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Several unexpected things happened the next morning. First, very few of us could face a full
English, and opted instead for porridge or, perish the thought, muesli. Second, the luggage
van arrived before we had departed! Earlier in the walk, the van had not arrived until mid
afternoon, giving a lazy start to those footsore and weary who opted to ride it to the next
destination. Now hikers and riders alike had to be up bright and early; it was a reminder that
we were past the halfway point. Third, it had the audacity to rain! We dug into the recesses
of our packs for the raingear that had languished there since Lining Crag. But this was not
the satisfying soak of that Lakeland day; it was teasing rain, so no sooner had you dragged
the raincoat on, than the clouds cleared and you were hot and sweaty until you decided to
divest, just in time for the clouds to gather again and drench you once more.
Nevertheless, It was a lovely walk, and we caught up with many of the groups of hikers
we had met on the way, all looking a little different now in hoods and ponchos, the men
sprouting beards, and the women less carefully coiffed than the previous week. As was of-
ten the case, Vicki set the pace, striding along valley bottoms, scrambling over stiles. We
soon settled into the zen of hiking, that meditative pleasant state of watching the bobbing
wildflowers and the contented sheep and just as contentedly following along. We were only
mildly surprised when Vicki led us behind a stone barn. “No you can't follow me here” she
cried when she saw her human flock had turned off the path with her, “This is my private
bathroom break.” We gave her a few moments of modesty before we fell in step behind her
once more. By lunchtime, we made it comfortably to Richmond. Richmond is the largest
town on the route and well worth a visit. It felt odd to eat lunch in a café, to be served by a
waitress, to sit on real chairs and to notice the other diners who were edging away from our
steaming group! All our other lunches had been al fresco, gathered by a fence or on a grassy
slope, inhaling the surroundings, unless we were in too close proximity to a farmyard.
At Richmond we had the choice of passing a gentle afternoon discovering the delights of
the market town, or pressing on another seven miles to Bolton in Swaledale, where a bus
would meet us and return us to our Bed and Breakfast near Richmond town centre. Most
of us opted for the walk, knowing that at first it followed the river and skirted the ram-
parts of Richmond castle. The castle exploits a defensive position on a high bluff and dates
back to Norman times. It was a fabulous sight and underlined the sense we had of walk-
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