Day 52 – Rest Day

Today was a rest day, which George and Ann planned to devote to showing me the sights near their home. But first, I had several business items to address.

First, I needed to replace my boots because my blazing speed has worn the tread thin, and they won’t possibly last all the way to John O’Groats. Yesterday I ordered new boots from Amazon.com.uk, and they arrived first thing in the morning. The new boots fit fine, but I decided to wear them all morning to be sure that there weren’t any hidden pressure points. They proved to be perfect.

Second, I needed to reserve accommodations for next week, when George and Ann tire of me and drop me off near some God-forsaken moor without a pub and with instructions to walk north.

Third, I desperately needed a haircut. George drove me to the barbershop, but on arrival I remembered I forgot my camera. You’ll just have to imagine my Rapunzel-length hair falling to the floor as the barber clipped his shears together. (All this time I was blaming my backpack for being too heavy, when it was really my hair.) Meanwhile, outside the barber shop, frenzied wool traders were bidding on my shorn locks as if I were a rock star. Perhaps news traveled from Much Wenlock.

George, Ann, Sally and Tony

Renewed from head to toe, I was ready to tour northeast England without embarrassing my hosts. George drove us along the beach fronts north of Newcastle, with their Victorian homes and bay windows, bearing an uncanny resemblance to the painted ladies of San Francisco. We then joined with Tony and Sally, who I met last summer in Utah, and continued driving north through quaint villages too numerous to name (or at least too numerous for me to remember their names), past more old castles than I could count, ending up at a beachfront resort and pub. After a delightful lunch in the warm sunshine, we continued the tour, ending up at – where else? – another pub for dinner. Touring and eating; touring and eating. Oh, and there was also some ale. I could get used to these rest days.

Castle

But tomorrow, George and I head back to the hills. Ann, if you’re reading this, I’ll do my best not to get George lost.








© 2011 Ken Klug