This walk began, as all walks involving me must, in Swanville Maine. By car
to Belfast, by bus to Boston, by foot to Chinatown, by subway (underground
to my UK readers) to Logan International Airport, by Virgin 747 to Heathrow,
by Heathrow Express to Paddington, by underground (subway to my American
readers) to Kings Cross, by train to York, by train to Malton, by taxi to
Helmsley.
Whew! I put on my gaiters and was ready to go!
I walked on the Cleveland Way to Hambleton, enjoying the very spooky,
sparsely populated valley around Rievaulx, but glad to get to my B & B and
crash. Sadly, the pub was closed Monday night but my hostess at Cote Faw,
bless her heart, made me a very nice soup and sandwich, which was plenty for
this weary traveller.
Next day, cool, clear, breezy, over at Roulston Scar, met a gentleman
walking a lurcher, a setter, and a Bedlington terrier. We walked and talked
dogs for a while and then I was off on the drove road, enjoying the views
west, trying to figure out just how much gas I had in my tank, how I was
feeling, how hard this was seeming. Answer: not very. Just a long,
pleasant, flat straight shot, and I was in Osmotherly.
Not sure why, but I had trouble finding a room there--hadn't booked ahead
and the place was pretty well packed. Wound up paying too much for more
beds than I could personally use, but I slept well and had good lamb shank
at the Queen Catherine.
Next day, again sunny, cool, excellent views and walking, lots of walkers
out. Pleasant shortcake and burdock/dandelion soda at the cafe (pretty
exotic soda flavor for this country boy!) I'd rather walk alone than with a
lot of other walkers about, but only the lad with the loud radio at the Wain
Stones got me annoyed. Of course in the states, with our gun laws, it is
considered justifiable homicide to blow such yobs away five seconds after
giving them a single warning to turn the damn thing off.
Began to get a ball-of-the-right-foot blister on the steep downhills--so
much of the path thereabouts is understandably paved, but I was thanking the
heavens each step that the paving stones were dry. A lot of spots were
obvious potential broken ankles. And it was hard on the feet.
Very pleasant supper at Maltkiln house in Urra, with three couples all doing
the C2C. Beer, wine, conversation, food--we made merry.
Oh, but dammit, next day was rain and drizzle, rain and drizzle and the moor
walk and the Rosedale Ironstone railway and Lion Inn were all socked in with
a twenty yard fog. (Alert readers will notice that I forsook the Cleveland
Way at Bloworth Jct and set off on C2C, completely according to plan.)
I just bet the views down the dales were grand, but you can't prove it by
me....
Fog did start to clear later, so that past the Trough House views opened up
and sun was out by the time I marched into Glaisdale after giving directions
(me and my trusty OS 1:25000) to a lost motorist on the moors and passing a
platoon of camo lads with plans to scatter across the moors (hope they all
found their way home; I swear by my Silva).
My hostess at Glaisdale was one of those souls who organizes life for you.
When she heard I was planning to get an early start and take a train to
Whitby the following morning, she couldn't stop herself from saying what a
bad idea that was, as I'd walked hard, gotten there late, and needed a full
night's sleep.
Yes, mum!
So, no coffee for me, she said, not at 7! I sat at the train station
enjoying watching the school kids mess around and scrimmage with a football.
They seemed happier, more adult than a comparable age group of American
kids. Whitby looked like a place I might want to return to: a walk up the
Esk valley? Had a pair of double espressos and some gloppy bad-boy pastry
to give me the fuel I need, then walked down the coast, very blue sea and
sky, green fields to RH Bay, though naturally I didn't walk fast enough to
avoid the thunder, lightning, and torrents from above (and then the
clearing) that seem to be part of any walking tour.
My C2C people in Urra had made me nervous about finding accommodation in RH
Bay, but in the event, the second B & B from the path's end was glad to see
me, and walking down into town later, there seemed to be many vacancies. I
liked RH Bay--twee as it is, it really isn't all that twee, if you see what
I mean. Good fish and chips, a pint of Landlord, a little hilarious English
tv (that [censored] on Weakest Link! the House of the Tiny Tearaways! [I only
watch tv in England, so I have nothing American to compare it to]).
Another pleasant morning start, heading to Scarborough. Cleveland Way to
Ravenscar, then the dismantled railway--a quite beautiful walk in its way,
with the trees someone so thoughtfully planted to flank the path, the long
delicious curves of the Victorian engineers drawing the walker ever on, the
distant ocean views....
Don't ask me how, but I arrived at Scarborough train station with four
minutes to spare before the train to York. I felt like with luck like that,
I ought to have bought a few lottery tickets.
Spent the night in "my" regular hotel near Paddington, where one can bargain
over tariff as in a bazaar. Wandered around London next day, watched the
buskers at Covent Garden, hit Stanfords for maps and books, took in a movie
in Leicester Sq, ate a pleasant halal meal on Edgware Rd, racked it in--and
next day I was off to Heathrow. Walked about 75 miles, handled my one
blister with the help of wonderful Compeeds, lost a few pounds (since gained
back), spent more than a few pounds, never to be seen again.
Good trip!