Coast to Coast 2010 - Diary

Finally, I have got round to writing up the full account of my 2010 Coast to Coast walk. Here it is:

Day 1: 30 May 2010
St Bees to Longthwaite: 30 miles

What an amazing, challenging day. Slept overnight at a friend’s house in St Bees and watched Eurovision with them over a couple of San Miguels. Pitched the tent in their garden. Didn’t get to bed until gone 11pm. Alarm set for 4am but couldn’t sleep. Up at 3.50am and on St Bees beach at around 4.45am, just before dawn. Already very light.

The coastal path was ablaze with yellow gorse and bluebells. Got to Cleator before shop opened, and was up Dent in time to have a banana for breakfast. Weather was perfect for walking – warm day and bright at times but not too much sun, and a gentle breeze to cool me. However, even then it was cold enough up Dent to feel my fingers go numb, so pressed on. In Ennerdale before pub opened – made fantastic time so decided to try to go all the way to Seatoller, where I could get a hot dinner. Ennerdale Water was easy compared to last time, though many of the streams where I could have refilled my water had already dried up. I was still able to replenish, though.

Walking by Ennerdale Water

The forest walk was a real trudge, but I got to Black Sail before 3.30pm. The stream up Loft Beck was almost dry, thank God, but it was a painful ascent after such a long walk. On top, I got lost with another couple and a family of three with a girl doing her GCSEs and walking instead of revising! We had to scramble down and up a gully to find the cairns marking the path. By now I could feel blisters and was exhausted, but spurred on by the thought of hot food. I even spurned a stop at Honister Slate Mine to make sure I was in time.

The view from the top of Loft Beck

I decided to go on past Seatoller to Longthwaite as the guide book said the campsite was better, and I could see a pub marked nearby on the map rather than the tea house at Seatoller that apparent serves African food in the evenings. I heard a cuckoo in the woods near Seatoller, and another struck up as I pitched my tent. I got to the campsite about 6.30pm. My feet were in a bad way with blisters on both heels and several near my toes on the bottom of each foot.

The campsite was basic – two Portaloos in an awful state, a stand pipe and lots of campers, but lovely views and the woman who runs it was nice. She made me a packed lunch in the evening so I could get away early (although it’s not very far tomorrow so I may take it easy and leave later). Went to Scafell Hotel, which has a bar, and had fish and chips (not enough) and mushy peas. Ordered onion rings too as I was starving, but they’d run out. Followed up with sticky toffee pudding and walked back to campsite, which wasn’t far. Going to get an early night to give my legs as a long rest as I can. Capsite and packed lunch was £11, meal with a pint of lemonade was £16.05. Clothes stink. Had to eat about six cereal bars through the day, together with a banana and a round of cheese and tomato sarnies as I could regularly feel my body and mood dip. I need to but new supplies when I can, but hopefully I’ll be in Patterdale early enough tomorrow to sort it, unlike my last attempt, so I mustn’t leave too late.

Day 2: 31 May 2010

Longthwaite to Patterdale: 15 miles

Resting by Greenup Gill

Up just after 5am, off just after 6am. Got over Greenup Ridge and on my way down into Grasmere before I spoke to or passed another human. Bliss! The weather was sunny and warm. Fortunately I completed the first of the day’s two steep climbs – Greenup Gill followed by Eagle Crag – by 8.30am before the heat really picked up. Laying back on my rucksack basking in the sun at the top of Lining Crag with not a soul within sight or earshot was Heaven. Managed to navigate the fell without problems – sticking to the cairns is the key. But ironically, I went wrong map-reading the roads in Grasmere and took a slight detour! Twittered and phoned home from the bridleway leading up to Great Tongue after eating lunch and got away around 12.15pm for the long climb up to Grisedale Tarn. Met a walker who said she’d met ten Aussie women up there with champagne, brandy and chairs! Blister on left heel has popped but none seem to be causing me any real problems. I can’t believe how quickly I stink, though.

Looking back from the top of Eagle Crag

Got into Patterdale about 4.30pm, and rather than walk to the campsite and trudge back, I restocked on sandwiches, chocolate and Eccles cakes, and had a pub meal. I ate so much that I felt a bit sick, but the hot meal is the treat that drives me on when I’m at a low ebb in the daytime. Prawn cocktail, scampi, chips and peas and sticky ginger pudding. Oh, and a side of onion rings! Bit of a yomp to the campsite, which was full of families so not much chance of an early night with all the noise (I slept like a log the first night, though – probably the best night’s sleep I’ve had in the tent. Not a surprise after the epic walk on day one, I guess).

