Last Islandish Miles

As we got really cosy at Marketa’s in Leeds and did not leave the next morning but the day after that navigate ourselves out of Leeds was not exactly the easiest thing to do and not just because of the “safety” barriers at the start of each cycle path to protect it from motorcycles and tandemist with wide handlebars..

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But in these days we have developed a sixth sense for finding unsigned diversions, short cuts and similar and so we have soon found ourselves in very scenic and in a different way captivating countryside with between Leeds and York. Almost without a notice has the path between fields and pastures changed into the city cycle path and thoughr chain of parks we have pedalled straight into the historic town centre. Welcoming was truly magnificent with network of cycle paths and many people on bikes. Tempted we left our tandem locked on the quay and merged into streams of locals and tourist flowing between the castle – Viking museum – cathedral. Soon we had enough but the mixture of cobblestoned streets lined by curvy houses with tiny windows, the combination of stone, steel, wood and greens has pleasantly refreshed and enthused us. We felt very similar after one rainy walk in Oxford – well good old England!

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Next we set off east through Pocklington along legendary Route 66 and just after the sunset we have dropped £10 into the postbox and pitched our tent on the side of one less lighted gravelled path just next to parked caravans and dog shower. The first passer-by in the morning has reproached us that our tent is standing on the “walking green” and the place for tents is somewhere else. Well we did not reason with him… We packed our stuff quickly and went to cash in my last cheques into the bank – in the last month or so I have not made a time to do it and so it was left until the last day. So it goes without surprise that in the most simple and ordinal procedure something happened which the bank assistant in her long carrier has never come across and the manager has to be called.. and so we were both aready weeks in our knees, counting every hour and minute to the ferry departure. However, end is well and the moody cheque machine has in the end some sense and so we could set off once again.

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Johana’s navigation was without a mistake for one little turn which led us to a very busy road going up the highest hill in the whole area. The view was splendid and we pedalled through not really nice suburbs of Hull (which I believe you all know or can imagine from pictures) to the docks. We felt like dwarfs making our way to the Pride of Rotterdam through huge trucks, transport containers, buses and several storey ferries. When we were embarking on the ferry after few motorcyclist as the only bicyclist we saw on the faces of the staff somehow amused smile. Our emotions were mixture of absolute excitement from the departure and expectations of what is to come.

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Because they run out off double cabin we were given bigger one just for ourselves (with towels and soap included). We overcame the temptation of going straight to bed and went for a stroll on the ferry, had a coffee and indulged ourselves in a view of scenic sunset and intensifying wind pushing off the table glasses of inattentive passengers. We have even resist the wide cultural and sociable programme, disco and cabaret singer accompanying herself on a piano and after great disappointment (the port without the VAT was only collectible in the morning) we were satisfied with the adaptor for continental plugs.

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