Day 1. Moors, levels and rough tracks

The weather was forecast fair and indeed it was, although much colder than of late and I was well wrapped up in bib tights and knitlock jersey when I left at about 11am, seen off by Annie and Jim.

I was feeling good, no real niggles and the bike was performing properly with no skipping gears.  The Boardman 8.9 E is now about 5 years old.  I’ve had it for four and the previous owner bought it new from Halfords.  As I do about 6000 miles a​​ year on various different bikes, I guess I’ve done about 20000 miles on it, as it is my main bike.  Like Trigger’s broom it’s had pretty much everything replaced at least once and before I left I put on a new chain ring, cassette and chain and, after a lot of fettling, it now changes gear on command and so far hasn’t missed a beat: probably the kiss of death.

I had a short climb up a steep pitch and used the motor but after that I cycled all the way to the foot of the Quantocks, about 40 miles in, before I fired it up again. I took a route much travelled, across to Podimore, now the end of the latest upgrade of the A303, not yet finished but it won’t be long before traffic is able to zip along and then through Long Sutton to Langport.  About 5 miles into the ride, I realised that I had left my waterproof overshoes at home and debated whether or not to ring Jim and ask him to meet me en route but decided I could probably buy some on the way.  There was no need of them today but the next couple of days promise rain and my cycle shoes are like colanders: cycling with an inch of water sloshing about inside your shoes is no fun so I definitely need something to keep my feet dry.  There is a shop in Langport that hires out bikes to cycle the Parrett Way but no overshoes available.  Not to worry, I was going through Bridgwater and found​​ 

A good choice of Endura and I chose a pair with a ticket price of £43, which didn’t seem unreasonable, so imagine my delight when I was given a 15% discount:​​ sorted for under £37.  This had taken me a bit off route, but Rita managed to get me back on the canal path, that I should have travelled, without difficulty.  I was told to turn left off the canal path and found myself in the middle of a street fair, all sorts of fast food and a giant funfair.  It was slow work pushing the bike through the crowds, but I finally reached the end of the stalls, stopped to ask an official what it was all about, to be told that it was Bridgwater Fair, an annual event from Wednesday to Saturday, that has been running for 300 years.

I was now on a very quiet country lane, heading for Spaxton and then the Stoweys where I hit the Quantock Hills.  I’ve climbed it from the other side, trying vainly to beat Crowcombe Hill, every time having to GOAP, but never with a motor to help me.  It’s not quite so steep from Over Stowey and with the motor it was pretty easy.  I managed the two mile climb and was then faced with a choice: either go down Crowcombe and join the A358 which would have taken me all the way to Minehead, on a narrowish road with a lot of traffic, or embark on a cross country track of unknown surface which would take me to West Quantoxhead, Watchet and Blue Anchor.  I should have chosen the former but presumptuously decided I could manage what lay before me: ouch, the stone track was rough, shaking the poor bike and I was lucky not to come off on a couple of occasions.  Two and a half miles of it, up and down.  Great on a mountain bike with no extra weight but with two heavy​​ panniers it was no fun.  The upside was beautiful views of the Bristol Channel, on a day when I could see across to South Wales

At one point I looked down on the Nuclear Power plant being built at Hinckley.

And shared the road with some equine friends

After wondering if the bike would take much more I was back on asphalt at West Quantoxhead and made my way swiftly downhill to Watchet, which, I suppose, is really the start of my coastal journey

The road to Blue Anchor was closed to cars because of a landslip but I was able to climb out of Watchet and over the hill to join the coast road through Blue Anchor at the end of which my map showed a coastal trail to Minehead. Down some steps and along the shingle possibly, but I could not see a proper track so had to make my way up a sharp hill to join the A358 an hour or more later than I would have done had I gone through Crowcombe.  From here there were cycle tracks, past Dunster Castle, all the way into the centre of Minehead and I easily found the Duke of Wellington Hotel where I had a room booked.  I was able to leave the bike in the beer cellar and struggle my way up 2 flights of stairs with panniers and bike battery.  Still, I made it.

Day 2 Exmoor escapades

I think Wetherspoons generally provide good value for money so, when I was looking for somewhere to stay in Minehead, the Duke of Wellington was an obvious choice.  A bed for the night at £86 is rather more than I’m used to paying on these trips, breakfast adds another £8 or so, but when I looked round there was nothing cheaper – Minehead is expensive.  So, the Duke it was

I ate in the restaurant, perfectly acceptable steak and kidney pudding with chips and peas and apple crumble and a pint of Ruddles cost £18.60 and an extra pint of Ruddles was an astonishing £1.79.  Apart from the beer, it wasn’t as cheap as I would expect from Spoons but they’ve got to make a living.