The walk through Grisedale Valley into Grasmere

Had a shower (no soap, water hot and cold, but still bliss) and tried to wash socks, underwear and T-shirt but they probably won’t dry. Beautiful view over Ullswater, but the pitch wasn’t very level. Only a few pitches are flat so I’m on a bit of a slope. Not too bad, but the sleeping bag keeps slipping towards the bottom og the tent. Pitch was £6, food was £21-odd and supplies for tomorrow were about £6. There’s a long day to Shap tomorrow – the day that saw me off last time. This time, not having everything soaking, and having eaten hot meals should make all the difference. I’m a bit worried about the blisters, though.

Grisedale Tarn

Day 3: 1 June 2010
Patterdale to Shap: 18 miles

The good news is that I have reached Shap. The bad news is that I misread where New Ing Farm was on the map and decided to settle on the Red Bull instead, despite seeing poor reviews. There’s no heating going, not even paper towels let alone a hand dryer (it’s been raining, but more of that later) and to cap it all I realised after pitching my tent in the pub garden – which is advertised for camping – that there is dog poo everywhere. I just hope I didn’t pitch on any. The pub is an utterly cheerless place, and if I’d not paid my £5 I’d have upped and gone.

The day started on a downer. After a shower yesterday, I decided to wash a pair of socks, boxers and a T-shirt, and leave them to dry on the guy ropes. Woke up this morning to discover it was raining! I was up at 5am and out at 6am. The higher I went up Patterdale Common, the worse the weather got. It always seems to be howling a gale and miserable up there. I managed to navigate the tricky section leading up to Kidsty Pike okay. Saw two tents pitched behind a wall up there and spoke to one of theguys. In fact, until I reached the outskirts of Shap, all I’d spoken to all day was one man, one sheep and one cow!

Unbelievably, despite new boots and SealSkinz, my right foot got wet and was sloshing around in water for most of the day. Nevertheless I made good time to Kidsty Pike in driving rain and fog. I took a quick photo to show the view (i.e. none!) and got down from the height as quickly as I could. Even though my feet were relatively okay, it is still an unpleasant experience coming down from Kidsty Pike where, incidentally, I saw another tent pitched right at the peak with no shelter. Whoever it was had hunkered down inside. What a mad place to set camp. With every step on your way down, your toes jam into the end of your boot and your knees jar.

The 'view' from the summit of Kidsty Pike!

The long walk around Haweswater was a drudge, with my right arm soaked as the right arm of my aging North Face jacket had finally failed in the rain after more than a decade of loyal service. But at least the weather wasn’t as extreme lower down. The walk through fields at the end went on a bit, not helped by the fact I got lost in the gorse moor after Rawhead. I’m sure I did that when I first did the Coast to Coast a decade ago, too. Eventually I found the path and got to Shap hoping for a welcome, hot meal and somewhere to dry my gear. I got the Red Bull. I arrived just after 3.30pm but there was no hot food until 6pm, so I spread my wet gear around a table to dry out in what heat there was, and popped next door for a cheese and onion pasty, hot cross buns, a yoghurt with crumbly bits and a Twix. I’ve decided it’s important to load up on calories to keep up energy and morale, which is important when you are alone with your thoughts, and with no-one else to lift your spirits. Hopefully I can dry my stuff out in the bar (I doubt the boots will dry in time, though) and avoid the dog poo when I go to my tent.

Day 4: 2 June 2010

Shap to Kirkby Stephen: 20 miles

What a difference a day makes! After a day walking in baking heat, I’m now sunburned and had to trek into Kirkby Stephen not only to get supplies of food but also sun block. I packed the tent away wet, but the rain had lifted. Spent yesterday evening drinking with three older guys doing the C2C together – Richard, Joe and Jez. We were joined by another guy called Ollie who was a plumber and had set out with a pack weighing three and a half stone, including tinned food! He’s been jettisoning it along the way. Had salmon in a parsley sauce with chips for tea, with cauliflower and broccoli soup to start. Not bad, but I was still glad to see the back of the place when I left at 5.40am.

