Day Two:
I wake at 5am and am unsure of my surroundings or more to the point, how visible the tent was in daylight. You know. Wild camping isn’t exactly legal in England. and while I’d taken every effort under the night’s sky to be invisible. Things always look different in the light. It was a good effort, but not perfect.

I packed up and moved to another park to fire up my stove and cook my can of sausages and beans. It was perfect. Yes I stunk.badly. But this could be fixed with some wet wipes. I’d now survived a wild wild camp (in a park) and after checking my map I headed west towards a portion of hot chips in the shadows of salisbury before following the rolling country farm hills south to Wimborne.

Arriving late and tired after a full days cycle, I sat outside the minster and contemplated life and also a place where I could cook my food and pitch my tent. A lady then walks past and we strike up a conversation about my Fatigued and troubled face. Explaining my predicament she, Maria, says that she works in the pub across the road and that I can camp in the pub garden and use their facilities. I mean what are the odds. Really. Like a trillion to one. Note to self – let people camp in your garden