by and brought some alfalpha for the horse to eat. She took me back to her large house and showed me her horses. We sat in her kitchen and drank cool white wine. When it was time to go, Celine gave me more food for the horse and presented me with a pot of wild boar pate and a pot of jam. So although l don't often get to the shops, l'm not starving yet.</div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgOS3vXLX86XXf-rX_njRrcyXMp4HVQL4TRKWVgESNVm03Ioa5CiR-2pWQsod1xAsvouuWDrzDucHHdch3XHwSETojq14dbVQZh0LNAs4wKN7wFkfF-tmVaP82L6wrWEuvmi4sAKcxBDXRM/s1600/20140321_084347.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgOS3vXLX86XXf-rX_njRrcyXMp4HVQL4TRKWVgESNVm03Ioa5CiR-2pWQsod1xAsvouuWDrzDucHHdch3XHwSETojq14dbVQZh0LNAs4wKN7wFkfF-tmVaP82L6wrWEuvmi4sAKcxBDXRM/s1600/20140321_084347.jpg" height="480" width="640" /></a></div>
<div style="background-color: white; color: #444444; font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 15px; line-height: 21.299999237060547px; margin-bottom: 1.35em;">
<br /></div>
<div style="background-color: white; color: #444444; font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 15px; line-height: 21.299999237060547px; margin-bottom: 1.35em;">
18th March. I headed south another 15 km to the village of Jarnages. On the way, Denis, a young Marechal Ferrant, [blacksmith], stopped to talk to me,perfect timing as the horse needs reshoeing. They have done 500 miles [800 km] and the hind ones are like wafers. Denis was very friendly, told me he had a petit champ, [small field] that l could stay in and he would shoe the horse for me. When l got there we drank a bottle of beer, it's a hot day, then he took the shoes off the horse and trimmed the feet, then we had another beer, he fitted the shoes and nailed them on and we had another beer. He was still thirsty so l made a pot of tea. It was nice talking to him and watching how he shod the horse, slightly different techniques and tools. I learned a bit more useful French too. In the evening Denis came back and gave me a large jar of honey from his neighbour, then we sat around the fire with his friends and family eating and drinking more beer. It was very genial. I'm really glad l didn't have to shoe the horse.</div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjGg2-E5X-EivWwUY0o86V2dc03OjQGePbniub_ob82_7lupMyjF8pf0lLFAWs-gFVCcPFS4LjQFFWVyqGnUJ4kNISsLOO97HFs6X9DPPhzwRe1-5XqyzAPJSfu703dyw9lHEZnFwOYEyv3/s1600/Having+a+drink+at+Jarnages.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjGg2-E5X-EivWwUY0o86V2dc03OjQGePbniub_ob82_7lupMyjF8pf0lLFAWs-gFVCcPFS4LjQFFWVyqGnUJ4kNISsLOO97HFs6X9DPPhzwRe1-5XqyzAPJSfu703dyw9lHEZnFwOYEyv3/s1600/Having+a+drink+at+Jarnages.jpg" height="480" width="640" /></a></div>
<div style="background-color: white; font-size: 15px; line-height: 21.299999237060547px; margin-bottom: 1.35em; text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;">Having a drink at Jarnages</span></div>
<div style="background-color: white; color: #444444; font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 15px; line-height: 21.299999237060547px; margin-bottom: 1.35em;">
The villages l've been through are really nice and have water fountains, handy to water the horse. I'm now getting into wilder country, hilly, narrow windy roads, streams and rivers, quite wooded, the people l've met are kind. There aren't many people, the bigger villages have a cafe, that is often a boulangerie too and may sell a few groceries. I like this sort of countryside and deliberately choose the remotest route. Yesterday the baker gave me a sackful of baguettes that he hadn't sold, they go dry and hard within an hour or two and are unsellable. The horse loves it. The salt in it probably does him good.</div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjuc2By5sCMYL67wfqobsvM8sBafX9-EaGeLQaUQWWbP51jiO97Atz7tJG8erYlwDiXZUvlw4STFelE9KBm2nYeP2Yln6Pb9RvwF3HbpGZtxlOPV5iKO7XIwRQxN7Hnm7jWR-Im5Ecgz9hP/s1600/Dried+up+baguettes.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjuc2By5sCMYL67wfqobsvM8sBafX9-EaGeLQaUQWWbP51jiO97Atz7tJG8erYlwDiXZUvlw4STFelE9KBm2nYeP2Yln6Pb9RvwF3HbpGZtxlOPV5iKO7XIwRQxN7Hnm7jWR-Im5Ecgz9hP/s1600/Dried+up+baguettes.jpg" height="480" width="640" /></a></div>
<div style="background-color: white; font-size: 15px; line-height: 21.299999237060547px; margin-bottom: 1.35em; text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;">Dried up baguettes</span></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
</div>
