Alston to Blackhall Mill

August 17, 2010

Lesley's garden is tangled and green and perfect. The footpaths are made of yellow, pebbled gravel, and disks and squares of her handmade pottery spot the path with bright splashes of red, teal, and purple. Hemming in her plots of flowers and vegetables are rows of upside down wine bottles, and inside, sprouts of green things have grown. Rather than furrows or sections, plants grow mixed up and side by side. Yellow zucchinis grow in bottom heavy orbs, hidden by leafy fronds above, and beside them, flat, round leaves frame orange blossoms. Sweet peas grow up improvised lattices, and their blowsy flowers have the sweetest scent.

At the back of the garden sits Lesley's shed. The rustic, wooden structure houses a room with a bed, a couple of seats, and odds and ends. Lesley calls it her landing place. Inside the house, her pottery graces shelves and her larger pieces - sculptural forms like bodies or growing vessels - sprout out of corners. It's a small house, but it's lived in and cozy.

Right now, Van Morrison is singing, and Joshua and Lesley are working in the kitchen, knocking elbows and whipping up a fish pie. In the houses next door and up the street, Lesley's friends are getting home from work. They're going in their homes and making dinner. They're heating water in the kettle and drinking tea. They stop in to say hello. They've known each other for years, and their kids have grown up together.

A green field bordered by a stream, a bridge, and a forest lie beyond the homes, and up the hill, the Roman village of Ebchester graces a hillside. Above, the Derwent Walk winds, by turns graveled and paved, along the Northumberland countryside. This is hill country, mining country. They mined steal and coal here, and they built small communities poor in money but rich in family, found and made. This, says Lesley, is where she found her home.

Today we woke up late and sat in the living room, eating muesli and talking. For our adventure today, we decided to drive to Durham and explore the cathedral. We parked outside the city and rode the bus into downtown where we got off to wander around the steep and narrow streets. Lesley and I ducked into a little vintage shop called Ding Dong and we drooled over dresses from the 40s, 50s, 60s, and 70s. They were in beautiful condition, and the shoes! I can't decide whether it's a very good or a very bad thing that we're biking and we can't afford the extra weight. Apart from a piece of costume jewelry in Bishop Stortford, a dress and earrings in Spain, and the t-shirt and jacket in Ambleside, I haven't bought a thing. I suppose I've saved a lot of money, but I kind of like coming home and unpacking my special things that I've purchased abroad.

From Ding Dong, we crossed the river and hiked up the cobblestone streets to Durham Cathedral. Outside on the lawn, we ate our cheese and tomato sandwiches. Families and tourists sat outside, doing the same thing and enjoying a rare bit of sunshine. Inside the Cathedral, we wandered through and looked at the graceful, arching ceilings, the thin and decorated woodwork, and the great altar dedicated to St. Cuthbert. Tucked away in back, we looked at a beautiful Pieta: carved out of beech wood and adorned in bronze, their long and graceful faces and hands expressed tragedy and heartache.
In the cloister, light filtered in through arches and pillars, and bats swooped down from the rafters. Leaving the Cathedral, we took a hidden passageway down to the river walk, and over the river, we stopped to look at the view. Standing above the water, we wondered about Catholics and Quakers, Jews and Buddhists, and we wondered if we could ever make the compromise between dogma and practice. I wondered if maybe I'd like to live on a commune.

In the market, we found a cheese stand and bought half a dozen samples of cheese from the North. Wendsleydale and brie, stilton and goat's cheese, something smoked and something creamy... Over in Tescos, we bought bread, leeks, and strawberries, and when we had finished, we walked back to the bus.

Before we headed back home, we stopped at the Angel. Standing beside the highway, this big steel angel stands solid and strong, and it has become the emblem of the North. It's hopeful and proud, and of course, it's made of steel. Driving home, I closed my eyes to avoid the headache that accompanies roundabouts and vehicular motion, and back at the house, we drank cups of tea and chatted with Linda, Lesley's best friend and next door neighbor. Fat Cat came in, and I pulled him onto my lap and scratched him behind the ears. We talked about living to 150 and whether we would like to go camping for the weekend.

For dinner, we'll eat our fish pie in the candle light, and I'm sure, like last night, we'll talk until late, and when we're too tired to keep our eyes open, we'll go to bed.

August 16, 2010

We woke up at 8, and we rolled out of our campsite by 9. The road from Alston to Nenthead was about five miles long and rolling. After Nenthead, we climbed a 2 mile long hill, and after another slight downhill and another steeper uphill, we reached the highest point on our sea to sea route. As usual, the mist moved in and our view was obscured by a cool blanket of watery haze through which we could see floating livestock and our snaky road winding through the heather.

In Allenheads, we stopped at a payphone to call Lesley and warn her that we would be arriving a day early. If we hadn't spoken inside that small phone box, we wouldn't have heard a sound all through Allenheads. The sleepy little village was completely silent, and although there were cars sitting outside the houses, we didn't see a soul.

Outside of Allenheads, we climbed another long, steep hill, and then we descended into Rookhope. Eschewing an off road trail that wandered through quail hunting territory, we climbed another impossibly steep and long road out of Rookhope only to descend again into Stanhope. Done with four out of the five climbs for the day, we stopped in the city center for lunch, and after our hard morning of pedaling, we treated ourselves to sandwiches from a cafe.

Sitting outside in the sun, I ate a cheese and tomato sandwich and Joshua ate a cheese and onion toastie. We shared a plate of cheesy chips, and I ate an apple which a pesky bee coveted. Although I was very weary by this point and it took a little pushing from Joshua, we headed back onto the road for our last major hill.

The hill out of Stanhope is called Killhope, and the gradient rivaled our climb out of Ambleside the day before. After half a mile of pushing our bikes up the hill, we climbed back into the saddle and pushed through another mile uphill. At the crest, we enjoyed the view into Newcastle, and then we hopped onto the Weskerly bike trail that winds 10 miles downhill into Consett. Pedaling through heather covered moors and grim looking Englishmen hunting grouse, we passed berry bushes and finally met our intersection with the Derwent Walk.

Trusting my somewhat shady memories of the Derwent Walk, we took the road down from the pub in Ebchester, and then we took another left into the valley. Across a footbridge, we found Blackhall Mill, and on Beech Grove, I peeked in the corner house to see Lesley peeking back out. After a round of hugs and greetings, we wandered round back to stow our bikes in Lesley's shed.

Our first introduction to Lesley's home was through her garden, and this is how it should be: it is as much her home as her kitchen and bed, and the whole effect is perfectly beautiful. Settling our bags into the rooms, we came downstairs and took turns taking showers while we munched on sandwiches with cucumber, tomato, and cheese. Tea cured our tired legs, and we talked until it was time to make more food.

For dinner, we ate spicy chickpeas and dips on tortillas with white wine, and we talked about family. At one point, both Lesley and I got a bit teary eyed, and I think we both recognized another person who wears their heart on their sleeve.

It's getting dark out a little bit earlier these days, and the sun had been down a long time before we made it into bed. I cuddled under the covers, warm and clean, and slept the night away.