For those of you who are sheltered from exposure to such phrases, a Dee Dah is slang for someone from Sheffield. 

The night was long and I was woken at 3am by a group of kids walking past my tent. I grabbed the handle of my machete but they buggered off. It was lonely there but I soon got back to sleep. This is my tent in the early morning light. On a hillside desolate. Can nature make a man of me yet?

Today was to be a walk from Chester to Northop Hall Country House Hotel. On the map below from Chester on the right bank of the Dee, crossing at Queensferry, along to Shotton and up to the Hall. 

I got up early and walked a couple of miles to a business park where I got a bus to Chester, had a breakfast and hit the road. Chester is ok but not as spectacular as this looks. It’s a bit shabby in many places. Historic though with the walls, castle and Roman remains.  

I thought it was a bit inappropriate for the funeral staff to be smiling. They’re paid to mourn the passing of people they don’t know and look miserable. Lovely horses.

I left the city and headed down to the River Dee where the stone pillars either side of this cycle path marked the Welsh border on the English side of the river. Cheeky taffs, nicking our land. 

The path ran on and on with a hard surface grinding my feet. When I took my boots off this evening my right sock was stiff with blood. Did it hurt a real man like me? Yes it did. Mummy, mummy, mummy. 

The river is tidal and the tide turned to come in, bringing a bore which was frightening in it’s intensity. I was too slow to capture it but it looked like this stock photo, and then water kept blasting in from the sea amazingly fast. 

At the same time a strange plane which looked like a dolphin flew over to land at Liverpool airport. It was the second time in two days at 4pm and I missed it again. Stock photo to the rescue.

Small doner kebab for a late lunch and up the hill from Shotton to Northop. Looking back to the Dee valley the steelworks at Shotton were still churning out metal sheet.

And finally 11 miles to Northop Hall. I’m tired. My spark’s gone and my blog is flat.

Be alright tomorrow though.

Night night.

And just to prove it.

Would you like your horse shoeing? 

And there are still a few Owls about. But it took a Blade to create this one.


A long sleep. I got up at 10.00, not really wanting to get out of my sleeping bag. It had rained a lot in the night but it was clear when I vacated my pit that the worst was over. I’d met an old bloke in the toilet last night and we had a chat over the Dyson Airblade. He invited me round this morning for a coffee with him and his old lass. Smashing bloke. From Manchester but had gone to west Wales for two weeks’ work 50 years ago and never went back. He was a doctor. Pretty good one by the sounds of it. 

I went round to their caravan after I’d packed all my tent and stuff and they gave me a proper coffee and croissant. Turned out that he’d been a bit of an adventurer in his time and had been Chief Medical Officer on the Everest Marathon. He made sure each competitor didn’t get altitude sickness and dealt with those who did. He worked in Nepal four times and made films there sponsored by pharmaceutical companies. Eventually I told him that me and Jet were doing the Annapurna Circuit and told him of my concerns about my head, which had been answered. He confirmed it was ok and that drinking water was crucial. When you get higher the oxygen gets less and you breathe in more but exhale more carbon dioxide which strips your blood of acid. The alkali screws with your system and you need to drink water to pee it out. 

Karma, coincidence, whatever. It was a brilliant explanation and for an 80 year old medic he was a star. Rob – may the road rise with you. I had to tear myself away but needs must. Over to Chester today and a bus ride out of town to a campsite and back in the morning. Only 14 miles but by the time I’d left Rob and his missus it was not too far from noon. 

I got my head down and enthused by Rob’s advice I smashed it, stopping in Kelsall for fish finger sandwiches and then cracking on again. This decal on an old Land Rover summed up my  euphoria. 

It was road again but I managed to find an overgrown footpath that might shave half a mile off the total. Sadly at a cost to my legs, photographed as I write in an empty marquee in the middle of nowhere. 

Anyway less about me and more about you. How are you? Well? Good, good, good. So look after yourself. 

Bugger that. More about me now. I’m so interesting and clever and my dad says “Thank you Lord for giving me such a son, such a bum, such a son. Good boy. You’re such a …. lick spittle ….. lick spittle. Good boy, good boy, good boy”. 

Sorry. I’m back again. Cop this. The grazed leg was worth it.

And back on the road the heaviest cherry blossom in it’s prime.

Luscious and framed by a blue sky. 

I was beginning to smell by this time. For those who don’t ‘get’ trekking this might sound gross. I was sweating in the same clothes that I’ve worn for the last three days. I haven’t washed or showered. I’m staying in a posh hotel tomorrow night that I found ridiculously reduced to 27 quid. I’ll turn up with my rucksack and shorts stinking like a skunk and they’ll either call security or take my money and let me in. 

