The weather we have been having recently is a real treat, if a bit unusual! Loved the photos. Keep it up.
Thanks Penny, nice to see you here.
Robert - a 10 miler sounds more than adequate to me :shock:
Yes, I think you’ve well earned your bacon sandwich! freesmileys.org
That made me smile about the double decker bus. Our walking group love them. We always go upstairs 
My Lyke Wake Love Affair.
The ‘Lyke Wake Walk’ is a prestigious walk of forty two miles from Osmotherly near Thirsk, to Ravenscar on the East Coast of Yorkshire. It was the brainchild of Bill Cowley, a North York Moors sheep farmer who wanted to open up a long distance path across the North York Moors following the journey of Cistercian monks who liked to bury their dead at sea. Walking was not as popular in the fifties as it is now, and the journey would be long and arduous with no paths to follow, other than the sometimes faint and meandering sheep tracks. The moors were overgrown with heather, and in some places bracken, and there were large areas of peaty bogs waiting for the unsuspecting traveller to disappear forever into the bottomless void of the black, oozing mire.
In 1953 Bill and some friends managed the first traverse of the Lyke Wake Walk and started what would be, one of the first and most famous long distance footpaths of the twentieth century. A club was started with membership to anyone, who, after the submission of a report, could complete the traverse within twenty four hours. The badge would be a coffin, in memory of those monks who supposedly made the journey carrying a casket containing a deceased comrade.
My interest in the Lyke Wake had been aroused in 1980, after my Father-in-Law informed me that he had been appointed to lead a party from the Yorkshire Bank across those soggy moors. And furthermore, there was a spare seat. It stirred the adventurer in me, and I wasted no time in securing said spare seat. Because the Lyke Wake is linear, support is essential, especially for anyone crossing for the first time. Driving support is a thankless task, with miles of unfenced moorland roads and tracks to navigate, and sometimes drivers have to endure the complaining of tired and grumpy competitors, who wished they hadn’t been so quick in volunteering to raise a few quid for the needy and disadvantaged. So an opportunity like this doesn’t come very often. There are around seven official checkpoints on the Lyke Wake, and having transport at every one allows unsuccessful competitors the chance to retire and ponder what could have been.
A midnight start is recommended, it is easier to find lost and injured participants in daylight. Also, setting off around the longest day is also recommended, staggering around the North York Moors in the dark can be tricky. And so at midnight on June the 28th 1980, over two hundred walkers set off in small groups every hour, and that was just competitors from various other Yorkshire Bank branches. I understand that over one thousand hopefuls began their attempt that night. Following the dancing light of torch beams, we struck out into the night, spirits were high and humorous comments filled the air. Walking was easy around Osmotherly, and with a long procession of walkers stretching into the darkness navigation wasn’t difficult, in fact it was quite mystical the way torches illuminated the path into the distance. Eight miles covered and the first checkpoint came into view, spirits were still high and hot soup and rolls were on the menu. Best if you don’t get too comfy here, many did, and failed to resist the urge of a warm bus back to Osmotherly with a full belly. By the time we reached the disused railway track at fifteen miles, fingers of light began to cascade across the eastern horizon, a gentle pattering of rain dabbed our faces, and all chattering had stopped, we walked in silence to the next checkpoint at Ralphs Cross about half way. The dried up sandwiches were ignored, as hasty repairs were made to blistered feet while gulping down hot sweet tea. I had resisted the temptation to wear sturdy boots in favour of running shoes, and although my shoes were wet and blackened with stumbling through the odd peat bogs, I felt no discomfort and decided to leave well enough alone, I despatched a couple of dried up sandwiches…. And they tasted wonderful. In the daylight we couldn’t believe our eyes, the rain had stopped, but laid out in front of us were miles of glistening, boggy, water soaked moors. A five mile stretch to the next checkpoint at Hamer House took us hours to cross, sometimes walking as much as a quarter of a mile round to avoid the vast expanse of water that lay before us. Some weary travellers just squelched their way straight through the middle, they had abandoned all hope of finishing and would retire at the next check. My party had dwindled from hundreds down to six, some had retired, some had stopped for long rests, and some were in front, we battled on regardless. Ellerbeck Bridge on the Scarborough to Whitby road, thirty two miles covered, ten to go. I flopped down on a folding chair and stared at the ground while clutching a hot cup of tea and sausage roll. My legs were crying out for mercy, and for the first time during the walk, the mini bus looked inviting. Jack [the Father-in-Law] could see my dilemma and quickly had us on our way, there would be no quitting now. We limped, and staggered the last ten miles, nothing below the waist moved without pain, but from two miles away we could see the radio mast that signalled the finish. It used to finish at the bar of the Raven Hall Hotel, but with popularity the hotel moved up a few stars, and muddy boots were banned, ironically, the thing that brought it fame and fortune had now been relegated to a lonely radio beacon on the top of a featureless hill.
