We didn’t have a lot of time to explore Reeth yesterday, but then there’s not a lot to explore. The village green has a couple of benches. Surrounding it are the pubs, tiny stores, and a church.Jonathan’s pub/hotel has its sign upsidedown. A previous owner had gone to much expense to blast the worn paint from the rocks underlying it. The government informed him that he needed to repaint it because that’s what it looked like during an historically relevant period of time. Grumbling, he repainted it. When the sign for his tavern was put back up, the hanger accidentally put it upside down. Purportedly the owner said, “Leave it that way. I don’t care anymore.” The official site for the tavern, The Black Bull, says that “pranksters” turned the sign upside down in protest of the official command. Who knows?
We have almost always wished to have more time to explore the little villages we’ve come across, but it was not meant to be this trip. The walk is everything. It consumes our waking hours. If we are not walking, we are washing, sorting, unpacking, packing, or buying supplies. As you know, we have been in a new place every night! Last night I asked Tom what The George Hotel was like because I couldn’t remember it. Cyclists, pub, chocolate factory, two hairdryers. Ah, yes. And that is the sacrifice we are making to do the walk. We are not tourists, we are drifters, pilgrims, passers-by. We look in windows to glimpse flashes of an alien culture.
Speaking of looking in windows.I took this picture of a house next to the bus stop bench where we ate our lunch. I liked the garden (which you can barely see in this tiny shot). I noticed a woman sitting in one of the windows, talking on the phone. I waved to her, and she waved back. Someone in a bigger city would have called the police.
At breakfast at our B&B, we sat with a Dutch father and son. We’ve begun to recognize and fraternize with many of the walkers. We had seen the father and son before but never talked with them at length. (The number of parent and child walking groups has been larger than I would have expected.) When we were saying goodbyes, the father said he had heard that the day would be really stormy. It set the gloomy tone for the beginning of the walk. Storm clouds did look to be on the horizon as we left.
Storm clouds, wet streets, our B&B
A couple of miles out of town, we came to a 15th, 16th, or 17th century abbey. (I read the sign, but don’t remember. Everything is old.) It is now a working farm/retreat. Not far away, our ascent up a hill began on the “nun’s steps,” 375 of them, the guidebook claimed.
The forecasted rain had not started. It was distinctly warmer. Before tackling the nuns’ steps, I briefly wondered if I should remove my rain jacket and pants, both of which can be torture if it’s warm. Nah, I thought, it’s bound to rain. The Dutch guy said so.
(1) There are no steps; there are a lot of flagstones and littler stones paving the way. (2) The nuns must have had big feet, because (3) I took at least 500 steps before the stones disappeared. (4) It would have been treacherous had the steps been wet. (5) Meaning, it didn’t rain. (6) Meaning, the rain jacket and pants were torture.
At the top of the hill I took off the rain jacket and pants. Whew.
Little cool gusts of wind would scare me every once in a while, but it didn't rain the rest of the walk.
The only hill in sight for miles, and we have to climb it -- of course.
James Herriott country
It turned out to be a fairly quick walk. We arrived in Richmond, the biggest town we've been in so far, at 2:30. We hit a tea room, Boots (a pharmacy/health needs place), a bookstore, teller machine, Scottish woolens store, and grocery store within a short period of time, thrilled to actually get to experience a town before everything shut up.
Dinner was at a fancy pub. A half-pint of Guinness and a half-pint of Thurston's something-or-other. A mozzarella salad so I don't feel so sluggardly.
Tom on a turtle bench outside a 15th, 16th, or 17th c. church.
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