When the lesbians in fleeces are not walking round the lakes in newly mudded boots, we a driving round the lake district in a toy car (picture to left real size). Our beloved Fiat 500, Suki, has served us well. She has driven the length and breadth of the UK and even tootled round France. But she is in essence a Tonka car. Me, Liz and the tent leave her bursting at the seams and her engine is two hamsters on a tread mill.
Post Scafell Pike we had to get to the Langdales for the next leg of our trip. After discussion with man in a campsite and reviewing the Tonka car before us, we'd ruled out the Hardknott and Wrynose pass route. It would take us a little longer but we were on holiday we were in no rush. But as we approached the junction at which our final route would be decided the sat nav threw us a curve ball. Our round the houses route suddenly jumped from an one hour thirty to two and a half hours. We were in no rush but there were hills to be climbed and beers to be drunk. The pass would take us little over our original time. Giddy with our previous days achievements and a new found sense that nothing would defeat us we made the split second decision. Hardknott pass!
Post Scafell Pike we had to get to the Langdales for the next leg of our trip. After discussion with man in a campsite and reviewing the Tonka car before us, we'd ruled out the Hardknott and Wrynose pass route. It would take us a little longer but we were on holiday we were in no rush. But as we approached the junction at which our final route would be decided the sat nav threw us a curve ball. Our round the houses route suddenly jumped from an one hour thirty to two and a half hours. We were in no rush but there were hills to be climbed and beers to be drunk. The pass would take us little over our original time. Giddy with our previous days achievements and a new found sense that nothing would defeat us we made the split second decision. Hardknott pass!
The road changed little as we meandered away from Eskdale Green. A little narrower perhaps a few less houses. But we were fine, confident even. I've driven in New Zealand and learnt to drive on country roads. It couldn't beat any of those. From the base of the pass the road appears to gently meander through the valleys between the peaks, like a stream disappearing into the distance. Beautiful. We definitely made a winning decision.
We begin to climb. Higher and higher. The grassy verges begin to drop away and all that stands between me and a shear drop is, well nothing really. But it's ok. If I just keep going, eyes on the road I'll be fine. The road gets steeper, so do the drops at the side of it. Now I'm sandwiches between a shear rock face and a shear drop below. A few friendly travellers tuck themselves away in passing place as I climb and climb and climb. There's no sign of the top and Suki feels almost vertical. Towards me down the mountain comes a VW camper. Suddenly I realise, there's nowhere to stop! For either of us. No conveniently placed passing point. Face off. He's not stopping. He thinks he can squeeze by. My spacial awareness is poor. I won't deny it but even my unflappable and specially confident wife looks panicked. The drops on her side, at least I can't see that.
I need to gather my thoughts and work out a plan.I stop. I don't know what to do for the best. Turns out it's not stop! I pull up the hand break. I need time to think. As I take my foot off the break Suki rolls back! But the hand break! I slam my foot back on the break. If I can't stop, I've got to go. I look the VW driver straight in the eye and attempt to telepathically communicate, "You're gunna have to fucking move mate, I'm in a toy car". I slam my foot on the accelerator. She splutters, a slight rev and she's rolling again. By this point I'm crying. I can see with utter clarity, this is it. This is how it ends. We roll off the side of a mountain in the Lake District to our certain deaths like a half arsed Bony and Clyde. Luckily Liz has regained a composed face at least.
"Rev. Rev the engine Eve."
I only tell her when she's taken over the driving and my vital signs look less like I'm having a heart attack that I didn't really know what she meant. I had my foot all the way down. Wasn't that revving? I must have some how managed it, because we were moving. I could smell burning and the car sounded far from heathy but we were moving. It felt like it took hours to edge past the VW, two revs forward, one roll back and I was out the other side, storming up the side of Hardknott weeping and swearing, hands clutching the wheel like it was a white knuckle ride.
I pulled over as soon as it became vaguely flat, I needed liz to take the wheel, I couldn't stop shaking. A moment's silence. Liz put a reassuring hand on my shoulder,
"Do you think we can tick off Hardknott?"
