Subterranean Caves and Windswept Taverns

On the morning of 21 July 2011, I packed up the Clio and traded the coastal air of Southampton for a journey north toward the rugged beauty of the Yorkshire Dales. The Clio was in its absolute element, its punchy 2.0-litre engine humming eagerly as the flat motorways slowly gave way to the rolling hills and twisting tarmac of Yorkshire.

My first official destination upon arriving in the National Park was White Scar Caves. After parking the hot hatch in the gravel car park, I paid the admission fee and stepped out of the summer air into the subterranean world. The guided tour was fascinating, filled with echoing chambers and ancient rock formations. It also proved slightly hazardous; fortunately, the mandatory, bright blue hard hat did its job perfectly, shielding my head from several low-hanging stalactites as I navigated the tight, damp pathways.

Back above ground, I fired up the Clio and headed straight toward the iconic Ribblehead Viaduct. Seeing those massive, historic stone arches rise out of the landscape was breathtaking. I immediately pulled over to find the perfect angle, snapping a few proud photographs of the sharp silver Renault with the Victorian engineering masterpiece framed grandly in the background.

From there, the drive became pure bliss. The Dales roads were remarkably quiet, allowing me to fully enjoy the car's sharp handling on the sweeping bends. Every crest revealed amazing, panoramic views of drystone walls, green valleys, and dramatic fells.

The ultimate destination for the day was a legendary British landmark: the Tan Hill Inn. Dating back to the 17th century, this historic venue proudly holds the title of the highest public house in the British Isles, sitting at an impressive 1,732 feet (528 metres) above sea level. Perched in lonely isolation on the exposed, windswept Swaledale moorland, the pub felt like another world. Stepping inside out of the breeze, I was greeted by centuries of character, exposed beams, and a roaring fire. It was the perfect, atmospheric sanctuary to sit down, reflect on an incredible day behind the wheel, and enjoy a well-earned, hearty lunch.

From Dales Peaks to the Humber Shore

From the isolated heights of the Tan Hill Inn, I pointed the Clio 172 south-east and made tracks toward Hull to cross the mighty Humber. Arriving at the estuary, I couldn't resist taking a detour down to the water's edge to stand directly beneath the towering suspension cables of the Humber Bridge—an incredible feat of engineering that made the hot hatch look like a toy model parked underneath it.

After paying the toll and crossing the expanse, I continued onward toward Grimsby, a town whose reputation certainly preceded it with the famous local warning that "it's grim up north, but it's grimmer in Grimsby."

With the sun eventually starting to dip, the final leg of the journey began as I pointed the car south for the long haul back to Southampton. By the time I finally pulled back into the driveway and turned off the ignition, the trip computer revealed a jaw-dropping total of 798 miles. For a single day trip, it was an absolute marathon of driving—a grueling endurance run that proved exactly why the Clio 172 is such a legendary, capable little driver's car.