H is for Hill

Heading out of Whitby on the West Cliff road, I coasted (geddit?) down to a little village called, according to my GPS, either Sandend or Toilets.  Just up around the bend, which incidentally is my song for the day, was a Horrible Hill.  Straight up to 190 metres.  Half way up, a sign proclaimed Welcome to the North Yorks Moors.  Huh.

Staithes was my next destination, a picture-postcard village crammed into a tiny gorge.  A forest of signs warned drivers not to drive down.   A vertiginous drop, and cobbled streets , everything a cyclist could want, but it is a beautiful place and worth the ride down.  Nearly worth the rode back up too, which was the opposite -suonigitrev?  I was enjoying it so much that I forgot to stop and take the posrcard picture. 

Back to the main road which cleverly avoided the steep headland.  Unfortunately I was following NCN 1 which took the scenic route right over the top.  I pictured the hale and hearty Yorkshire cyclists planning the route, with their super-light bikes.

I had to stop for elevenses after this. 11.45 and only fifteen miles covered.  Another tiny village, another climb, passing the Potash and Dark Matter research station.  I think I know where the dark matter is. Most of it is in my panniers.  Then a glorious open-road 35 mph descent into Saltburn.   I nearly started to like the North Yorks Moors.  Saltburn is attractive, a Victorian town built on the cliff overlooking the beach.  Only spoilt by a zigzag corniche road up the hill. 

After Saltburn the hills, and the scenery, have subsided.  I'm now in Redcar in what seems to be an imitation Wetherspoons pub. Or maybe I've passed the north-south divide on Wetherspoons terms?