The South Downs Way. A personal journey.
Day Three
We missed the train.
No-one will ever be able to convince me that Public Transport is convenient. Despite the train being punctual to the second, and the bus turning up with military precision, it still took over three hours to complete a journey that, in the car, would have taken an hour and fifteen minutes. Adding insult to hurt wallet, the cost was huge. Travelling alone, I guess it might have been the roughly the same price as a return trip in the car, but this was one way, and there were two of us.
We didn't miss the train because we weren't there in time, but because we hadn't figured that the Monday morning commuters hadn't bought their weekly tickets. In fairness, we could have used the automatic ticket machines, but I doubt we'd have made the train even then, due to no knowledge of how they worked. We could also, of course, have bought the tickets on the Internet, but that never occured to me. So, we missed the train, and it was all my fault. And you know what? We were early! Hmmm.
The triple whammy came as a direct result of that poor planning. Missing the train meant we missed the connection, which meant we were an hour late for the rest of the day. Still, some small compensation was that we arrived in Brighton after the rush hour, and we get to see (some of) the town without the rush of people hastening to work. Bliss.
We got to the Central Bus collection area (you can't call it a Bus Station, and just seems to be where all the buses come in and out). Because Jackie had done some proper planning (refer to earlier comments), we knew which bus we wanted, and after a little running across the road and reading incomprehensible signs, we found the one that did indeed go to The Newmarket Inn, or Housedown Farm as it is properly known. The route took us past all the usual Brighton landmarks, including the Royal Pavilion, out past the University and onto the A27.
The bus drops us at the required stop. We again considered crossing the road to the Newmarket Inn and walking back up the hill to where we diverted off on Day 2, when we left the path to head for the pub. this would mean continuing in the purists manner, walking every inch of the South Downs Way. In several places, we had already not cut corners and marched round to gates rather than straight through a gap so as to satisfy ourselves that we really had walked the whole route. Sad, really.
Err - no. We figured that to walk back to the point at which we diverted was not worth it, due to the danger of crossing the road (which was very busy) and the fact that the walk from the bus stop back to the point where the path crosses the road was actually further than the purist route anyway. So we just walked up to the end of the bridge, found the sign and marched on. And, as you might have guessed, straight up a damn great hill.
It's windy today, and though the sun is shining, it is considerably cooler, and hard work walking into the wind. The wind also caused us to lose our most excellent map. Well, it may just have been that I was looking at it, put it down whilst we ate our grub, and then failed to pick it up again. But I think it was the wind. More on this later.
The first part of the walk is much the same as the last day, in that it is along the top of the Downs. You travel north for a mile or so. Presently you come to the scarp face of the Downs, and start heading west again, along the ridge. As on Day Two, the views are mostly to the north and very worthwhile. The views to the south are also wonderful, with great bowls and "bottoms", which are vales in the hills.
A typical view of the days walk. And my gut, unfortunately.
The first landmark is Ditchling Beacon, which is a bit touristy, but not unpleasant. Walking on, the views continue, and there are other bits of interest - such as dew ponds, like this one..
Continuing on, with much more of the same, eventually we came to Pyecombe. The walk down the hill to the main A23 passes, and at one point goes through, Pyecombe Golf Course. Being keen golfers, this held a lot of attraction for us, and we took our time walking down and admiring the course. It looked challenging, set as it is into the Downs. We waited, as is good golfing etiquette, while a couple of chaps tee'd off from one of the holes back down the hill to the clubhouse. They looked up, and said thanks - and commented that we would have been quite safe to continue walking. Clearly, they thought walkers don't know about golf.
Crossing the road into Pyecombe, we looked for the Pub we had seen on the map. It wasn't obvious, so we detoured and after a downhill walk (groan) found The Plough. It was empty, being after 2pm, and quite close to the main road, so noisy. But we had a bowl of soup, which was very nice, and a rest, because the stretch ahead looked pretty fierce, compared to what we had done so far. And so it proved, not least because we had to walk back up the hill to join the path again. However, the churchyard and surrounding houses were very pleasant, and it was a nice shady walk back out to the road to join the route of the path, where a bridge took us over the A23 and on.
Out of Pyecombe and uphill, a long drag, swiftly followed by another downhill into Saddlescombe. A lovely little hamlet, with a tap to refill the water bottles. We did this every time we came to a tap, and frequently didn't need it - we carried water for no reason. Keeps you fit, I s'pose...
From Saddlescombe, there is another long uphill to the Devil's Dyke. Not so steep, so easier to enjoy, and very well worth it. The Dyke takes a long time to walk past, and walking allows you to enjoy it's full splendour. There was quite a lot of activity, with model planes and gliders, and a couple of Hang Gliders. There was one who was in the air for at least half an hour, and flew away from us out of sight to the west and back again several times. I guess the sun had created lots of thermals, and it sure was windy - ideal conditions, I would say from a position of no knowledge of the subject at all..