As we trembled down the mountain, Liz firmly behind the wheel and my tears drying. We decided we needed a change of plan. A quick pasty an a mug of tea before we took on our next mountain (this time on foot) would not suffice for settling our shattered nerves. Luckily, last time we had visited Ambleside we had received a heads up from a women in a fleece (sapphic inclinations unknown) that there was cafe tucked away by Skelwith Bridge, which without the need to declare it's status sells only vegetarian and vegan fair to hungry walkers. And most importantly, for our current state, it was licensed. A quick pit stop was definitely in order.
Chester's by the River is not obvious from the main road. As soon as you pull up it's drive the busy (for the lakes) road feels a distant memory. The single story building, half shop, half cafe has a wide veranda at one edge, which feels wholly north American. I'm going to declare an interest.
I BLOODY LOVE CHESTER'S.
The atmosphere is lovely, the coffee is top notch and the food is boss. It was exactly what we needed. It was lunch time by the time we arrived and a glorious array of salads awaited us. Now for those of you who think salad means two lettuce leaves and a tomato, I'm sorry to shock you, but salads can be the most glorious, flavoursome, varied and yes calorific foods around. We had the sharing plate of their four salads of the day and they blew me away, leaving me a little over stuffed for the afternoons walk. I do have to warn you. There is something some people can't handle about Chester's, the baby boomers sitting next to us were horrified (particularly concerned were they for the health of a dog begging at their master's table) and Adelle cries in anguish at her discovery on the cafe's Facebook page... 'What about the meat eaters?' I'm sorry for your obvious suffering Adelle and the obvious fact that dog would starve but I have some news that may calm your tormented souls. Vegetarian and even vegan food is not poisonous to meat eaters. You won't die at the mere sight of a chickpea. You might even like it. Personally, I feel Chester's choice to not make a song and dance about their veggie fair is brilliant, people coming in who wouldn't otherwise, trying excellent veggie food might have opened some eyes. And if you stumble across a vegetarian cafe that you feel has somehow duped you into eating salad, get the fuck over it. It's 2018 people an chips are vegetarian so pop a potato in your mouth and shut up.
Chester's by the River is not obvious from the main road. As soon as you pull up it's drive the busy (for the lakes) road feels a distant memory. The single story building, half shop, half cafe has a wide veranda at one edge, which feels wholly north American. I'm going to declare an interest.
I BLOODY LOVE CHESTER'S.
The atmosphere is lovely, the coffee is top notch and the food is boss. It was exactly what we needed. It was lunch time by the time we arrived and a glorious array of salads awaited us. Now for those of you who think salad means two lettuce leaves and a tomato, I'm sorry to shock you, but salads can be the most glorious, flavoursome, varied and yes calorific foods around. We had the sharing plate of their four salads of the day and they blew me away, leaving me a little over stuffed for the afternoons walk. I do have to warn you. There is something some people can't handle about Chester's, the baby boomers sitting next to us were horrified (particularly concerned were they for the health of a dog begging at their master's table) and Adelle cries in anguish at her discovery on the cafe's Facebook page... 'What about the meat eaters?' I'm sorry for your obvious suffering Adelle and the obvious fact that dog would starve but I have some news that may calm your tormented souls. Vegetarian and even vegan food is not poisonous to meat eaters. You won't die at the mere sight of a chickpea. You might even like it. Personally, I feel Chester's choice to not make a song and dance about their veggie fair is brilliant, people coming in who wouldn't otherwise, trying excellent veggie food might have opened some eyes. And if you stumble across a vegetarian cafe that you feel has somehow duped you into eating salad, get the fuck over it. It's 2018 people an chips are vegetarian so pop a potato in your mouth and shut up.
Oh yeah, there was a walk as well...
Lunch and a half of some local beer in belly we thought we should probably fit a Wainwright in (I'd decided Liz couldn't count Hardknott).
Loughrigg can be bagged from Ambleside. We planned it as a quick walk on our rest day but we still didn't seem to have learnt our lesson from Scafell Pike. It was supposed to take us around two hours forty five but on wobbly legs and in thirty degree heat it was more like four. We were still using Walk Lakes. We should really have realised we're not as fit as them and they probably weren't doing it in an almost unprecedented heat wave.
