We crept out of Billy’s campsite like a mouse from it’s hole and drove back to Darlington station. We were off the blocks out of Darlington faster than Usain Bolt (I think we had sampled all that Darlington had to offer) and set a course for York.
Maybe it was the company, the sunshine or perhaps the Jelly Babies but the conversation suddenly lurched away from idle sexual chit chat towards more intelligent things; positive discrimination at the BBC, the bi-polar nature of the media and whether a Jaffa Cake is really a cake, and what about Fig Rolls?
We popped into Northallerton, famous for being the birth place of Edward Grieg, but even more famous for it’s glamorous rolls. I don’t want to bore you with the finer details, but I ordered 2 tuna and sweet corn rolls … WITH ALL THE SALAD …. Each roll must have weighed 2 stone, and we got 2 packets of crisps and 2 cans of coke, all for the sum of £3.80... You wouldn’t get a glass of water that cheap in London.
Today we took over the airwaves – Ed did an interview live from the bike for BBC radio Tees – I made much merriment by swerving the bike around trying to put him off, and Sophie our PM was on Radio Minster (she is like Margaret Thatcher but pretty and nice).
We passed the white horse – that is all to say about that really ….. I mean what more can you say about a giant white horse chiselled into a chalk hillside? It’s not going to win the national is it?
Miss CoBi suddenly took on the superhuman powers we always knew she secretly harboured. The sight screen at the local cricket club had been blown over in a freak squall. But we came to the rescue and pulled it back upright; now, thanks to Miss CoBi the batsman will always have sight of the bowler's balls.
With only 25 minutes notice the lovely Daryl Lardner invited us all round for tea when we went through the village of Tollerton, setting up a stall of juice, hotdrinks and biscuits that would take a village fete committee a year to organise. We then took his son Will on a seven seater paper round.
We flew on into York but then stopped in a lay-by to let the rush hour traffic go by. It was here we met a very pessimistic burger wagon man who told us it would take over an hour to ride the 3 miles into York and we would probably get stung by wasps. I am pleased to tell you that it took about 20 minutes to get into York and no one got stung (not by a wasp at least).
We got to the Minster and caused quite a stir, interrupting all the ghost tours and tea parties... Apparently Henry the 8th used to pedal his 6 wives around on a CoBi bike, there’s a fact for you.
We pulled into the Fox hill campsite at about 8, not before picking up some homemade chilli from the beautiful Daisy (she was going to make us beef curry but put too much coriander in); Ed had his first shower in 4 days and we went to bed (much tastier).