English cuisine, which some people think is an oxymoron, has improved to the point that we constantly marvel at the quality of the meals. However, anyone with a cholesterol problem might want to be cautious when ordering. "Low fat" is not an operative term in the pubs we visit.
It is during the meal that I decide I am not physically ready to hike 10 miles of a rolling and rocky path. I am surprised to get neither resistance nor male type kidding when I announce this. With six weeks of European travel scheduled for after the Hadrian's Wall adventure, I just don't want to risk further injury and my companions agree.
We return to the Ironsign and crash quickly and heavily. Surprisingly, I am not bothered by the static machine and I sleep quite well. I think everyone does. It's been a busy day and tomorrow will bring the first test of my friends' conditioning; mine too come to think of it. I'm planning to explore the Roman Fort at Corbridge.
Whatever the reason, we now have an hour wait, which we fill by eating cookies and other goodies. When the going gets tough, the tough fill up on junk food. We also begin to assume the roles we will fill during the rest of the trip. I become known as "The Voice" because I can be heard when others are muted. The problem is people sometimes overhear what I am saying whether I want them to or not. It gets embarrassing at times. Dave becomes "The Interrogator" because he can, in a few minutes, ask more questions of someone, especially a stranger, than the rest of us might ask in an hour. This is strange since he's a dentist not a diagnostician. Larry is known by the phrase, "There goes Larry, again." Being an engineer, he rarely leaves well enough alone and is constantly looking for a better solution even when there's no problem. Tom is affectionately referred to as "Tommy Terrific." This is because he takes care of all the details and is known to have rarely ever made a mistake or at least admitted to one.
While we are waiting for the train to Wylam, I call ahead for a taxi to meet us and take us to our first night's destination Heddon-on-the-wall, more specifically the Ironsign Country Restaurant and Guesthouse. Actually I call more than once because we get confused again about what time the train departs and arrives at Wylam. Each time, a different person answers the phone. My confidence in there being a taxi waiting, when we arrive, is ebbing.
I am not disappointed. On arrival, we see no one. Having learned our lesson, we ask someone about the taxi situation and they assure us we have nothing to worry about. That they have just left a nearby pub does not reinforce our confidence level. I call again; speak to another new person who assures me the taxi is on its way. It starts to rain or as the British would characterize it, drizzle - still no taxi. I call again, speak to yet another person and point out it is raining only to be told, "What did you expect? You're in Northern England."
Finally a van-like taxi arrives. The driver is cheerful and not at all apologetic. Dave gets all the information we need to make a decision about dinner tonight. We finally arrive at Ironsign and haul our bags up to our rooms.
Tonight and for the rest of the trip, Larry and I will be rooming together. I make appropriate apologetic noises about my snoring. Larry indicates it's no problem because he has a white noise machine. "A what?" I ask. He explains that on a trip to Paris, where air conditioning is not standard in even the better hotels, the traffic noise kept him and his wife, Sue, awake all night. He then bought a white noise machine that he now uses all the time even at home. I ask him to plug it in and I am immediately transported back to my youth when I would try to listen to an AM radio station during a thunder storm. All I could hear then was static. All I can hear now is static. I ask Larry if he is serious. He assures me he is. I plan to double my ale consumption at that night's pub because I am not at all confident I'll be able to sleep with the static machine on.
After settling in and unpacking, we decide to check out the Hadrian's Wall Trail so we don't waste time in the morning. We find the trail but not any sign of a wall. We won't actually see any piece of the wall until the day after tomorrow. Truth is there isn't much of a wall to see along the trail. It has been rebuilt in places to a height of maybe two or three feet but it served as a stone quarry for inhabitants for hundreds of years so there is little left of the 15 meter high edifice now. Admittedly, the wall was not our primary motivation for this journey but it would have been nice for there to have been a little bit more wall than there was.
Our host, Mr. Owen Little, seems a little perturbed that we don't want to sample his cooking but prefer to dine at a nearby pub, the taxi driver recommended. In addition, Larry appears to create a problem by refusing to leave the dining room so he can get a better look at all his maps.
After a few beers to tease our palates, we head to Horsley and the Lamb and Lion Pub. We have a great meal, accompanied by pints of the local ale and followed by a delicious dessert. During this entire trip, we decide to eat only in pubs. We never regret the decision. In this part of England, pubs are truly "Public Houses" and serve as community centers where the whole family can have a nice meal and a good time.
After an excellent breakfast, except for the black pudding, which I could never develop a taste for, the hikers set out on their 10 mile adventure while I have a second cup of coffee. I feel some remorse, missing the male bonding and all that, but later in the day I will realize my decision was correct.
Mr. Little agrees to drive me to the bus stop. After he is gone, I realize I am at the wrong stop. The bus I want plies the, appropriately named, AD122 route. I am at a bus stop that appears to be for week day busses. It's Sunday. I'm flummoxed. I try calling the Ironsign but no luck. I am very upset with Little but as I recap the communication in my mind, I realize I did not tell him, specifically, that I wanted the AD122 bus and so he drove me to the nearest bus stop.
In retrospect, I realize, that because we all speak English, I thought I could be lazy with my request. Not so. As George Bernard Shaw pointed out, just because it's England doesn't mean we speak the same language, I should have specified exactly where I wanted to go. You'd think that after 12 years of living overseas, I would have done better.
What to do? What to do? I half-heartedly try to hitch-hike with no luck. I read the schedule attached to the bus stop sign a half dozen times. I think that, maybe, a bus is due in an hour or so but I'm not sure. I guess, I'm going to have to pay a fortune for a taxi, but I left the taxi numbers in my duffel bag which is being transported in a van to our next destination. I am just about to knock on the door of a nearby house to ask if they have a number for the taxi when I hear a diesel engine. A bus miraculously appears. I frantically wave it down, ask if it is going to Corbridge and step on board. I am greeted by the driver, a gnome-like man who looks to be in his 70's and who doesn't even know the fare. One of the passengers supplies the fare information and I hand him the correct change, to which he replies, "Lovely!"
I never get used to how the British respond to me or others as a substitute for thank you. The three most common phrases are the aforementioned "lovely," "brilliant" and "perfect." I guess these phrases correspond to "groovy," "far out" and "terrific" in American English. I still am surprised, though, when somebody that looks like a 75 year old gnome responds with "lovely" when I give him bus fare.
As soon as the bus drops me off, I head for the site of the Roman fort and town just West of Corbridge. It's a relatively long walk, about 1.5 miles, but the weather is cool and, of course, damp so I'm comfortable except for my healing tendon.
The site is very well kept up and features a quite good museum as well as the ruins of the Roman Fort. You can access pictures of the ruins in the Corbridge Fort and Town Album. I spend about an hour and a half wandering around when the weather turns downright nasty, cold and rainy.
I decide to head back to town when unfortunately my leg starts to really hurt. I'm 1.5 miles from my destination with neither an umbrella nor my supply of Celebrex: another testament to my superb preparation skills.
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