It's been a busy few weeks.
Actually, that's probably an understatement.
Between work trips, long runs, pub discoveries, brewery visits, a mini adventure with one of my oldest friends and an unexpected country music festival, August has been fairly packed.
So where to start?
Business as Usual
Let's begin with the mundane.
Work has involved the usual three to four days away each week, which means falling into a familiar and rather enjoyable routine:
Work → Hotel → Pub → 10-mile run → Two pints of cask → Laptop.
Rinse and repeat.
The good news is that the running is going well. At the moment I can comfortably string together 30-mile mid-week, usually in a block of three, back-to-back, even around work commitments, which is great for maintaining fitness.
An added benefit of my northern "home from home" is that whilst the running routes involve navigating the occasional light industrial estate, which isn't the most scenic, the beer selection is genuinely world-class. A constantly rotating range of cask ales sits firmly in my sweet spot and makes even the most uninspiring business park surroundings a little more tolerable.
When I can actually get a room reservation, however, Oundle is my second favourite overnight stop.
The hotel itself is perfectly fine. The real attraction is Oundle. It's every bit as attractive as many Cotswold villages, surrounded by countryside that provides accessible trail running throughout the year. More importantly, it's home to Nene Valley Brewery by the river, where you'll find excellent beer and genuinely friendly people.
A winning combination.
Running in a Giant Air Fryer
As you've probably noticed, summer appears to have forgotten how to end.
By August we'd reached heatwave number five. Temperatures were regularly pushing into the mid-thirties and barely dropping below thirty degrees overnight.
The upside was that every trail is bone dry and rock hard.
The downside was that every trail is bone dry and rock hard.
Conditions were fantastic for running, but I managed to roll my ankle a few times. Thankfully, luck remained on my side and I escaped without serious injury, although not by much on a couple of occasions.
I haven't had a traditional holiday this summer. At least, not by normal people's standards. Instead, I've been gradually using my stockpiled holiday allowance to take the odd day off here and there.
Weekends are generally reserved for family adventures with my wife and daughters. Therefore, these random weekdays belong entirely to me.
And naturally, I chose to spend them running substantial distances to breweries and pubs.
Harrogate and a Beer Disaster
My first day off of the month involved a 25-mile run to Harrogate.
It was broadly the same route as my previous Roosters Brewery adventure, although this time the objective was to explore some other craft beer bars and brewpubs in Harrogate.
In the end, I only made it to one.
North Bar.
I'd heard that North Brewing had encountered difficulties before being rescued by the original owner. Interestingly, the Harrogate North Bar didn't appear to be serving any North beers. Not that I was particularly disappointed. I've always found them perfectly adequate but rarely memorable. Basically, bang average.
Instead, I opted for a double dry-hopped pale from Left Handed Giant.
Now, I'd previously visited their Bristol brewery with my regular craft-beer-drinking companion. Every beer had been fine enough but entirely forgettable.
This one was memorable.
Unfortunately, for all the wrong reasons.
My old nemesis, diacetyl, was present in force. Buttery, slick and unpleasant.
Whether it was poor brewing, poor packaging or poor cellar management, I have no idea.
What I do know is that it wasn't good.
Life is too short and there are too many excellent breweries around.
Left Handed Giant has therefore found itself on my banned list.
Salvation in Knaresborough
Rather than wait around for other bars to open, I pushed on to Knaresborough to catch the train home.
An excellent decision.
I stumbled across Blind Jack's, a pub that had recently won various awards.
What a place. One of the best pubs I've visited. Full stop.
Beautiful interior, fiercely independent, genuinely friendly service and a superb beer selection. I could happily lose an entire afternoon there. A fantastic Roosters summer ale on cask was followed by their headline German offering is Augustiner Helles which they serve fresh on draft. Apparently, they made history by becoming the first venue in Yorkshire authorised to pour this legendary, fiercely protected Munich Helles lager from the keg.
Whether that's true or not, it tasted superb.
Beer adventure rescued.
Heatwave Challenge Number Two
This served as a useful warm-up for the main event.
Having clocked more than 400km during July, I felt in good shape for an adventure I'd organised months earlier with one of my oldest friends. The same friend who happened to be my best man.
The plan was simple.
A hotel in Masham.
A challenging run around Nidderdale.
Beer.
Another run to York.
More beer.
BBQ.
Film.
Additional beer.
A flawless itinerary.
The adventure began the night before when I introduced him to two local institutions: the Sam Smith's and my local's local.
Research purposes, obviously.
The next morning greeted us with 34°C temperatures and motorway signs warning of dangerous heatwave conditions.
Perfect.
We were, after all, planning to spend some hours running across exposed moorland.
Nidderdale in an Oven
I actually cope quite well with heat. Cold remains my sworn enemy.
