The weather is so lousy this summer that a day with no rain forecast must be seized with both handlebars. So the Brompton and I set off to find the Great Stone of Fourstones (there are no others, which makes the name quite Monty Pythonish). I made into a proper ride – it must have been at least 4 miles from the station! – and got damp feet walking over the moor to look at it. I then got cold feet at the thought of climbing up it – the carved steps were very worn, and I had my dignity and my bones to think of – so I was happy to admire it from ground level.
It may be a glacial erratic, and it’s not as big as I had imagined, but anything would be dwarfed by the bare moor it sits in. The view towards Ingleborough was, of course, tremendous.