The Chiltern Way – Day 12

May 24, 2009: Aldbury to Dunstable

The reassuring evidence that you are not lost, after all.

The reassuring evidence that you are not lost, after all.

Tosh and I selected the Sunday of a Bank Holiday weekend for our next walk on the Chiltern Way; warm and sunny weather was promised and Linda, who arrived with Rob at the wheel, picked Fritz up at 8:45 at the start of a radiant day. I was carrying my stick, my pack on my back as I descended the stairs with my dog and I now received an unexpected ride to the tube stop. This gave me plenty of time to make my journey to the train station, one which involved shifting lines at a Baker Street already raucous with sports fans on their way to Wembley. I didn’t have long to wait for a Circle Line train; when I emerged at Euston Square an open top bus with chanting revellers aboard was making its way along the Euston Road.

The Euston Station ticket hall seemed to be under construction but I liked the internal arrangement, one which allowed the customer to face the clerk across a counter rather than through a glass darkly. I used my passes to purchase a single to Berkhamsted (disdaining a bargain price on a return, since we would return from elsewhere). Tosh arrived in the central hall soon thereafter; she too was early so after she had gotten her ticket we had time to purchase some snacks and a cup of coffee in an adjacent Caffe Ritazza. Our train was scheduled to depart at 9:57 and so we made our way to track 11 shortly before this moment and took our seats for a half hour’s journey.

Almost immediately we had company, for sitting behind us and suffering from a sprained ankle was the immense presence of Jeff Rudom, an American athlete, actor, and former star of Celebrity Fit Club. Hearing our accents he asked about our origins and then continued to talk about himself, his plans to develop fat camps for kids and his career in pro basketball in Israel. He never uncoiled so I couldn’t confirm his reputed 7’1” frame but he had a glorious belly ­– which demonstrated that he would certainly have had camp cred. He rarely drew breath but his audience had to desert him as Berkhamsted was the fourth stop on the train’s journey north.

I had chosen this station, even though Tring might have been closer to our starting spot, because I remembered that twice before we had taken taxis from a rank outside the station. Indeed there was a waiting cab now, though I had to visit the office inside in order to make our patronage official. Our driver was also chatty (he loved Los Angeles); he typed in the required destination and headed north, eventually dropping down into the lovely village of Aldbury and circling around to reach the upper end of Malting Lane at a spot where the Chiltern Way had lead us down into this town five weeks earlier.

Tosh paid up and I sat down on the grass to adjust my maps and the xeroxed sheets I would now insert into my plastic case. Here I discovered that I hadn’t actually brought the page with the route description for the next mile or so but I did have the guidebook’s map and the route continued to be very well marked – and so I wasn’t too worried. It was 10:52 when we at last began our day’s journey.

We climbed steeply up through woodland, finding some cyclists who wished to descend, waiting patiently for us to quit the surface as we reached Tom’s Hill Road. We crossed this road and continued in the same northeasterly direction for a little longer, then switched to a more easterly line as we reached a plateau. There were lots of people about, a few on horseback, many walking dogs, and this was a heavenly place for all: bluebells still resplendent under the tall canopy. The only upsetting moment came when Tosh began to agitate for an early return from the Wales walk that we had scheduled for June 8 – since she had a needed rehearsal and because her chorus had only four altos and only two were useful. I spent some time trying to figure out how this was possible and just about had it all figured out by the time we crossed the B4056 ­– though Tosh called the next day to say that she had the dates wrong and there was no need to change any plans.

By crossing the highway we returned to text and, on surer ground, continued in an easterly fashion along an avenue of beech and oak trees, with a boundary bank on our left. Our next turnoff was to take place as we reached an open field but the post bearing all the relevant disks had been uprooted and we had to take it on faith that it had been propped up in the right position. At any rate we turned north to follow the inside edge of a wood  –Chiltern Way markers soon validating this gesture. Our woodland route passed a mostly dried-up pond and reached a macadam road, where we turned right. Ahead of us was a wide gap in the woodland called Prince’s Riding and as we passed over it I had nostalgic moments on either side. On the left we could see the Bridgewater Monument – in honor of the third Duke, the “Father of British Inland Navigation.” The monument, for me, had more to do with American Inland Navigation for certainly a Duke of Bridgewater makes another appearance as the infamous Duke in Huckleberry Finn. On our right we could now also see Ashridge House, a National Trust property which the American School often used in days past for pre-term staff morale and bonding exercises – and well do I remember having to sit through these rituals in what Twain might have called educational soul butter.

Our road now put us onto the Ashridge Golf Course, though there was some indecision as we passed the charming Old Park Lodge – Tosh wanting to turn right on a more prominent track while I insisted that we needn’t change our line of march and that if we continued downhill we would reach the course itself in quick manner. So this proved to be, though neither of us felt too confidant as we gingerly crossed the greensward below the very modern club house and climbed back into some trees. The way forward was along the course access road and there was a lot of unpleasant traffic about.

