Gaby Book 20 ~ Express ~ Chapter *9*

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*Chapter 9*
Native in a Foreign Land

 

Being on the ‘coach’ deck we were unloaded somewhat before the others, Dad parked us up outside the terminal to wait.

"If this time trial isn’t until this evening, what are we doing all day, before like?” I queried.
"Well I did think you could ride up to Scarborough,” Dad started.
"Really,” I sagged.
"But,” Pater continued, "I changed my mind, we can’t get into the B&B until this afternoon so we’ll drive up and you can have a ride this morning then after lunch we’ll check you all out on the new bikes.”
"New bikes?” Ron put in.
"Some fancy new aero bikes,” Mand advised.
"They only turned up yesterday,” I added.
"Kewl.”
“Looks like the cars are coming off,” Dad noted.

 

After Dieter found his way to the car park we used the terminal facilities before our mini convoy set off to drive through Yorkshire.

"Shouldn’t we go left?” I suggested when we turned towards Hedon.
"Only if we want to sit in a traffic jam through Hull, we’ll go out on the Brid road then cut across, should be quieter,” Dad supplied.
I shrugged, "Whatever.”

It was a bit weird of course, driving on the wrong side, strange road signs, it really is a foreign land. Oh I know we were over just before Christmas but I had more on my mind than the roads, today we’re in our own vehicle and there are few distractions. it’s not the prettiest bit of the country being pretty flat but Holland it isn’t, after a couple of miles of dual carriageway we turned onto narrower, twistier roads taking us into the Holderness countryside.

Most of the traffic was indeed going the opposite direction but on the first few kilometres we had several ‘passing’ issues, you could almost see the locals thoughts, ‘what are those daft foreigners doing on my road?’. After the fourth time I was asking myself the same. Anyhow we eventually joined the Brid road and although it bucks up and down a bit, the wider road allowed us to keep rolling and we finally seemed to be making some progress.

"It’s very flat, I thought you said Yorkshire was hilly,” Ron mentioned as we trundled along.
"It is, just not here, it is bigger than NRW,” I pointed out.
"You won’t think its flat later,” Dad chimed in.
"Its hardly mountains though is it,” Mand mentioned.
"There’s some steep climbs,” I suggested.

 

We turned towards Beverley, joining a stream of late commuters, the time now heading towards nine. After circumnavigating the city we picked up the Malton road and from billiard table our route started to climb into the Yorkshire Wolds. Most of the traffic was gone now which was just as well, the Hymer not being the greatest hill climber!

"Wetwang?” Mand exclaimed.
"Odd name, what does it mean,” Ron asked.
"No idea,” Mand offered.
"Probably a damp wang, whatever one of those is,” I surmised.
"I heard they’ve got a new mayor,” Dad advised.
"Wetwang?”
"Uh huh, when I was talking to Caro last week she said that weather bloke on Look North – you remember the one with the suits, has been made mayor.”
I searched my long forgotten memories of life in Blighty, "Paul Hudson?”
"Think so.”
"You English are so weird.” Ron suggested.

 

The next dozen miles beyond the village of humorous name, the road bucked up and down more violently until finally dropping into the twin town of Norton / Malton. We negotiated the narrow streets taking the Pickering road up out of the valley.

"How much further?” Mand asked.
"Ten, fifteen minutes,” Dad supplied.
"Guess I can hang on that long.”

And I thought I was the toilet queen. It was closer to the ten than I expected, Dad pulled us up as we entered Thornton le Dale.

 

By the time we’d changed and were ready to ride it was ten thirty, the earlier weak sunshine now hidden behind a grey blanket of high cloud.

"Okay guys, first bit’s along the main road so be careful, just remember to stay on the left,” Dad told us. "Okay, just ride piano, its just a leg stretch remember.”

We set off and once clear of the village settled into a steady twenty five Kph ride even if the tar and grit surface killed any enjoyment for the first couple of kilometres.

 

"Urgh,” Tali complained half an hour later, "Some leg stretch.”
"Its not that bad,” I offered.
"You have been to Cottbus,” Gret queried.
"Yeah,” I admitted.
"Well duh,” she replied.

She’s probably got a point, we’ve been climbing for nearly ten minutes and whilst its not steep we’re not at the top yet. When we did that ride over Gret’s way I doubt we climbed this much all day.

"Car up!” Josh called from the back of our little peloton.

We singled out and a hatchback sped past, kicking up muck from the right hand verge and disappearing in a cloud of dust.

"Madman,” I allowed as we reformed.
"Be some local,” Mand suggested.
"Aye,” Josh agreed, "Same when ah go oot Consett way.”
"Do all English drive like this,” Ron asked.
"Nah,” I started before Mand joined the chorus, "Some are worse!”

 

The road narrowed as we reached the brow and from a long steady climb we started a twisty, bouncy decent, bouncy as for every drop there was a corresponding, leg sapping up. Several times, Dieter, following behind us with Dad almost stalled the Sharan before we reached the end of the lane. A toot and wave turned us left onto a slightly wider but equally choppy lane which seemed to be heading into a narrow forested defile.

