East, west, where's best? Molly follows the Way of the Roses and puts her paws in the Irish Sea
Well. What a few weeks we’ve had since I woofed my last blog. I am worn out with packing my bags, travelling in the back of the car, staying in a new place every night, meeting LOADS of new people, running about in the sea and all the other responsibilities that go along with being appointed as the official mascot for a group of mad cyclists (let's call them the Roses) who decided it’d be a jolly jape to ride their bicycles from the west coast to the east coast across mountain and dale! It turned out that these mad humans were doing something called The Way of the Roses (so important, it gets Capitals). It’s some route dreamed up by somebody that takes you from Morecambe to Bridlington on the other side of the country using only two wheels and lots of quiet roads without many cars.
It all started with a journey to a place called Morecambe one weekday otherwise much like any other. Only there was I, bundled into the back of a fully laden red car with the Wordsmith behind the wheel and two other passengers, one cramping my style in what is usually my own space on the back seat. The cheek of it! There were bags and suitcases and bike locks and pumps and it was when my bed was put into the boot that I started to get a bit suspicious that this was more than just a day at the seaside, although the Wordsmith had been mentioning something to me about a coast to coast adventure, although I didn’t take much notice to be honest. Anyway, we got to this place called Morecambe with two bicycles on the back of the car and lo and behold we pulled up in a Morrison’s car park and met up with another load of people also dressed in Lycra with three bikes on the back of their car. (I’m pleased to report that the Wordsmith wasn’t wearing Lycra. She doesn’t do Lycra, apparently, even when she rides her bike, which she hasn’t done since I came to live with her and for which she blames me.) After a visit to the Midland Hotel, which the Wordsmith said was an Art Deco wonder (I just liked the cold polished concrete floor) for coffee and photos, the Roses all got on their bikes and disappeared leaving me and the Wordsmith to wander along to have a look at Eric Morecambe dancing on the promenade and wonder what we'd got ourselves into, offering to courier the Roses' luggage from one stop to the next over the following few days.
The Way of the Roses Quintet and me with Eric Morecambe!
After waving goodbye to the Roses, and meeting Morecambe’s ‘most famous son’, the Wordsmith and I got back in the red car and set off for somewhere called Giggleswick, where we were meeting up with the Roses for the night. Apart from having a silly name, and a Very Posh School, this Giggleswick place was really lovely and the Wordsmith told me it was her new favourite place. There was a stream running through it and I got my paws wet for the first time which was scary and exciting and then really scary and finally irresistible! We pitched up in a lovely inn called The Hart’s Head and after walking all around the village, the Wordsmith and I settled down for a couple of pints in the lovely beer garden and waited for the Cyclists to arrive.
These photos are in Gigglewick. The view was from the back of the Hart's Head Inn. The one of me asleep is after the Wordsmith tired me out walking the length and breadth of the village and then finally stopped for a drink in the bar! If you look very closely, there's even a picture of the Lesser Spotted Wordsmith, from behind!
I was very good and stayed in my crate in the Wordsmith’s room when they went for supper and breakfast the next morning (apparently the best the Wordsmith had ever had), although I wasn’t very happy when I learned that the landlady had offered me a sausage which the Wordsmith had turned down because apparently I’m Not Allowed. The Wordsmith hadn’t been very happy herself earlier when the fire alarm had gone off accidentally and she’d wandered out onto the landing at 7am with her bed head and wearing her nightie. I thought it was hilarious, but kept my counsel, just lying in my crate being all good and wondering if this sharing a room business would carry on when we got home. (It hasn’t.) We all met up in Settle to wave the Lycra’d ones up the steepest hill of the whole 170 mile journey, then the Wordsmith and I had a walk, I ate a box of matches I found lying on the pavement (as you do), and then we set off for a place called Ripon. We met the Roses puffing up the steep hill as we drove out of Settle and they all put their thumbs up and showed us their thighs. I thought it was a cycling thing, but the Wordsmith told me it’s something people do when they want to hitchhike, only she still didn’t stop and cram them in the red car; she just tooted and waved and drove on past with the car struggling in first gear (we did have ALL their bags in the back!). I tried my best to sleep in the back, but the Wordsmith kept on exclaiming about the beautiful countryside and lovely views as we wended our way on the back roads to Ripon.
