We left Chirk and headed west into Wales. The road took us through Snowdonia National Park and the scenery was magnificent. We travelled along river valleys and rode up perilous drops over mountain passes to quaint valley town with even quainter names like Betws-y-Coed – we could have been in The Alps. There is still a great deal of snow on the ground and the wind, when it blows, is frigid. We stayed the night in Caernarfon on the Menai Strait and headed across the bridge onto Anglesey Island.
We stopped at Llanfairpwllgwyngyllgogerychwyrndrovwllllantysiliogogogoch.
No it's not a typo that's the name of the place. The rest of Anglesey is flat treeless and quite frankly rather boring. Why the Druids (history's first recorded tree-huggers) would set up shop in this bleak and boring landscape is a understandable. It suited their lifestyle as most tree-huggers are bleak and boring. That was back in the time of the Roman Empire. And what did the Roman ever do for us? They marched all the way across Britain to Anglesey and wiped out all the tre... Druids. The Romans actually liked Global Warming – it meant they could grow fruit and grapes and make wine in England, something that doesn't happen here any more because the climate changed – without our help.
The rain had started to fall and the wind chill wasn't making it any better so we hightailed it back to the mainland where we stopped at Bangor, which is next to Menai – bloody copycats. We stayed the night at a quiet little campground overlooking Conwy Bay and headed for the Great Orme Head the next day. We planned to visit the Bronze Age copper mine but it started to rain heavily and the place was a mud pit. So we headed off for the Wirral Peninsular and Liverpool. The Wirral is a thumb of land the extends between the mouths of the River Dee and the River Mersey. It actually looks like a thumb with the clenched fingers being the North coast of Wales. We camped on the western coast not far from West Kirby – the last stop on the Metro to Liverpool city. When I say not far I mean a four mile walk to the station along the Wirral Way – it's a disused railway line that has been turned into a cycle track and walking path and it runs by the campground.
It was an 8 mile hike each day to and from the station – Brett's gotta be happy with that. Liverpool was great. We found the houses Grandma Bolton lived in south of town in Mossley Hill a short walk from Penny Lane – yep that Penny Lane. We spent two days soaking up the Sixties. Took the Ferry Across The Mersey (twice), walked down Penny Lane (didn't see the banker, fireman or pretty dancer), wandered around the old music district laneways, checked out the Cavern. We didn't go down as the place is infested with drunken yobbo touristas nowadays.
We left Liverpool and headed for the Lakes District and Yorkshire Dales. We stayed in a nice little campground in Kirkby Lonsdale. The town is beautiful full of well preserved stone building and narrow winding streets. You get to it across Devil's Bridge, a well preserved piece of 13th century stone architecture. This was on the main route from the York to Penrith in Medieval times. There is a picturesque walk along the river which skirts the town but it is closed off at the moment due to the flooding that happened last year.
We headed off the next day across the Yorkshire Dales. We took the Ribble Run from Ingleton to Hawes. It winds along the River Ribble then up over the high Dales and then down into the Ure Valley. The scenery here is both bleak and beautiful. Yes its cold, barren and wind swept but on a clear day with that pale blue sky and the high ridges still holding the last vestiges of winter snow it has a beauty that words can't describe.
We stopped in Hawes for morning tea in a pleasant little teahouse. Hawes is even more beautiful than Kirky Lonsdale with its stone houses and narrow meandering streets. There is even a waterfall in the middle of town. Those Medieval town planners must have been thinking about the tourist dollar even back then. We girded our loins and headed for one of Britain's most famous roads – thanks in part to Top Gear, although it was discovered long before. The Buttertub Pass runs north from Hawes to Thwaite. It winds up the valley and along the ridge before literally diving down into the Swale Valley. It is a roller-coaster ride and I seriously doubt anyone could travel as quickly as they portray on Top Gear. The road is covered with loose gravel in many places especially blind corners and it has plenty of hidden dips and places where low riding sports cars would bottom out. It's Snake Pass with attitude.
The payback is the Swale Valley. It's like God made it hard to get to because it's so special. People throw the phrase “God's Country” around like a farmer sowing seed but here in this valley it has real meaning. The sound of the river racing over its stoney bed, the pleasant green of the fields criss-crossed with ancient moss covered drystone walls, the white of the snow patches stubbornly refusing to thaw on the hilltops, the soulful bleating of the new lambs calling for their mothers and that clear blue sky with cloudy patches painting shadows on the ground as the cold wind pushes then further east. I think all the Gods live here disguised as simple folk living out their lives in eons-old stone cottages filled with warmth and laughter and love.
Well that's enough of me waxing lyrical for the time being. We are now in Leyburn on the eastern edge of the Dales and heading for York.
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