Hale House, my Bed & Breakfast was a "Passivhaus", a house designed so that no heating was required. In response to my query, the informative owner explained that the towel rails were the only source of heat. Thanks to thick insulation and triple glazed windows it was warm even today, on a cold, January morning. To keep the air fresh without losing heat, warm air from the bathrooms and kitchen was driven outside through a heat exchanger, which used the warmth of the stale air being expelled to heat the fresh air being brought into the house. To clean the air it was passed through a filter to remove particulate pollution, so better than the outside air!
So informed and replete with an excellent breakfast (including homemade jam) I began my day's walk. Much of it was through woodland, mainly beech, crossing several hills. Particularly attractive was a "ride" through trees on the high ground above the town of Tring. Weather was dry but features in the distance were affected by a misty greyness. Being Saturday, many people were out for a walk or jog, with their girlfriends, families, children, dogs or horses. This made it difficult to have a discrete "wee" as I always seemed to be followed.
A few kilometres before I reached it I thought I could see Ivinghoe Beacon, a grass covered promontory, standing proud above the lower land to the north of it, and the end of the Ridgeway National Trail. Maybe it was more than a few kilometres as it seemed to take a while to reach it. First I had to cross a few hills, rather more hills than I had expected. After a final steep climb in muddy boots I reached Ivinghoe Beacon and the plaque marking the end of this National Trail. The view was extensive but I did not stay long as it was exposed to a cold wind, besides, only a greying whippet seemed interested at my momentous arrival. I dropped down to a lower, more sheltered area to enjoy a snack.
Over the last day or two I had been encountering signs for the Icknield Way, which in places followed the Ridgeway. I now switched to this route to continue my trek across England. Waymarks included a drawing of a stone hammer, a reference to the stone age origins of the Icknield Way. Less popular than the Ridgeway, fewer people were on the track. Two men I encountered had backpacks of a size that indicated they had been camping. One told me they were trying out their equipment. They wild camped in a wood last night and were "toasty warm". Evidently the equipment past the test.
After passing the disappointingly modern house of "Hog Hall", the village of Dagnall and numerous golfers I reached a long section of straight path beside a very high fence. At first I found the fence forbidding, thinking it had some sinister purpose, enclosing a prison or the grounds of some criminal organisation. Then I realised it was the boundary fence of Whipsnade Zoo, the country arm of London Zoo. The high fence was to keep animals in (and non-paying guests out). I peered through the fence looking for lions or kangaroos but all I could see was tussocky grass. It was not much further to my inn for the night, and again the dreaded problem for the muddy walker of pale coloured carpets.
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