Horsedrawn travelhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14193357957502327320noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1302769187538212420.post-24362887420188207532014-03-20T08:39:00.005-07:002014-03-20T08:39:45.588-07:00Post 25 du Berry<div style="background-color: white; color: #444444; font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 15px; line-height: 21.299999237060547px; margin-bottom: 1.35em;">
Friday 7th March. I stopped in some woods last night, not much grass but the best l could do. When l got there a hunt had just finished and the huntsman was looking for a hound that had gone missing. He was wearing a wonderfully baroque outfit and had a lovely hunting horn. After blowing his horn for a bit the hound returned. In the morning it was a hard frost and l was glad to get on my way and out of the wood into the sunshine. As soon l got to a small verge l let the horse stop and eat some lovely spring grass for 15 minutes, l gnawed at a bit of crusty bread. This is lovely old fashioned countryside, small fields, woods, rivers and lakes and plenty of wildlife. I passed a farmyard with a large pig asleep by the back door of the farmhouse, there was also a donkey and goat and a selection of poultry , an old man waved to me.</div>
<div style="background-color: white; color: #444444; font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 15px; line-height: 21.299999237060547px; margin-bottom: 1.35em;">
I don't want to give the impression that everyone is friendly and hospitable here, some aren't and some are very difficult to communicate with. Today l stopped a man in a small village and asked him if there was a bakery, l've asked this many times before and have been understood without the slightest difficulty, but when he gives me a look of total incomprehension, it doesn't boost my confidence, so l try again, this time he mumbles, almost choking on the words as he swallows them, that he doesn't understand. Both bewildered, l patiently try a third time, this time something happens and he says, 'ahhh, une boulangerie,' the same as l've said it three times. This is why we have the expression, 'third time lucky.'<br />This kind of encounter exhausts me and could be very discouraging, especially if l've walked 30 km and am tired and hungry. Luckily this doesn't happen all the time , otherwise l might give up. The good thing about this sort of experience is that it reminds me to work harder at learning the language.</div>
<div style="background-color: white; color: #444444; font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 15px; line-height: 21.299999237060547px; margin-bottom: 1.35em;">
A lovely hot afternoon. l found a good place to stop with plenty of firewood, water and grass and stopped there. Shame it's not also a wifi hotspot, but you can't have everything. At sunset l watched a skein of about 150 geese fly over, what a lovely sight.<br />In the evening l made some seasoning to put in the bag of my bagpipes, they were Ieaking slightly. I melted some rabbit skin glue in a bain marie on my stove,mixed it with some glycerine and some neats foot oil and a little powdered borax and poured that in and swished it about a bit,then let it drain out. There's lots of ways you could do it, just like skinning a cat. Played my pipes later, what a difference and what a joy to play them. People often think of bagpipes as a Scottish instrument, in fact there are many types in several different European countries, including England.</div>
<div style="background-color: white; color: #444444; font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 15px; line-height: 21.299999237060547px; margin-bottom: 1.35em;">
There's plenty to do, things to mend and repair, often with limited resources and tools, [ you can't carry much in a wagon, space is limited and you can't have too much weight or the horse will struggle on the hills]. You have to be able to improvise.</div>
<div style="background-color: white; color: #444444; font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 15px; line-height: 21.299999237060547px; margin-bottom: 1.35em;">
The next day l found a boulangerie, without difficulty! The people l met were easier to understand and understood me. In the boulangerie the lady was very friendly, she asked if l was, ' Anglais?' Then she said, 'Je suis Berrichon.' A bit further down the road, the Maire of the village asked me if l'd slept well and that she'd enjoyed hearing me playing my bagpipes. [the pipes I'm playing are from this region, they are called, La Cornemuse. Then she said, 'A bientot, peut-etre [see you again, maybe]?' Friendly encounters like this really boost my morale.</div>