It was the most awesome thing I had ever done, and although I couldn’t walk properly for a week, in my mind I was planning my next encounter with the Lyke Wake. I was awarded a badge and membership of the Lyke Wake Club, I also purchased the book, and the first chapter read “After completing your first crossing, you will either never walk on the moors again, or it will get into your blood and you will return again and again.” At the time of writing, I have completed twenty one successful crossings, including a double [there and back in forty eight hours] and nine annual races over the forty two miles. In all the events I have run over the years, the Lyke Wake remains my all time favourite.
http://www.over50sforum.com/picture.php?albumid=812&pictureid=5980
Thanks Myra, The ten miler was slow - I used to be the Hare, but now I’m the Tortoise…
If I can’t drive the Double Decker Bus, then upstairs is the next preferred location Myra.
Robert you can say what you like, but you are definitely as fit as a fiddle! I get worn out reading about your runs :shock: Well done!
I’m off on holiday tomorrow from work and have arranged a walk with some of my work colleagues. We did a walk a few years ago, around the Isle of Cumbrae, about 10 miles. We had a great day. Followed by the pub afterwards and lots of laughs. Tomorrow it’s only a six mile walk, from Johnstone to Lochwinnoch - a walk I’ve done a couple of times with my walking group. A couple of the walkers haven’t walked anything near that before, so they’re a bit apprehensive. The rest of us will be there to support them. Followed by a pub lunch afterwards :-D. I’m sure we’ll all enjoy it. No running will be included, or else we’ll end up back in work in high dependency 
Thanks Myra, at the time the Lyke Wake was the hardest thing I had ever done, but it’s probably responsible for the way my life went after that.
Hope the weather is good for you Myra, I know it’s not essential, but it’s nice to chat and sit for a while in the dry. If you are like me, you tend to crack on a bit with your head down if it’s raining.
I would walk for miles if I was promised a pub lunch at the end - enjoy…
Entry:-230415
What a difference fifteen minutes makes in a morning. On a running day I’m usually out on the road at sevenish, but I was wide awake this morning at six thirty, so without further ado, I was on the road for six forty five, a good fifteen minutes earlier than usual.
Fog took away the view of the pylons about half a mile away over the fields, and I could feel the damp wrapping around my legs and face. Still running in my thermal top [not warm enough yet for just a tee shirt] I made my way down the street, over the railway bridge and across the field. The dampness in the air made the pylons crackle as I passed under them, but the path was dry and firm. Through the woods and out on to; what normally is a very busy road. The traffic was very light this morning, no queues, or long convoys, it’s surprising how being fifteen minutes earlier makes all the difference. I was also surprised at how easy running felt this morning, no gasping for breath, or rubber legs, and I seemed to be holding a very sprightly pace. As the terrain changed from footpath to bumpy lane, I was still expecting to start paying the price for the brisk pace, but as I got accustomed to the quiet of the countryside, legs were still strong and I knew it was going to be a decent time. I did manage to put a spurt in over the last half mile, and was rewarded by the fastest time since my Heart Attack. And It wasn’t until I checked my journal that I realised it was exactly one year to the day since the unfortunate incident.