The weather forecast for today was pretty awful, especially later in the day so I decided on an early start.  I wasn’t especially hungry so skipped breakfast and was on my bike by 7.30.  I was headed for Porlock, one of the iconic climbs in British cycling.  The A39 out of Porlock ramps up to 1 in 4 but I decided to take the toll road from West Porlock which, although steep doesn’t hit quite those extremes. I passed a couple leading a young horse along the road. The horse took grave exception to my panniers and threatened to cart the owner; but I talked to him, and he seemed to settle down and allow me to pass.  I thought that I knew what I was doing but when I reached the toll house there was a sign on the gate saying “no bicycles”, use the adjoining footpaths.  I set off in hope of finding a way and had to push the bike up a steep path, at one point encountering a fallen tree.

I unclipped the panniers and lifted everything across and kept going only to find steep steps in my way.  At least once past them there seemed to be a ride that would take me back to the road and after having to unload once again, I joined the toll road just above the house and cycled the two or so miles of substantial gradient to the top, where I was surrounded by pheasants taking off in all directions for the next couple of miles. Apparently the Lilycombe shoot.

Having got up on top of Exmoor I was now trying to stay as close to the coast as possible.  The A39 was fairly benign and I got a bit of rest from climbing until I reached Countisbury with a steep descent into Lynmouth

Now I knew that Lynmouth Hill that leads up to the town of Lynton on the top of the hill, although quite short, has gradients steeper than Porlock, but there is no alternative for a bike, although foot passengers can use the cliff railway, a nifty device that works on gravity, pumping water from one car to the other to provide motive force

so I gritted my teeth and, with maximum assist from the motor, made it surprisingly easily.  However this was only about 18 miles into a 60 mile journey so I was fairly fresh.

From Lynton the coast road goes up and down, once again taking to a toll road (this one accessible) and providing stunning views of the craggy coast

On past Lynton I encountered some very steep climbs and the amount of motor I was using was taking its toll on the battery, to the extent that I was seriously worried as to whether or not it would last the day.  On to Combe Martin

to which I descended with a horrible screech of brakes, frightening a dog walker on the way.  Another climb out towards Ilfracombe, past Watermouth Bay and the golf course until I found myself on an old railway line with an excellent tarmac surface which allowed me to get to the top of the last major climb without using the motor.

Even so I was now down to about 15% capacity, knowing that I still had about 16 miles to travel, mainly along the Taw and Torridge Estuaries from Braunton to Bideford with strong winds and rain in the air.

I stopped in Braunton and bought a Mars Bar and some flavoured fizzy water which raised the energy levels, but I was cycling into a head wind, and it was hard work.  At Barnstaple I crossed the river and made my way back up the other side of the Estuary, now with the wind at my back but with incessant rain. At Appledore, now no longer the centre of shipbuilding that it was in past times, I joined the Torridge Estuary, necessitating a change of direction that, once again, brought the strong wind across me.  Finally after 61 miles I crossed the 14th​​ century Long Bridge into Bideford, only to be faced with a substantial climb.  Given the battery now showing 10% at most, I GOAPed until I reached a relatively flat area. For some unknown reason I hadn’t picked up that Ridewith GPS was taking me around the houses, including along some woodland tracks,  before arriving at the Clovelly Road, home of the Premier Inn where I am staying tonight.  Very annoying at the end of a long hard day but I finally arrived at about 5 pm.  Hopefully I’ll get a decent night’s sleep before another gruelling day heading for Wadebridge tomorrow.

Day 3 - Blowing in the wind

With Premier Inns you get what it says on the tin, a comfortable bed and good, if not exciting, food.  When I set out to plan this trip, I realised that I could probably stay in a Premier Inn on most nights, so I got in touch and asked them if they’d do a deal.  I thought that they might offer me a fixed rate for dinner bed and breakfast in exchange for a bit of publicity about a 75 year old cycling 1000 miles for​​ charity, but no they weren’t interested.  Maybe I failed to speak to the right people but, as they weren’t playing, I looked elsewhere for the best deals.  In the end I shall stay in three Premier Inns, instead of eleven, the first of which was in Bideford.  I arrived about 5.15pm, wet through and dripping all over the floor.  The receptionist didn’t seem the least bit fazed, just wanted my details and a credit card, asked me when I wanted feeding and told me​​ where my room was.  She did ask me, perfectly sensibly, not to charge my bike unless I was in the room.  I dripped my way into the lift and went up to the second floor, to about the furthest point I could possibly be, through three doors on fierce closers that are very difficult to manage with a heavily laden bike.  I finally made it and did my washing and charging before coming down and making my way across, in the still pouring rain, to the Brewer’s Fayre, as with Premier Inns also owned by Whitbreads.  As a little aside, and I had the same thing in Wetherspoons yesterday, when you venture through the door of the restaurant you are immediately asked if you have any allergies.  I should have thought that if people know that they have allergies they will ask if their particular allergy is a problem with any items on the menu.  Then again I suppose that it’s a way of getting the restaurant off the hook if someone suffers.  I dined on a very tasty salt and pepper Calamari with a tomato mayo, followed by not very good lasagne and a good blackberry and apple crumble.  It’s not fine dining but it’s perfectly acceptable, particularly when you haven’t eaten for almost 24 hours.  I washed it down with a couple of pints of Guiness at £4.75 a pop. Satisfied I departed to the blog and turned the light out at about 10pm.

