The Road to Hardwicke

 We wake and check for bites in the neck

Under Whitby’s clear blues skies 

Our bikes are secure but we have to make sure

They’re not plundered before our eyes. 

On the first climbs I flag, we’re on a main drag

And the cars go whistling by

We roll down to Staithes, a quaint little place

A safe harbour with cliffs so high.

We’re back on Route 1, this time in the sun

At the gradient we soon baulk

The climb is so steep, grown men would weep

But we just walk the walk.

Victorian affluence and railwaymen’s influence 

Created Saltburn-by-the-Sea

Here were smugglers of old, or so we were told

In days long before V.A.T.

It is sudden and strange to witness the change

As we leave the Yorkshire Wolds  

By a wide sweeping strand, a score of turbines stand

Then a route through the wastelands unfolds.

I played against Ray Mallon, who became a Teeside Baron

And I wonder about progress on his shift

Can modern business pay its way and overcome decay

In the fabric of a place that needs a lift?

At Seaton Carew, the sea back in view

And it felt like a great result

After a zigzag way and a stop-start day

A flight of steps was the final insult.

Heaton