Trip in the UK 2010

Part II

Thursday, April 22nd

Idiots take all shapes and sizes.  Last night’s model took the form of a guy that decided to noisily open his door to go to the common bathroom once every 45 minutes starting at 2:45 AM.  Thank you for such a hiccup oriented sleep, Mr. Bad News Bladder.

Somewhat awake, I made quick work of another greasy English breakfast, settled the bill with Beverly, bought a map for my hike, illegally parked in a hotel parking lot in Glenridding and walked over to the base of the mountain.

Today’s task was England’s second highest peak (950 mannish meters) known as Helvellyn.  The weather conditions closely resembled yesterday which if you recall, set off the lovely alert in a liberal fashion.  Due to the combination of clear skies and height, I was once again furnished with essential views. 

This was a great hike for one reason: Striding Edge.  It is clearly not an edge meant for striding.  Imagine one of the most dangerous, hairiest mountain passes in Lord of the Rings and Striding Edge was it.  The pass itself was no more than a couple meters and was extremely jagged and uneven and required the use of both hands in many spots.  On either side of this pass was a fairly sheer drop of 200 meters.

I was feeling a massively validated sense of toughness when first crossing Striding Edge until I chatted with a dude on the way across that said to me, “I didn’t think I’d still be hiking up this mountain at 75!”  I rationalized this by convincing myself that this old man was simply some X-Men guy that had the genetic-mutated ability to climb up a mountain while looking old. 

I passed by this gent and then made a very steep ascent that required lots of skilled grabbing.  I was now on the summit, feeling like an established hero…until I saw an overly happy black Labrador retriever that just cruised up the same path I did.  Nonetheless, I absorbed the glory that can only be found at the top of a mountain and made my way down and back to my car. 

I then drove three hours south and into northern Wales to my next location: the lovely seaside town of Conwy.  I met one of the owners, Elaine, of the Town House Guest House, settled in quickly and left in search of a meal whose greatness could equal the day I just experienced.  On Elaine’s recommendation, a fine and fancy Welsh bistro met my challenge. 

After this, I grabbed a nice pint of superb local ale and let my pen do its freestyle dance on a paper dance floor.  As I did so, a woman began to sneeze so many times it became weird.  My thought on this: if you sneeze more than 4 times and you feel more coming on, you need to go outside or to a bathroom or into a forest and figure that s*#t out.  Like my father before me, I’m a man that detests lots of sneezing.  If you want to be entertained in a manner that could only be paralleled by watching a tough female cop and Luther Vandross compete against each other in a crash up derby, hang around my father when someone falls into an eternal sneezing fit.

Friday, April 23rd

After about 9 hours of noteworthy sleep, I went downstairs to eat breakfast in the dining room where I had the pleasure of meeting Elaine’s husband Alan who looked a great deal like Sean Connery.  Once he discovered I was a comedian, this affable chap turned into a joke machine just as Elaine predicted he would.  The two of them were such amazing hosts that I found it challenging to focus on me expertly prepared English breakfast.  It’s as if the government ran some secret experiment to genetically design the best B&B hosts imaginable.  And let me tell you, this would be the best use of taxpayer money since creating the fire department. 

I said my jazzy byes to Elaine and Alan and headed south to Pen-y-Pass where I would begin my hike up Wales highest peak, Mount Snowdon which measures 1085 meters at its highest.  My “Walking In Britain” book warned me of the difficulty of this climb but I had no idea just how bananas this hike was about to get.

After the usual and mild ascent, I came to a climb so steep that I may have well been upside down and dancing on ceiling.  It was at this point that I was legitimately rock-climbing (like a brutal hero, of course).  The other great element I should mention to this climb and the two previous was that I did it all with running sneakers and jeans.  It was wonderful to cruise by these fancy mountain hikers, dressed like a 1970’s undercover cop. 

I then came to the top of what I can only describe as the most Lord of the Rings (I, II and III), Mount Doom Transylvania-styled knife ridge that ran 250 meters and was literally like scurrying along the top of a frighteningly steep roof with a drop on either side that was beyond civilian logic.  It required the use of both hands and believe this fella, if I could have rented more hands at the shop at the base of the mountain, I would have. 

I eventually came off this ridge into a pass and back up into another ridge less horrifying and up onto another summit where I ate part of my lunch.  From here, I dipped down slightly and made a relatively easy climb to the top of Snowdon where I found the final piece of my manhood.  I digested more award-winning views and descended down the summit and came back up another ridge to another peak and then slowly back to my auto. 

I did not intend to do this but each of the three hikes I did in the past three days got progressively more difficult like some well-designed Sega Genesis video game about a stud’s life.  And all of this hiking would represent the second to last level where the stud must climb three mountains in order to make it to the final and most challenging level where he must try to make it to second base with his prom date (my fantasies are extraordinarily humble).

I then drove my car south again to the charming town of Dolgellau where I checked into the Staylittle Farm B&B.  After an acceptable self-cleaning procedure, I walked into the center of town and over to the Stag Inn for food and beer.  I promptly ordered a heaping pile of mess that included chicken, vegetables, stuffing and gravy that all sat in a bowl of bread and was diligently guarded on all sides by legion of French fries.  This was all consumed outside in the back of the pub, next to a cage filled with rabbits and guinea pigs which I found creatively weird and inviting.  I have no idea why a cage of such animals was kept behind a pub but I’m at ease with this mystery. 

I then headed over to a pub and while I ordered a beer, a woman, who I can only assume must be the majority of this pub’s profit source, looked at the cover of my Gulliver’s Travels book and upon seeing a picture of two buckle-styled black shoes, exclaimed, “I love these shoes!  You goin’ dancin’ tonight?!  Hey, look John!  He’s goin’ dancin’ tonight!”

Now I must admit that I’ve been drunk before but I never looked at a drawing and assumed that the contents of that drawing dictated a future reality.  I grabbed my beer and made the expert decision to drink outside and write about today’s events.  I then walked home and befriended slumber.

PART III