50ccPilgrim.uk

These are my great friends Neil and Lindsay; I hope they won't mind me posting this photo here. I've known them both for decades (Lindsay and I were students at Aberystwyth at the same time). And after Thirsk I had the chance to ride up to Darlington and the spend the night at their home.  Neil works with refugee services and Lindsay is an Anglican priest. By rights they should probably be serious and solemn people somberly working to alleviate distress and pastoral need in this troubled world or something. They're anything but. They really are the most mischievous, playful and good-humoured couple I know (who also happen to be working to alleviate distress and pastoral need in this troubled world). It was a delight to see them again, and to meet little Lilian (three days old!) along with quite a lot of the rest of their family. They're good people.  Oh, and Neil loved La Fenice and, I think, is now seriously contemplating buying himself a nice retro scooter...

Sometimes a church's open door just looks too good to resist. I rode through Thirsk, pretty but crowded, with the theme tune for the late 70s TV show All Creatures Great and Small running through my brain; James Herriot's real life veterinary practice was based here. And then I passed St Mary's and saw the open door, saw someone walking in, saw the big sign in the churchyard that said 'Welcome!' So I pulled over.  It's a lovely church, very open and light inside, and a couple of volunteers welcomed me as I came in. "You're fine to look around," one of them said, "but it might be a bit noisy because of the baby club." She gestured towards the front of the nave where a group of young mums were gathered around their prams. I sat in a back pew; I wasn't too bothered about nosing around, but just fancied a little time to pray. It was very noisy: mums chatting, toddlers zooming around and yelling, one very young newborn making h...

On the way to Ampleforth I passed through Byland, a tiny settlement with, as far as I could tell, a pub and a couple of farms. And some very impressive looking ruins. It all looked intriguing, so I made a mental note to circle back after the service in the monastery.  Well, what a revelation. Byland Abbey, a place I'd never heard of, turned out to be one of the biggest and most significant Cistercian abbeys in medieval England. At its heyday it was home to around 240 monks and lay brothers, and even though it's been a ruin since the Reformation, the remains are extensive and very evocative ... oh, and thanks to English Heritage, really well maintained and completely free to visit.  I did what I love to do around these shells of the medieval world: wandered around trying to enter into the life experience of those who'd been there at it's height. Thinking of the hardships, yes; the disease and discomforts, the cold and hunger, the troubles of incessant warfare...

This is the beautiful Ampleforth Abbey in Yorkshire, a contemporary Benedictine monastery which I realised was only a few miles from where I slept last night. That made for an easy first decision about which direction to head.  I arrived in time for the 9am Mass, sung in plainchant and we were encouraged  to join in, no matter how falteringly. Participation, not performance, was the order of the day. I stayed in the silence for some time at the end, just praying the Jesus Prayer and enjoying God's presence. And afterwards the tea room had just opened so I treated myself to a cuppa, which I've just finished. The sun is shining. What a great start to the day. ///folds.chuckling.hairspray

Towards the end of the day yesterday I was on low battery. On my phone, yes, but also in body and soul. I hadn't had much opportunity to sleep during the day, and although York Minster had been magnificent, York traffic was more ... well, trying.  I decided to head for a proper, paid campsite which came up on Google, only to find on arrival that it was a caravan site for members of a caravanning club. I rode away, discouraged and tired, down a random country road, now having no real plan. Then I remembered similar times from the last pilgrimage, and I remembered praying for help and finding just what I needed. "Do not be anxious about anything," Paul wrote to his friends in Philippi, "but in every situation, by prayer and petition, with thanksgiving, present your requests to God." My friend Brian had preached about that in Billesdon Baptist church the day before I left for Assisi, and I'd carried those words around Europe with me.  Long story sho...

It's possible, of course, to get from Leicestershire to York very easily. Jump in the car, head east along the A47 towards Peterborough, and hit the A1(M) north. From my house it's about two and a half hours. So why has it taken me two days?  Because of the road in the photo, and dozens of others like it. I'm travelling slowly, never over 30mph. I'm wandering and meandering. I'm stopping all the time, to poke around and explore, to rest, to sleep (got to keep a handle on my sleep disorder, you see), and to pray. Most of the roads I'm travelling are as empty as the one in the photo. It's easy, when the journey is so quiet and slow, to journey well, to reflect and pray, to arrive at the end of the day as the right person , regardless of whether or not you end up in the right place.  I think that matters.  Robert Frost, in his famous poem , wrote about taking the road 'less travelled by' and said that this made 'all the difference'. ...

These gorgeous fellas were in the wonderful stonemason's yard at the east end of York Minster; everyone has gone home by the time I arrived, but during the day you can watch the work taking place. It's a fantastic idea. There's a fence around the yard, and at one point there's a large stone lions head pressed up against an open piece of fencing - when you peer into his gaping mouth you find a mobile phone set up to take contactless donations to the cathedrals artistic endeavours. Brilliant!  After some slightly stressful struggles to find parking (York is very busy!) I managed to get to Evensong at the cathedral. What a joy. The visiting choir (from St Peter's Church in Streatham, not a place I know) was utterly superb and produced some of the clearest, most well-paced and beautiful psalm singing I've ever heard on a cathedral. The whole service, which was packed out, was a joy.  It took me a long time to appreciate cathedral worship. It's very n...