To the top of Scafell Pike, Despite

This morning I had my last breakfast with my wonderful hosts in Manchester. which, besides for oatmeal, included Marmite, spread on Cream crackers with some hard cheese... Amazing! I apologize for the times I made fun of Marmite.
On the train to Windermere I saw to Asian women having a rapid and intense conversation, in sign language. I don't think I have ever seen anything like it. It was very neat to see these women's hands moving so rapidly in real conversation.
I got to Windermere at 11 or so, and, as I usually do, I went straight to the tourist office and told them that I wanted to climb Scafell Pike, the highest peak in England. The woman behind the counter told me that, because of the limited public transportation today, it couldn't be done. I would need at least 7 hours to climb and the only bus would leave Windermere at 1:10 to arrive at 2:20; the last bus returns to Windermere at 6. Public transportation seemed to be a real obstacle, but I was set on climbing this mountain. I have a train tomorrow morning to Edinburgh, and the only reason I came here was to climb the mountain. Instead of taking public transportation, I went straight to the bike rental place. They told me that I had to return the bike by five, which also would have been impossible, so I got them to let me keep the bike overnight for a bit extra. I then started biking the 14 mile ride through Ambleside and Langdale, the the very end of the road in Langdale, by the Old Dungeon Ghyl hotel. I went into the hotel to refill my water bottle at the bar, and the bartender, a real Northerner with a thick accent and a few missing teeth, told me that he strongly recommends I do not do Scafell Pike as I would need 7 hours to do the climb, and it was already 2. Actually, the lady at the tour office and the bartender didn't just recommend that I stay away from the mountain, they insisted, and told me it would be impossible, but I read about the hike, I had a mapI knew the distances, and I figured they were being a bit over the top. I went anyway.
The hike wasn't too bad, very steepa dn rocky at times, and not as scenic as any of the other hikes I have done so far, but the temperature was decent and I powered ahead. I was surrounded by mountains (small ones mind you, all around 3000 ft), rivers, valleys, and sheep. Tons of sheep. Everywhere. It was kinda cool. The mountain also was not as busy as Snowdon. Anyway, after some fast and intense hiking, I got to the peak at 4 o'clock, in just 2 hours! Then I found out that I went in the wrong direction (the direction booklet contradicts the map and misses a couple of turns) and I was actually on Bowfell Pike, a few miles and across a valley from Scafell. I descended immediately and cut across country, down the valley, through some rivers, up the next range of mountains and along the ridged, up and own, until I finally got the top Scafell at 5:30, still with enough time to get back. By then though, I was pretty wiped out. There were a few young Mancunians at the top as well, and we chatted a bit about climbing while we ate (their eyes went wide as saucers when I told tham about Mt Washington and Piltriquitron, both more than twice as high as Scafell). I descended, getting back to the hotel by 8, and did the return bike ride, getting back to the hostel at 9:05. I kind of feel like going back to those naysayers and telling them, "told you so!" I won't, but this is not the first time that the British have bastly overexaggerated the difficulty of their mountains. Maybe it is because they are all so small and they need to make them sound grander than they are. I'm kind of surprised that the first person to climb Everest was British when all the British seem to be terrified of their tiny mountains. Ah well. The shower in the hostel was amazing, and then I met a few Brasilians and a Colombian, and we chatted for a while. Now, I have to go to bed.