Another evening of much convivial conversation ensued at the pub, over a very nice dinner and a few drinkies. In best Boner tradition, Peter wasn't entirely sure where our bivvy spot would be, so as we left I thought I might try the standard Reg Landlady Chat-Up Ploy. After a few minutes I'd worked up my spiel - the contents of which I shall not divulge to maintain secrecy of the noble art of Pub Bivvy Blagging - and presented my case to the landlady. Amazingly she maintained that we'd been model customers and were welcome to kip in the garden - result! Unfortunately not the result that got the vote from anyone else who for some bizarre reason decided that a night in some smelly ditch would be more preferable
.
So off we went into the darkling woods, past an enormous limestone quarry (largest in the Forest - tick). Here we paused to look into the scary void in the dark, at which point I noticed some pairs of eyes coming towards us along the edge of the quarry. These multiplied and suddenly a large herd of deer rushed past, which was quite a sight.
Lots of tracks and trails through the Forest ensued, with various bivvy spots being assessed and rejected, until we eventually ended up at one of the visitors centres, which gratifyingly for someone of advanced years such as myself also included loos and a cafe for the morning. A third night out for myself, by which time I was finally getting a decent night's sleep. Well, decent until 6am when a "comedian" of the Forest went past in their car with an "amusing" horn tune which they sounded continuously from one distance to the other. Either that or Forest police cars have an amusing siren.
Another palatial flying diamond pitch for Reg, living dangerously with only one turn of the main line round the tree with just one slippery half-hitch.
Sadly no wild boar turned up in the night, as indeed they didn't throughout the whole trip. This shyness was not exhibited by the other profligate fauna of the Forest - slugs and snails - several of whom found their way into various bits of my sleeping bag and clothing by the morning. Peter even named our ad-hoc route after a snail, and I'll leave him to enlighten us what that was.
Nobody rumbled us during the night despite our exposed location, and it was straight round to the cafe for a loo visit. Luckily they were open, and indeed the cafe people had just arrived as well. The cafe wasn't meant to be open until 9am, and it was only just after 8, so there seemed little hope of sustenance. However, never let it be said that Reg passes up any opportunity for a 2nd, or indeed 3rd or 4th, Breakfast, so the negotiating commenced. It appeared that my compatriots were not 100% on board with the idea, but having had my pub garden bivvy cruelly rejected I thought I'm not losing this time
. A bit of chat-up with the very personable young lady fiddling about behind the counter, and lo, Reg takes possession of a full cooked breakfast. Quite bizarrely a golden opportunity passed up by everyone else
. Topping up our water bottles we set off for the Peter Official Second Breakfast Cafe, which in fact turned out to be lunchtime so I was very glad of my breakfast thank you
.
I'd requested a visit to (bits of) the FoD Sculpture Park, and Peter kindly obliged. I love the incongruity of these large artworks, plonked as they are amongst the trees. Here is one that looks like something out of a science fiction film. Verena and Kev humoured me by joining in with my own sculpture addition....
I shall allow Verena, if she wishes, to elaborate on what was going on here, all I'll say about the matter is "Wodger"
.
Not sure what this one is meant to be....
One of my favourites....
Another nice morning wandering the byways and trails ensued, past old mines, WW2 installations, one of Peter's favourite bits of sour singletrack, and the aforementioned cattle trough where I washed various items of clothing, and indeed almost my person as well, which some naughty soul will no doubt provide photographic evidence thereof.
Peter explained that shortly we would be passing Old Bert who was always to be found sitting next to the trail, happy to talk to anyone who would listen. I looked forward to this, but when we got to him I must admit I found his conversation rather, er, wooden. Still, on the plus side Verena obviously hit it off with him
.
A spot of lunch at the Forest Heritage Centre was most pleasant, with again Peter knowing all and sundry in the place
. As we left I popped back into the cafe to take my plate, and the proprietress was alone sitting at a table. As I approached she dispensed some sage advice. "Well you'll just have to give up sex". Well that statement just opens up a whole can of worms really, and I was about to have an entertaining conversation based upon it, when I noticed that she was actually talking to the girl behind the counter who I couldn't see
. After watching her for a couple of moments I got the impression that giving up sex was quite a remote possibility
.
At this point Kev left us to ride home to Malvern (top effort that man), and Verena, Peter, and myself continued on to Lydney and my railway station for home.
Naturally we rounded off the whole weekend with yet another cafe at Lydney Docks - a very interesting place itself. Verena cemented her credentials as a "top table" Boner by purchasing one of just about everything in the kiosk - coffee, icecream, cold drink
A gentle toddle back to the station where I bade the guys a fond farewell and boarded the 15.14 to Cheltenham. Despite the previous strike days, I had an uneventful and enjoyable journey back, despite changing at Cheltenham, and Birmingham, AND Milton Keynes, with a loaded bike. Only 3 hours, very relaxing staring out of the window at the passing scene as usual, and a cup of tea on each of the trains rounded it all off nicely.
It only remains to thank Peter very much for all the organisation and passing on his encyclopedic knowledge of the Forest, and all three of my co-conspirators for their excellent company. The whole weekend was very chilled, with lots of laughter and silliness.
As usual, I am now finding it quite hard to return to Unreality
. I do count myself very lucky indeed to have got to know some fantastic, experienced, knowledgeable, friends on these sort of trips.
"Boner!"
Oh, yes, Pub Count 2, Cafe Count 9
. Kev and myself didn't bother with tarps and despite heavy dews I had very little condensation either night. Kit carried was minimal which made riding the undulating contours of the Forest of Dean slightly more comfortable.
