Eventually, the rain got us a little down. At one point, the directions started rubbing off of the page, the book pages were sticking together, we were feeling soggy and tired, and then, pheasant hunters started shooting all around us. So, with the help of some boy scouts, we found an alternate route to a pub nearby, where we could get some lunch and dry off a little bit. But not before Jim slid down a muddy hill on his bottom. Being a supportive wife, I laughed my bottom off once i was sure that he didn't hurt himself:

The pub we visited was called the Red Lion. We refreshed ourselves with some pints, a steak burger sandwich, a tuna sandwich, and lots of chips and then resisted the urge to call a taxi and continued our journey...and we are so glad that we did, because things got even more beautiful as we went along. Here is a picture of Jim soaking wet with his pint.

And here is Jim, under the Red Lion sign, as, still soaking wet, teeth chattering, we continued on for 7 more miles or so. We felt pretty tough, because while we were in the Red Lion a whole walking group came in talking about how horrible the weather was and how they hadn't been able to walk.