The Last of the free wine.

Wiping the greasy counter bar counter, she sighed. "Yes, can I help you?" in a way that said "You are the last customer I'm serving tonight, I just want to go home" On that point I was in total agreement. On any trip there are highlights and lowlights. Last night, sitting in a dismally deserted Wetherspoons on a grey drizzly evening, I tried to have positive thoughts. On the plus side, I got a free glass of wine with my meal (whoopee!) eating a tasteless rubbery beefburger served up by an apathetic young waitress was, hopefully, going to be the lowest point. Surprisingly, for a reasonably large town, Halifax had few restaurants, all of which (apart from Wetherspoons) stopped serving at 9pm.
In the spirit of it can only get better, it did. A totally different scene emerged the next morning. Leaving from the more prosperous leafy south side of town (in the sunshine) was more Harrogate than Halifax. Imposing Victorian mansions bordering vast green parks paved my way towards Huddersfield.
There's something quite exhilarating about standing on the brow of a hill looking down over Huddersfield and being able to see the far side of town, knowing where you're heading. To the canal, that's where, and to any long distance walker the prospect of walking alongside a canal is a welcome relief...for about the first 5 miles, then, it gets boring. Two days later you come across the next one, and the excitement starts all over again...
And so I wended my way to Holmfirth. Somewhere I'd specifically chosen to get to. Not because I'm a huge fan of "Last of the Summer Wine" but I figured the location of an incredibly long running and boring series must have something about it. Disappointingly not. It wasn't just mediocre, it was dire. While waiting for Jane, my next host, to arrive, I attempted to walk the steep hill to "Norah Batty's House" Halfway there I thought "What is the point?"
I just didn't get it. How could a "comedy" about three men, who never seem to get any older, still be going for over 30 years?
And so with a sigh, I made my way back down the hill.

Hell, Hull or Halifax - Skipton to Halifax

As the saying goes - "Hell, Hull, or Halifax, which would you choose?" I chose Halifax. Why? Well, last night Alan was being paternally concerned. He wasn't going to let me leave the house without knowing where my next bed was coming from. Lis had been checking B & B options in Hebden Bridge and there weren't any! Consulting the map it looked like Halifax was nearer to Holmfirth (the next destination) and so at 10.30pm a rather surprised Landlady took a very late booking.
In a supreme effort to avoid hills (difficult in the Pennine region) I chose to follow the River Aire out of Skipton. Following a river is easy, trying to negotiate a miriad of "ways" was definitely not. From Keighley to Haworth there was "The Worth Valley way", "The Bronte Way", "The Howarth Way", "The Railway Children Way"...confused and disorientated I could have been on the "Jenny Agutter Way" for all I knew, but somehow I stumbled out of the undergrowth onto the road which led up a very, very, steep hill to Howarth. Did I need to take it? No, I didn't. Not only did I find a flat river option but also, as luck would have it, a lady dog walker to guide me up to the main road into Halifax.
Why no photo's? Well, with a borrowed old phone of Alice's. I took the pictures but have no way of getting them out. Hopefully, eventually...where there's a will there's a way.

Trout fishing on the River - Buckden to Skipton

To get back to the Dales, I had to get an early train from York, change at Leeds, fight my way through the rush hour crush to the platform for Skipton, and then catch the little Dales bus to Buckden.

I'd been looking forward to the "Dales Way" or the part of it I was doing.An 82 mile walk, running from Ilkley to Bowness, this should be one of the most scenic sections.To start with it was a great relief to be on the flat, alongside the River Wharfe. After Kettlewell,an idyllic dales village, location of "Calendar Girls" it was the signs directed me up and up, presumably for the wonderful views. But it was a hot day, worn and weary, I'd done enough up, up and aways in the last few days. And there was a little yellow road running alongside the river, shouting out to me to tread it's path. It certainly looked a more desirable option.

Back on the riverside path was a truly delightful stroll, except I didn't have time for ambling, with a train to catch in Skipton. Treating myself to an Ice cream in Grassington, I was preparing myself for the inevitable haul along the road up and then down into Skipton.

And so it was a very tired and sweaty walker who finally arrived back on York Station.

