Market Weighton to Fridaythorpe - 17 miles

Today's frustration was not the cold wind high in the dales, nor the weather with its 'will it, won’t it' rain indecision. Neither was it the distance we had set ourselves despite the up and down of the terrain later in the day. It was the paths.

The day started easily: flat farmland, landscaped country estate and timeless villages lost in the countryside, their church bells tolling into empty streets and across empty hills. But those tracks were problematic: the mud too dry to sink into but too wet to stay on the ground, it clung to boots, filled the grip and made for smooth soles, perfect for slipping at any too casual a placement of the feet. It felt as if the effort to move forward was matched by the effort to stay upright, especially on the slopes. And there were slopes.

We sat high over Millington eating lunch in a biting wind but grateful of the need to not descend, at least here, and then pressed on for an hour-and-a-half across ragged grass and gorse as the route took us around, along and in and out of steep dales, showery weather and rainbows our only accompaniment. A detour through Huggate village gave us a pleasant section on tarmac, no distance saved but pounding of the soles a worthwhile swap for rhythm and speed and firmness of step. Our destination had been the pub but we were sidetracked by Rachel's tea rooms, warm cozy and inviting; a friendly group of locals in Sunday finery welcoming two unkempt and bedraggled walkers with fourteen miles under their belts. And yes, tea does taste better when sitting at a table and drunk from a china cup.

View to Millington

Road and fields took us to more dales, adding shape and form to the landscape but effort to our journey. We dropped into the last steep gully - images of lost valleys from old adventure stories- and then followed it, climbing steadily to the end. The tops got nearer and the slopes closed in upon us until the head and our final stretch along a path to Fridaythorpe. A short walk to the opposite side of town, a final warming tea in a biker's cafe and then we headed next door to the basic coziness of our blue and purple painted glamping pod, a cross between an upturned boat keel and a fairytale witch's cottage.