The first section was straightforward, past the weird Oddenhall village, which is walled and in the middle of nowhere. The land around this point seems to lack any character to me, apart from feeling vaguely sinister. I then managed to get lost in the heather moorland, following a footpath on my GPS only to realise too late that it was the wrong one. I only worked it out when I ran out of map and the GPS located me outside of it!

Luckily, I saw a friendly farm worker, and he directed me down the end of the pathway up to the farm, then right at the road back onto the route. Still, I probably lost half an hour. I thought the walk through the heather at Tarn Moor would be difficult and/or boring, but in fact it was neither. In the sun, it was glorious and I stopped and just basked in the sun with my shoes and socks off. Ecstasy. A long slog along a couple of roads with the heat shimmering off them, but I met a man on a cycle who got chatting to me. It turns out he knew the gay guys who ran the Old Forge in Kirkby Stephen that I remembered from a decade earlier. He said they had left many years ago to go to Glastonbury, where one of them was from, and set up a tea shop. The Old Forge is now run by a local lad called Chris, apparently – good food but not the same atmosphere, which put paid to any vague notion I may have had about eating there this time.

Another wonderful moment – resting on my pack in the sun, socks off, in a meadow filled with buttercups and other wild flowers, no-one around. Perfect. Towards the end, I walked into town with a couple of guys I’d met briefly at the Red Bull. They’d camped at Angle Tarn and were also camping.

Resting in a wildflower meadow

The campsite is slightly out of town, but exquisite. Small but with flat, topped pitches and hot showers that had proper taps, not the push-in ones you normally get with public showers. There’s a laundry and everything is spotless. £7.50 a night, but worth every penny. Washed and dried some more clothes. My boots are almost dry (I walked in my trainers today).My right big toe seems to have gone numb, which hurts...if that makes sense! Blisters not gone but manageable. I’m debating whether to go on to Reeth tomorrow. I think I’ll decide when I see how my legs are in the morning.

I’ve just had scampi and chips for tea with a pint of bitter shandy. I seem to have lost my debit card, so fortunately was able to get £100 extra out of the bank machine with my credit card and cancel the debit card over the phone. I should also mention that there are parrots in Kirkby Stephen. Yes, parrots. I was coming back to the campsite from the main road after stocking up on food and heard an almighty squawking. I looked up, and there sat on the chimney pot of a house was what – even to me, a poor birdspotter if ever there was one – was the unmistakeable red and blue plumage of a parrot. I asked a local woman, who seemed unfazed, if I was seeing things. She explained that a local man kept them and actually let them out to roam in the day. There were loads more, she said, in the big tree by the Croglin Castle Hotel, where I went later to eat my scampi. Right, time to rest for tomorrow – Nine Standard Rigg here I come!

Day 5: 3 June 2010

Kirkby Stephen to Reeth: 23 miles

I got another early start today and headed for Nine Standards. The climb up past a quarry on a Tarmac-ed road is tedious, but I found the walking easy and pursued two locals with a dog. I wanted to be the first up there for the day, something I achieved at 8.15am. The sun was already warm, and after asking the locals to make a photo of me there, I was grateful to be on my way down before the hordes descended and the heat became unbearable.

Approaching the Nine Standards

The bogs were pretty dry and I made it down in my trainers without getting wet feet, and in good time. However, coming up the road into Keld it was clear something was wrong with my right knee. There was a sudden shock of pain every time I tried to bend it or attempted any lateral movement. I staggered up the road and then encountered one of those experiences that reignite your belief in people. A woman walking a dog up the road stopped to chat after seeing I was struggling. I told her I was doing the C2C in ten days for Help For Heroes, and she gave me £1.50 saying it was all she had. I walked on up the road, not noticing that she must have passed me in the same direction, presumably in a car. A few hundred metres further on, there was an older gentleman standing by the side of the road holding a cup of water and patiently waiting for me. He asked if I was the chap doing the C2C for Help For Heroes, then offered me the water and gave me another £5. We got talking and I thanked him for a lovely gesture.