Surprisingly I didn’t sleep well.  I have a Premier Inn bed at home as they are so comfortable, so I assumed with such a hard day of cycling behind me I’d be out like a light until the alarm went off at 7.30.  Unfortunately not: I woke at about 3 am and having had a pee and a drink of water, couldn’t get back to sleep.  Still, I was rested when I got up to go to breakfast at 0800.  Now Premier Inns breakfasts are excellent: pretty much anything you want in the way of cereals and yoghurt, full cooked breakfast including black pudding (yum yum) and croissants, pancakes and muffins if you’re still hungry.  I filled my boots, not expecting to stop for lunch, and was on the road by about 0930.  The day was overcast but dry but there was a 20mph wind from the west which would make the first part of the journey difficult as I was heading straight into it, making my way towards Clovelly on the A39.  The route I had planned made several diversions from the main road to get onto quieter country lanes, but, as the A39 was very quiet I stayed on it all the way to Bude, cutting my journey by about 5 miles. I passed the quaintly named Fairy Cross with a couple of grand bus shelters on either side of the road

and then on past the Milky Way adventure park, at the entrance to which was, rather appropriately, parked a Muller lorry (sorry I can’t work out how to put the umlaut over the letter u).  Apparently the Park has nothing to do with Milk and everything to do with fairground rides and more but outside the school holidays, not doing much business.

Just short of Clovelly, about 10 miles into the journey the A39, rather grandly named the Atlantic Way, turns south which meant the wind was just behind my beam, occasionally giving me a bit of assistance.  I crossed into Cornwall

and was soon in Bude, crossing the river Neet and the canal where a family of Canada Geese made their way noisily downstream.

The wind was still blowing hard as I made my way past Widemouth Bay, at one point forcing me to GOAP when a sharp gust almost blew me into the verge.  The breakers were rolling in but I didn’t see any hardy souls out on surf boards.

Having survived the journey along the seafront I took to the hills, climbing steeply up above the bay.

This was now to be typical of the reminder of the day, up and down like a yoyo on some very steep grades which required the motor.  First along the coast and down to Millook

where I stopped and talked with a man having his lunch.  He was walking the SW coastpath in easy stages and had been at it for a decade or more.  He was making his​​ way from Crackington, my next seaside stop, to Widemouth, warning me that the road out of Millook was very steep in places: not steep enough to stop me making it to the top with secondary motor assistance and I carried on for another 5 miles before descending steeply to Crackington Haven

where I stopped for a pot of tea in the café, joining a surprising number of people and dogs, including an Alsatian who had lost the use of his hind legs and was running around in a very smart carriage which supported his back end.  I was interested because 60 or so years ago we had a dachshund called Salami who suffered the same problem which we solved by making her a carriage out of tin and Meccano, with which she chased rabbits for another 6 or 7 years

.

The hill out of Crackington was not as bad as Millook but still needed a lot of motor.  Next stop was Boscastle, a village that suffered a horrendous flood on the 16th​​ August 2004, 52 years to the day since Lynmouth, which I visited yesterday had the same treatment.  Sadly 34 people died in Lynmouth but, miraculously, there was no loss of life in Boscastle.  This has received a lot of publicity as it was recorded in detail on film and was the subject of a Channel 4 documentary.  What is not so well known is that Crackington suffered similar flooding on the same day, again without fatalities.  Hard to believe the power of water on a gloomy autumn day.

Onwards, and again upwards for the three miles to Tintagel.  I skirted the village and didn’t visit the medieval castle, often associated with the legends of King Arthur, the ruins of which stand on the cliff tops below the main village. A mile or so past Tintagel I climbed what must be the steepest hill I’ve yet encountered.  It wasn’t very long but it forced me to GOAP even though I had full power on the motor. I pushed for 100 yards or so along a very narrow lane, meeting  a VW beetle and having to push myself tight against the bank to let her pass.  Fortunately that was enough but it wouldn’t have been for the SW Water van that I met 50 yards further on when the road had widened.  I remounted and kept going, knowing that with about 10 miles to go the worst of the climbing was over.  The result of all the climbing was that the battery was getting very low, only about 15% remaining but it was sufficient to get me to my destination in Wadebridge where I am booked into the second Premier Inn of my journey.  I arrived at about 5pm, fortunately not as wet as yesterday.