I got on the bus in Chester. Nobody sat next to me. Their olfactories are working ok. The views were nice but I didn’t get time to see Chester as the 17.01 was the last bus and I onlyjust made it. 

The campsite is on a massive complex called Chester Lakes. Year round top class carp fishing on 5 lakes, a caravan and tent site that could accommodate at least a thousand caravans, a restaurant, a cafe and a bar in a marquee. Who’s there? Nobody. This place is the size of Hyde Park in the Smoke. No bugger. And everything is shut. And I’m 2 miles from the nearest pub.

I pitched my tent and the people running the site drove round, opened the bar and let me buy crisps and cider for 10 minutes. Nowt else to eat here. They were here to stock up for the weekend then pushed off but have let me stay in the marquee and plug in my iPad. Least they could do for a hungry geriatric. 

I’m going to get the 9.17 in the morning to Chester. Get back where I finished, get a breakfast and walk four hours only to this hotel. Twenty seven quid! Way Hey!

Night night. 

From Macclesfield to Winsford on foot is 24 miles of road walking. Sounds grim but the first 16 miles were in beautiful rolling English countryside, with Georgian houses, well to do farms and country estates. More pheasants than peasants. And what could represent the strength, structure and history of England than this magnificent oak. Proud in the morning wind and cold sun. I’m sticking out my chest like we never lost a war!

Come on England. Let’s do summat in Russia this year! Semifinals at least. Come on lads. Hearts of Oak. What a great Richard Hawley track. Georgie and Adam walking back down the aisle to that song. Brilliant.

This country estate at a distance looked fantastic.

And over the next brow I caught a glimpse of the iconic sky-scourer, Jodrell Bank, still looking up to the heavens 60 years on.

Spring has taken over. Look at this woodland display. White and bluebells together. 

Further down the road it got a bit quieter and I didn’t have to dodge so many cars. It’s a bummer when the roadsides are steep up to hedges and there’s no pavement. 

I managed to make a few new friends. The first was typically oddball.

I had set off at 8.00 and made it to Holmes Chapel by 13.00. A Scotch egg and tap water for breakfast and fish and chips for lunch. The traffic queue from Holmes Chapel to the M6 motorway was horrific. When I crossed it the problem was road works on the southbound carriageway. Gridlock. Glad I’m not working any more.

The black car behind the lorry on the left was full of chavs. When they eventually drove under the bridge they leant out of the windows and shouted abuse at me. I bravely waved two fingers at them and then legged it in case they had seen me! 

Even in this busy traffic, over the final third of the journey, spring was undefeated.

I made it to the campsite at 18.00, put up my tent and fell asleep. Just in the local now – sticky toffee pudding and Robinsons dark mild beer. A very British combination.

Night night.

And this time it’s the next to the last stage. I finished the Pennine Way in July in Edale and now I’m picking the journey up from Edale, walking westwards to Prestatyn in North Wales. From there I’m following Offa’s Dyke Path down to Knighton through the Welsh hills. Should be luvley. 180 miles in 12 days will be ok.

Today was 18 miles from Edale to Macclesfield through the Peak District. Up hill and down dale again but great country. Our old lass gave me a lift down to Leeds station at 5.30 this morning and I started out walking from Edale at 8.00. Cold wind but not the rain that was threatened on the forecasts. 

Straight away the route cuts up a thousand feet north westward towards Chapel en le Frith. Knackering with a rucksack of clothes and camping equipment but looking back from the top is well worth it.

Chapel en le Frith is one of those towns that feels like a village, and it’s billed as Capital of the Peak District. It might be but it’s got a great Morrison’s with a cafe where I got three cups of tea and a dog’s doodahs bacon sandwich for three quid. Excellent. And the toilet paper was first class too. 

From there it was uphill again, all by road this time, over the High Peak and down towards Macclesfield. The view below is out towards Merseyside and the Irish Sea behind the hill to the left. A long way behind the hill. But I’ll make it in three more days. 

Anyway I might stop here for Bilbo’s birthday party with Gandalf’s fireworks. Who organises this stuff in the middle of nowhere? 

Actually my dear darlings it sounds great. But I’ve got a destiny with the Way and I need to crack on. Airbnb tonight and it looks a nice room. Under a roof for a change, and back under canvas tomorrow. Please don’t rain! In Macclesfield waiting for the Airbnb owner and looking forward to a good sleep.

Night night.

Woke up at 11.20 this morning after a good night out last night. 

It was a gas and we enjoyed ourselves. We walked round the market first thing (noon) and enjoyed the view.

And outside the architecture was beyond belief.

Ancient, beautiful and vibrant. Zaragoza is a great place. So we had some breakfast and I went back to bed for a few hours. It has caught up with me but I’m ok. Gaz had a walk around for a few hours and when I woke up I showered and joined him at 2.30 pm.dentist time.