Walking through James Herriot country on the low route to Keld

I got to Keld, my planned destination for the day, at around 11.30am and sat on a bench with a very sore knee. I debated staying there, but decided to press on to Reeth to shorten tomorrow, and give myself a short day there, as to stop now would have wasted half a day. I took the low route, and what a beautiful walk it was through riverside meadows that were a carpet of flowers. It felt like walking on lawn. It was hard to resist stopping a few times and airing my feet and just soaking up the surroundings. I even stopped at Gunnerside mid-afternoon to treat myself to baked spud and beans, and a banana milkshake. But the walk took its toll on my bad knee, and I was again staggering by the time I reached Orchard Caravan Park. I rang the bell, and what a welcome! First, the cheery warden offered me a caravan for the night for the same price, as I obviously looked so drained. When I explained I was doing the walk for charity, and that part of the challenged was to camp all the way, he asked which charity and then insisted I should stay the night on him and would not take any money. The pitch was flat, the facilities okay – toilets, drinking water, but 20p for a shower and I didn’t have one! – and no hot water in the loos. However, I’m not complaining and the warden’s gesture was wonderful.

Suspension Bridge at Reeth

I walked into town to eat at the Black Bull, on the warden’s recommendation, and bumped into him there again. I also met two old guys I’d seen doing the walk earlier (and went the wrong way, it turns out, up by Crackpot Hall when they wanted to take the high route). They’d forgotten their map and only had a book, and had ended up on the low route. After another prawn cocktail and fish and chips with mushy peas, I got talking to another guy who had done the walk lots of times, and his mate, a landscape designer. They were doing a different circular walk over four days. I stayed chatting to them longer than I had planned, then returned to the tent intending to lay in to help my leg recover.

Day 6: 4 June 2010

Reeth to Colburn: 14 miles

More glorious weather. Didn’t set out until about 9.30am. The warden offered me a cup of tea, which I took, and a couple of slices of toast which for some reason I turned down. My leg held up reasonably well today, but it was only a short walk and I stretched it out. I won’t be able to do that tomorrow.

Looking back down to Marske

Almost as soon as I’d set out, stopping at a newsagents for a couple of packs of mini cookies for breakfast, I bumped into a couple in their 50s from Sussex –Baz and Donna, and their sheep dog Holly – and walked most of the way to Richmond with them. The walking was easy, and they kept up a reasonable pace I could handle without challenging my knee too much, but also without stopping too often. They were doing the walk over a long period a stage or two at a time, and had just celebrated their 10th anniversary by staying at the Black Bull in Reeth. Chatting to them took my mind off my knee, and before we knew it we were near Richmond. I said ‘goodbye’ because I needed to rest my knee, but when I went on I bumped into them again chatting to a group of Americans from Connecticut and California who had flown over predominantly to do the walk. I talked to the Californian women and we all walked into Richmond together, and when I looked around for Baz – an old-style roofer - and his wife, they’d gone. I felt a bit bad that I’d not noticed them go.

Approaching Richmond from above

I had fish and chips in a chip restaurant, phoned home, Tweeted and was able to recharge my mobile a bit. My apple pie and ice-cream had shards of plastic in it, so they took it away and gave me more ice-cream. I didn’t have to pay for dessert, just the fish and chips and onion rings. I’m not even sure they charged me for my Diet Coke, come to think of it.

I probably stayed a bit too long reading a newspaper in the chippy, then set out at about 4pm to go on to St Giles Farm, a few miles further past Colburn, where I was overnighting. I hearty farmer’s welcome awaited. The facilities are basically a shower, wash basin and drinking water tap in a utility room in the farmhouse that is kept unlocked at night, but towels are fresh and free along with shower ge and shampoo. The pitch was flat with a picnic table and cows munching away a few yards away. I liked it a lot I washed my spare clothes in the hope they’d dry tonight or tomorrow. The farmer said it should be good weather ahain, perhaps with a few summer showers, and I now plan an early night ready for an early start again tomorrow for 20 hard miles. The pitch was £6, which was good value, and I’m glad I did the Keld to Reeth section yesterday, otherwise today would have been long and probably pretty miserable, and having a short day with three long ones to come is a real bonus.

