Coast to Coast: Blakey Ridge to Grosmont, 14 miles, Monday 21st June

Today we set off early as we had steam trains to play with at Grosmont.

Unfortunately this meant we had to sacrifice the traditional Full English, as for some reason the pub wouldn’t fire up the ovens until 8:30. So we had to make do with cereals and toast instead.

We left at just after eight, back on to the gruelling moorland path. The views were splendid and the weather was cracking, but before long I’d come to the conclusion that I’d just about reached the end of my tether. My feet, ankles, back and neck were aching; I’d not had any feeling in either of my big toes for several days; my blisters had blisters, but added to that, today my hayfever set in with a vengeance, and I was getting pains in my stomach, probably from the unaccustomed muesli and milk for breakfast, fermenting away. All in all I was rapidly becoming a bit of a wreck, to be honest.

To add insult to injury, the lay of the land meant that the path down from Blakey Ridge meandered aimlessly around, gradually descending to the dales below. The net result was that after an hour and a half trudging along, we could still see the Lion Inn, just about a mile away as the crow flies. Very dispiriting.

At midday we finally arrived at the village of Glaisdale, just as the local pub opened its doors for business. We lingered for a cup of tea and the usual sugar fix (kit kats, muesli bars etc.), and then cracked on at a much livelier pace through woodland surrounding Egton Bridge, finally arriving at Grosmont just after 2pm. We’d walked fourteen miles in just over six hours.

Grosmont isn’t really as charming as I thought it would be. Many of the villages we’d passed earlier, Egton Bridge for example, were far prettier. But Grosmont had one thing that the others didn’t possess; the fully functional, giant, oily, smelly North Yorkshire Moors Railway, complete with station, trains, sheds and a staff of enthusiastic volunteers.

After checking in at Grosmont House, our lodgings for the night, we adjourned to the Railway Hotel for a couple of pints of Lancaster Brewery Ruby Red bitter (we might have had more but the pub shut at three thirty). Afterwards we wandered around the engine sheds, watching big trains with names like “Sir Thomas Tank Engine” being filled with coal and water. They even let Spike and me on to the train itself, which was a bit geeky I suppose.

At around five thirty we returned to Grosmont House, which deserves a bit of a mention, as it’s pretty unique compared to our stopovers so far.

Grosmont House is a huge, dilapidated manor house, which probably had it’s glory days when the station was a proper station and not a tourist attraction.

Our elderly and slightly tipsy host and hostess showed us to our rooms, which were actually a small self contained cottage at the bottom of the garden, backing on to the railway station. From our cottage window you could literally touch the carriages of the Pullman, it was that close. Every time one of the massive engines entered the station (which was remarkably regularly), the whole building shook. I’d read earlier in the station itself that the engine’s boilers were fired up at 5am, so this could present us with a wholly novel new way of being woken up in the morning.

The whole place was a Trainspotter’s dream come true.

After getting ready for dinner, we strolled over to the Big House itself, where we’d been instructed that dinner would be ready at 6:30.

Mine Host clearly fancied himself as a bit of a gourmet chef, as he’d changed into his Chef’s Whites for the occasion. We were ushered into the library and offered gin and tonics all round as a sharpener before the meal, the library contained mostly railway books – Great Train Disasters, British Rail Timetables, 1963 – 1965, that sort of thing. But I did find a book dating back to around 1950 called “Teach Yourself Ventriloquism,” so I blew the dust of the cover and practised my skills on the others until Mine Host came staggering in with the tray of G & T’s, tripped over the carpet and almost lost the lot all over the coffee table. Clearly his afternoon hadn’t been wasted by merely reading the paper.

I have to say though, that dinner itself was superb. Mine Host really did know how to cook, and my lobster thermador was perfectly presented, with prawns, salmon and a salad to accompany it.

Lia’s duck in Grand Marnier was literally just that; half of a huge free range duck on a massive plate. I could barely see her over the top of it.

Spike and Emma had the chicken in a white wine sauce, which was also pretty good, I believe.

All washed down by a couple of fine bottles of chef’s house merlot.

We retired back to the library, and later back to our cottage at the bottom of the garden, where we built a fire in the grate as it was getting chilly.

And that’s how our evening ended, sitting around a blazing fire in an old converted railway cottage, on the longest day of the year, June 21st, 2010.

Lia fell asleep next to me and succeeded in pouring her glass of wine all over my trousers, at which point we decided it would be best if we retired for the night.

Tomorrow is our last walking day and the Grand Finale to the whole experience: Grosmont to Robin Hood’s Bay, the end of our journey!

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Consecutive Full English Breakfasts: 13 out of a possible 15

Consecutive Lobster Thermadors: 1

Steam Engines ridden on: 1

Glasses of wine spilt: 1