My only concern was hydration because my relationship with water can best be described as reluctant or some would say, gerbil like.
The run itself was spectacular.
Rolling moorland, incredible scenery and endless sunshine.
Perhaps slightly too much sunshine.
My mate suffered more than I did, especially across the exposed sections. Thankfully, despite the obligatory Garmin navigation issue that appears to plague every run I undertake in new terrain, we made it back.
Very dehydrated.
But alive and ready for beer! And honestly, I loved every minute.
Recovery, Yorkshire Style
Quite by coincidence, the route happened to finish close to Theakston Brewery.
Funny how these things happen (actually, for people who know me, I don't do coincidences and it was completely planned....).
I've never been the biggest fan of Theakston beers, often finding them a little malt sweet for my taste.
The brewery bar changed my mind.
Everything we tried was excellent.
Had they planned last orders at the truly criminal time of 5:30pm, we could easily have stayed all evening.
Black Sheep Brewery followed.
The beer flights impressed my mate. Or at least the concept.
The food impressed me more than the beers.
To be fair, after surviving on breakfast, a Tracker bar and a packet of crisps whilst running across Yorkshire in thirty-plus degree temperatures, I was hungry enough to eat a scabby monkey.
The beers themselves?
Entirely acceptable.
Unfortunately, so memorable that I can't remember a single one.
That probably tells its own story. That said, I've always found Black Sheep very ordinary, solid and consistent, but very ordinary.
The evening concluded with another excellent pint of Theakston's sat outside in the warm Yorkshire evening before my mate sensibly retired to recover.
I retired to a Malbec and a very large bottle of sparkling water.
I may be reckless but I'm not stupid!
York and Tourist Season
The following day was forecast to be cooler.
This translated into temperatures somewhere in the high twenties with humidity levels best described as tropical greenhouse.
After a decent breakfast, which was boldly advertised as a Yorkshire Breakfast despite containing no black pudding whatsoever (hence shouldn't ever be badged as Yorkshire - I can only assume that it's to appease the American tourists that seemed everywhere in Masham), we headed back to my place before running into York.
Again, some people would question the wisdom of running in those conditions.
They may have a point.
I still enjoyed it.
York, unsurprisingly, was absolutely packed.
Our first stop was the Thornbridge pub I'd been meaning to visit for ages.
Excellent.
Good cask.
Good keg.
My mate enjoyed the pilsner while I stuck to cask as any sensible Yorkshireman should.
A brief pilgrimage followed to the House of Trembling Madness before domestic responsibilities called and we returned home for the BBQ.
The evening also featured some Five Points beers and a lovely gift from my mate: a selection of Lithuanian beers acquired during a recent trip.
Unexpected.
Thoughtful.
And very welcome.
So far I've only opened the Helles.
It was a belter.
Enter the Cowboy Hat
Most people would have considered that enough adventure for one weekend.
Not us.
Saturday afternoon saw my wife and I attend the inaugural Yorkshire Heart Country Festival.
Yorkshire Heart is both a vineyard and brewery, which seems suspiciously close to perfection.
Such was my commitment to the event that I'd purchased a cowboy hat.
Granted, it cost £5 from Vinted, but that's not really the point.
I'd convinced my wife that camping was preferable to attempting a late-night taxi and would make everything feel more adventurous.
Miraculously, I was right.
The afternoon involved sitting amongst the vines listening to acoustic music whilst alternating between wine and cask ale.
The evening migrated to a marquee where bands played as most sensible people sat just outside because the acoustics inside were somewhere between enthusiastic and weaponised.
Eventually, however, the combination of falling temperatures, increasing alcohol consumption and a band finding its groove persuaded everyone into a full-blown hoedown. Myself included......
Living the dream.
The Revenge of Cold Weather
Naturally, as we headed back to the tent, my wife observed that it had become much colder than anticipated.
This was unfortunate because she'd packed sleeping attire more suited to a heatwave than a Yorkshire night.
Fortunately, I had thought ahead.
One of my defining characteristics is excessive preparation.
I had packed fleeces, insulated jackets and enough spare layers to survive a minor Arctic expedition.
My wife was rescued.
I, meanwhile, donated most of my warm clothing and spent the night remembering why cold remains my lifelong nemesis.
The Camping Curse
Finally, no camping trip of mine would be complete without honouring a long-established tradition.
It always rains before I pack away a tent.
Always.
Months of drought.
Record temperatures.
Virtually no rainfall.
Didn't matter.
Thirty minutes before we started packing up, the heavens opened.
Some laws of nature simply cannot be challenged.
And with that, another adventure was complete.
The good news is there's another one already on the horizon.
This time, my wife will be joining me from the start. All I'll say is that it's world-class beer related!
What could possibly go wrong?
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