Ok folks, I got a train today. Some would say its cheating but I am supposedly doing this for enjoyment so fuck cycling over the A66: "The middle section of the A66 between Scotch Corner on the A1 and Penrith on the M6 forms one of the key trans-Pennine trunk (=massive lorries) routes and has one of the worst road safety records in the UK". No thanks.
The train plan ended up being a great idea as not only did I get to chat to the hostel warden for 3 hours, I also got chatting to a guy on the train who turned out to live just off Victoria Road, sound! Chat, or rather decent chat, is totally invaluable and difficult to find. In addition, the train went over the Pennines which, as nice to look at from a train window, would probably have lost some of its attraction when viewed from the saddle.
Summary of York: very pretty wee streets, some with gallus names i.e. "The Shambles", sound old man pubs, lots of rowers, fucking insane cathedral and A SHITLOAD OF BRUTAL ENGLISH NED STAG PARTIES. Ah well, nothing is perfect I suppose! First tinge of misery since leaving Glasgow. Friday night n all that during which I would normally be getting trollied on Strongbow at the Monkey/ in the Halt with a selection of my favourite folk whereas instead I was wandering aimlessly around York trying to avoid the Stag troops. In the end it turned out that it had pished it down at home and no one had gone out. Although some did still have "a few beers" proven by the wonderful banjo rendition complete with singing I received from Steve around 2.15 in the morning.
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