Walking in the Air: Lift Your Spirits… Step by Step
There a few things that lift the spirits as well as a simple walk out in the fresh air… and even more so when you have someone special to share it with…
I love to walk, though as I’ve said before, I do most of my shuffling on a solo basis. Often by choice, often because my friends just don’t get my keenness for peak/pavement/puddle pounding, and sometimes because my windmill walking might just be a little too much for a plodding pal to endure.
However, I often think it would be nice to have someone by my side. Someone to share the beauty of the views, someone to share stories, or someone to simply share a little peace and quiet with only the sound of footsteps. Not just anyone, of course. I consider walking such a precious pastime; thoroughly deserving of equally precious company. So last week I was pretty excited when my Pops succumbed to my pitiful pleas to tag along.
I can’t remember the last time I did a ‘proper’ walk with Pops. Many-a-time we’ve ran together, raced together and (on match days of old) stumbled together. But a proper walk? Most likely one of many inadvertent family ‘magical mystery tours’ around Hamsterley Forest. Strolls that started off as jovial three-mile ambles, before morphing in to sense of humour-sapping ten-mile yomps as a result of vanishing trails. Disagreements, dehydration, dodgy toes and declarations of ‘never again’.
We drove towards the North Yorkshire Moors, the point where I usually experience my first tickles of ‘almost home’ excitement when on the train back to my native North East. We passed through a village I remembered from childhood — Carlton-in-Cleveland — one of those tiny North Eastern hamlets where streams run through the front gardens of cute cottages. I’ve mentioned before how I could never get my head round Pops’s insistence that installing one of these would be rather impractical… in our 1970s semi…
We parked up at Lordstones Country Park, donned our sensible shoes, and yomped off towards the first of 3 peaks we planned as part of a short circular route. Conditions were great; a perfect Autumnal afternoon of blue skies, crisp air and a light breeze… which gave way to heavy cloud, rain and high winds within what seemed like ten paces. But it wouldn’t be a walk in the English countryside without all four seasons in a day, would it?
As ever, our conversation soon turned to running: Pops talked of his previous pursuits here as part of a fell race relay team. It had clearly been a tough gig, as his recollections seemed to cause some distress. That said, I can honestly count on one hand the number of races he’s completed that haven’t ended with an expletive-filled declaration of ‘never again’. And yet he always does… again.
Before the conditions closed in we briefly enjoyed some spectacular views; We share a geeky need to know exactly where are and what we can see. Between us we rattled off most of the sights: the dark North Sea to the east, the relative flatness of County Durham to the north, the Captain Cook Monument just ahead, and the vast expanse of industrial works — many now sadly defunct — that blight the landscape of the Tees Valley… complete with their infamous crown of ‘smog’.
The famous local landmark of Roseberry Topping — ‘Cleveland’s Matterhorn’ — stood proudly ahead. I still get confused as to whether it’s ‘Roseberry’ or ‘Rosemary’… though think the latter may have been the old lady who worked on switchboard at the council. Equally formidable, so easy mistake.
As the clouds became thicker and the air grew colder, the views disappeared behind the opaque white veil. There’s something quite magical about walking in the clouds, and not just for my feeling of justification as my head is generally in them anyway. The feeling of damp air against the skin and bright fluffiness all around. Not so great on those days when it renders any navigation attempt futile, of course, but no such worries today as the path was (thankfully) clear.
We posed for photos, seemingly choosing the ‘plain white’ photo booth background. I felt like a kid again, scurrying along with my Dad in an excitable blur of chat, stumbles and giggles.
We chatted endlessly about all sorts; my siblings, running, food, running, holidays, running, obtuse acquaintances, running. I may also have mentioned scones just a few times, such was my panic that the end of walk café may have sold out by the time of our return. Serious stuff man.
Two hours passed in a flash, and although the conditions meant we couldn’t actually see the finish ahead, the steep descent signalled the end was nigh. Back to the boggy car park, where a quick relay-like shoe change gave me the tools to hot foot it to the café. Let there be scones! My simple wish was granted as I was greeted by a jauntily assembled pile of my favourite post-walk treat. I’ve a feeling a may have mentioned this before… I’m a simple soul.
Cosy seats, cups of steaming tea, comforting carbs, and more chirpy chat. A fitting end to a brilliant afternoon; the type that gives me tummy-tickling memories to recall when I’m away on my travels. If only I could be chaperoned by Pops on every walk… who knows, he might even tolerate a few windmills next time.
