It had been a late decision to go north from Yorkshire for a 5 five hours travelling to just see a bridge. Even if it meant getting back home very late the next day. I had made that choice, and Jools really did not have a large say in it. But, she said she enjoyed it; but the trip back down on Sunday was longer than I had thought. The roads to Newcastle are very good, but north of their they quickly go two a simple two lane blacktop, and the miles get slower.
We were heading north to Queensferry, to see the famous bridge, or one of the most famous bridges in Britain; the Forth Ral Bridge. Quite possibly the pinicle of Victorian engineering, and a monument to its achievments.
To get there was going to take some time, but we were not in a haurry. After the disappointment of the transporter bridge in Newport, we headed to a more famous version in Middlesborough. After finding our way in, we saw the bridge and headed in a raoundabout way until we were on the approach road. The gates barring our way meant that this bridge was also closed. So, we turned round and headed to the hills. Our road of choice was not the Great North Road, the A1, but one that wanders accross the border moors that mark the boundry between England and Scotland. That road is the A68, and as it climbs into the hills, as it travels along the path of a Roman Road dead straight. In two places there are a series of blind summits, all prewarned about the dangers and to slow down, etc. The first three are like a large hump backed bridge, and nothing too stomach turning. The second series, however, has a hill with slopes of 1:5 on wither side, and a quite sharp summit. We took it at 55 the first time; queue screams and whoops of delight. Shall we do it again, I asked Jools. Not waiting for the answer, I found a place to turn round and took them at 65mph. The front wheels lifted off the road this time. Whilst looking for a place to turn around again, we noticed that we had not passed another car going the other way, and so we had a clear road. This time I put my foot to the floor and we hit it at nearly 80, which is really quite some over the speed limit, and not really that safe. But, it was wonderful, even in our little Polo.
The Scottish border is marked by a car park and a carved stone with a lonely gresy spoon. We passed it and into Scotland. First town we came to was Jedburgh. We parked up and went to find a bank as we had no cash. We got a handfull of Scottish notes that we knew we would have trouble spending back in England tomorrow. But, now laden with cash we went to find a place to get a coffee. Finding one we had a nice Americano complete with fresh shortbread; well, we were in Scotland after all.
Further on we passed through seemingly endless woods and forests of golden trees, once again beneath wonderful blue skies.
Copy & paste to friend: (Click inside box; Ctrl + C to copy; Ctrl + V to paste)
|
|
read more blogs!
|