The radio kicks into life -
"The A171 between Scarborough and Whitby is closed due to snow. You are advised to make only essential journeys".
I look out at the snow which is beginning to fall in waves against the windscreen. I concede the broadcaster may have a point.
The moors spread out as far as I can see; the landscape which, from childhood, has thrilled and terrified me in equal measure. It has some sort of gravitational pull which I will never be able to explain or escape from.
Seeing the sign we turn off of the A171.
"Just seen my first dead sheep" I say.
The thermostat in the car drops so that it marks the outside temperature as being 0 degrees. I have no hat, Val has no gloves, Cat has no socks. Possibly we are not dressed for the occassion.
We drive into the village, past the field where the
I open the car door.
Possibly this would be stating the obvious. As I begin to faff with my shoes a collection of printed directions are blown out of the car.
"You may want to get them, this being a national park and all" Cat says.
She has a point. I clambour through some prickles and rescue them. I am officially a good (if prickled) person.
All rubbish reclaimed we walk to the sign. It is harder to climb on than I remembered and I'm mometarily thankful that no photos have been taken of my hardly dignified ascent.
Somewhat quicker than last time due to the fact we are facing imminent frostbite we take turns to pose.
There is one thing left to do, however.
Cat places the flower - pink, undeniably Alex pink - at the base of the sign.
No one needs to say anything, the gesture is all.
Today, it does not need articulating, is the hardest thing we have ever had to do together.
It is just right, so right, that we are here. The warnings, road closures, falling snow, make it more so.
It's crazy, yes. But then we always knew we were crazy.
Ten minutes later, sitting as the only custumers in the Castleton Tea Rooms, we raise our (hot) drinks.