#18 - Back Where I Always Meant to Be

I know there was quite a gap between Blog 17 and Blog 18, but the delay to this one has been bordering on ridiculous.

The reason?

Life, mainly.

More specifically, a decision that has consumed pretty much every spare minute we've had over the last few months.

Since our eldest daughter headed off to start her first year at university, my wife and I finally made the big call that we'd talked about for years but never quite acted upon:

We moved back home.

Or, more accurately, back to God's Own Country.

It's a bigger decision than it might sound. Although we're both Yorkshire born and bred, neither of us had actually lived there for around thirty-four years. University took us elsewhere and then life, careers, mortgages and family kept us rooted in the Midlands for the best part of three decades.

The plan had always been that one day we'd end up back in Yorkshire.

The trouble with "one day" is that it has an annoying habit of never arriving.

Until now.

For me, the dream location was always the so-called Golden Triangle of Leeds, York and Harrogate. When I left for university all those years ago, I genuinely thought I'd eventually settle somewhere in that area. Then I followed my wife to her job in the Midlands, built a life there and before I knew it thirty years had disappeared.

Suddenly "one day" became today.

Of course, deciding to move is the easy bit.

Finding a property, selling your own, packing up decades of accumulated rubbish that you've somehow convinced yourself you'll need one day, and then trying to become vaguely organised at the other end takes rather a lot of time.

Hence the blogging silence.

But now we're largely settled, which means I finally have fresh adventures, new running routes and entirely different beer-related distractions to bore people with.

A Whole New Running World

The biggest change has undoubtedly been the running.

In terms of beer and running, my new home differs from the Midlands in two very important ways.

Let's start with running.

I now live in the Vale of York.

And it is flat.

Very flat.

Comically flat.

If you blindfolded me and dropped me onto some of the local trails, I'd swear I was running on a giant green snooker table.

It's also wonderfully rural. Most of my routes now involve farm tracks, bridleways, quiet country lanes and trails threading through huge expanses of agricultural land. There are very few roads, very few people and a lot of open countryside.

The downside is that there's absolutely nowhere to hide from the wind.

And when Yorkshire decides it's going to be windy, it really commits to the idea.

I remember my first proper Saturday run vividly.

I headed down towards Tadcaster along sections of the Jorvik Way, setting off through a light morning mist. Over the course of sixteen miles I didn't see another person. Not one.

No traffic.

No dog walkers.

No cyclists.

Just birdsong, distant sheep and the occasional rustle from something disappearing into a hedgerow.

It was almost unnervingly quiet.

I actually switched off my podcast because it felt wrong to interrupt the silence.

For a moment I thought every run was going to be like that.

It turned out to be an exception.

The following Saturday I ran exactly the same route.

This time one of the named storms was battering the country.

Forty-mile-per-hour winds.

Gusts pushing seventy.

At one particularly exposed section I turned a corner and found myself running directly into the gale. My forward progress slowed so dramatically that I immediately thought of the old U2 song Running to Stand Still.

If you get the reference, congratulations on your age.

The reality is that wind now features on almost every run. Fortunately, the 4:30am starts tend to avoid the worst of it, and those early mornings have delivered one unexpected bonus: the sunrises.

Good grief, the sunrises.

I seem incapable of completing a run without stopping to take photographs of them. That, combined with my recently acquired obsession with photographing ancient Yorkshire churches, means my WhatsApp contacts are regularly subjected to photographs that they almost certainly don't want.

I know.

I've become that bloke.

Wildlife and Other Yorkshire Attractions

One thing I've noticed immediately is just how much wildlife there is.

In the Midlands I occasionally saw the odd deer.

Up here they're practically regular running companions.

Hares are everywhere.

Red kites seem permanently overhead.

And there are birds of prey that I still can't identify despite enthusiastically trying.

Another surprise has been the friendliness of fellow runners.

Everywhere I go there's a nod, a wave or a quick "morning".

Then again, we're in Yorkshire.

We're a friendly bunch.

Provided you're not from Lancashire.

My First Yorkshire Run-and-Beer Adventure

I've already managed my first proper running-and-beer adventure since moving north.

Many more are planned, including a run into York itself followed by beer and a train ride home. But that's a story for another day.

This particular adventure was a birthday run.

The destination was Wetherby Brewery.

Now, Wetherby is only about four miles away from home, so naturally I devised a twenty-mile route to get there.

This route also took in a good stretch of the Jorvik Way and passed through nearby Tadcaster, one of Yorkshire's most famous brewing towns.

Tadcaster remains home to John Smith's Brewery—now owned by Heineken—and Samuel Smith's Brewery, which deserves a brief diversion.

A Brief Word on Samuel Smith's

Samuel Smith's is run—or at least was until recently run—by the legendary Humphrey Smith.

A man who has managed to cultivate a reputation somewhere between traditional pub landlord and Bond villain.

His pubs operate under famously strict rules.

No mobile phones.

No music.

No televisions.

No children.

So far, so reasonable.

Then comes the controversial one:

No dogs.

As a dog owner, this is where we part company.

We actually have a Sam Smith's pub in our village.

When I visited shortly after moving in, I found the landlord, staff and locals to be genuinely welcoming. The beer was solid and the atmosphere refreshingly old-school.

The biggest surprise?

£2.80 a pint.

I thought I'd accidentally travelled back to 2011.

Meanwhile the rival pub across the road charges roughly double, although it does compensate by serving Timothy Taylor and Ossett beers.

You get what you pay for.

Running on Empty

Back to the birthday run.

The route itself was enjoyable enough, but Yorkshire had decided to produce one of the hottest days we'd experienced since moving.

Unfortunately, I still hadn't located my running water bottles amongst the mountain of moving boxes cluttering the house.

No problem, I thought.

I'll buy some water en route.

Reader, I did not buy some water en route.

The opportunities simply never materialised.

So the final few miles were completed feeling considerably thirstier than intended.

Not ideal.

Discovering Boston Spa

A few days earlier we'd been exploring the local area and stumbled into Boston Spa.

While wandering around we found an Ossett-owned pub tucked just off the high street.

Now you're talking.

Sadly I was driving, which limited me to a sneaky half and a coffee.

But I finally got to try White Rat, a beer I'd heard endlessly praised but virtually never seen in the Midlands.

Turns out the rumours were true.

Excellent.

The Ossett Blonde wasn't far behind either.

A return visit is definitely required.

Wetherby Brewery and a New Bayley's

The brewery taproom itself was perfectly pleasant.

Friendly staff.

Friendly customers.

Friendly atmosphere.

Again, Yorkshire.

The beer, however, was merely okay.

Not bad.

Not great.

Just... fine.

Which was slightly disappointing.

The bigger discovery came later.

I've accidentally found my Yorkshire version of Bayley's of Bromsgrove.

Tucked away in Wetherby is a fantastic independent coffee shop, wine bar, cocktail bar and craft beer bar rolled into one.

Four rotating taps.

A cracking can selection.

And, crucially, a very different brewery lineup to Bayley's.

Less DEYA and Verdant.

More Track and Sureshot.

I can live with that.

Very happily, in fact.

I finally got to try Milson and Super Milson from Sureshot and they were every bit as good as I'd been led to believe.

A very happy discovery indeed.

And Then There's York...

The really exciting part is that I haven't even started properly exploring York yet.

After all, it's home to the legendary House of Trembling Madness, one of the UK's most iconic beer destinations.

The fact that it's now practically on my doorstep feels faintly dangerous.

For both my liver and my bank balance.

That, however, is an adventure for the next blog.

And trust me, it's a good one.