September 22, 2008
Hull - Normanby
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I ate a full English breakfast, though it certainly wasn't the best ever, then, before leaving, spent half an hour in the internet café on Prince's Way. I also bought the day's food in a nearby Co-op supermarket.
The weather had broken this morning. The previous evening's blanket of North Sea cloud had suggested the change. It was now cold and drizzly accompanied by a lively North-easterly wind. After four days of uninterrupted sunshine and calm, today seemed particularly miserable. Before tackling the windy wolds, I decided to detour to East Hull to take a look at my grandparents' former houses. I rode towards the city centre, crossed the river Hull [Hull's full name is Kingston-upon-Hull] They lived in what is now an unlovely neighbourhood. A peculiarity of the area is that the streets have streets within streets, so to speak. My grandfather's address at the time of his marriage was Argyle Avenue, Middelburg Street, Hull. Argyle Avenue is a sort of close, or alleyway off Middelburg Street, served by a footpath. {see photos} The weather didn't paint the area in any better light.
I set off in the direction of Beverley, mostly following a cycle path adjacent to a main road out of town until I reached the less busy A1174. In Beverley, the drizzle eased for a while. I stopped to take photographs of the Minster and bits of the town and spotting another cyclist asked him if there was an off-road route in the direction of Malton. The short answer was no, but was a while in the telling.
As it turned out the B1248 was not too busy and I slowly plodded on into the wind and up and down the wolds. I was getting hungry. I fantasised about finding a warm shelter out of the wind and rain, where I could eat in a little more comfort. Near Lund I pulled off the main road and on into the village. I turned a corner by the green and there, with its back to the wind, was the village bus shelter. Formerly the forge, it had been converted to its current use and preserved. There were bench seats, if a little rickety and a sawn off section of tree trunk, I could use as a table. The brick hearths of the forge were left undemolished. I even had the company of a pair of house-martins nesting in the roof. After I had eaten, I got out the stove and made coffee. What luxury. What blinding luck.
Then back into the wind-blown drizzle. I told myself that this was karma: had the good times, got to face the bad. Then, I contradicted myself; that's total fucking bollocks, it's just bad weather. I tend to agree with the second guy. I reached Wetwang. Mention of the name is almost guaranteed to produce a giggle. Wetwang is almost famous, because it was the place of residence of Richard Whiteley, the original presenter of Channel 4 TV's puzzle programme, Countdown, now deceased. My thought is, that it's remained in the public consciousness because it sounds rude, like Wetwank, for example, but what do I know? Anyway, I didn't stop. It was wet and I wasn't about to wang around.
There was some more wold climbing to come, probably the toughest of the day, then after the suitably named, North Grimston, I was downhill into the Vale of Pickering. The rain stopped as soon as I was off the Wolds. It was still grey and chill, but dry. In Norton, I bought a Snickers bar and a ginger beer, before crossing the river into Malton. Outside the town centre, I looked at my cut-out map sheet. Campsites were marked. A woman outside whose house I had stopped asked me if I was lost. I'd just found on the map, a campsite at Amotherby, a short ride up the road. She confirmed its existence, and I set off towards Helmsley, the diminished wind no longer in my face.
The campsite was a long way north of the village. I rode through the entrance around the fishing lakes and caravans to the office. I was looking around to see where you might pitch a tent. The guy in the office was very helpful, took my MP3 player off me to recharge it on his computer. 'So how much do I owe you,' I asked '£15.' 'What? I could get a roof over my head for that.' He then went to explain his business plan to me. It turned out I'd be paying the same amount as a caravanner. He mentioned water use, electricity consumption. It sounded like complete nonsense to me. I retrieved my MP3 player, and took to the road again. My map showed another site in the village of Normanby a few miles north. I aimed for that. In Normanby, I couldn't find a campsite. There was once, but my map's old. I stopped two kids on bikes and asked them. At the pub, they said. I went into the bar of the Sun Inn and enquired. 'Well, you can camp here, but I can't charge you anything, because, I've got no facilities,' the landlord told me. After the last place, this was almost incredible. As to facilities, there was a pub.
His wife showed me where to pitch the tent, next to the nearby River Seven. I asked if I could have a strip wash in the toilet, before they got too busy, so I grabbed my wash stuff and a change of clothes and left the tent on the bike for a few minutes.
I got the tent sorted and went back to the pub. I ordered a pint of Guinness and enquired about food. 'We don't normally do food on a Monday, but we've got a party of ladies coming in at 8 o'clock, so you can have what they're having.' While I was waiting, I spoke to a man sitting at the bar, a local dentist, originally from Hull. It was his children I'd asked directions of.
Dinner consisted of minced beef and onions, served with a dumpling, potatoes, carrots and cauliflower. No Michelin star here, but after my day on the rainy road, it really hit the spot.
I stayed drinking with a group of farmers until closing time. Conversation included, local football, Yorkshire cricket about both of which I have some knowledge, whether Sir Donald Bradman ever played at nearby Hovingham Hall, the price of agricultural machinery, the late harvest. They were surprisingly and refreshingly foul-mouthed, a long way off being Gentleman Farmers. I went off to my tent and of course, was up in the middle of the night.
Today's ride: 82 km (51 miles)
Total: 474 km (294 miles)
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