I think it was hereabouts that the map decided to part company with us. We had sat down for a rest, and I remember studying it while we looked for the names of the villages in the valley below the scarp. We walked on and continued to marvel at the views and the hang glider chap. We had a routine of picking out a place on the map that looked about an hour away, and headed for that point for the next rest stop. So, about 30 minutes later, I reached for the map to see where we were, and how far to the next rest, when I realised it was not where it should have been.
Some heated discussion followed, in which it was made clear that I was a wassock, and it was all my fault. I blamed the wind for blowing it away at the top of the Devil's Dyke. Whatever the cause, and whoever's fault, we didn't have a map. We just had to carry on regardless. So we did.
The last stint was a killer. We walked past some more masts, or aerials, a Farm, and some buildings tucked away in among some trees that the map (writing this now with the benefit of studying another one) said was a Youth Hostel. This was probably true, given the VW Camper and surfboard parked outside. From this point was an asphalt road, with a distant view of Steyning. This did eventually turn off down a path, and finally, after what seems miles, and it was definitely more than one, we arrived at the road we remembered. I incorrectly identified this as the A24. Jackie remembered from her Google Earth studies that there was a little car park on the roundabout a little way up the road, which we thought would be a good place from which to phone a Taxi.
When we got there, I called the number our B&B had given us of good local Taxi service. As ever, I made a bit of a prat of myself.
Me: Dials number we have been given - note, I haven't lost this.
Respondent: "Hello, Steyning Private Hire".
Me: "Hi. Would you be able to pick us up from the roundabout on the A24 junction and take us into Steyning please?"
Respondent: "Sure; where are you? Washington roundabout?"
Me: "No, the Shoreham Road. We're standing in the little car park by the roundabout."
Respondent: "Right, Can you see a Motorcycle dealer?"
Me: "No, I can't see anything apart from a roundabout."
Respondent: "And it says Shoreham?"
Me, slightly exasperated: "Yes. Look, do you know Steyning?"
Respondent demonstrating remarkable calm, despite trying to get relevant information from an idiot: "Yes, I do. Is there a sign post? What does it say?"
At this point, Jackie finally gets through to me what she has been saying and I've been ignoring. I'm a bloke, and I can't multi-task, much less hold two conversations at the same time.
Me, realization finally dawning: "Err, A283, Shoreham and Brighton (A27). Sorry."
Respondent: "So not the A24?"
Me: "Errm, no. It's the Shoreham Road out of Steyning".
Respondent: "I'll be there in 5 minutes".
My defence is that I didn't have a map to refer to.
Shortly, a diesel Skoda Octavia (fast becoming the vehicle of choice for minicabs) turns up. The driver introduces himself as Kevin. I'm red faced, but not just from the walk.
During the drive Kevin divulges a few nuggets of info which hold us in good stead later. It also transpires that he is not just a Taxi - sorry, Minicab - driver, but also works in Shoreham Docks. I tell him that we've booked a room at Uppingham B&B, and he knows the landlady well. He tells us a bit about Diana, the proprietor. Apparently, she sailed long distances, and has turned her hand to many things. And so it proves when we get there.
We arrange that Kevin will collect us tomorrow morning and take us back to the same point he picked us up from this evening. I remain amazed at his good nature, considering how I had questioned his local knowledge earlier, but then some people are just, well, nice.
We are welcomed by Diana, and she shows us to our room and where the facilities are. As with Riverdale House, the room is small, but nicely furnished, and there is a shower. We collapse for half an hour or so, and then gingerly walk downstairs to ask about the best place to eat. Diana directs us to The Chequer, which involves a 10 minute walk through some houses at the back of the town and down into the town centre. The pub is very picturesque both inside and out, so we enjoy drink while waiting for the food to arrive.
A couple of apparently long lost contemporaries sit at the table next to us, and because there is no piped music or other clientele in our corner, we listen to their conversation. Neither of us can remember it in detail now, but it did cause much amusement when we recalled it later, bad jokes and discussions about cars being the main topics.
The food arrived on groaning plates. As ever with pub food these days, the portions are huge - me, a Lasagne that virtually doubles me in size, and Jackie, a fish pie. We would have had a pud, but what these places haven't twigged is that if you fill your clientele with a massive main course, there is no room for profitable sales of extras. Ho, hum. But the food was very nice, no complaints there.
So, we stagger back to Diana's, and collapse. After the debacle with the train, and a huge days walk, combined with the early start, we are tired, and again fall asleep with the telly on.
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