NEIL
I wasn’t relaxed. How could I be? I had managed to get a room at the Twice Brewed with no issues at all, as they seemed glad to have me back, but the alternator on the Kwak had needed replacing, and I couldn’t decide whether to trust the new one or simply switch all my luggage over to the Beemer, and all of that had been even more stressful due to the e-mails and phone calls about the other shots, at Cawfield. Would it work in monochrome? Could I handle colour as well as…
I found myself spotting a pun before it arrived. Could I handle colour as well as Maddy had, or was it could I handle colour, as well as I had once handled Maddy? Never mind; I went into the back of the shop and collected a couple of rolls of colour film, one in 200 and another in 400, just in case. The Pentax body would do, and the photos would either work or not, but the addition would give me the opportunity to find out.
Another legacy from my wife, of course, for what I sometimes thought of as ‘Old Neil’ would have spent a stupid length of time ‘hunting’, in the engineering sense: flicking backward and forward between two states. I just had to hunt through the older stock.
The road was an easy one to navigate, because I had decided to take the simple route rather than the scenic one, riding straight up the M6 to Carlisle before switching to the Military Road. That would allow me to do the Cawfields shots, timing it to allow for the sunset to light up the crags. That would most definitely be a set of shots for both cameras, catching the mini-peak as both a golden blade against the sky and in brooding, moody monochrome. It would all depend on the weather, of course, but it looked set fair, according to the forecast. Fingers crossed, and one special package placed in my top box after swaddling it in a mess of bubble wrap.
The forecast lied, at least as far as Shap summit, where the rain hammered down, but it started to dry out as I approached Penrith. I realised shortly thereafter that it wasn’t just drying out, but starting to get rather warm, so I pulled off into Southwaite services to shed my overtrousers and pay too much for a coffee. Not that far until more interesting roads; I spent the pause checking my tread depth and running a multimeter across the alternator.
My tears surprised me, for while this had been one of the regular stops for Maddy and myself, it held no particular memories.
“You all right, pet?”
It was a middle-aged couple, carrying a couple of Gregg’s paper bags and about to settle themselves at the next picnic table. My automatic reaction would have been to blank them and rush off, but my inner Maddy spoke up. What would she have said? I found a smile.
“Sorry. I’m fine, sort of. Just memories”
The woman shote her husband a quick look, before turning back to me.
“Someone you lost?”
“Yeah. My wife”
Her next look at her man was an obvious ‘Told you so’.
“I am so sorry, pet. You going to be okay riding?”
A couple of deep breaths, clinging to Maddy’s strength and advice.
“I will be, thanks. Meeting up with some friends later. Um, ashes…”
Her husband spoke, for the first time.
“Where are you doing that?”
“Place she loved, near the Roman Wall”
“Aye. That’ll be a canny site, then. We… I’m George, and this is Theresa, Terry. We did the same, last week. Her Mam, it was. By her favourite pub, up at Hartside”
“I know that place! Got loads of photos from there; that’s my business. It’s, well it’s an important place for me as well”
I could feel the gush building, but I didn’t care, just the once.
“It was, in a way, where me and my wife got together. I was doing some work in Upper Weardale, and she was doing, well, the same work as me, but in Durham City. So I rode over there, and then we bought a helmet, and spent the next day along the Wall”
Wind it in a bit, Strachan.
“Look, got to get moving. I need the light for some work later. Thank you so much for, well, caring”
Terry sniffed.
“Not going to ignore a grown man weeping, am I?”
“I suppose not. Look: here’s my card. Have a look on my website, see if there are any of the Hartside shots you like, and I’ll send you a copy. No charge, okay?”
Get up and away before you start talking about heels on cobbles, or a shared bed. We shook hands all round, and I was back on the road, motorway as far as the A69 junction, and then peel off towards the East. Bypass Brampton and turn off at Greenhead for the climb up to the Military Road proper. Long, long straights, many of them with similarly steep climbs, the landscape becoming wilder with each few feet of ascent, until I found the Milecastle pub. That did me for lunch, although I was saving myself for later. It also helped to run the clock down a little, as the sun moved across to the West.
It’s only a short ride from the pub to Cawfields, and I wasn’t anticipating a load of campers, as it’s a place for sneaky ‘wild’ camping for long distance walkers, involving a very early departure, rather than a family using it as a base. That isn’t allowed, but I had gathered that the National Park had adopted a ‘what we don’t officially see’ policy for the walkers.
I had time to get up onto the actual edge, as well as beneath it, and got some fine foreshortening both up and down the cliff that holds the actual milecastle rather than the pub. Eventually, the sun started to dip, and I did indeed get that gilding of the quarried ‘peak’, as well as the monochrome, and to my delight, the moon was just visible in the fading light, which added a little extra challenge as well as more interest. I had to move, though, for I had a room awaiting me, as well as decent food and drink. It’s a really short ride from pub to pub, so I didn’t bother with my gloves. Off at the gate, and start the process of adding locks to the bike after dropping the side cases. Into the pub, and a shout of greeting from Anth.
“Ah wes wondering where you were, Neil! Pint first, or dump the luggage?”
“Er, dump the luggage by a table and get a food order in with a pint?”
“Aye! Makes more sense that way. Now, what’s your choice?”
“Start with the Vindolanda IPA?”
“Coming up”
It went down just as quickly, and I left Anth with an order for the haddock as I hauled my side cases up to my room, returning for the top box, and only just getting back to my table as my food arrived, together with a second pint”
“Ah, ye can slow down later, marra. Get stuck in, then wuz can catch up”
So much better than the stuff offered by the motorway services. I got stuck very happily in, just as my mobile went off.
“Can I help you?”
“Hi, Neil. It’s Debbie. Where are you?”
“In the pub. Eating my dinner. Just got here”
“On my way”
Click. Straight to the point, and off. I applied myself to the fish. Just as I actually finished, the phone went off again, a different number this time.
“Can I help you?”
“Is that Neil Strachan?”
“Who’s calling?”
“It’s Chrissy, Neil. Chrissy Morgan. Diane’s friend. Musician”
“Oh! Sorry. I’d forgotten about you”
“Easy done, or so my critics say. I had that talk with Mike Rhodes, remember?”
“Oh. Yes”
She muttered something I couldn’t hear.
“I’m in the hostel next to the pub. Where are you?”
“In the pub”
“Sensible man. Can you get me a pint? I’m on my way”
“I don’t know what you drink”
“Alcohol. Something like an IPA will do. See you in five minutes”
She rang off, and I sat looking at the phone for nearly a minute.
“Anth?”
“Aye?”
“Could you pull me another two of those Vindolandas? I seem to have a guest”