If you would have told me, as I laid wounded in my hospital bed, that I would be breaking records one year hence, not only wouldn’t I have believed you, I would have doubted that I would even be running again. What a brilliant piece of kit the human body is.
Happy St Georges Day, It’s a day I will not forget.
Good morning Robert. Yes, just shows you that the body is always trying to recover itself. In your case it’s definitely done a great job. Its great that you are able to enjoy running again. Sounds like you really enjoyed your run yesterday 
My walk went well. The sun shone the whole time, which was lovely. It was only six miles, but it was a nice, tranquil walk. It was one of my workmates first ever walk, but she did well and enjoyed it. We ended at a lovely pub with a beer garden and had lunch, a glass of wine, then ventured home. Lovely day had by all
We’re off to Portpatrick today for a couple of days, where there are supposedly some beautiful walks.
Have a lovely weekend Robert.
I’m glad your walk went well Myra, have a good time in Portpatrick and enjoy the scenery. Managed to fit a nice canal walk in today…report to follow.
Entry:-240415
Interesting outing today, left the car at home and took the bus to Worksop. It took over an hour to wind it’s way round country roads and housing estates. After enjoying some lunch; Greggs style, I picked up the towpath running alongside the Chesterfield Canal and followed the six mile route to Kiverton Park railway station.
http://www.over50sforum.com/picture.php?albumid=822&pictureid=5992
The weather was sunny and warm, and once I had left the hustle and bustle of the town, I took the time to reflect…
http://www.over50sforum.com/picture.php?albumid=822&pictureid=5991
The walk was slightly uphill and for navigation of the canal, I lost count of the number of locks required to raise narrow boats over the hill.
http://www.over50sforum.com/picture.php?albumid=822&pictureid=5990
After reaching the end of today’s walk at the railway station, I had a couple of miles of road walking to Dinnington where I would find a bus back to Doncaster.
I arrived at the busy Interchange in Dinnington.
http://www.over50sforum.com/picture.php?albumid=822&pictureid=5989
Set Alarm for Five and was out on the road for 5.45am. Not only is it a special morning because I need to get back in time to watch the London Marathon, but I decided to run my eleven mile course, it’s one I haven’t run for over two years. I took it very cautiously, and arrived home with some to spare. My time was a lot slower than in the past, but with the sun rising in a clear blue sky, It turned out to be one of the best runs this year. I can now sit and watch other runners enjoying their special day without feeling guilty.
This was my special day on the London Marathon in 1989…seems like yesterday.
http://www.over50sforum.com/picture.php?albumid=792&pictureid=5994
In 1777 James Brindley constructed the Chesterfield canal to carry coal and other minerals the 46 miles to West Stockwith on the River Trent. It was the greatest engineering feat attempted at the time. The narrow boats that worked the canal were called Cuckoo’s, and a 46 mile walk that traverses the length of the Chesterfield Canal from West Stockwith to Chesterfield to commemorate the canal was called the Cuckoo Way. Sadly, after the Norwood tunnel collapsed in 1907 and the coming of the railways [which took all the traffic] the canal was never used again. Some sections have been restored, but some have not. But the walk continues.
THE CUCKOO WAY - KIVETON PARK STATION TO CHESTERFIELD.
It had been two years since I walked the Cuckoo Way from West Stockwith to Kiveton Park Station.
I had read somewhere that the last section from Kiveton to Chesterfield was overgrown and undefined, so left it at that. During a recent spell of fine weather, I decided to walk the section from Worksop to Kiveton, which I remembered as being the most scenic. I enjoyed it so much, that I would complete the final section all the way to Chesterfield.