We were able to escape this by turning half right at a T-junction, crossing a drive and following a fenced track behind gardens and into woodland again. Once again we had to pass between golfers’ tees (a tee-junction perhaps) but there seemed to be few people about – in spite of the glorious weather. After descending to Witchcraft Bottom and another interesting cottage we climbed up to a road where Tosh made the first of half a dozen comments on the beauty of the day to some other walkers – all agreed enthusiastically. A stile now introduced us to the parking lot of the Bridgewater Arms and we crossed Little Gaddesden’s main street to enter its premises. It was 12:08

We had walked only two and a third miles but this seemed to be the only convenient moment on this expedition for a pub lunch and so we selected a table in the dining room of a friendly establishment. I had the battered fish and Tosh ordered the pate and then a dish of three desserts, which she shared with me: one was a kind of profiterole, one a sponge, one a tart – and all were served with ice cream and custard. During lunch she brought me up to date on her most recent ASL junkets to reunions in Washington and New York and tried to get me to go with her on an expedition to New Zealand. We were in the pub for just over an hour and the place was just beginning to fill up in earnest as we finished our pints, paid up, and returned to our walk.

Just a few steps beyond the entrance to the pub’s garden our continuation was discovered as we used backyard paths (with a view of the local church) to cross meadows and paddocks and thus reach Church Lane. Facing us was a long level straightaway through a huge plowed field, one from which an unknown vegetable was already sprouting. Fortunately there was a well-worn path through this veg; unfortunately there was no escaping the hot sun beating down on our heads. Of course I was wearing my Michigan Film Office cap but I had taken my sweatshirt off at lunch and when we reached the end of the field and the oak tree we had been aiming for and turned left to walk along a hedge I began to look for a place where I could sit down and apply some sunblock.

We had a wonderful view down below us, the Gade valley, which was dominated by the huge Milebarn Farm on our left. Tosh denounced this establishment with its long succession of outbuildings but I could see a farmhouse of considerable charm nearer the road to which we now descended. The road marked the boundary between Hertfordshire and Bedfordshire and this was the first time we would walk in the latter county, an exciting moment.

Unfortunately we now faced a steep bit of uphill on the north side of the valley and Moon’s guidebook called for this to be accomplished on the right side of the hedgerow – which was in the bright sun. Nevertheless we persevered, Tosh well out in front here, at last reaching the hilltop and a deer fence where there was again some shade available from overhanging trees. We entered Ravendell Wood and enjoyed its shelter for a while but then it was back into the sun for another long straightaway across open fields, with the cottages of Studham serving as our waymark. We walked between buildings to reach Common Road and I paused here for, unusually, the text I was following and the map I was using both needed replacement in my case at the same time.

We crossed the road and entered more veg, Tosh striding off on the better marked path through the greenery, half-right, while I paused to note that we needed to head downhill on a less prominent gash half-left. We could see finger posts on Valley Road, which we soon reached, crossing the latter to continue forward along a hedgerow in a northwesterly direction and crossing the Icknield Way, a route we would often encounter this afternoon.

At the end of the second field we turned right to cross a fence that warned us that the local cows and calves liked to chase dogs! We encountered the beasts in question at the top of their field and turned left along a path in Castle Grove. Off to our right, I noted from the guidebook, there existed two pubs belonging to the village of Studham, though, curiously, neither is marked on the old sheet 196.

Under any circumstances we didn’t need to add more mileage on a fairly strenuous day and so we persisted in our northern quest, following paths through Church Grove for some while. I often took off both my hat (so my head could breathe) and my dark glasses (so I could see) in such woods but when Tosh took her glasses off while pausing for a comfort break she managed to leave them behind!

She hadn’t gone too far before remembering her mistake and turned around, waiting for me to shout when she had reached the right tree. My attention was actually riveted by the unusual sight of antelope in the grassy field on our left – for the fence on the left side of the path now presented a portion of the vast Whipsnade Wild Animal Park. The antelopes were quite curious about these human interlopers and many of them stared at us with their limpid brown eyes. Some were quite close to the fence and one was nursing a youngster. We moved forward slowly in order not to cause too much disturbance – the animals no doubt having grown accustomed to the sound of the kiddies’ choo choo which echoed over the area on our left for the next hour.

We reached Studham Lane and turned left on its fairly solid (but empty) surface, following paths thereafter that brought us into the grounds of Whipsnade Church. This was a lovely and quiet place, though we did meet some other walkers after passing through the churchyard to emerge on the local green.

We turned left here and walked along the margins of the green before turning right to cross the B4540 and continuing forward amid cars and tourists to the entrance of a famous local attraction, The Tree Cathedral. We decided to enter the space, abandoning the Chiltern Way for a short while, and having a brief look at an intricately designed arboretum in which some of the plantations were meant to suggest the outlines of a cathedral. There was an avenue of limes that were meant to suggest the nave, though Tosh insisted they weren’t limes and I heard another visitor denounce the arrangement, “Well this is not the shape of a medieval cathedral!” I sat down on a grassy spot and adjusted my maps while Tosh collected a few specimens from low-lying branches in order to identify them better when she got home.