"Where the hell are we going?” Ron queried, "I thought this was a gentle leg stretch.”
"You were complaining it was flat earlier,” Mand chuckled.
"Doesn’t mean I want to ride up every hill in the country.”

Our route made a final drop before crossing a rivulet and suddenly the road widened, acquired an almost perfect tarmac surface and immediately tilted upwards.

"Bum!” I allowed searching for the right gear.

Josh muttered something somewhat stronger.

What did that board say? Dalby Forest – I recognised the name, but why.

 

The car tooted and flashed his headlamps before passing us, the driver shouting something foreign at us. Hang on driver? Oh sugar, I looked behind, the others were following my wheel but there was definitely something wrong with the picture. where’re Dad and Dieter? We continued to climb, whilst I'm leading the way I am taking things steady, the good surface making it almost enjoyable.

Beep! Beep, beep!
"Get over!” Dad shouted.
Huh?
"Gaby, wrong side!”

Wrong – oh sugar! That's what that bloke was tooting and shouting about. It was that tight corner at the bottom, I just took the best line – we’ve been on the wrong side of the road for at least a kilometre. I raised a hand to acknowledge the message and angled our string across to the left side again.

 

"You need to keep left guys,” Dad lectured after stopping us at the top of the climb, "They’re pretty keen on white line crossing over here, the race will be a rolling closure but there will still be cars on the road. Okay, lets get on.”

After the safety lecture we set off again. Then I recognised a picnic area, we’ve been here on holiday – ah of course, Dalby Forest – its where all the mountain bikers go, come. It wasn’t long after that when we reached the visitor centre, even on a Friday there were quite a few off roader's and their VW buses in the parking areas.

Another draggy climb took us out of the forest and back into stone walled farmland. And then we were speeding down off the edge of the moors, a panorama across Ryedale stretching away ahead of us. There was more traffic on this bit of road and that was exacerbated by the road narrowing as we reached Thornton again.

 

Angela and Sonja hadn’t been idle while we were riding, apparently they’d had a walk to the church and on returning to the camper had prepared lunch.

"So everyone okay?” Dad enquired.

There wasn’t anything more than a few grunts as reply, we were all too busy filling our faces with the chicken and pasta the mums had supplied. After essentially missing breakfast I was quite hungry – not that a big breakfast stopped Josh or any of the others from wolfing down more calories.

"Okay, slight change of plan folks, once you’ve eaten we’ll go along to Scarborough and find the hotel then we’ll head back to Pickering for a bit of down time. We should have time enough to check out the TT circuit, we’re booked into a restaurant with the BC team to eat tonight. Questions?”
"They do take euros in the shops?” Tali asked.
"Don’t be so soft,” Josh told his girlfriend, "Ah told yer before its pounds over here.”
"Well I didn’t know.”
"I'm sure we can lend you some money Tal,” Ron noted.
"Anything else?” Dad queried.
"We gonna have time to shower at the B&B?” well we hardly want to walk round Pickering all sweaty smelly do we?
"If you’re quick, we need to be at the race for six at the latest, five would be better.”
“’Kay,” I allowed.

 

The B&B wasn’t hard to find, parking the Hymer was more tricky but for our short stop we pretty much dumped it in the drive. The Moorings occupies a fairly big detached house maybe a ten minute walk from the town’s North Bay. Its a bit of a weird set up, but we all had beds and showers taken we were heading back towards Pickering in about thirty minutes.

"So what’s so great about this Pickering place,” Gret enquired having elected to ride the camper back.
"Dunno about ‘great’,” I mused, "Is that the place with the castle Dad, you know with the big wotsit?”
"Motte,” he supplied, "The same.”
"A castle,” Gret sighed.
"A nice castle,” Dad opined.
I scanned my memories of previous visits to the town, "There’s a Bahn with Dampflok, you know for the tourists.”
"Shops?” Mand suggested.
"Now you’re talking! Gret enthused.

 

"Okay,” Dad addressed his troops once we’d got parked. "Back here for four thirty then we’ll go out to the time trial circuit. Have fun.”
“Just over two hours,” Ron supplied as we headed towards the town centre.
"So what’re we doing?” Tal asked.
"Castle?” I suggested.
"Gab!” Mand moaned.
"What? We can get eis and sit in the sun.”

There was a mass examination of the sky, a few chinks of blue have appeared since Scarborough and its warmed up some too.

"But we’re doing the shops afterwards,” Gret insisted.
“Fine, I need to get presents anyhow.” I agreed.

 

Maddy Bell © 24.04.17

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Comments

Familiar spaces!

Podracer's picture

Cor, they'll have driven past our old house (parent's chip shop), and not to seem obsessed, but have visited similar premises in both Wetwang and Pickering after a day on the moors.

"Reach for the sun."

Okay, I have to admit, I

Okay, I have to admit, I actually thought the village of Wetwang, was a made up name. I mean to me it just screams made up, but I was surprised when I Googled Earth the place, it does exist.
Would have liked to see Gaby try to find out more about why Mand is leaving, but I guess that'll come in later chapters. To be honest, I can't make heads or tails for Mand's decision.

no worse than

smdani4mm's picture

Wetwang is no worse that Climax, PA being right down the road from Intercourse, PA.

SmDani4