This time we were up three flights of stairs on the third floor of a hotel on the market square. The poor Wordsmith was worn out carrying all the bags up the stairs with me trotting along not really helping very much. So worn out that after a little pootle around, we both collapsed in the bar and had a pint of something very cold (this became a bit of a pattern over these few days!). The Roses arrived after their 50 miles or so and they left me and went out for an Italian meal while I settled down in my crate listening to the sounds of the cathedral bell donging in my ears every 15 minutes. The next day, the Wordsmith took me into the cathedral – my very first time in a church. I was so awestruck, I barked, and we left pretty quickly after that which was a shame as the stone floor was nice and cool. I had to be all good in a coffee shop then, and soon afterwards in another café when the Wordsmith decided to have lunch before getting in the car to go on to the next place.
This is me in Ripon Cathedral, just before I started barking VERY LOUDLY and had to be taken out. The other one is of Ripon canal.
. We had a lovely walk along the canal before setting off again to meet the Roses for lunch in a lovely place called something beginning with B, which had a river and a nice bridge and where I picked up LOTS of admirers and where the Wordsmith had to pay 20p to use the toilet. (I just go where I want and it gets picked up.) We passed the Roses again as we made our way to Pocklington for the next overnight stay. More exclamations about lovely scenery disturbed my rest, but the effusiveness diminished as the topography got flatter the more east we went. (I didn't woof that; I just said there were less hills, but she's got to put a polish on things, this keeper of mine, and make them sound all posh.)
These pictures are of me in Burnby Gardens. I still can't work out why there were giraffes in North Yorkshire, but I'm only a dog, so what do I know?!
Our final overnight stop was in a motel near Pocklington; no stairs this time for the Wordsmith, so unloading everyone’s bags was much easier. It was back in the car then for a short drive into the village as the Wordsmith wanted some cake before the shops closed. We found a lovely tea shop called The Wolds, after which we walked around the village and I took the Wordsmith through an open door into the pet shop and had a little sample of some kibble from an open bag. I got told off by the Wordsmith for that but it was there at nose level; how was I supposed to know it wasn’t a self service restaurant? Anyway, the owner gave me a treat for being cute and the Wordsmith told her it was the best pet shop she’d ever been into, although she didn’t buy me anything, Instead, we went next door where she bought herself a pair of shoes before normal service was resumed and we returned to the motel to await the Roses with a pint of something cold.
On the final morning, we waved off the Roses and promised we’d see them next at the seaside. The Wordsmith and I went to some gardens for a wander around before we drove to Bridlington, stopping at a place called Burton Agnes House for lunch on the way where we went round some more gardens (I'm getting fed up with gardens); this time was better, however, as I got to run off the lead through the woods and we had a lovely time. Next stop was the seaside and we had loads of time before the Roses completed their journey to walk along the promenade and for me to play in the shallow water. This time I got more used to the waves and let them splash up around my paws, although the water still tasted funny. There were other doggies on the beach and we had a run around then went to a café where the Wordsmith bought an ice cream and then the Roses arrived having used two wheels to get themselves 170 miles from one side of the country to the other, only to find someone had stolen the Way of the Roses sign two weeks before so they couldn’t get the souvenir picture they wanted. But they celebrated with cups of tea and fish and chips and cake and ice cream and I got lots of cuddles (especially from Liz; she kept wanting to give me titbits but I heard the Wordsmith saying the No word quite a lot. Sadly). Next time, I want to go with the cyclists in my own little Lycra outfit. I understand they have little carts that tag on to the back of bikes. I’m going to ask the Wordsmith if I can have a go in one before I go for my training.
Bridlington or bust!
So, that was my adventure on the Way of the Roses. It’s not stopped since we’ve been home, but this has been an extra long blog so my other stories about meeting Indy, going to Renishaw Hall Gardens (more gardens - sigh), watching the Wordsmith fall flat on her face and have a nosebleed and taking her to the dentist will have to wait for another day.
Woof woof till then!!
