The Yorkshire Dales In Cumbria
by
Paul Woodward
First of all, Sedbergh is in the Yorkshire Dales but not in
Yorkshire, it’s actually in Cumbria. It used to be in
Yorkshire and on a previous visit I asked the barman of a pub whether
people in Sedbergh regarded themselves as Yorkshire or Cumbrian. The
barman replied cautiously, “That depends on who you talk to and
whether you want to start a fight.”
So, to the weekend. John, Martina and daughter Ada
couldn’t wait for the weekend and came on the Thursday so were
well established when Julia and I arrived Friday lunch time. It took
rather a while to put our tent up because John had got the beers out.
Just as I was putting the finishing touches to our tent
Simon turned up on his Goldwing with Nicola and son Brandon in the car.
Time for more beers.
Before I left for Sedburgh I received an email from Felix saying
he would be arriving late Friday night for a break on his way to
Inverness. So not knowing how many other people were coming and after
Nicola and Simon had got their tent up we decided to go to the pub.
More beers.
View from the campsite
By the time we were on our second pint Mike Matthias, who
had booked at the hotel, arrive. Another beer was called for. When that
had been downed Mike wanted a shower and a meal and said he would meet
us at the camp site later and the rest of us decided to hit the fish
and chip shop.
We all spent the evening at the camp site just drinking
and chatting. Mike was the first to leave, then Nicola and Simon
decided it was time for bed. It was around midnight when Martina
uttered the immortal words, “It’s so lovely I could sit out
here all night.” Within seconds it started raining. So time for
bed and no Felix.
Saturday morning was dampish but the sun was trying to
break through. Mike arrived bright eyed and bushy faced while the rest
of us were still finishing breakfast.
Within half an hour we were ready for the day’s ride
which I had planned to be around 30 miles with a couple of stops at
places of interest. That was the plan but in typical KGT style I had
taken the wrong road within the first few minutes. It mattered not as
it just brought us out a bit higher on the road we wanted anyway and I
hoped no one would notice.
When we reached our first stop to admire the beautiful
scenery and take photos someone asked why we had done 30 miles already,
so the truth did out.
It was only a short ride to our next stop, The White Scar
Caverns. This is the largest cavern in England to open to the public
and takes about an hour to go around which includes some steeps climbs
and back-breaking low walks. We had a guided tour which pointed out
interesting stalactite formations leaving some to make out what we
thought they looked like (we all thought they should come with
batteries).
Underground in White Scar Caverns
Ingleton is a village where there is a big unused viaduct
and a big cheek to ask for motorbikes to pay for parking. But we paid
and had a walk around the village. Mike was impressed with the shop
where he got his lottery ticket because not only was there a pen on a
bit of string but also some reading glasses.
After a pint in the pub it was time to head back to
the camp site and Mike back to the hotel where he had booked a table
for us all to have a meal that evening (after we assured him we
wouldn’t leave the country without paying).
That evening we assembled in The Bull dining room where they had
laid out a long table for us all. All the food on the menu was looking
very appetising and it took a while for us to choose what we wanted.
The food was fantastic and lived up to the expectations, I can
thoroughly recommend the black pudding and Stilton starter. Also, the
staff were some of the friendliest and most helpful I have ever met.
Not being able to move after the meal we had to stop and have a
couple of pints during which Mike took the ladies up to his room to
show them how big it was (the room, I think). Anyhow, the ladies were
impressed!
After the food and the beer had gone down it was time to go back
to the camp site. Mike had decided to stay another day and go
home on Monday so that he could explore some more of the fantastic
scenery and we said our goodbyes to him.
When we got back to the camp site Martina found a
note on her table from Felix saying that his plans had gone awry
and he was pressing on for Inverness. Thanks for the note
Felix, sorry we missed you. Then we sat around for another couple
of beers but with a long ride home on the morrow nobody went
to bed particularly late.
Sunday morning we leisurely packed our tents
with no one in a particular hurry to leave. Eventually everything
was packed and we said our goodbyes.
The nightmare journey home with part of the M6 closed is another story.