BritTrip: Day 5

20-03-08

DREAR

We've entered Malham, at long, wet, £10.80 last.

...

The dales are offline. So this entry -- written with a belly full of rich English beef stew & sticky toffee pudding (with vanilla ice cream!) will be posted after the fact.

An uninspiring trip to a sauna, a meager breakfast of toast, a constant pissing of drizzle, (and a brief & justified outburst from Jesse) hurt my impression of Manchester and darkened my mood. Though we made our connecting our train to Settle, I flirted with depression for most of the day. Settle was a tiny nightmare. Train -> waiting station -> other waiting station (1st one closed) -> town center -> rail station (is the bike shop there?) -> tourist info center -> phone booth -> Lion's Gate Inn (to ask for another taxi #) -> phone booth -> another phone booth (other wouldn't accept our money) -> cab -> Malham village. All in the constant drizzle, buffeted by winds and severe doubts about our fortune.

But in Malham, the storm cleared (at least internally). A dozen ravens careened overhead as we departed the taxi. An ironically good sign, I suspected. We settled without problem into the spacious room 5 (3 beds to choose from!) and I watched Jesse at the window. Watching him there -- and then watching the swooping birds myself -- filled me with purpose. The English *always endure. They don't holiday when everything's perfect; they *bike through the dales in the worst of weather (I know! Our cab passed them!) With Jesse in the lead, we set out for a ramble.

Solitary, together in the rising dales, we chatted comfortably and laughed off the winds that still whizzed past. The rain ceased, and we were happy. Peeking over old stone walls topped with rusted barbed wire, we found sheep and lambs to tease. Horses appeared by a barn, first curious then bashful. A quail (or a grouse?) ran away from Jesse. Our path of brick-and-clay-and-stone flooded over in parts, and we traipsed across rocks, speaking of the past and our argument and when we first farted in each other's presence. It was natural and we embraced, earnestly.

Next, we climbed a mountain. Not a very large one, but a daunting dale that Jesse was keen to ascend. We began with spry steps and, when we found more fence and wire, we made a hop and officially trespassed. It was worth it. Ancient limestone crags and fleeting bunnies awaited, as did The Winds. The Winds were alive up there, alive with raw aggression. They screamed in our ears, nudging and jostling as to defend their grassy tower. But we did not relent! Many minutes and many photos later, we reached the summit. The Winds taught lessons up there; the ravens rose with the gales, flying in spiraling swarms to defray the opposition, or else singly in weaving waves. The Winds were indifferent. The wise negotiate a path that neither collides nor avoids, but deflects that opposition to provide upward lift. The Winds bring rain. The Winds blow the rain away.