I made it up Neamour again. It is hard work but worth it to get there. It sounds as though I’m climbing mountains, although it does feel like that to me. I was really struggling with my neck, shoulders, arms and hands. I have osteoarthritis and trapped nerves so pushing a wheelchair, and my entire body weight, with only my upper body strength is very hard work at the best of times. I gave in and took a Tramadol – not something to be done lightly – which worked its magic (which is why it is not to be taken lightly) and decided it was a beautiful afternoon and I was going to see just how much I could manage.
It is not really a consideration unless you are walking with crutches, sticks or in a wheelchair, but uneven pavements, roads, pot holes – and especially the bits that have been cut across by workmen and then filled in, can be really tricksy things to manoeuvre around or over and getting over the ‘ditch’ that runs across the bottom of Neamour Lane is almost harder than pushing up it. It is particularly bad coming down because if I hit that at any speed at all I’ll be, somewhat painfully, out of my chair. Following the snow, there are also a lot of stones and gravel that can bring just one castor to a complete stop or a skid.
However, it was a lovely afternoon. It was a beautiful early spring day – cool, slightly breezy (it’s always breezy up here!) and the sun was shining. Birds were singing and the air was clear with beautiful views already over the north Pennines. I set off – counting as usual and thinking I was probably never going to make it as far as the first garage and farm gate (200 pushes) – I did. 200 pushes more and I was at the first farmhouse and I was starting to glimpse Grassholme Reservoir when I turned back to admire the view – otherwise known as a rest while the burn in my arms disseminated. By this point I had already had to pull across for a quad bike (expected), a delivery van (twice – unexpected) and a car. It was a busy afternoon for a hill which is a dead end onto moorland.
That was when I heard, then saw, the lapwings flying above and over me. There must have been a dozen birds sweeping and hallooing around me as I sat as still as possible watching them, seemingly playing some game I couldn’t understand. While I sat there I could also hear, but could not see, a curlew close by. The sheep stood placidly munching in the field obviously so used to this behaviour that they took no notice. A helicopter flew low and slow nearby.
I pushed on until the lapwings were soaring and calling below me and I was watching the smoke lazily curl from the chimney of the house two-thirds of the way up the hill. The breeze was cooling and welcome. This is the hardest and steepest part of the climb, but the gate seems so close it is hardly worth giving up. It is so steep that I am pleased to have stabilisers out at the back of my chair to stop me tipping over backwards. That would rather spoil the afternoon!
At the top the view is tremendous. I can see the long line of the north Pennines from Cross Fell. There are reservoirs and moorland. Farms dotted around. The line of the quietly flowing Tees, which becomes a much bigger river further east. Occasional cars cannot be heard but are seen like small toys pushing along the line of a road. The feeling is of reaching a mountaintop and surveying the view for miles around. It is hard to choose to set off back down.
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