Stonehenge isn’t the only cool historical landmark in southern England. A quick glance of our AA road atlas revealed dozens of historic houses, churches, castles, roman antiquities and prehistoric sites in Wiltshire and Oxfordshire alone. Places like Woodhenge and Old Sarum, Silbury Hill and Chisbury Chapel. Layer after layer of human history stacked one on top of the other. We didn’t have time to see even a fraction of what was around us. We had to content ourselves with hitting a few noteworthy highlights before moving on.

From Stonehenge we made our way north, towards Marlborough and Swindon. Perfect little English towns like Manningford Bruce, West Stowell and Bishopstone flashed by as we drove. Then, finally, we arrived at the vale of the White Horse.

The White Horse is a huge, highly stylized figure cut into the side of a chalk hill near the village of Uffington, Oxfordshire. Evidence suggests that it was carved sometime between 1400 and 600 BC, during the height of Britain’s Bronze Age. Who commissioned it, and why, remains largely a mystery.


The white Horse of Uffington...Click the image if you want to actually see it.

Though not as photogenic as Stonehenge, the white horse was impressive. There were fewer people there, and the whole scene was rather more tranquil than Stonehenge had been. To say nothing of the fabulous views to the north. We would have stayed longer, probably hiked to the top of the hill, but the sun suddenly seemed very low on the western horizon and shadows were growing long across the fields below. As the setting sun turned the landscape gold around us, a sinking feeling settled in the pit of my stomach. We had hotel reservations in Stroud, some 30 miles to the northwest…we’d never make it before nightfall.




Back home, a 30 mile night drive through the country would have been little more than an excuse to roll the windows down, turn the radio up, and ease the seat back just a tad. Not in England! The thought of navigating those tiny, twisty rock and tree lined bike paths for roads in the pitch black scared the hell out of me. It was tricky in broad daylight!

We pulled into a little market town called Highworth, just as the last red and purple rays of day were falling on the old stone buildings of Lechlade Road. Instead of pushing ahead into the darkness, we checked into a little inn and pub called the Saracen’s Head Hotel.


The Saracen's Head.

We tried to cancel our reservation in Stroud, but no luck. We ended up paying 200 quid (about 400 dollars) for a bed we never slept in!

We eventually wandered down to the pub, where I savored one of the finest steaks I’ve ever eaten. If ever you find yourself in Highworth, Wiltshire County, England at dinner time...you won't regret checking out The Saracen’s Head Pub!