North York Moors National Park was the most desolate section of the Coast to Coast. This is definitely a …Heathcliffe atmosphere…and man, would I hate to be lost in the moors. It was in the North York Moors that we started noticing signage for the Cleveland Way and Cleveland Way hikers. All with their map cases strung along their necks. Lots of stopping to chat with the always surprised Brits who don’t see that many Yanks on the trails. And many times, we’d see the same people on the trail the next day and commiserate about the weather…

We stayed at the nicest rural B&B run by the sweetest family. They’d sit around the telly at night, cook up huge scrumptious breakfasts (and…they cured their own bacon) in the morning, and explained the intricacies of the water heating contraption in the shower. The lady of the house was the epitome of a classic English “mum.” When I wanted to take this picture below, she fluttered around twittering…”oh..but I’m wearing me apron and me hair’s a mess.” Adorable.

our landlords in Great Broughton, England

Finally left the moors behind and descended into the valley of Eskdale where we followed the river to Grosmont through the green and forested countryside with ancient memorials. Memorials to “Old Margery,” “young and old Ralph” and “Fat Betty” whoever they were. I’d probably be known as “Sheila the Skinny.” Kept on going into the village of Grosmont past the village cricket green to the railway station with its historic steam-hauled North Yorkshire Railway. The preserved steam locomotive travels from Grosmont to Pickering.

Harvey finally got his wish. A long stop in the Lion Inn (1553) at Blakeley for a spot of tea and something stronger. After that transferred to Pickering for the next three nights. My ankles only had to last for one more day…

Lion Inn (1553) in Blakeley, England 

dry and warm inside the Lion Inn pub, Blakeley, England 

ex-Marine and Chris in the Lion Inn pub, Blakeley, England
From Grosmont, the van transferred us back to Pickering.