The Dracula experience

The weather forecast promised another brilliant Sunday, though cold. Both predictions came true. Essentially I had no other choice but to go on another bike tour.

I sometimes get the question how I am doing, even from readers of this blog. Can you doubt that I am having a great time? Oh yes, I feel appropriately guilty to the home front about abandoning them for four months, but that was part of the package from the start, so has to be discounted. And yes, I am a bit lonely from time to time; there are days (like today) that I don't talk much to other people except for saying the occasional "thank you" or "sorry" without which you cannot survive in England. Come to think of it, I might feel a lot lonelier if I didn't put my experiences to this blog on a daily basis: ways to describe my impressions and feelings are running through my mind all day long, in preparation for that hour of sublimation. Finally: yes, there is also fear that I am not taking the full professional advantage of my stay here: almost a third of my time is gone: what have I achieved? Is it enough? Will I see this afterwards as a wasted opportunity to shift and revive my research? Fear, uncertainty, doubt: I am no stranger to them. But I refuse to dwell upon that sort of thing, since that in itself is the least productive thing I could possibly do. Not to mention that I do have a strong sense of privacy regarding such things. So, I will happily write about what I am doing, and leave it to you to deduce how I am doing!

Incredibly, it is only seven days ago that I took the train to Scarborough and walked/jogged along the coast and back a ways along the Cinder Track. That whet my appetite for a full traversal of that track, all 20 miles of it between Scarborough and Whitby, and today was the perfect day. The only problem was scheduling: should I aim to cycle from W (2,5 hours by train, connections three times a day) to S (1 hour, connections six times a day) or the other way around? What would you choose?

In the end the decision was easy since there are no trains to or from W on Sunday. I checked three times, even via the German bahn.de which is a lot more user-friendly than the British Rail Inquiries and has the same information, but all web sites declared in unison: no trains from York to Whitby on Sunday! I was stumped for a while until I realised I might as well take a return ticket to S and do the track twice - 2 for the price of 1! How could I resist?

The first 8 kilometers or so were familiar. After that the track began to rise, slowly of course since those 19th-century trains would have to be able to take it (modern Dutch trains sometimes even have trouble with the 100m high Veluwe as I had occasion to notice two weeks ago!) but if you crick your neck and look at the left side of the map, you might just make out that the highest point is almost 200 meters above sea level. Not inconsiderable in combination with the wind and the sometimes wet and muddy track: finally those spinning sessions are good for something! The northward view from the highest point is stunning.

Forgotten coach at Cloughton Station

The fact that you are riding on an abandoned railway track really gives the trip an extra dimension. From time to time I could still smell the coal burning (yes, there are coal-heated houses in that part of the world). The track is sometimes dug into the hills, then again raised high above the surroundings. You can just imagine how incredibly picturesque a train would be on that stretch. I do wonder how long a train would take for a one-way trip, given also that there were 8 (!) stations between S an W. Several are atill recognisable as such, by way of leftover platforms, station buildings converted to houses, or a street name ("Station Street" is a bit of a giveaway).

Don't eat this man's chips!

After two hourse I arrived at Whitby, several kilos lighter than I had started. Which I promptly regained by having a portion of the nastiest chips in memory. Turns out W, originally a fishing village at the mouth of the river Esk amidst imposing promontories, is now a tourist trap, with a really horrible river front consisting entirely of gambling parlours and fast food sheds (one of which served me said chips). Still, it was busy enough for a sunny but cold Sunday in November: lots of tourists trapped.

Why then do these people come? I can think of one reason: the town boasts the ruins of the world-famous Whitby Abbey. And why then is this abbey so famous, given that it is indeed a ruin - just the shell of the abbey church is standing, the Germans actually ruined it even further as recently as the first World War? Maybe you do not need to be told, but I did: this is the location that supposedly inspired Bram Stoker to write his world-famous Dracula. Which immediately explains why one of the first Google hits for Whitby is for the gothic festival - it is the quintessential place to host that kind of thing!

Whitby Abbey in its full glory

After the depths of the waterfront I therefore rose to the heights of the abbey, took a look around - there is not that much to see when all is said and done - had a coffee at the tea room of the YHA which is practically located inside the old abbot's house (how did that happen?) and started on my way back to S.

The way back felt a lot faster, maybe just because I knew what to expect. Dusk fell featherlight. It was almost five and almost dark when I arrived in S with an hour to spare, which I spent replenishing my bodily fluids. I was a bit worried about getting my bike onto the return train: last week the train (well, the one leaving two hours earlier) had been chock full and the only place you can put a bike in this train immediately takes four seats out of commission. There was no problem however: someone had preceded me and already blocked the seats, a second bike was no additional obstacle.

Another day well spent! I'm doing fine, thank you!