<div style="background-color: white; color: #444444; font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 15px; line-height: 21.299999237060547px; margin-bottom: 1.35em;">
This is a lovely part of France and l have been looking forward to resting here for a bit, if l could find a farm or somewhere to stay. I have asked people if l can stay the night successfully, but l haven't asked if l can stay for a week. The horse and I need a rest and I've been walking along worrying about it and practicing in my head what l would say to the farmer. Today l arrived in a village; straight-away l noticed a lady in the street looking my way. It was as though she was waiting for my arrival and knew exactly what l needed, she immediately ushered me into a nice orchard, next to where she was standing, showed me a tap for water and invited me in for coffee and said it was fine if l stopped a week, all in French. She is called Collette and what a kind lady. To help me she speaks slowly and repeats it three times, just what l need. I'm so pleased. There is a nice cafe in the village and the lady there is very friendly too, we chatted for a while and she told me that this evening there is a session of traditional music.</div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgVP-O3LvBBKm_e4mKuHR0nUTlUiHjdtYh-zAKhSjPd_-1MIEhVgBjSYUYB9Horo_KyTmGKSESDB02n5JBg_jTC5OV75GYSlsKZXitPeX4U8sulI3UjvfcUbKxFofGxXztsLwWpPg_ZXDro/s1600/9th+March,+Collettes+Orchard.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgVP-O3LvBBKm_e4mKuHR0nUTlUiHjdtYh-zAKhSjPd_-1MIEhVgBjSYUYB9Horo_KyTmGKSESDB02n5JBg_jTC5OV75GYSlsKZXitPeX4U8sulI3UjvfcUbKxFofGxXztsLwWpPg_ZXDro/s1600/9th+March,+Collettes+Orchard.jpg" height="480" width="640" /></a></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
9th March, Collettes Orchard </div>
<div style="background-color: white; color: #444444; font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 15px; line-height: 21.299999237060547px; margin-bottom: 1.35em;">
The people who own the chateau came and chatted to me, it's a beautiful chateau. I was glad to meet them.</div>
<div style="background-color: white; color: #444444; font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 15px; line-height: 21.299999237060547px; margin-bottom: 1.35em;">
I had a lovely evening in the cafe and played some of the tunes, mazurkas, waltzes, polkas, schottisches and bourees. There were about three dozen dancers, l watched one lady and thought how nicely she danced, later on she asked me to dance with her, l was really glad. The music was played on bagpipes, hurdygurdy, melodeons, violins, clarinette and an old man in his 80s, playing a saw. [To play a saw you have to stroke it in the right way]. I left about 12.30 am, tired. The next day l chatted to the cafe proprietor and he said the last musicians left at 6am.</div>
<div style="background-color: white; color: #444444; font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 15px; line-height: 21.299999237060547px; margin-bottom: 1.35em;">
The cafe here has le wifi, and makes a good hot chocolate. One evening the lady in the cafe gave one of her customers a haircut. I told him it looked really good and he bought me drink. I was drinking, Kir, which is cold white wine and blackcurrant liquor. It's rather refreshing on a hot day. As, [slightly by default], l am representing the UK l thought l should reciprocate and buy the man and his two friends a drink, and l was glad to. The total cost for the four drinks was about 5 Euros, a bit less than £5. Today Bernadette, who plays the violin and Pierre, a melodeon player turned up and we played music for two hours, l felt really happy. Lovely to have some other people to play music with and hear some new tunes and some old ones l'd forgotten. It's been hot and sunny in the daytime but still chilly in the early hours and ice on the bucket of water in the mornings. Clear skies and the stars look great here.</div>
<div style="background-color: white; color: #444444; font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 15px; line-height: 21.299999237060547px; margin-bottom: 1.35em;">
Saturday, March 15th.</div>
<div style="background-color: white; color: #444444; font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 15px; line-height: 21.299999237060547px; margin-bottom: 1.35em;">