After driving to Worksop, parking the car, and purchasing the appropriate provisions for lunch later, I boarded a number 19 bus that would take me as close as possible to the start at South Anston. The driver decided that; at 9:25 it was five minutes too early to use my concessionary pass, so it cost me three quid.
He dropped me off half an hour later in South Anston, and I jogged and walked the mile or so of road down to the station at Kiveton Park, and the start of the walk at Dog Kennel Bridge. It’s still a proper canal here with a kissing gate and a finger post directing me on to the ‘Cuckoo Way’ The sun was shining with fluffy white clouds gently pushed along by an icy cold breeze, and although it looked tranquil, it was not warm enough to stand and stare for too long. So I shuffled off along the canal bank, passing the occasional fisherman with the odd good morning. It’s not long before the canal runs out, and you are faced with a stark brick wall blocking the way: This is the entrance to Norwood Tunnel, sealed up now after it collapsed back in 1907 and was never reopened. It was 2880 yards long, so for the next couple of miles I take a track overland and through the old workings of Kiveton Park Colliery, closed in 1995 and turned into a nature reserve. Because so many people use the park, paths are abundant, and it becomes difficult to find the correct one, but after a few navigational errors, I manage to exit the park at the other side and spot the underpass on the M1 a couple of fields away.
I emerge from the underpass and I’m once again following the canal towpath. Behind me is the sealed up entrance of the Norwood Tunnel, but the canal [although stagnant and full of debris] is again by my side to guide me over the next few miles. The views over the surrounding countryside are spectacular, and because this is a high point of the canal, the remains of a series of staircase locks can clearly be seen as I pass them on my descent. After having to leave the canal as I skirt round some private property, I pop out on to the busy A618 Mansfield Road, I turn right, but after a few hundred yards, realise it’s the wrong way, so I jog back and find a small bridge and a finger post directing me once again on to the Cuckoo Way and by the side of the water filled depression that was the canal. I now find myself walking along a raised bank in a tunnel of bushes, faraway from the noise of the road, the canal has turned into a series of small ponds on my left, and just over a fence and through the bushes on my right is an industrial estate, it seems deserted. Walking out of the sun under the canopy of the trees I begin to feel cold, I grasp the straps of my rucksack and start to jog, after a mile I can feel the warm blood reaching my extremities, a pair of gloves would have been a worthwhile addition to my accessories. The trees and hedges have given way to houses at the edge of a large housing estate, the canal has turned into a dried up bed and is gradually overcome by back gardens from the houses.
I am ejected from the quiet towpath into a street surrounded by houses; This is Killamarsh and maps are no good here. There are new builds that won’t appear on my map, and re-routed footpaths through the maize of streets. I take out the route description and follow the instructions that lead me down numerous ginnels and alleys. Sometimes you can see the remains of the canal, overgrown and mainly used for tipping, and sometimes there is no evidence whatsoever of this once great industrial highway, where barges laden with coal, stone and other minerals would make their way from Derbyshire to the river Trent where it would be loaded on to large ships and sent round the world.
I eventually reach the outskirts of Killamarsh where I am pleased to see the small iron finger sign telling me that I am following the Cuckoo Way and it’s ten miles to Chesterfield. I disappear through a kissing gate and into the bushes to regain the towpath and dried up canal bed. The small overgrown path I have been following runs alongside a much wider and well used track, this is the Trans Pennine Route that joins Hull on the the East coast, to Liverpool on the West coast , and is used mainly by cyclists and horse riders, with the occasional Runners and Walkers. Every half mile or so there are picnic tables, so I take advantage of the amenities and despatch a Greggs Club Baguette [one I purchased earlier] washed down with a bottle of Buxton water, delicious. I trudge along the long straight cinder track, passed by the occasional cyclist, it seem to go on forever, so I jog a couple of miles. The canal runs to my left and contains water, albeit full of weeds. Once in a while it leaves the cycle route and cuts off through the country, I follow it on the small path that runs along side, this is the true Cuckoo Way. The forestry that has surrounded me for the last few miles now gives way to arable fields, Lapwings circle and dive overhead with their distinctive cry, and the canal has disappeared having been filled and ploughed over. It is while on one of these field side paths that I spot another walker up ahead, a young chap with a small rucksack clamped on to his back. His pace is slow and meandering, so not wanting company, or a reduction in pace I jog past, and keep jogging until I reach the trees in the distance.