He was holed up in a Lebanese bar and we had middle-eastern pasties with whole potatoes for lunch. Wow, wow, wow. Spicy, tasty and wonderful.

Afterwards we went to a local English bar and watched Spanish womens’ football over a couple of beers. Excellent. Better looking than Gary and better footballers. Zaragoza has an English connection. It’s not apparent but it’s definitely there. We love it.

It’s the end of this stage. I’ve got 2,000 miles to go but this section was important. Having Gary alongside as a support in case I became ill, and to pace me, was great. Until the next leg my friends, thank you for viewing the blog. Gazza, I’m sure, send his regards.

Night night mi amigos y amigas. XXX
 

Yes there are. This proves it.

Well we woke up late as we were knackered and slept for 9 hours. When we went down to breakfast the lady owner slapped our wrist for being late. Last day. 18 miles to go. Looking from our Hostal window the weather was clear but very cold. 

It was also extremely windy, which gave a massive chill factor. So we wrapped up warm and cozy but still felt the steely cold knife. Because we’re softies. We kept off the road, walking up riverside and canalside paths, up to the next town, El Burgo de Ebro. It was so sunny it must be warm, surely referee? No. Wind in the face and freezing.

It was harsh and although we don’t eat from morning to evening we both felt starving by one o’clock and, on the advice of a local, pulled in to the Centro Social which was full of old folk. It served food and we had a three course meal for ten euros each.

There are Cranes everywhere, nesting on pylons and fishing in the Ebro. They’re elegant birds.

The sun stayed out and we had it at our backs for most of the day, following the long distance walk, the GR99, for a few miles.

We then cut up away from the river and followed an irrigation channel for 6 miles and then crossed again to a Pilgrim path closer to the river. Finally we decided to follow the side of a motorway through to Zaragoza. We were so tired and aching that we didn’t care if we got nicked. But I’d got a machete so they wouldn’t take us alive. Finally, through thick, thin and horrible wind, which cut us to the bone, we passed the Zaragoza city boundary. Get in!! Done it. 

We’re here a day early. We’ve covered 176 miles and raised £1,200, on Gary’s initiative. Thanks for donating. We’ve got a full day in Zaragoza tomorrow. I’ll blog tomorrow night. We might get up to summat interesting. 

Night night. X

It’s not very far from Quinto to Fuentes. In a straight line less than 15kms. But the straight line follows a busy road that we want to avoid and cut across country. And therein lies our ruin. 

We got up late and had breakfast of tortilla and cafe con leche at a bar in the town. Folk drink wine with lemonade for breakfast. Seems a bit extreme. 

Quinto had a decent church….

And a decent town hall….

Other than that it was a linear, bleak and frozen place. Setting off we wanted to cut across country but initially took a wrong turn. After that we recovered the situation and followed a google map. It was accurate for four miles and then the road it indicated existed, didn’t. We were stuck on private farmland on a plateau above the Ebro with no tracks or paths.

We used a compass to aim in the right direction, but a journey the should have taken 19 kms was starting to extend. Our route was through remote hills, quarries and farmland and we just headed northwards. 

It’s hard to navigate when the electronic equipment fails and there are no maps of the area. We done our best and followed the compass down off the plateau.

This is a limestone region, like most of Spain, and has huge chunks of marble spread about all over the place. Like here..

Dropping down to a main road we trudged through difficult farmland to avoid the mentalist car drivers and juggernauts. We made it to Fuentes. As if we wouldn’t! But it was cold, windy and tough. But so are we …. boom boom! 

Night night. X

A good night’s sleep and waking up to a brand new day. Well, not exactly. It was freaking freezing, foggy and forlorn. A 17 mile route today on roads all the way, and we set off with intent and determination. And, after half a mile, stopped for breakfast at the bar by the river that we had eaten at last night. Coffee, orange juice, bread, chips and fried eggs. A winning combination that drives tired legs and painful feet! Crossing the Ebro, up and over the hills and down to Sastago. We made good time, wrapped up in warm clothing, which for me included gloves, scarf, jumper and hat. Dropping down we came upon the river.

And after a few hundred metres we hit the bridge.

I’m afraid that is the extent of today’s story. We roadwalked, gasped on occasions at the pain inflicted on our soles by the tarmac, talked briefly and kept our heads down.

We stopped halfway and defrosted in a bar restaurant for 30 minutes and then hit the road again. We saw a dead wolf yesterday, and today it was the turn of a dead wild sheep and a mature wild boar. Poor devils.

This had obviously been hit by a big truck which had nearly decapitated it. Recently too,  but it was too big to carry! What a waste. 

