York, Day Two
After the previous day’s 18 km wander around York, I woke up feeling like someone had cast my legs in concrete overnight. Still, Saturday is parkrun day. So that’s how my day began. It turned into a bit of a shambles, in more ways than one. Read on, dear reader, and all shall be revealed.
York parkrun: Flatter Than Flat Jack McFlat
York parkrun takes place on the Knavesmire racecourse — a vast, open expanse to the south of the city centre where the horses normally thunder round. The parkrunners, by contrast, shuffle, jog, and occasionally glide around the inner tarmacked service road. It’s one and a half laps, which means you start on one side of the racecourse and finish on the other. Efficient, if mildly disorienting.
One of the reasons I’d picked my hotel was its proximity to the start line. A short hobble later, I joined the crowd of about 900 runners and set off at what could generously be described as “moving forward”. Everything hurt. Everything. I came in 664th in around 36 minutes — slower than recent weeks, but given the state of my legs, I’ll take it. Anyway, it’s another “Y” and a 66th different venue. Not as intimate as Vermuyden Way, last week. But just as flat. Flatter than a flat thing. Flatter than Flat Jack McFlat. How flat? Flatter than a pack of furniture from Ikea. Flatter than a cap off of Peaky Blinders. That’s really flat, is that. Yes, it’s flatter than Flat Eric playing Flat Beat in the key of C Flat Major.
You get the picture. The contours were limited.
I made it back to the hotel with ten minutes to spare before breakfast officially ended. Fortunately, the staff didn’t seem in any hurry to pack up, so I enjoyed a leisurely refuelling while chatting to a family from Clitheroe who were also touristing. Their older kid — maybe 12 — is already faster than I’ve ever been. Youth is wasted on the young.
Quick shower, fresh clothes, and then it was time for the main event: caching.
Public Transportation
I decided to take the bus down to the station, partly because my legs were staging a protest, and partly because I’d been there the night before but had somehow “left” the Sidetracked virtual unlogged. Tiredness plus not noticing it on the GPS map will do that.
I really must accept that the handheld GPS is basically ornamental in a city. The OS map is just a riot of colours and symbols that might as well be modern art. The phone with OpenStreetMap is infinitely clearer. But anyway, here’s a picture of a train, because the Sidetracked Virtual wanted one. It’s a very nice train.
Back at the plot, the bus required a tap of my card (or phone) to pay. I tapped on, hopped off, and then my bank pinged me to say I’d been charged… one penny. Cue mild panic about whether I was supposed to tap off as well. Apparently not. We’ll see what the final bill looks like.
The virtual itself was easy enough, except the key word on the clock face was hidden behind the hour hand. I had to message Stu, the CO, for confirmation. Not the first time an EarthCache or virtual has required divine intervention.
Into the City: the Shambles Begins
From the station I crossed the river and headed vaguely Minster‑wards. This is where the day turned into a shambles — quite literally.
York was heaving. And my phone signal was… not. Anyone who’s tried to live‑log caches or Adventure Labs will know the pain of a flaky connection. Constant walking backwards and forwards trying to find a signal. Constant wondering whether that last logging action worked, or even started. And some unpleasant “sotto voce” mutterings.
I started in the Museum Gardens — a lovely spot with a nice, straightforward set of labs. From there I moved to Bootham Bar, where my phone signal gave up entirely. Eventually I climbed onto the walls and managed to coax enough 0s and 1s through the ether to log the labs. There were EarthCaches and virtuals nearby too, but live logging was impossible. And live logging mattered today, because I was closing in on a milestone: find number 30,000. I wanted the EarthCache Church Micro at the Minster to be the big one. That meant keeping a very close eye on the count.
The March to #30000
I wandered to the front of the Minster — packed with tourists — and then I looped round the back and then back onto the walls for a few more finds. From there I headed north into York St John University’s grounds, then back to the Minster when I was ready for the milestone.
Just as I was muttering about the lack of signal, my phone pinged: York CityConnect public Wi‑Fi available.
Well, why not. How bad can it be?
It required submission of an email address and it was far from perfect, but it appeared at exactly the moments I needed it most. Much like the Phial of Galadriel, it brought light to some dark places where all other lights had gone out. Not all of them, mind you. But enough. Connecting to it when in need became a bit of a Hobbit. (Do you see what I did there?)
With its help, I logged a War Memorial EarthCache, another virtual, and a cluster of labs south of the Minster. Then I looped towards King’s Square and eventually down The Shambles. Fun fact: “Shambles” comes from an old English word for a bench or stall for selling goods. The street used to be full of butchers. One of the lab stages here required counting curved metal hooks on the outside of a shop. So yes — I went for a butcher’s hook. But back at the plot, Shambles was, as you would expect on Easter Saturday, absolutely packed to the gunwales with tourists.
Indiana Jones and the Water of Life
From Fossgate I wandered back towards Ousegate and St Sampson’s Square. By the time I reached Stonegate, my legs were staging a full‑scale rebellion. I’d passed a few pubs but didn’t fancy a pint. Then I spotted Little Spirit Merchant — craft ales upstairs, fine whiskies downstairs.
A restorative Scottish dram later, I felt human again. Well, I sat there for a good half hour at least. By that time, the whisky had descended as far as my feet and all felt calm again. I had a very nice Tomatin.
Back out in the street, even Galadriel failed me, and I resorted to sponging free wi-fi off a nearby pub. Needs must.
At St Helen’s Square I sat and solved the final puzzle for the Indiana Jones Adventure Lab series. I can’t say where the final is, but it was somewhere I’d already walked past. A quick retrace, an easy find, and that was that.
Logic said I should head back to the station and catch a bus. My feet said the taxi rank outside the Minster was the promised land. Feet won.
Evening, Logs, and the Mystery of the Missing Distance
Back at the hotel I ate, sipped a couple of beers, and tidied up the day’s logs. I ended on 64 finds, which isn’t bad for a day spent battling crowds, walls, and the whims of mobile phone connectivity.
I have no idea how far I walked. I’d tried to track it on my running watch, but at some point I must have knocked the start/stop button while putting my backpack on. So the recorded distance is meaningless. It felt like a long way, though.
And that was Day Two in York: a parkrun, a milestone, a shambles, a whisky, and a whole lot of wandering. Exactly how a good caching day should be.