I jog into the outskirts of Renishaw and slow to a walk, the clouds that had congregated in the sky for the last five miles had now fragmented, allowing the sun to break through and I was feeling uncomfortably hot, so off came the thin jacket which was unceremoniously stuffed into my rucksack. The canal was once again by my side complete with water and lily pads, however, large new three storey town houses lined up along the far bank, Jaguars and Mercedes adorned each drive, and mown grass descended down to the waters edge; there was a distinct smell of money here, and the canal looked more like a well manicured pond.
The path wandered away from the Trans Pennine Trail again, and I was back in the open countryside following the dried up bed of the canal. I was fast approaching Staveley and caught sight of the jumble of housing estates on the hillside, I could hear a busy road, and a railway line barred my way. I followed the steps over a bridge, straddling the railway line, through an underpass and the noisy road, and noticed there were signs of new construction everywhere. As I rounded the bend, lock gates came into view leading to a large new canal basin. Construction workers with hard hats and brightly coloured hi-vis jackets were stood in groups or leaning on shovels, and a large sign announcing that this was the ‘Chesterfield Canal Restoration Project’ The canal had been restored for the whole five miles to Chesterfield.
The new bit ran out after a mile, but now I was alongside a well established, clean and navigable canal, complete with a tarmac towpath. Joggers, Cyclists and Dog walkers adorned the banks as Staveley gave way to the outskirts of Chesterfield. Still feeling good, I joined the joggers and shuffled on for the next mile until the path ran out and I had to cross a road. The ‘Cuckoo Way’ sign beckoned me to a path leading back down to the canal on the other side of the road, but now the canal was sad and overgrown with empty plastic bottles and algae floating on the top. The path was deserted and overhung with brambles and Elderberry bushes, but there were some satisfying views of the twisted spire of Chesterfield Cathedral, they were satisfying to me because they heralded the end of my seventeen and a half mile trek along the Chesterfield Canal known as the Cuckoo Way.
http://www.over50sforum.com/picture.php?albumid=827&pictureid=6016
http://www.over50sforum.com/picture.php?albumid=827&pictureid=6015
The Blocked up entrance to Norwood Tunnel.
http://www.over50sforum.com/picture.php?albumid=827&pictureid=6014
The view that awaited me when I exited the M1 underpass.
http://www.over50sforum.com/picture.php?albumid=827&pictureid=6013
An abandoned section of the canal.
http://www.over50sforum.com/picture.php?albumid=827&pictureid=6012
Steppin’ out.
http://www.over50sforum.com/picture.php?albumid=827&pictureid=6011
Restoration is coming.
http://www.over50sforum.com/picture.php?albumid=827&pictureid=6010
some friends who accompanied me for a while.
http://www.over50sforum.com/picture.php?albumid=827&pictureid=6009
The disappointing bit in Chesterfield.
http://www.over50sforum.com/picture.php?albumid=827&pictureid=6008
The end is in sight.
http://www.over50sforum.com/picture.php?albumid=827&pictureid=6007
The canal ends and joins the river.
http://www.over50sforum.com/picture.php?albumid=827&pictureid=6006
all very interesting OGF BUT:
http://www.dailywritingtips.com/why-we-need-paragraphs/
OGF composition teacher - more paragraphs needed - must do better!
WFGS: someone as got to tell him!
