Another cold-nose night in the tend, though the rest of me was toasty. Again, I’d had just about enough dozing episodes to not wake up feeling cheated.
It was another sunny but chilly morning. The route was all flat now but, despite the lack of anything vertical to be manouevred round, it was never straight: Etch-a-Sketch zigs and zags along the snooker table of the Ouse floodplain, square bends round imaginary obstacles, and ghost obstructions.
I got to Boroughbridge for breakfast, and ate in the pleasant, daffodilled central square. The Devil’s Arrows – prehistoric stone monoliths – are an unmissable feature of the town, but I managed to miss them. I didn’t miss a missable bridge built by Blind Jack of Knaresborough, though.
The flat tarmac back roads between here and York were unevenful, apart from the clanking wooden toll bridge over the Ouse.
I had a look round York’s engaging pedestrian centre, admiring the Minster and the Shambles, and had lunch on the waterfront by Kings Arms, checking my emails in the sun and watching over my bike.
I must have had more emails than I expected because I got sunburnt, but I was right to be wary of my bike. Shortly afterwards, while I was taking a snap of Walmgate Bar, some scallies tried to steal it. My bike not the bar, but I wouldn’t put anything this lot.
I scared them off with a show of aggression and scowling, swearing ferocity that surprised me as much as them. Soon after, as I cycled along the road, they threw a full plastic bottle of water at me, but luckily their aim was as useless as they were.
I found Route 66 and looked forward to getting my kicks on the WoR path east out of York. It was a flat, scruffy urban railtrail, eventually wandering a tad aimlessly along farm tracks and lanes. My knees were twingeing a bit, but after yesterday’s climb, no wonder.
An overly impressive old railway bridge led into Stamford Bridge, whose mill – featured on the cover of the OS map, once said to be the worst-selling of the entire 204 Landranger series – proved less interesting than expected.
After more bland lanes with no vertical interest I got to Pocklington. It was not yet 4pm and I would have liked to cycle further, but the campsite here was the last I could reasonably reach tonight.
However, there was a pub next to the campsite that had good wifi. So I decided to nominate this evening a ‘work evening’ and did some online subbing that had been on my paid to-do list, feeling pleased with my internet-nomad lifestyle…
Miles today: 50
Miles since Morecambe: 128