The day's walk had lots of upping and downing through the Cleveland Hills, but it was not overly difficult. It was the kind of day that leaves you feeling invigorated but not exhausted. We came across a structure that I thought might be our B and B for the night:
It wasn't.
There was an oasis, though. About 2/3 of the way along, all of a sudden, from behind the trees, there appeared a large cafe. (Don't you love the name?)
You can see other walkers taking advantage of the offerings. A cold soda tasted delicious.
Shortly after our refreshment, came the infamous Wainstones. I swear they were bigger and badder in 2007, but never mind. You are supposed to go through them, but see that little path off to the left?
We took that instead. Fortunately, there was some sturdy, scrubby stuff to grab onto whilst skirting the edge, as the path was a bit, shall we say, high and on the narrow side.
Finally we arrived at Clay Bank, which is nothing other than an intersection with a name. A phone call to Dave, owner of our lodgings, got us a lift down to his farm. What an experience!
Dave: not a hippy, just a 64 year-old former construction worker with grey hair down to his shoulders, a blue cord around his forehead, wearing a black MTV T shirt, who talked non-stop, and drove a filthy car. He turned out to be well-meaning and kind, but at the time, who knew!
We walked into his farm house, which was decorated with all manner of stuff —some pieces quite beautiful—crammed all over the place. Warn sofas, huge coffee table littered with biscuits in open packages, scads of old newspapers and magazines thrown about, a bowl of sugar into which a spoon had been dipped many times leaving tea clumps behind, a couple of bananas, a huge TV set--"Ahhh, jest put yer boots anywhere," said Dave.
"Would you like a cup of tea?" "Yes, please." He disappeared into his, oy, kitchen; messy doesn't begin to describe it. One thing is for sure, the health department had not been around in quite some time. Amid the mess, there was no attempt to hide the bottles of booze in the middle of the table table.
Tanya leaned over and whispered, "Do you think it is safe?" She meant to drink the tea. Out came the tea in questionably clean cups, and Dave plopped down on the sofa to continue his tale about decorating the place and how he wanted it to look like a home and all. The scene, edging on the gothic, was only lacking guys, toting six packs, come to watch the game.
Up to our rooms. Here are two photos, but they don't do it justice:
There were three beds in my room; everything needed a good scrub. Who knows the last time the bathroom had been cleaned, but there were frayed towels a-plenty and extra lose rolls of toilet paper sitting atop an antique piece in the hall. The mix of the crass and the beautiful was beyond weird.
Dave was generous with the Kit Kats and shortbread cookies. "Jest help yourself to whatever you want." A filthy kettle was at the ready for hot drinks we might want to make.
Breakfast was more of the same--butter full of toast crumbs from who knows how many days of use, dirty dishes, but plenty to eat! Definitely an unforgettable experience.
Today's walk was short and through the moors. This is what the moors look like:
Just to make the point, here is a shot in the same spot, facing the other direction:
And here are Tanya and Ian navigating:
Don't they they look competent!
We arrived at the famous Lion Inn at Blakey Ridge by 1:00. This is my most expensive room en route because on weekends, singles pay full price and it seems that the price has doubled over the past year. The room is small:
While taking the photo, I was standing as far away from the bed as possible. The room is cheerful, though, has a wonderful tub and honest to goodness hot water to fill it. The heated towel rack works, so the laundry is almost dry. Amenities can compensate for a lot!
Off to the bar to socialize!
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