Thursday, 9th August.
Dinner last night was chiefly ageing couples as expected, though there were a few businesspeople as well, plus me. Not a bad place to put on expenses. I wonder whether I should send all my accommodation bills to Flintshire County Council and claim for something or other. Occupational Therapy maybe? I had two courses to celebrate being somewhere posh, prawns then lamb, and both were very good indeed.
I didn’t really know what to do after dinner. Typically I fancied going for a walk but decided rest was the best option, opting for the lounge instead. Nickelback were playing on the speakers which nearly sent me running for an early night, but in the end it was relaxing looking out of the window towards the Moors, even if the beer was as bad as the music.
Solberge Hall Hotel.
If I had a nutritionist he would say, “You eat really well, but what’s with all the beer?” I would shift uncomfortably in my seat and mutter something about it being “mainly water”, before heading down the “you only live once” and “life’s too short” angle, with a shrug of the shoulders style “what does it matter at my age?” finale.
I mention this because I start every day really well, eschewing the full breakfast for a sensible combination of its components (say, poached eggs on toast), or smoked salmon with scrambled eggs or, as was the case this morning, some superb porridge with honey and fruit. I’ve usually destroyed my good work by the time of the final order of the day, a nightcap of another pint of bitter. Mind you I’m better than I was, nowadays remembering to rehydrate with water before having my first pint, rather than using the beer itself to rehydrate.
I took a calculated risk today. I didn’t want to pay silly money for a packed lunch from the posh hotel, and couldn’t be bothered snaffling mini-croissants from the breakfast bar, so I gambled on one of the 3 villages I was going to pass through during the first 6 miles having a shop. I wasn’t finished with the boring bit yet, with the hills only beginning again after the final village, though an 8:30 start before the sun got going in earnest meant I rattled through those early miles.
The first place I came to was Newby Wiske, a tiny place that appeared to have a problem with PGL, whoever they were, so had anti-PGL placards up nearly everywhere. I suspected it was some sort of NIMBY thing. I had not expected a shop here so I moved on to more promising territory.
I discovered later that it was indeed a NIMBY thing. PGL wanted to use the old Police HQ as an Outdoor Education Centre for schools - “Get those pesky kids off my land!”
I walked through the first village, no shop. I continued to the second village, no shop. I kept going to the third village, Knayton, which would surely have one because it was next to the A19, no shop. This never happens in fairy tales. I was about to leave my current map and go onto a new one so I scanned my route ahead for any possible refreshments, but there were no pubs or shops. I checked my bag and found 2 B&B stem ginger biscuits.
I spent the next few minutes considering possible plans of action. For example, should I divide the remaining miles into three and eat one biscuit at each of the two ‘staging posts’, or wait until I was near death and eat both, or eat both now and anticipate a gradual deterioration. I was on a lane at this point and was about to lie down in the nearest field and wait for the buzzards when I saw a sign for a caravan park. I soon found reception, where they sold crisps and biscuits, and after buying a topic, a kit-kat chunky, a 150g bag of crisps and an orange fruit shoot, felt more optimistic about my chances of survival. I also bought an 8 pack of Tunnocks as emergency rations. What would my nutritionist say?!
Looking back from the moor to the distant Dales.
The next thing I knew I was on a moor and heading for a summit of sorts, having completed 12 miles without really noticing. I’d also joined a National Trail, the Cleveland Way. I stopped at the summit of sorts for a crisp break and sat on a stone next to a wall. I took a while for some reason, as there was absolutely nothing else around, to notice a sign right next to me. When I read it it completely changed the course of the remainder of the day.
Tearoom alert! Tearoom alert! Tearoom alert!
I scoured the map for High Paradise Farm, discovered it was still on the moor about 2 miles south east and changed my entire route to fit around a visit. A tearoom would be the final piece of the jigsaw that would ensure my survival for another day. I then retraced my steps for 5 minutes before veering off the original path (hence the spike on the map below).
It was at this point I noticed a curtain of grey to my right. It had gradually clouded over but hadn’t looked remotely like raining until now, and although it was a fair distance away it soon looked Biblical. As there was hardly any wind it seemed to just sit there in the sky and looked quite superb (but not really in the photos), though gradually it was creeping closer. The wind picked up now as it often does before rain and the sky became even darker. Eventually everything disappeared into grey and the rain began to fall, soon becoming quite heavy. But I didn’t care, I just ordered another cafetière and carried on watching it through the tearoom window.
A better photo than the others, if nowhere near as dramatic.
As I had made such good progress I sat reading in High Paradise tearoom for well over an hour. When I finally left it was much brighter and I made a conscious effort to slow down for the remaining miles. The moorland was vast and the sky was vast; a very vast vista. I spent ages hanging round a dead tree taking photos, then a dead sheep (gruesome death but I’ll keep that to myself).
Very vast vista with dead tree (dead sheep not pictured).
I was reluctant to descend but had to eventually, and lo and behold after a superb day the second to last mile was bloody awful, through an overgrown plantation and culminating in a 100 yard scramble up a steep slope buried in bracken, brambles and nettles. I spent the last mile composing myself and wiping blood off my legs. Thankfully Laskill Country House is a beauty, and even better SENSIBLY PRICED!!! Interestingly I’ve been informed that it featured in the ‘4 In A Bed’ TV programme and won! I’ll need to find out more about that later.
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