Previously in this Multi-Titled Collaboration:
Passing Newcastle, Durham and Middlesborough as rapidly as possible, QM and George, alias, you know who by now, knew there would be a problem further down the road as they approached Tyke (Yorkshire for our US colleagues) territory.
Whilst the others headed for a small, partially functioning but unknown to most Airport in the small North Yorkshire village of Great Smeaton, local man and one time professional wheel tapper, Seaton Carew secretly took his leave and headed back towards Hartlepool. There was someone or something he felt a great urge to see, but couldn't quite put his finger on what it was.
The village of Great Smeaton was dull at best. Despite being listed in the Domesday Book, and although many armies have passed through the village over the years, including that of William the Conqueror on his way north, the most interesting fact is that none of them stopped. With a couple of hours to kill, the dysfunctional band of weary cyclists happened upon the Bay Horse Inn, an original Inn since the day it was originally built. With nothing better to do, the drinking began.
Queen Mudder got the ball rolling by ordering a round of Horse's Necks, demanding that everyone drank them in one go, as she claimed they used to in the Officer's Mess back in the day. After several of these, the bar ran out of horses and the motley crew were too cute to fall for the old 'substitute it for a Zebra Neck and no one will notice' trick, so the drinks changed to ale.
Proper Northern ale like Blacksheep Riggwelter.
Approaching Hartlepool from the south, Seaton Carew veered off to the right and followed his nose. He had to, most of the time, as it was in front of him, but he just presume it was the smell of the sea drawing him in. Memories of The Buggerall came flooding back. Not that he was actually in that story but he always told anyone who would listen that he was an unknown stowaway. As no one knew he was there then no one could prove he wasn't. Or was. He could tell there was not long to go, but he didn't know where he was going.
Having drunk the Bay Horse dry, the pedalling pretenders left to find the airfield. Fortunately not many cars had been invented in the area so the wobbling wheelers were in little danger of being run over as they weaved their way along the roads. Twice JO and JLF had to drag George and Skoob out of the ditches after mini races ended in tears. The fault was blamed on Morse who was accused of goading them on.
Soon, lights appeared in the distance and the gaggle gathered around waiting for the plane. No one had remembered the time table so Queen Mudder took control and instructed everyone to wait patiently.
Just to the south of Hartlepool Seaton Carew pedalled slowly along The Front. There was something vaguely familiar about the place, something that made Seaton think he had some sort of affinity with the little seaside town on the edge of the North Sea. Something he couldn't quite put his finger on.
All of a sudden they could hear the drone of the aeroplane. It came in seemingly slowly, both propellers propelling it along. All chatter ceased as the group watched the small craft in silence and with bated breath as it weaved and wobbled toward the strip of grass with candles either side.
After an age the plane came to a bumpy halt, the steps were lowered and a man stepped out.
"That's not Monkey Woods," cried a voice in the shadows.
Seaton Carew realised what it was that attracted him to the small town near Hartlepool. It was the fact that they everyone was so friendly and caring.
This was proved when he crashed into a sign on the way out and saw it read, "Welcome to Seaton Carew. Please drive carefully".