Clay Bank top to Blakey Ridge

Since today was a shorter day, only a 9-mile day and mostly flat except for a gnarly several hundred feet climb straight up a bluff at the beginning, we got a a later start with a drive back up from the Wainstones Hotel to the Clay Bank Top road cut. We were met at the top of our grueling first ascent with a sheep sentinel, welcoming us to the summit (see first pic below). Once on top, the trail flattened out to a step stone path, then old rail line gravel road flat as can be with sweeping views of the high moors and an occasional green valley far below to the left and south. Unfortunately Tom picked up some stomach bug in the night so it was a tough day for him, and we proceeded slowly. A gorgeous sunshiny day welcomed us. It wasn’t hot, maybe 60-65 degrees with a nice cooling breeze. The way was flat and and the scenery desolate, only changing imperceptibly. I had heard that this section was a real grind for some, which I certainly could envision if you had to tackle it in fog or driving rain and wind, but for us it was lovely and calming. The end, however, was a welcome sight, especially for Tom, who needed to get horizontal and sleep. The Lion Inn, a solitary establishment perched high on a windswept moor called Blakey Ridge was our home for the night. Not a showstopper on the outside, the inside was definitely a destination, a port in the storm sort of pub with rooms that made me think of the sort of refuge Frodo and Sam might have stumbled upon to have a pint at the end of a long journey in Lord of the Rings. Thick stone walls, a maze of dark rooms with tables, and classic pub bar, low chunky dark wooden beams that even I had to duck under lest I hit my head, niche stone fireplaces with copper kettle and pot adornment with china plates and old framed hunting art on the walls. We were so grateful our room was ready at our 2pm arrival so I ushered Tom through the maze to our room and tucked him in bed. Later I went solo back out to have dinner and my reservation had me seated right by one of the fireplaces, which was not lit but it didn’t matter because the place was warm and packed with bikers, backpackers and families who had driven here from who knows where for Sunday dinner. I ordered a Lemon and Black- my favorite English version of a Shirley Temple that I enjoyed when I came to the U.K. 42 years ago for a 3-week tour with my mom and others from my school. It is a simple drink with “lemonade” (like 7Up or Sprite) and black currant syrup- which is one of my very favorite flavors and is sadly nearly non-existent in the U.S. My starter soup was also fabulous: broccoli, cauliflower and Stilton soup. Dinner was totally overwhelming- a gigantic chicken breast flattened out and smothered with a quarter-inch layer of thick gooey cheese that they call “Chicken Parma” (short for Parmesan- though the cheese hardly resembled thin, hard, almost crunchy Parmesan we know. And then there was yet again a mountain of “chips” (fries). In general I like potatoes but in small doses, very small doses. There is no such thing as a small dose of potatoes in any format here, especially the fries format. I’m not sure I can look at them any more.