Old grey fox, have you considered collating all this for wider distribution; a book, magazine or periodical maybe. In addition to your, albeit limited, followers in here.? IMHO
Gumbud, thanks for the advice [no, really] but I’m just a poorly educated Yorkshire lad who was better with his hands [just ask my missus] than his English, so I became a Centre Lathe Turner, trouble is, they don’t need many turners these days and I got sick of standing behind a machine all day when the sun was out, so I took up some outdoor pursuits.
Thanks for the article, I will certainly take it on board.
But I don’t think many readers drift into this little backwater…
Thanks also to Robert J, I’m pleased that a man of your obvious literary ability even reads my humble accounts, let alone comments on them.
Seriously though Robert, I started writing accounts of my adventures years ago, to remember details and directions of walks and runs. I found that reading them years later brought the experiences back to life, much the same as a photograph. so I decided to keep a journal.
More recently, and with the popularity [with me anyway] of the internet and forum’s, I though some like minded people might like to read my accounts. These days, as I drift [kicking and screaming] into the Autumn of my life, I seem to be doing more writing than running or walking.
It seems nice to target the over fifties with my ramblings, we have all been through the rigors of life, and can understand the issues associated with the advancing years.
I will certainly try to make my journal’s more readable with the inclusion of extra ‘Paragraphs’ [ I thought they were some kind of performance records from an elite band of soldiers in the armed forces] in the hope I will attract more readers.
Thanks again for your comments…OGF
Some lovely photos Mr Fox! what with them and your descriptions I feel like I’ve been there myself.
Guessed I wasn’t the only one who thinks you could publish something if you wanted …
Thanks Anzac, really appreciate your comments and your confidence…
Entry:-070515
We seem to have had quite a lot of rain recently, and it has coincided with my weekly runs. I was very doubtful about doing eleven miles on Sunday morning with the rain coming down before I had even started, and after covering seventeen and a half miles on my Friday walk would I have recovered enough to squelch round the longest of my weekly challenges. I didn’t need to worry, it went surprisingly well, and managed to make it home with my sodden shorts around my knees.
Tuesday’s run was much the same, although it was only light rain, it had been raining constantly throughout the night, and puddles had joined up with neighbouring puddles to make monster puddles that could not be avoided. I had to run a mile further because the lane would have been a river, so I stuck to a road circuit, but it was six miles instead of my usual five. I remained drained for the rest of the day, and a shopping trip to Monks Cross left me searching for places to sit.
Payback came this morning, although warm and sunny and surprisingly dry underfoot, I was struggling from the start. The lane had dried out beautifully, but unfortunately it was a labour of love. So gasping for breath, and with rubber legs, I staggered the last couple of miles home. I may need to re-evaluate my running expectations for the future.
I have read several articles concerning post Heart Attack exercise, and it would seem that shorter periods, and more sessions of running are more beneficial than longer ones.
So by way of an experiment, I shall stick an extra three mile run in on a Friday, and cut down my long Sunday run of eleven, to a more manageable Eight. It may take a few weeks to show any results, but I’ll see what happens.
There seems to be quite a bit of anger and aggression showing up in topics just lately, with: ‘Would you step in?’ ‘Bullies’ ‘Beating the S*£t out of someone’ and ‘Do you call a spade a spade?’ I have replied to a couple of the threads but are we getting a little bit paranoid here? Violent crime is rarer than we think, and most of us will never be in the situation where we will have to resort to intervening. Personally I know where to go if I want to flirt with trouble. Doncaster Town centre on Friday and Saturday nights are full of drunks; best avoided if you are a five foot seven, ten stone, 65 year old Heart Attack survivor. Most of the crimes I read about in the local paper occur after midnight and in the early hours. So it’s unlikely that I would wander into that twihlight world, as sleep seems to be high on my priority list these days. And while we are on the subject of newspapers and the media, watching too much news fills you with so much fear, that it sometimes feels that there are villains lurking around every corner. [not the case] but you only have to visit Over50s Forum these days to become aware of how many people are out there waiting for the chance to steal your money or identity and stick a knife into your ribs…Where’s the love people?..