![]() Regularly stopping for a quick pic you can imagine her excitement when we passed a lorry carrying one of the huge blades. Well this trip train trivia has been replaced by wind turbines from Maria our resident wind expert who has been having a field day with the amount of turbines we’ve seen over the country. Many of you will remember Penny who I have done a lot of cycling with in the past, her passion for trains and constant commentary on the compliance of rail bridges with the EU regulations. Roz and Pete, our hosts in Liverpoolįurther north in Lancaster we were reunited with Maria who had popped back to Bristol for a short holiday from her holiday. From there we kept the sea to our left and cruised along to Liverpool for a lovely stay with Miranda’s auntie and uncle who had made possibly the best curry in the world. The next day we felt the call of the ocean and headed for the line where the sky meets the sea. We snuck around the back for a quick pic then headed down as quickly as possible. I’m not sure why as the non-existent view was the same in all directions. Turns out they were queuing for the summit selfie. There was no doubt about it, it was the hallmark of Britishness, an orderly queue! Despite not being able to see what they were queuing for people just couldn’t stop themselves from joining the slow shuffle. After a while a line of people snaked out of the gloom. The visibility was so poor we were concerned we might not find the summit. However the cloud was so thick that we were soon lost in a spooky world, haunted by the voices of our fellow hikers and the occasional chugging of a ghost train but completely unable to see anything but ourselves. We had chosen a popular route on bank holiday weekend and set off surrounded by people of all shapes and sizes, children, dogs and a man who looked like he’d got lost on his way to the office in suit trousers and a shirt. ![]() Unfortunately the weather had other ideas and it wasn’t long before we were in the could again. Fuelling up at Pete’s EatsĪfter the ordeal that was Carrantoohill I was hoping for an easier ride this time round. We were so impressed by the establishment that we went there for dinner too. ![]() The following day we set off for the summit of Snowdon after a slap up breakfast at the legendary Pete’s Eats. ‘Don’t worry about me, I’m fine’, I said to anybody who was listening. She was quickly descended upon by an army of willing volunteers who carried her bike and bags not only up the stairs but accompanied her into the lift and all the way out the station. Rather then being impressed at my amazing show of physical prowess they looked over my shoulder to see Miranda flapping around with her bags at the bottom. Upon arrival at the next level I found some station staff. After discovering this at the foot of a flight of stairs I heaved my bike and luggage onto my shoulder (by this is mean a few inches off the floor) and slowly dragged it up every sodding step. Unbelievable though it may be, there are no lifts at this particular station. Take our arrival at James Street train station for instance. I mean travelling with Miranda is like travelling with a VIP. I took a photo of Miranda but tactfully deleted any of myself. We cycled back to our bunkhouse as the sky turned through a cycle of orange, pink and red in the last light from the summer sun. People probably thought she was doing some kind of voluntary work with a homeless person. In contrast I was stinking after cycling nearly 100km in 26 degree heat, with my entourage of dead insects now permanently stuck to my face. I was a bit concerned she didn’t realise this was a cycling trip. ![]() Meeting Miranda off the train was just like that. Smiling radiantly, hair perfectly coiffed and dress dancing in the breeze. You know those black and white films, on a station platform in a cloud of smoke, a lady gracefully steps down from the carriage and emerges through the haze. ![]()
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