Day 7: 5 June 2010

Colburn to Carlton Bank: 28 miles

Lots of miles. Lots of road. Lots of flat farm fields. Got to Danby Wiske before 10.30am, which surprised me. I lay on the bench outside the White Swan pub, eating a late breakfast, and pressed on to the Blue Bell at Ingleby Cross, where I had intended to overnight. I really hammered the road and got there at 1.30am to find it shut. I’d planned to eat lunch there and then head on to get ahead of schedule, but had to wait until 2.30pm for it to open. Amazing – a pub that isn’t open on a Saturday lunchtime, let alone serving food. I had a pint of shandy as I really needed an excuse to ask the landlord to fill up my water as it was baking outside. I stocked up on Mars bars but there was nothing substantial to replace the (squashed) cheese and onion pasty from Kirkby Stephen Co-Op that I’d eaten on the bench outside the Blue Bell. I headed into Arncliffe Wood and made the same mistake I’ve mae before of taking a forest road halfway up the very steep hillside instead of the higher path that leads to the summit and a remote satellite station. It was demoralizing having to retrace my steps downwards for about half a mile knowing I’d have to go straight back up.

I planned to eat and stay at the Lord Stones Cafe on Carlton Bank, which is free. My book said the cafe was open 9am to 9pm, but the Blue Bell landlord warned me he’d cut the hours to 5pm. I phoned ahead but got a lady who said only that if I didn’t make it by 5pm I’d have to see the landlord. I obviously decided to risk it rather than waste half a day’s walking having got ahead of schedule. Climbing up onto the first moor was one of those memorable moments that make a trip like this. The heat had started to abate, it was quite late and the moors were deserted and beautiful under the late afternoon sun. Towards the end, the long day and mileage began to take its toll, but I guess I hit Lord Stones at about 8pm. It was closed, so I just pitched. There were a load of noisy bikers staying, and the toilets – left open – were pretty rudimentary with one toilet roll left in the ladies. Still, it was free and enabled me to get ahead to the extent that I started to recalculate a way of finishing a day early.

The view from the moors

The camper in the tent next to mine snored disgustingly loudly all night. Not only did it keep me awake, but it set some loudmouth woman off moaning about it at the top of her voice in another tent, adding to the din and keeping me awake for longer. Still, a productive day with a lonely moment of joy on the moors, even if tea did consist of little more than a packet of dry roasted nuts and some cheese and chive crisps!

Day 8: 5 June 2010

Carlton Bank to Grosmont: 26 miles

Climbing the Wain Stones alone in the fog

Today was a reminder that the Coast to Coast is about physical and emotional ups and downs, not just geographical ones. I was up at 5am, out just after 6am and tackling the Wain Stones in the mist by about 8.15am. The fog didn’t lift all day, and the nagging pain in my right leg got worse and worse. I still felt not too bad, though, as I hit the Lion Inn, Blakey, by 11.30am. It has always been a highlight of the walk for me, an old fashioned pub in the middle of nowhere, and it is everything I remembered and more. Warm, atmospheric and welcoming, its effect is heightened by knowing it is protecting you from the elements outside. I stayed for two hours, drying out and eating a prawn cocktail and scampi and chips with a pint of Old Peculier – the first pint of beer I’ve had since setting out. I was tempted to stay, and perhaps in should have given that it would only have put me back on schedule. But I persevered and was almost immediately struggling. Walking alone across open moor in driving rain with wind and fog that never lets you see more than 30ft in any direction took its toll on me mentally, and my leg got so bad that I was basically limping without bending it, and still suffering pain. With no shelter, bar one locked stone hut for grouse shooters that I was able to huddle in the door of for a respite, there was little else to do but struggle on with very few stops. The moors seemed endless, and I got very low. I did manage to call home, but even then kept the call short as I was sat on wet heather with no shelter.

