I head up the street to find if anyone knows how I can get soap, change and instructions. At the local newsstand and tobacco shop, I ask a very young lady, who blurts out, �I have no idea. I�ve never done laundry.� She does suggest I try the Co-op Market down the street. I locate the laundry soap section and, while checking out, ask the clerk, who is definitely more mature, how I might find someone who knows how to use the launderette. She tells me that if I can wait until her fellow clerk comes off her break that she can help me. Sure enough, the new clerk has all the information: not only where I can find the owner, at a nearby hotel, but also how much the machines cost to operate, etc. I get the small change I need and search for the hotel so I can get instructions. When I find it, only a couple doors from the launderette, I realize that the hotel owner and the launderette owner are the same person. At last, I have all the requisites to do my laundry, a launderette, soap, change and instructions. Of course, it has only taken me most of the day to put this all together and my friends think they have it tough hiking up and down small mountains.
Since here is no place to sit in the launderette, I am forced to find someplace to have a beer while I�m waiting. I first stop in a small restaurant that�s just closing for the day. The owner, a young woman, agrees to serve me a beer while she finishes up her duties. As we chat, I discover that she is a single mother, running the place by herself with some help from her aged mother. She can�t afford to hire help so she has to limit the operating hours. I also discover that her license requires her to serve food with any beer or wine so she�s taking a chance serving me a beer by itself. I guess this is another example of the complicated licensing laws in England. I finish my beer, thank her and go back to the launderette to transfer the washed clothes to the dryer.
Now, I must find a place to wait while the clothes dry. I end up at the Black Bull Pub. I have a very interesting conversation with two thirty-something young men. One has a broken arm. He�s a plasterer and tumbled off a ladder injuring himself. The other guy is a veteran rock climber. He works part-time to support his obsession. They both have interesting stories to tell. They express a strong desire to visit the U.S. I know many Brits and most Europeans are opposed to the war in Iraq but never once did we run into any kind of political backlash because we were Americans: quite the opposite, actually, with most people throughout Europe expressing a combination of admiration and, at worst, disbelief at the mess in Iraq.
After a couple pints, my clothes are very dry. I do the necessary folding and step across the street to grab the bus for Milecastle Inn . I am supposed to meet my companions there as we had heard that the food was both interesting and good. My pub companions had warned me that the Inn�s reputation was questionable, because it had recently changed hands. After arriving, I order a beer from a somewhat dour bartender, when Tom shows up to tell me that plans have changed. The group has discovered there is a quiz night tonight at the Twice Brewed Pub, so we are going to spend the evening there.
We are staying at the strangely named Saughy Rigg Farm. Kathi and Brad Dowle, a wonderfully hospitable couple, own it. When we get to the farm, my roommate, Larry, relates what a tough walk it had been for the three of them. Evidently the hills were quite steep and the headwind very strong. To make things worse, the place they were counting on for lunch was closed. Larry said the only reason he finished the hike was that he had no choice. Making matters worse, they had to walk at least another mile to get to the Saughy Rigg Farm after they reached the end of the day�s scheduled hike. It appears, from information on another web site chronicling a hike along Hadrian's Wall, UniBrain Travels, that the actual distance my three friends walked was 13.5 miles not the 11.5 on the Contours information sheet.
Tom, Larry and Dave also reveal a phenomenon that, I too, run into later in the week. We label it the �mile and a half half-mile.� It seems that whenever someone is asked to give an estimate of how far it is to some distant point, the answer is invariably, �about a half-mile.� This answer is standard no matter how far the distance actually is. Unless, of course the distance is less than a half-mile, in which case, the response is, "just a short way." As you can imagine, this can be somewhat disconcerting, if not depressing, for the guys, especially at the end of a very difficult day�s hike. After telling me this sad story, Larry crashes for an hour or so and I read. He doesn�t need his static machine to sleep.
Later, we have a delightful evening at the Twice Brewed Pub. The food is excellent. I am finding that ordering lamb dishes, chicken or steak pies, or sausage plates almost always guarantee a good meal. I stay away from steaks, seafood, fried dishes and anything with a French or Italian name. After dinner, the Dowles join us for the quiz. With their help, we win the quiz and a prize of �20.00. We insist that the Dowles accept the money since they have been driving us around all afternoon and evening. We also have our first experience of so-called �lager louts,� young men who drink beer and ale for effect rather than thirst or taste. The pub owner handles them very skillfully, though, and there is no real trouble. If this had been a bar in the U.S., I�m not so sure there wouldn�t have been some violence. (Continue)
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We score 67 out of a possible 73 and are sure we�re in the money. The scores are announced and one team achieves a perfect 73 points. We come in fourth. Wow, these Brits take this quiz night stuff seriously. Then the quizmaster confesses that he was too lazy to find fresh questions so he used the same questions he had used three or four weeks ago. Since some of the teams had played then, all they had to do was remember stuff they heard three or four weeks ago. Even I can do that. We had a great time, though, and once again exploded the myth that the English are stuffy and unapproachable.
Tuesday, July 13, 2004 � Hexham, Haltwhistle, Twice-Brewed
The mileage estimate for today�s hike is 11.5 miles so I decide to do my laundry. I agree to do some of Tom�s, too. Dave assures me there is a launderette in Hexham. I grab the bus, laundry bag in hand, only to discover there is no launderette in Hexham. After asking a lot of questions, I realize the nearest one is in Haltwhistle, which is my day�s destination. Looks like I�ll be doing laundry this afternoon. Dave was correct, though, about Internet access at the library so I spend two hours catching up on e-mail and deleting spam.
I plan to visit Hexham Abbey, the Parish Church of St. Andrew, but for some reason it�s closed from 11:30 AM to 1:30 PM. I head for the TI office to double check my launderette information. On the way, I visit the open-air Hexham Market. The strawberries and tomatoes look fantastic, no hydroponic junk here. I buy a tomato and eat it as I would eat an apple. It's juicy and tasty. I vow to have a bowl of fresh strawberries, first chance I get.
I am very impressed with the lady who helps me in the TI. After verifying my information, she volunteers to call the local caravan park to see if the owner will let me use his laundry facilities. In fact every TI, I visit in England, is staffed with people who search for ways to help me. I do not find the same dedication in either France or Germany. Maybe it�s a language thing but I suspect it�s more an English cultural value of politeness and helpfulness. This value does not extend, however, to the caravan park owner and he turns the TI lady�s request down.
On my way back to the Abbey, I pass a small tearoom promising fresh mushroom soup. It being lunchtime, I stop in and have a discussion with the owner in her kitchen about how she makes her soup. She uses only fresh mushrooms that she collects herself. I am so impressed I order a bowl and it is as good a mushroom soup as I have ever had. I go back to the kitchen to thank her when I notice fresh apple pie. I order a slice and am once again delighted with the offering. I wish I could remember the name of the place but I forgot to write it down.
I�m off to the Abbey, walking some very interesting side streets on the way. You can see pictures of some of these streets as well as the Hexham Market, and the Abbey in my Hexham Album. The Abbey itself is a bit of a disappointment. Maybe, because I had to wait two hours to see it, I allowed my expectations get the best of me. I believe it has some historical significance but its architecture and furnishings are not unique in any way. I do wonder why it seems that half the churches in this part of England, including this one, are named for Saint Andrew. I know he's the patron Saint of Scotland so it must be the Scottish influence since we are so close to the England-Scotland border.