I've done 400 miles [640km] since arriving in France, l'd estimated that it would take me 32 days to get here and would be about 356 miles, in fact it took me 31 days to get half way across France. The smaller roads l'm using account for the extra miles as they are more winding. It will be interesting to see how l get on with the next part of the journey. I've got huge hills to cross in the Massif Centrale, the weather will be hotter too. On the other hand the days are much longer, so l can set off earlier in the day and perhaps rest the horse more. We'll see.</div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiaZBi3XqOh-P9O2EYlGDNgxYp5zmqbxA3n2hcrVNoOy2T2vC7kU4S5fpbiYV02aeHDWYGk1_8FIZGgtuHinyFeVaHOvlK4edDG6Oledtc4qYGHGeuGwVjELtnuBN4wOLeE9mflcg0veKme/s1600/Stallion+donkey+at+St.Severe.+very+loud+braying.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiaZBi3XqOh-P9O2EYlGDNgxYp5zmqbxA3n2hcrVNoOy2T2vC7kU4S5fpbiYV02aeHDWYGk1_8FIZGgtuHinyFeVaHOvlK4edDG6Oledtc4qYGHGeuGwVjELtnuBN4wOLeE9mflcg0veKme/s1600/Stallion+donkey+at+St.Severe.+very+loud+braying.jpg" height="480" width="640" /></a></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
Stallion donkey at St.Severe. Very Loud braying.</div>
<div style="background-color: white; color: #444444; font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 15px; line-height: 21.299999237060547px; margin-bottom: 1.35em;">
I headed south today and after 26 km [16miles] stopped at St. Severe in the middle of the village by a pond, there is some nice clover for the horse to eat. There is a chocolate coloured, stallion donkey in a paddock next to me and his extra loud braying is charming. Apart from the donkey, no one else in the village came to see me, often small French towns and villages appear to be deserted, occasionally an old lady will be looking out of a window, sees me coming and hurriedly shuts the shutters. I'm sometimes reminded of Rudyard Kiplings poem,</div>
<div style="background-color: white; color: #444444; font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 15px; line-height: 21.299999237060547px; margin-bottom: 1.35em;">
'If you wake at midnight, and hear a horse's feet,<br />Don't go drawing back the blind or looking in the street,<br />Them that asks no questions isn't told a lie,<br />Watch the wall my darling while the gentlemen go by.'.....</div>
<div style="background-color: white; color: #444444; font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 15px; line-height: 21.299999237060547px; margin-bottom: 1.35em;">
The clock on the church strikes a few minutes before the hour and then on the hour, so you get two chances to hear what the time is. Jacque Tatti, made the film, La Poste here.</div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhq5o7gxUtdBUvBgoWKa_DgHxfHLGYF5pBOd0l-3cqEXj6gton4zcODJDi3dqCdSjiatqcjPypuF-TL39P2e587hCgCZmjwEePHVVNW-YA1BOMmm1VrmHkwHoOxLzH0nLunTJyvipHxK2hI/s1600/La+Poste.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhq5o7gxUtdBUvBgoWKa_DgHxfHLGYF5pBOd0l-3cqEXj6gton4zcODJDi3dqCdSjiatqcjPypuF-TL39P2e587hCgCZmjwEePHVVNW-YA1BOMmm1VrmHkwHoOxLzH0nLunTJyvipHxK2hI/s1600/La+Poste.jpg" height="480" width="640" /></a></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
La Poste</div>
<div style="background-color: white; color: #444444; font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 15px; line-height: 21.299999237060547px; margin-bottom: 1.35em;">
I often get asked if l get lonely on my own and the answer is, although l love good company, l also enjoy solitude, perhaps we need both? Curiously it's possible to be with people l like and love and yet feel incredibly alone, whereas when l'm alone l don't feel lonely.</div>
Horsedrawn travelhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14193357957502327320noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1302769187538212420.post-19803019419290724372014-03-09T11:00:00.002-07:002014-03-09T11:00:35.870-07:00Post 24 The Loire<div style="background-color: white; color: #444444; font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 15px; line-height: 21.299999237060547px; margin-bottom: 1.35em;">
I crossed the Loire at Beaugency, it's a nice old town, l stopped by the bridge and had a rest for an hour. It was a lovely sunny day. I could have stopped the night there, some of the towns have areas for camper vans and they sometimes have grass suitable for the horse to graze. I decided to carry on and wished l hadn't as l was tired by the time l got to La Ferte St Cyr.16 miles. [26km]. I'm about 320 miles [510 km] south of Calais now.<br />I stopped by the river in the middle of the village, in a picnic area. The countryside is different now, marshy heathland with scrubby oak trees. I'll be glad when l get out of it. In a car it would take about 45 minutes to get from Beaugency to Romorantin, you'd hardly notice it, you wouldn't see much or remember it. It will take me three days.</div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg73-IAeIwLjyPKk2Ar9RnL8Z8QYq4D04w7EsIx7RhJ5bPzMrW_pdaHJD7kWhcYf_5bxlVEK2kp_Y0oqzpxZFYMSdG3HOALURYErh4wiye0317QxzitkjE87Qf54LdgeV42hgzyTF_aGUcA/s1600/20140302_130817.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg73-IAeIwLjyPKk2Ar9RnL8Z8QYq4D04w7EsIx7RhJ5bPzMrW_pdaHJD7kWhcYf_5bxlVEK2kp_Y0oqzpxZFYMSdG3HOALURYErh4wiye0317QxzitkjE87Qf54LdgeV42hgzyTF_aGUcA/s1600/20140302_130817.jpg" height="480" width="640" /></a></div>