Just as I felt I could not go on, and was so desperate and hurting that I could have cried, I reached Glaisdale – still a few miles from the next campsite at Grosmont, but civilisation with a great pub – The Arncliffe Arms – to dry myself out. There was one comfy sofa, which annoyingly a couple were sat on and didn’t move from even though I was in obvious need and wincing with every step. But I took a wooden seat, pulled off my shoes and socks (I’d long since given up feeling embarrassed about smelling or airing my feet in pubs) and drank a cup of hot coffee with a couple of sugars in. It’s amazing how quickly a hot drink and the chance to sit down in a dry, warm pub alters your mood. I phoned home again, and my wife suggested asking if I could camp in the pub garden as she was worried about my leg. It was a good suggestion, and one I would almost certainly have followed except for the minor fact that when I checked it out I realised there was no pub garden. No choice, then, but to go onward the last few miles to Grosmont via Egton Bridge. In fact, by now I was feeling better after half an hour in the pub, so I called ahead to make sure an arrival about 8pm to 8.30pm would be okay, and set off. The mist had lifted a bit, presumably because I was now lower down, and although it was still raining, I actually enjoyed the walk through the woods to the old toll road at Egton Bridge. I made decent time along there, with my leg feeling much better, and made Priory Farm by 8pm. Not very impressive. Basically, an untopped field with little flat ground and a room on the outside of the farm with a loo, some seats and a kettle but no cups. There were two guys and a woman already in there. At least it was a warm, dry haven. I’d resigned myself to no evening meal, but one of them said the Railway Tavern was only a few hundred yards away and still serving food, so I left my pack in the room and hurried there. When I say ‘hurried’, at one point I actually jogged! At the pub, I had the best meal of the trip – a veggie lasagne and chips – with a pot of coffee which was big enough for three sweet cups. Then, back to the farm where I discovered I’d not put my Thermarest mat in a dry bag, and it was damp. Put up the tent in the fading light on a patch that was actually quite flay. I’ve left as much as I can in the camp room to stay dry, including my boots and SealSkinz which I plan to wear tomorrow for what – knee permitting – will be the final push. I’ve also left my fleece and coat in there in the hope they’ll dry out, as it’s quite warm and it would be good psychologically to set out dry. The plan is to go from my tent to the camp room in today’s wet clothing and change there before coming back down to pack the tent up. I’m assuming it will be wet – a quick look at the forecast on my phone suggests the same as today. I just hope my knee holds up. I’m giving myself an extra hour in bed and have set the alarm for 6am in the hope it will help my leg recover.

Grosmont's quaint railway station

Day 9: 6 June 2010

Grosmont to Robin Hood's Bay: 16 miles

Eight days, eight hours and 19 minutes. In the end, that’s how long it took. Although I gave myself an extra hour, I actually woke up at the usual time, and as I was feeling good and the rain appeared to be holding off but threatening to start at any minute, I figured it made sense to get the tent down in the dry and get going. Despite my hopes, nothing had dried in the camping room overnight, so I put my SealSkinz on, which were closest to dry, and my now-dry boots. It’s a good job I didn’t wear my trainers today because in parts it was very boggy, and without boots and gaiters it would have got very unpleasant.

The climb out of Grosmont was long and steep, but the short stretch of moorland (again in the fog) wasn’t tough with an easy track to follow. Lower down in Littlebeck the fog lifted. The woods are beautiful, if muddy, and ordinarily I’d have really enjoyed looking around, especially if I’d had the kids with me. But I was on a mission, and my leg was holding up, so I put my head down for most of it. I did see a deer, which stopped and looked at me long enough for me to take a couple of photos before leaping and bouncing off, braying loudly.

Startled!

I got lost on one occasion in the wood, going round in circles until a worker put me right. By now, all I wanted to do was walk into the sea, but there was another stretch of heather moor to negotiate first, and somehow I got lost in the fog. Fortunately, the GPS on my phone meant I could correct my mistake – I’d strayed no more than 40-50m off the track but would never have found my way back onto it in the fog without help, and of course there was no-one else around that early). High Hawsker signals the beginning of the end, realy. You can smell the finish, with the holiday caravan parks and the sea ahead. I stopped off for beans on toast and a mug of sweet coffee at a holiday park tearoom before the finale. Striding round the coastal path, my body feeling as good as it had since pretty much the first day, I had the bit between my teeth. A glimpse of Robin Hood’s Bay from the cliff tops, then down the steep, winding street to the slipway, tunnel vision as I strode through the holidaymakers and straight into the North Sea without stopping. I persuaded a couple of tourists to take photos of me in my moment of triumph, and lobbed one of the two pebbles I’d picked up at St Bees into the sea. Then, one ritual completed, I headed to the Bay Hotel for a pint of Directors bitter and to sign the Coast to Coast register. In there, I met one of the guys I’d chatted to the night before at the campsite. We swapped stories of highs and lows for about an hour and a half, and I had veggie lasagne and chips again. As I left, another couple who had stayed at Priory Farm the previous night turned up. She’d had trouble with blisters. Then I had to trek up the hill to the bus stop in my wet boots and socks. The hourly bus service arrived just as I did, and I managed a few steps of jogging to catch it for the £4.80 single to Scarborough.

The End

And so, after the misery of failure at my last attempt, I can finally enjoy the sense of accomplishment of going Coast to Coast, solo and in a tent, in under nine days.