After a few minutes Tosh congratulated me for the second time on my ability to rise from the ground without the need for assistance – I had to assure her that I hadn’t been practicing. The trick was now to regain the CW without retreating to the entrance. We knew it was off to our right and it didn’t take too long for us to find a hedge gap that put us back in the right spot. We soon reached a private road and continued our northerly journey, encountering a number of stained glass-embedded waymarks that were quite attractive. We passed through Sallowspring Wood and eventually approached a gate onto the escarpment of Dunstable Downs.

This was a very dramatic moment – with wonderful views down below of a verdant Bedfordshire countryside, with an active glider center immediately below us. Now we turned right to follow a path just below the ridge top, soon encountering a tremendous number of casual visitors and their dogs. By the time we had reached the grassy flanks below the Chiltern Gates Centre there were literally hundreds of people and their kids with faces turned toward the sun. We wandered up to the Centre but the National Trust, in its wisdom, had just closed its doors at 5:00 and so, after Tosh had visited the loos, and we had passed a picnic bench on which someone had a ferret on a leash, we returned to the escarpment and headed for an ice cream wagon, where Tosh ordered a mint choc ice in homage to Margie and I ordered a Feast bar.

We sat down on a hillock and considered our next move. In theory we could have summoned a cab to this spot, for we had certainly walked enough for this day, but there was a problem: where might a cabbie find us amid such a mob of humanity and all these cars? So, after finishing our treats, we decided to continue on for another half an hour in order to reach civilization in the form of a Dunstable pub. We walked through the overflow car park, Tosh noting that there were many black and Asian faces among the visitors today. Ahead of us was Five Knolls Hill and I had to assure Tosh that we would not have to climb this steep projection from the bottom for if we continued along our earthen path we would be able to slide over to its summit without much loss in elevation.

The views were as magnificent as ever and I could now clearly see behind us Ivinghoe Beacon, the end point for the Ridgeway and the northernmost point I had reached (in 1982) in any of my London walks until today.

From the summit of Five Knolls Hill we could now see the rooftops of Dunstable itself and we soon began a steep grassy descent toward this town, emerging at the busy junction of the B4541 and the B489. In order to reach the pub we started to cross the latter but in the island in the middle of the road I noted that there was no pavement on the northern side of the street so we retreated and continued in an easterly direction until it seemed that sidewalk would be available over there after all. After five minutes or so I at last spotted the pub sign I was seeking (Tosh beginning to grumble that it was all a figment of my imagination) and at 5:50 we ended our nine and a half mile walk at The Pheasant.

Loud music blared from the interior of this working class establishment so Tosh decided that we should sit out front with the smokers and getting us half pints while I fished out my mobile phone. I tried one of the numbers I had gotten off the Internet but I was having problems obtaining a signal again. There was no need for Tosh to use her phone this time, however, because two young ladies, part of a larger party of twenty-somethings at an adjacent tale, now intervened to use their own phones to make the crucial call.

These girls were wonderful, the Bedfordshire equivalent of Essex girls (though Bedsex girls sounds a but racy). One, with a tattoo wreathing her upper arm, was a sales rep for a wood company and the other, her fair skin pinked by today’s sun, was a dental nurse. They were fascinated by our accents, wanted to know all about us, and kept up a non-stop chatter for the next fifteen minutes. The Pheasant offered free food to its customers and our new friends snagged a platter containing Scotch eggs, sausages, drumsticks, slices of pork pie and sausage rolls, encouraging us to eat. (I ate one drumstick and a piece of pie.) When our driver came (in an old London black cab) they helped us into the backseat and negotiated a price to Luton train station for us. It had been a most unusual way to end a walk, but both of us were charmed. The cabbie, getting into the spirit of the adventure, called them our “guardian angels.”

Our ride took about ten minutes and after we had waited for only fifteen minutes or so we were able to board our train. I don’t remember ever using St. Pancras station on a London walk but here is where we arrived at about 7:15 (and we would use this station many times hereafter). I had wanted to see the conversion that had taken place here since this station had become the London terminus for Eurostar and I must say I was quite impressed by the modern interiors. Tosh and I had a long walk to the underground, however, parting as she headed for the Picadilly line and I for the Metropolitan. I like this line because it goes right into the bowels of Baker Street and there is an easy transition from it to the Bakerloo Line. It was almost 8:00 by the time I made it home. Bless their hearts, the Taggarts undertook the last walk with Fritz before returning him to me at about 10:30. By this time I had stiffened up considerably and Tosh would certainly have needed to help me get off the ground with a tug now.

To continue with our next stage you need:

Day 13: Dunstable to Upper