Years ago I happened to take the Hope Valley line from Manchester to Sheffield, unprepared, as we dawdled through wintery grey suburbs, for the journey that unfurled. As though riding some magical polar express, we entered the snow-frosted, undulating Peak District. At the barely-there stations of Edale, Hope, Bamford, the occasional passenger would alight in their sturdy boots, and I fancied they were setting off on the Pennine Way, walking from inn to inn.
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