As part of his UK visit, our buddy George caught a train up North for a weekend in Yorkshire. We rented a car and explored some terrain along the coastline and in the moor. My strongest impression from the trip was the bounty of flowers, berries, vegetables and wild animals we encountered.
From behind the (right-hand drive) wheel of our rental car, the ancient cobblestone alleyways of the Leeds City Center soon gave way to quiet rural roads and a big chunk of unfamiliar country. On the edge of the North York Moors, we stopped for a hike in the Dalby Forest. There, the lush, overgrown roads and dense walls of vegetation were a fascinating contrast to the wide-open treeless hills that we've grown used to. Along the forest roadcut, Kelly spotted some strawberries, and we all put our heads down and feasted. Then, incredibly, just adjacent to the spectacular strawberry patch, we found a tier of perfectly ripe huckleberries. Paradise.
We hiked for miles along the berry-lined road cut, and at a particularly overwhelming section, we stopped to harvest a frisbee full of deep purple huckleberries and brilliant ripe strawberries. Safely stored in my canteen, the berries would reappear atop a cheesecake the next day, Kelly's birthday.
We left the forest, and drove seaward on a narrow rural road amid stone walls and sheep pastures. We stopped at a roadside table to pick up garden artichokes, new potatoes, and jams. A 'thank you' yelled towards the farmer's house was answered only by barking dogs, and we dropped our heavy coins in the collection box.
We made camp in the middle of a repurposed field, then walked down a public footpath to the ocean. We found a well-lit pub, and ate dinner atop a sea wall facing the bay. I had a piping hot steak pie, and a big pile of fries--just the thing on a cool seaside evening.
The next morning, we set off for a hike along the cliffs of the coastline. We checked out the steel wreckage of a tugboat and watched a weasel bound across the path. Later, in the historic sea port of Whitby, we walked down 200-some stairs from a ruined Benedictine Abbey to the penny arcades and fish-and-chip shops of the piers. A great day.
Returning through a network of fine roads, George called out the turns, rail crossings, and bridges like a rally-car navigator. We set out along a moor-top ridge dotted with sheep. A lone pub stood perched on the ridge, surrounded by a cluster of backpackers' tents. Duly noted. We stopped on the road to bury our faces in the vibrant purple blooms of the heather and checked out a hunkered-down hedgehog. With only a bit of discomfort, we harvested thistle heads for ginger beer.
We descended from the moor and out onto the plains. In the fog and fading evening light, Kelly spotted the white chalk outline of a massive horse cut into a distant hillside. Two spectacular high-summer days.
