Our adventures in the north drew to a close as we packed our bags, finished our fruit salad, and headed out to Sheffield from Ian and Shirley's in York. Nic and his twin, Rob, were born in Sheffield in the sixties, where most of their family was from. Many of Nic's relatives still live in the area. Nic loves Sheffield and returned there for university. As a result, Sheffield is one of his special places. I have heard many stories from his Sheffield days!
We were fortunate to have tea with his favorite Uncle, Dave and his partner, Deb. It was fun to meet more of Nic's family and hear stories from his youth. While Nic was at university, he spent a good chunk of time with his extended family. Uncle Dave told me about Nic swallowing mercury as one of his 'science experiments' at university (I am really questioning the quality and integrity of science schools in the UK during the 70s now). Somehow in all the years that story had never surfaced.
During tea I learned that in England you have a Big Gran, and if you are lucky, a Little Gran. These are what we, in America, would grandmother and great grandmother. Nic's uncle still lives just a few miles from where Big Gran and Little Gran lived all of Nic's life. Of course we had to go see Big Gran's house (We drove past Little Gran's house too, but did not stop). Nic has told hundreds of times about going to his Gran's house and eating meat pies, fishing with his Grandad, and the happy memories he has in this house. It was pretty special to see these houses, and to get a picture of Nic in front.
Then we headed toward Peak District National Park, or Darbyshire, and drove some of the roads Nic cycled in his youth. We stopped at his favorite pub, the Millstone, for a late lunch and a beer for Nic to celebrate his memories. It was a great pub - maybe the best pub food we have had since we have been here, which is a bold statement. I had a vegetarian, mushroom and Brie Wellington. It was very yummy. I almost perished waiting for our food, so it really helped my mood that it was delicious.
Nic had a meat and potato pie.
Me and my Wellington.
Although a fancyish pub today, it is true to its roots, welcoming hikers, bikers, and walkers - also dogs. The English love their dogs. Dogs are everywhere and only rarely on leads. They are well behaved and polite dogs, as one would expect from English dogs. Most restaurants and stores welcome them in, and often have water and treats for them. It makes me miss my dogs a lot.
The landscape was beautiful.
After driving the roads Nic had ridden for so many years of his life, we drove down to Bakewell. I had no idea the significance of Bakewell on English society, but it is a very posh place. They are also the home of the Bakewell tart. We tried to buy one, but arrived just at 4p.m. as all of the shops had closed up for the day, so we missed our chance. Really, I am ok with this. The Bakewell tart looked fairly anti-climatic to me and probably not worth the calories. I wasn't even impressed enough with it to take a picture. I know, very seriously unimpressive. Maybe I am wrong and some day will correct my current position on the Bakewell tart. For now, I am okay with missing it.
This 'Ay up mi Duck' is an English term of endearment. Nic often says this to me. I had never seen these words written down, so I thought this little ornament was cute enough to snap a quick photo.
We walked along the river and watched the fish. We took a nap in the sunshine, and then we watched these old men play croquet. Until very recently I did not know the difference between croquet, cricket, polo, or snooker. There is a difference, for the record. English people feel strongly about their unique sports and insist that the rest of the world does too - just not America... I think this is proganda.
Little did I know that Bakewell was also home of a love lock bridge. Had I known, Nic and I would have come to this town prepared with our own lock. It was very sweet to look at all of the locks, and the names engraved there.
If you ever go Bakewell, bring a lock, eat a tart.
After a Darbyshire day, we headed out to the M1 to head to Bedford and the last bit of our trip. Throughout our life together Nic has repeatedly stated, "English roads are the cause of most arguments in marriage." I have scoffed and replied, "Google Maps has saved relationships everywhere!"
Until yesterday. There are two versions of this story. Since this my blog, you get my version. I suspect that Google Maps and its happy algorithm have been either thoroughly confused by Nic and I, or have completely melted down and malfunctioned. Yesterday when I typed in Bedford, Google, helped a little by Nic and his refusal to follow Google's recommendations, led us on a wild goose chase through the English Countryside. I estimate that 60% of the time Nic disregards, disbelieves, or thinks he will outwit Google Maps. I also estimate that about 13% of the time Nic does whatever the fuck he wants with no regard for Google's thoughts, feelings, or frustrations. Patiently she leads us back. I trust Google. I do what she says. I carefully repeat what she says because I do not love the 13% of the time we are trying to get back where Google wants us to be. Nic believes I should be able direct him with Google Maps and read a map at the same time. Let me be clear, if I am standing a crossroads with a map and NOT moving, I can sometimes find where I am. In moments of even greater personal accomplishment, I can even find where I want to be. In my tantamount life experiences I have very, very rarely gotten from where I am to where I want to be using a map.
I cannot do these things in a moving car, in a different country. I can't. Handing me the paper map is an act of ridiculous hope and a promise for a meltdown.
Ridiculous hope met a meltdown yesterday. I cannot explain what Google wanted us to do. Nic can and will explain it. It still makes no sense to me. When I gave up, and Nic informed he was 'no longer listening to Google,' I threw up my hands and accepted we now lived in England in a remote village somewhere outside Sheffield. Nic, mastermind that he is, somehow found the M1 and did whatever the fuck he wanted and got us to Bedford.
Do I agree that Nic was right and Google was wrong? Evidence would indicate that is the case. I cannot accept this reality. I believe in Google as though Google were God. Nic worries about the world and the fate of society and what will happen to us if someone every hijacks Google Maps and the chaos that would ensue. I just pray that when the terrorists take over Google that I am at home, safely in Fort Collins with no need for a map or Google.
I personally believe the Google Maps just broke up with us and dumped us in rural England to sort ourselves out alone. Nic, of course, showed her. I hope we all make up with Google really, really soon. I still wanted to see more of England, and learning to read a map while in a moving vehicle is outside of my wheelhouse. Driving is also out of the question for me. I am giving all of us a cooling off period of a few days while I do laundry.
I promise I will share when I feel more confident about our relationship with Google Maps. Until then, we are staying close to Bedford.
In other news relating to my utter lack of understanding my position in the world, I realized today that while running in the Putnoe woods I have been running in a circle all along. I kept seeing the same people over and over again. It got weird. I kept thinking, I feel like I am going around in circles... It makes a lot more sense now that I know I am going around and around. Wild, huh?
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