A nice lady came up to me and said that I looked lost. Yes, I was. So where young man are you headed? She had a thick Yorkshire accent like most people in the area, so I had some difficulty understanding her.

I am headed to Swain Hill. My dear, she shouted, that's miles from here! Also it is uphill, she pointed up the steep road I was hoping that I would not have to take.

She flagged down a passing car and the driver rolled down his window. They knew each other, the lady telling him about this gentleman who had lost his way and needed a lift. He was driving the opposite direction and turned his car around.

No I do not want to impose myself, please do not let be be such a trouble. No you are not trouble at all the lady smiled and touched my shoulder. Allow me to demonstrate some of what we call Yorkshire hospitality!

I hopped in the back seat and off we went. Twenty minutes later we had made it to the top of the hill and I thanked the kind driver as I got out.

Walking back down the hill was much easier, but despite the increased velocity as I sped down the road at a quick pace, stopping once in a while to ask if this was the way to Shipley, I had a long way to go.

Once when I thought I was pretty near, the guy at the Fish and Chips place said it would take me another forty-five minutes. No way, I was a fast walker and would get there sooner.

One hour later I had arrived back in my hotel room and collapsed on the bed. The program called The Office was on the television, and the black English humor helped greatly to distract me from my throbbing feet and sore blisters.

Yet another fine adventure in this interesting countryside called West Yorkshire.