Pies, Pies, Pies! Yes!

What a fantastic and unexpected start!

What should have just been a day of lugging furniture about for my Gothic brother, managed to randomly include two extra stations, and all because of pie...

Me and les parents were driving up to Whitby, and on approaching Sneaton Corner on  the A171, my stepfather (JP) suddenly announced a desire for a pie from Jackson's at Ruswarp. I didn't need asking twice of course, so we made a quick diversion down into the valley. Alas, the pork pies had run out, but the disaster was averted with a pork and apple, a bacon and egg, and a cheese and onion pasty, so a potential crisis was averted.

After nomming down the pies in the car park, I suggested to Mum that me and her could walk along the new path under the Larpool viaduct, and impressively (given her advancing years) she said yes.

Christ I look pasty... (Ruswarp)

The the sun was shining, the lambs were gamboling in the fields, and I was full of meat and pastry - could a day get any better? The last time I walked between Ruswarp and Whitby (admittedly, in the other direction), the path didn't exist - so a long portion of it was actually achieved by walking along the track itself. And before anyone rings up the British Transport Police, please be aware it was about 15 years ago, so they probably won't give a crap any more. And anyway - at the time, there were only four trains a day (the NYMR still terminated in Grosmont), so it was hardly risky.

Larpool Viaduct

But anyway, historical trespass anectdotes aside, it was delightful. Mum was thrilled to spot wild violets, blackthorn flowers, broom, greater stitchwort (I kid you not), and despite the surface being somewhat uneven in places and thus uncomfortable underfoot (stupid cheap Primark shoes...) it was thoroughly enjoyable.

Every so often I pointed out historical railway based places of interest - where the Whitby and Pickering Railway cut off a meander and straightened the Esk; the former site of Bog Hall Junction, the point where the siding for the gasworks was... - but I think Mum was far more interested in the oystercatchers running about on the low-tide uncovered riverbed. Note to self: Not everyone is as big a geek as me...

Gay.

Aggresive.

When we got to Whitby, after passing behind the picturesquely scruffy boatyard, and the old engine shed (Don't get me started on this - it makes me angry), we made a quick detour into Whitby station (formerly Whitby Town), to take the required photo.

Whitby (Town). Tragic hair.

There were no trains due for a while, so I didn't feel completely idiotic taking a photo of myself (4 photos in fact - the other three of which were even worse than the one above). I'm not sure how I'll cope taking selfies in actual busy stations in the future. I don't mind the quiet, obscure, closed-down locations like Hayburn Wyke, or Wykeham, but I'm going to feel like a proper bell-end in real places like York, for example, or Hull.

Note to self: Don't even think about Leeds yet. Oh my God...