Or so I thought.
I headed up the road confidently, expecting that I would soon see the familiar sights of Broompark to reassure me. Instead, I saw a sign welcoming me (and safe drivers) to Ushaw Moor. No problem, I thought, I'll just carry on and then head back toward the path; that should get me back to the B6302 (the road that runs in front of our little neighborhood). I ran up, and up, and up, gradually realizing that I was headed away from the B6302, and from Broompark.
Perhaps at this point I ought to have turned around. Or asked for directions.
Instead, I carried on, trusting in my innate sense of direction (really, I did well running in Paris, Austin, and a random town in Ohio--just ask Kelly). Eventually another sign welcomed me to Bearpark. Now Anna has a friend from school whose family lives in Bearpark, and I had intended to visit. But not this morning. At least I knew that Bearpark's main road headed back in the general direction of Durham, and how to get back to Broompark from there.
Only it didn't. At least not in the way I thought it would. So I took the next public footpath (these things are great, if not signposted in great detail) that looked like it headed in the right direction. By this time I had been gone about an hour, and was a little concerned that Lewis might be worried. Since I was still on the map, so to speak, and recognized place names, I wasn't worried. When I came to the crossroads-of-sorts, I had to choose a direction: toward Bishop Auckland (to the south) or Durham city centre. Since I know how to get home from the city, I thought that made sense.
Maybe so, but the road didn't look like I expected it to. I spotted a woman pushing a baby in a stroller, and thought I would swallow my pride and ask for directions. She looked a bit (ok, maybe more than a bit) suspicious when I stopped and said, 'Excuse me.' Who could blame her? I was outfitted for a run, and would have looked a lot less out of place on the Strand in my hometown. So I cut to the chase: 'I am completely lost,' I said. Turns out that's a pretty good way to disarm a stranger. 'Right,' she said. 'Where do you want to be?' 'Broompark,' I said. She directed me to continue on, down the hill and up again, until I saw the sign for Bearpark (yes, Bearpark), and take the public footpath...
well, I did. And she was right. How was I to know that at that crossroads-of-sorts I was supposed to take the lane that looked like it should only be used by tractors?