An Uninvited Walker - Reeth to Kettlewell

Over breakfast Bob and I chatted about the "Coast to Coast". Reeth, being right on route, was the reason why the place was always so busy. As he set off to meet friends he'd hooked up with along the way, I waited on the Green for Lis, Alan, Alice and Rachel to pick me up.

First, Alan obligingly drove me back to the spot where I thought I'd lost the phone. We all hunted high and low, to no avail and so it was a late start for Lis and I back in Reeth. With arrangements to meet Alan and the girls for a picnic near Aysgarth Falls we left the village. Somehow or other the cycle track marked on the map, wasn't where it should have been. Through phone contact we knew Alan wasn't far away. but somehow we never met. Disappointingly they had to track back to the falls with the cool box, and by the time we eventually arrived they'd already eaten. After a hurried late lunch walking companions were swapped with a revised route. i.e. a shorter one if we were going to get back to York at a reasonable hour. Alice and Rachel took the car while Alan, Alice and I took the familiar route (for me) to Thoralby. As a family we'd holidayed here and it brought back many happy but poignant memories.

Just before we hit the main road we were joined by a frisky little puppy. For some reason, he didn't want to leave us, and try as we might, we just couldn't catch him. He whisked this way and that way across the busy road. It was embarrassing, every passing car must have thought we were it's careless owners. Not only that, he was likely to get run over at any moment. After about two miles of this a car screeched to a halt, out jumped a young man, clicked his fingers and grabbed the dog's collar, just like that!

"That's Cooper's dog that is, always getting out he is" "Coopers as in at the Caravan Park?" I asked. The very same people we'd rented our holiday cottage from. Small world in the Dales!

Thankfully he drove off with the dog and we carried on...and on. The road rose up and down along with the sun and we were relieved to finally reach our destination and the car.

Back in York with a Chinese take-away we planned the next day.

Chapter 4. Like a pack of cards. Barnard Castle to Reeth

This was the Chapter in the story where nearly everything started to go wrong.
Like a pack of cards, things started to tumble. Starting with phones. My super dooper radio/camera phone dropped down the toilet, water damaged, it was useless so I took Sophie's phone with me. When it fell out of my pocket somewhere in the middle of the Dales, I not only lost photographs, but more tragically, something of very sentimental value.
And then there was Darlington. Looking up bus timetables on the internet it seemed the last bus to Barnard Castle was at 4.30pm. My train didn't get into Darlington until 4.40pm so I had to book a B & B in there. It was something else. To say the owner was a fan of Nelson would be a gross understatement. Like stepping into a museum, it was stuffed with memorabilia. Led to my room passed a wall long mural of the battle of Waterloo, he proudly told me he'd been collecting for the last twenty years. The room was small, basic and reminiscent of my attic abode in Wick, but thankfully, Nelson free.
And now for somewhere to eat. Not a great deal of choice, and I made a wrong one. Tapas bars are for sharing platters with friends, not for sad and lonely singles. How does one choose two dishes from about fifty selections on the menu? Gloomily I went back to the "Admiral" Lot's of noise and jollity hailing from the "Waterloo" bar, tempted to join them, I thought better of it and headed to my room.
The next morning at breakfast the table was adorned with red, white and blue napkins and little union jacks waving between the salt & pepper pots. Outside in the garden, the flags of England, Scotland,Ireland and Wales waved back.
Wondering how any wife could put up with this Nelson fanatisism, she told me she herself was also a fan. They'd got married on the HMS Belfast, in full costume (of course) as seen on the photo of their business card.
Phew! with a quick salute to the flags at the front door I was off to Barnard Castle, a lovely dales town with lot's of lovely places to stay, eat and drink. Grrr!
First stop, the Information Centre. I needed to know how I was going to get from Reeth to York tonight. By taking three buses and a train apparently, and the last bus from Reeth was at 5.30.
Right! Better get going then. All was going well on the yellow roads. The sun was shining accompanied by a gentle breeze until I hit the high road. Battling in the wind across the moors, I somehow lost my way and when I saw a dirt track I took it -because it led back to a road. Disorientated setting off in the wrong direction, I soon realised I was heading north, not south. Now I may be crap at map reading but along the way I've picked up a bit of geographical knowledge as I'm able to tell the difference between the rugged northern pennines and the rolling dales.
Scrambling down to a ford I stopped to fold the map. This is where I guessed, later, I must have lost the phone, because not long after that I tried to ring York. I wasn't going to make that bus tonight.
With no way of contacting my friends I just hoped and prayed there'd be somewhere to stay in Reeth. It was a pretty big village with five pubs and a couple of B & B's but- It was Saturday night, and with a wedding party in town, to every knock the answer was "No room at the Inn" My last hope was the "Temperance Hotel" As I started to knock, the door flew open. The owner was dashing off to Evening Service, and I just caught her in time. With everything crossed I asked the question. Yes! She did have a room "But did I mind being alone in the house with Bob?" the only other guest. Did I mind? Did I care? Most certainly not, but first I needed to use the telephone.
I had a super large room in this huge three story Georgian House, I was amused to read the notice in the bathroom about how the ten reasons people give for not washing can easily be the same reasons people choose not to go to church. Well, as I needed some cleansing, spiritual or otherwise I was pouring bubbly into the large bath from the "help yourself" array on the shelf when I spotted a blast from the past "Goya's Aqua Manda for Men Aftershave" One quick sniff and I was catapulted back to the Seventies (A decade with a lot to answer for in Fashion and Musical taste-well some of the music was ok, but a lot wasn't) Dancing to the "Revolution Shuffle" with spotty youths in wide flares and ludicrously tight cheesecloths shirts ,who somehow, in the cold light of day, never looked as dishy as the illustrated boys in "Jackie" magazine, were stood up on the first date.
Ah well, back to 21st century and food. Not having eaten since breakfast, choosing somewhere to eat wasn't that difficult as all the pubs were heaving. Wedged between the Billiard table and the wall, I read the B & B lady's account of her "Coast to Coast" 25th Anniversary walk with her husband.