After a few more hours, in fog and cold, we came upon a section of road where people appeared to be trying to kill us, in their cars and vans, by driving like loonies. We survived to Quinto and found the only historical buildings in town.

We’re now at our Pension, working our way through tapas for dinner. Divine.

17 miles today, 144 in total, 30 to go. This is the business end of the season. We’ve picked up injuries but we’ve made it this far and nothing will stop us walking 30 miles over the next two days to enjoy a day’s rest in Zaragoza before flying home. Unless it’s one of those barmy motorists! 

Night night.

It was a good hotel in Caspe last night for £20 each. Nice place, great meal, decent beer. The son of the owner had lived in Liverpool so he spoke good English. Unlike the people from Liverpool. Oh, sorry Cheggers. Glad you had a good time in New York. Ain’t retirement great?

This morning we had another decent fried egg on toast breakfast. Coffee and orange juice. Perfect. It had been well below freezing overnight and down in the Ebro valley the fog was thick and cold. 

We set off at around 10.30, no rush whilst it was freezing, and today we were aiming for Escatron around 16 miles up the valley. The fog slowly cleared at around 1pm.

It was a road walk today. No diversion just heading straight forward over undulating plains to the south of the (quite narrow) Ebro valley proper. The tarmac kills your feet. Well, my feet as well. And Gary’s feet. I swapped my boots for Salomon walking trainers today, which are great but give some impact from the road through to the sole of the foot. Gazza was going through the same, plus a slight Achilles problem. The road went straight and then over a tributary of the Ebro.

The view from over the bridge back to Chipranes, which we by-passed, was excellent.

Even at 2pm the temperature frosted our breath, but then the plain warmed up and we peeled off gloves, hats, scarves and top coats. It’s not great walking on the road but the views are still worth a look, left and right.

But with each mile the pain grew more. We’re getting fitter but our feet and legs are feeling the pain of roadwalking. Next time we’ll just find a cross-country footpath! We got closer to Escatron as the sun was slightly slipping down, highlighting the far side of the Ebro valley.

We made it by 5.20pm and found a bar on the outskirts whilst the sun was still on the veranda for a while. It was great to rest painful and blistered feet. 

The Pension we were staying at was closed when we arrived and didn’t respond to phone calls. We were envisioning sharing my emergency bivouac when a young woman came down the street with her grandma, and spotting our plight she got on her phone. Within three minutes the owner arrived and let us in! 

We’re down by the river, eating dinner and enjoying a rest. We’re going for broke and aiming to cut the walking by a day. We’re limping but we can do it; and have a full day and half in Zaragoza. We did 17 miles today, 127 over all, 47 to go.

Night night. Love you.

We ate last night at a bar just down the road from the Prison that we were staying in at Nonaspe. The landlord said he opened at 7am for breakfast. Excellent! We joined him with our rucksacks at 9.30am. A long walk yesterday deserved the respect of a late start today. He cooked  us fried eggs with toast, large white coffees and orange juice. Perfect. Today we were not going to take a wrong turning. No chance. Well, maybe only a little one. 

It was a cold night with a heavy frost and the first couple of hours walk were cold but refreshing. We wound up the river valley from Nonaspe towards Fabara station. 

We saw three or four tractors and cars en route. This beautiful land is empty of folk. Along the route were lots of wild pomegranates and we gave them a go.

It was a beautiful morning and the mountain terraces opened up their magnificence.

It’s so Zen to walk for hours with just the sound of birdsong and your own thoughts getting filtered towards happiness. With the sun on your head and a cool wind in your face, with nothing all around. Kismet Hardy.

Luckily Gary is as like minded as my mate Chip; comfortable to walk together in silence and just appreciate what and where we are. I’m not being posy. It’s true. It’s painful on your chest, knees, feet, legs and shoulders but it is brilliant. 

It got warm and we slowed a little but we were doing 20 miles today and not 27 so we were ok with it. The frustrating bit is that the Spanish don’t have Ordnance survey maps so we were navigating on google earth hard copy photos. There are no roads for tens of miles at the moment, but that will change when we walk in the Ebro valley.

Sorry to harp on about this but I’m loving being alive and chuffed that I didn’t die, having a beautiful family and friends and a fantastic wife who lets me live my dream of wild country walking. Nobody on this planet is luckier. Apart from Gary, who gets to walk with me!

The sun was beginning to sink and we approached the outskirts of Caspe. We were knackered and it was stuck up on a hill for fortification. It tested our strength after yesterday. And Sheff Utd was a bit ahead of Leeds (although Gazza might, justifiably, dispute that). 

It’s a nice town. A lot of North Africans here, surprising in the middle of nowhere but welcome nevertheless. 

I’ve enjoyed reviewing today and writing this blog. I hope you enjoyed reading it. Love Dave (and Gary).

Night night.