The Cotswolds are home to the kind of picturesque landscapes that previously only existed in my imagination. There is a sense that the land was sculpted over centuries to perfectly display bright yellow and green rolling hills in the optimum manner to be appealing to the eye.
And in some cases, the land was actually sculpted, through centuries of tilling with oxen, it has changed the land irrevocably. Passing lazily by the few remaining sheep farms, squinting to catch the sight of deer in game forests, and marveling at the pastoral charm of thatch-roofed cottages we made our way from Oxford towards Stratford-upon-Avon.
If one thing became readily apparent during the journey, it was that the roads were *made* for motorcycles. The compartmentalization of coach windows do not do justice to the views, and the gentle curves and light traffic along the roads would be absolutely outstanding on a vehicle where you can really feel the road. When I make it back to Oxford to visit the Eagle and Child pub, I hope to do so with a bicycle or on a Triumph.
(To be continued…)