You start the walk near Rothay park. On this particular afternoon Rothay park was serving as the finish line for a particularly epic and difficult fell running competition. As we were beginning our walk people were streaming into the park after running through the fells we had barley managed to drive through. Now I'm a sucker for a fell runner. The sight of a fell runner never fails to leave me planning my future as a world champion of the sport, waxing lyrical about how running is the only sport people improve at with age. As fell runner after fell runner ran past I decided if they could do it so could I. I planned when I would be starting my training and how longer before I could take part in such a challenge. We pulled up the long climb out of Ambleside, fell runners still steaming past, me still gushing about my new found ambition.
I was distracted by an argument about the correct path (Liz was right) and as we continued upwards leaving the runners behind us I forgot my new found dreams and in order to concentrate on how hard it was to walk up the hill (maybe not a born fell runner). The climb up Loughrigg Fell is quick from this point. Ambleside quickly becomes a toy town as you reach a brief plateau. At this point the walks instructions focused on the paths around bogs and small tarns. The heat wave had put pay to these landmarks. Bogs were nothing but spongy ground and tarns had shrunk hugely. This is rare in the lakes and patches of wet ground being highlighted on maps and guides is normally welcome. But not today. After a few more argument about paths (Liz was right, I blame the earlier drive for my sudden inability to read a map) we found the summit. Wainwright number 5.
Leaning nonchalantly on the trig point was a man with two walkie talkies. Not something you normally see up a Wainwright. Turns out he wasn't a member of long range radio club but the person relaying messages between the beginning of the race and Ambleside, as their signals struggled through the mountains. I was a bit perturbed by the fact I heard him relay a message that two injured fell runners couldn't be rescued and decided fell running probably wasn't for me.
Loughrigg can be bagged from Ambleside. We planned it as a quick walk on our rest day but we still didn't seem to have learnt our lesson from Scafell Pike. It was supposed to take us around two hours forty five but on wobbly legs and in thirty degree heat it was more like four. We were still using Walk Lakes. We should really have realised we're not as fit as them and they probably weren't doing it in an almost unprecedented heat wave.
You start the walk near Rothay park. On this particular afternoon Rothay park was serving as the finish line for a particularly epic and difficult fell running competition. As we were beginning our walk people were streaming into the park after running through the fells we had barley managed to drive through. Now I'm a sucker for a fell runner. The sight of a fell runner never fails to leave me planning my future as a world champion of the sport, waxing lyrical about how running is the only sport people improve at with age. As fell runner after fell runner ran past I decided if they could do it so could I. I planned when I would be starting my training and how longer before I could take part in such a challenge. We pulled up the long climb out of Ambleside, fell runners still steaming past, me still gushing about my new found ambition.
I was distracted by an argument about the correct path (Liz was right) and as we continued upwards leaving the runners behind us I forgot my new found dreams and in order to concentrate on how hard it was to walk up the hill (maybe not a born fell runner). The climb up Loughrigg Fell is quick from this point. Ambleside quickly becomes a toy town as you reach a brief plateau. At this point the walks instructions focused on the paths around bogs and small tarns. The heat wave had put pay to these landmarks. Bogs were nothing but spongy ground and tarns had shrunk hugely. This is rare in the lakes and patches of wet ground being highlighted on maps and guides is normally welcome. But not today. After a few more argument about paths (Liz was right, I blame the earlier drive for my sudden inability to read a map) we found the summit. Wainwright number 5.
Leaning nonchalantly on the trig point was a man with two walkie talkies. Not something you normally see up a Wainwright. Turns out he wasn't a member of long range radio club but the person relaying messages between the beginning of the race and Ambleside, as their signals struggled through the mountains. I was a bit perturbed by the fact I heard him relay a message that two injured fell runners couldn't be rescued and decided fell running probably wasn't for me.
Lessons learnt!
- Don't drive up a Wainwright in a toy car.
- Listen to your wife when your brain has been curdled by driving up a Wainwright in a toy car.
- Eat at Chester's by the river whenever feasible.
- Don't take up fell running on a whim.