<div style="background-color: white; color: #444444; font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 15px; line-height: 21.299999237060547px; margin-bottom: 1.35em;">
<br /></div>
<div style="background-color: white; color: #444444; font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 15px; line-height: 21.299999237060547px; margin-bottom: 1.35em;">
I did about 8 miles [13km] then stopped on a fairly big verge at a road junction. It's surrounded by scrub oaks, it's a bit sombre but at least there is plenty of firewood. Further back l passed a sign, warning trespassers that the Devil [Diable] would get them. I'll take my chance.</div>
<div style="background-color: white; color: #444444; font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 15px; line-height: 21.299999237060547px; margin-bottom: 1.35em;">
I'm glad to give the horse and myself an easier day. I'm hoping to rest for a few days soon. I did 94 miles last week, which is good for this time of year, but l'm getting tired.</div>
<div style="background-color: white; color: #444444; font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 15px; line-height: 21.299999237060547px; margin-bottom: 1.35em;">
Despite the threat of the Devil, l slept beautifully, like an innocent baby and woke at 7.00 am to the sound of a woodpecker having breakfast. I stayed in bed for an hour all wrapped up snug in my quilts, reluctant to leave the warmth and face the damp cool air of this marshy wood.</div>
<div style="background-color: white; color: #444444; font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 15px; line-height: 21.299999237060547px; margin-bottom: 1.35em;">
The weather is so much better, Tarateeno is losing his winter coat rapidly now, his hairs get everywhere.19 miles [30km] to Villefranche sur Cher, stopped and did some shopping in Romorantin, there was a McDonalds there and l stopped outside and used the free wifi to check my emails. I had hoped more cafes would have wifi but they don't. They probably do in cities. I'll get a French carte de SIM for my tablet when l get a chance. I'm stopped in a nice big picnic area by the canal. The horse was tired and glad to get somewhere with good spring grass. He will not need any more hay or corn now, which will save me having to find it. It's warm this evening and it's the first time l haven't needed to light the stove for months. I saw some wild boar that had been run over today. I stopped and took a photo of a young one.</div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhellmyhVnvzn98A4VmqPdghmBfspxuoBRWKOB6ai9zbZNWqXN8x_dxNZdfRqvFm-E8vJfBo7pi1GkrRfFSFLcxs0QY5lCxS8YR8KRW5NPpayRNbU78Xu_RUPPQNzhIWAG3To9-_UPvLu2O/s1600/20140303_161215.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhellmyhVnvzn98A4VmqPdghmBfspxuoBRWKOB6ai9zbZNWqXN8x_dxNZdfRqvFm-E8vJfBo7pi1GkrRfFSFLcxs0QY5lCxS8YR8KRW5NPpayRNbU78Xu_RUPPQNzhIWAG3To9-_UPvLu2O/s1600/20140303_161215.jpg" height="480" width="640" /></a></div>
<div style="background-color: white; color: #444444; font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 15px; line-height: 21.299999237060547px; margin-bottom: 1.35em;">
<br /></div>
<div style="background-color: white; color: #444444; font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 15px; line-height: 21.299999237060547px; margin-bottom: 1.35em;">
5th March. Warm sunny day. I walked along in my shirtsleeves, saw some cowslips. Did 19 miles again, [30km). Tarateeno is losing his winter coat as fast as he can, l'm brushing it out with a curry comb, but it's very thick. It's tiring for him, he'll be glad when it's gone. I'm stopped a few miles north of Issoudun on a very quiet road. Just the sound of a pheasant getting ready to roost and later a fox barking. Too tired to practice French or my bagpipes, fell asleep. Woke at 6.30am. Quite a hard frost, lit the stove, moved horse to fresh grass, boiled a couple of eggs and ate them with some rock hard French bread that l chewed labouriously.I should have given the bread to the horse, but l'd forgotten to buy any fresh.</div>
Horsedrawn travelhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14193357957502327320noreply@blogger.com0