Hot and High. Stanhope to Barnard Castle

It had been a big mistake to celebrate one day to soon, as Keith and I had one more day to complete before going home. On a hot day, trekking over the northern pennines was not going to be fun. Even less so with a heavy head and tired eyes-but it was our last night in Stanhope with Angela, Peter and Jenny and so the partying didn't end there we arranged to meet up in Cornwall. Invited to join us in the cottage for the final week, I was determined to get them walking somehow, somewhere!

The only way to tackle a day like today was to hit the road and stick to it. I wasn't brave enough to tackle the footpaths dotted across the moors and so, boring as it was, we didn't take long to reach the outskirts of Barnard Castle (where Keith had left the car) The only highlight of the day had been the strange sighting of a car full of "dolly birds" stopping off for a picnic in the most unlikely setting of a quarry.

George made it! Hexham to Blanchland to Stanhope

The party split into two camps. Those that had sensibly had an early night - The walkers. Keith, Jenny and I. And those that hadn't -The drivers. Hilary and Maurice.

We met in the very urban setting of the Hexham Business Park, but were soon heading up the steep hill out of town and into the rural countryside. Walkers and leaders from different groups around the area had come to join us, and with Alison, thankfully, back in charge of the map, I was able to have a chat to them all. She'd devised a scenic route weaving in and around the river and after about 3/4 miles the three ladies of the group set off in a taxi back to Hexham. But not before "Jane" tried to take "George" with her. George, her husband, was in his 80's. Attired in a long sleeve shirt, tweed jacket, topped with a Duffle coat, he decided he wanted to walk onto Blanchland. Clearly, this was not the original plan as he had no packed lunch or water.

But, he was insistent and with a wave to a worried looking Jane, we were off again. As we climbed higher over the moors the sun got hotter and hotter, but still he kept his coat on, as "he didn't want to have to carry it"

I don't know how Alison navigated us across the moors down into Blanchland, but somehow before too long we were sitting in the Abbey tea shop garden enjoying some well needed refreshments. Once again, it was time to say goodbye. They'd been such good company, but it was time for me to trek the last 10 miles on my own.

George didn't seem to have Jane's number so unsure of quite where to leave him, my last sight was of a rather worried looking Alison driving off with a tired but happy man.

Later that evening in the pub, young student Jenny had been so inspired by old George that she told us all that from now on she'd walk to all her lectures everywhere around Bristol. Another convert to "Walking for Health"!