Top of Form

Day 4 - Cornish ups and downs

I filled you in on Premier Inns last night: they’re all much the same but seem to have their own little quirks.  I pitched up at Wadebridge at about 5pm, this time dry and a little more energetic.  PI have their own in-house restaurants at many of their outlets, which they term Thyme, and there were two girls laying up for the evening when I arrived. I was booked in and told that it was company policy not to allow charging of electric bikes on site, a variation on “don’t do it when you’re not in the room” that I was told last night.  Needless to say, I made the right noises but proceeded to charge my battery whilst I was in the room.  Which policy is correct, I don’t know but I’m not going to ask the question of HO in case I get the wrong answer (from my POV).

I did the usual and came down for dinner at about 1830.  The menu at Thyme is pretty much the same as Brewer’s Fayre, maybe fewer choices but not by much.  As the Calamari the night before was so good I went for it again: this time a portion twice the size of yesterday but equally good and I followed up with a chicken Makhani curry with Naan and Poppadum, and very good it was too.  I drank Doom Bar x2 for which I had to pay extra and went for a pud which cost me an extra £2. I wanted cheesecake but there was none, so went for a chocolate sundae which was disappointing.  Putting it all together a filling dinner and breakfast cost me about £36 which is not too bad.

The morning dawned fair, still a bit of wind about and a chill in the air but no forecast rain.  I’m dressing up in bib tights and a warm jersey and suspect that I shall do so for the whole trip.  Breakfast was PI best and I filled up with the expectation that I wouldn’t have lunch.  I was on the bike by about 0930 and made my way to the bridge over the River Camel. 

The Camel trail follows the track-bed of the North Cornwall and Bodmin to Wadebridge railways. Cornwall County Council acquired the land in 1980 and converted the bed to a public trail which now runs from Wenford Bridge north of Bodmin to Padstow.  I remember riding bikes along the trail, 35 years+ ago, en famille, including our Jack Russell terrier, Tipsy, who, daughter Kate reminds me, rode in a pack on my back and rested her paws on my shoulder whilst she enjoyed the wind in her face: it caused some merriment from other users.  As I posted a picture of Salami yesterday, here’s one of Tipsy (sadly, I can’t find the one of her on a wind-surfer) but she was a game little dog who’d try pretty much anything.

Anyway I joined the trail from Wadebridge to Padstow and there were several others, including dogs, enjoying the dry weather, The Camel river opens out into its estuary at Padstow with Trebetherick and Rock, known as Chelsea-on-Sea, on the opposite bank.  Rock is also home to Sharp’s brewery, now owned by Molson Coors, who’s most famous brand is Doom Bar, named after the sand bar in the middle of the estuary that has caused countless shipwrecks.

Towards the end of the trail you cross an iron bridge with a safety warning on it.  Why fire engines are considered expendable is beyond me.

I made my way around the edge of Padstow, sometimes known as Padstein after its most famous resident Rick Stein who owns several food outlets in the town and headed down the coast, now with the wind mainly behind me.  I dropped down to Harlyn Bay, narrowly avoiding a double deck bus coming in the opposite direction

And climbed up a steepish hill which I managed without engine.  As yesterday this was the pattern for the day: regularly up and down 2 or 3 hundred feet, sometimes with and, less often, without the engine.

Next sea visit was Mawgan Porth about 5 miles down the coast.  As expected not many people out in the bracing wind

Onwards to Watergate, passing Cornwall (Newquay) airport.

and Porth, now close to Newquay, the biggest settlement on the North Cornwall coast.  The working harbour has all but disappeared and tourism is the main earner.  It’s a rather depressing place on the first day of October, still a number of people wandering around the streets; but shops and businesses do little trade outside the summer season.  I cycled around the whole town,

even venturing out on a rough track to the Headland and back along the Gannel that marks the southern boundary of the town, today bereft of water.

I passed Fistral beach, known world-wide for it’s surf, just as a brief storm came and went in a few minutes.  I sheltered in a bus stop to put on a rain jacket but it was soon unnecessary.

I then found myself dropping down a very steep and narrow road to the National Trust beach at Trevaunance.  The climb up again was the steepest of the day.

Next stop Porthtowan.  I admit I didn’t get down to sea level on this occasion but took the picture from on high

I was now heading pretty much due south, keeping close to the coast but seeing no sign of the sea until I reached Perranporth

Continuing on past the RAF station at Portreath I surprised a horse rider (and she me) as we met on a blind bend.  Fortunately, her horse behaved immaculately. Again, dropping to sea level at Portreath, which was once the largest port on the north Cornish coast, sending copper ore to Swansea for smelting,

knowing that there would be the inevitable climb back again.  This was the last visit to sea level, and, although there were still some ups and downs, I reached my destination, Camborne at about 5pm.  I’m staying in a Wetherspoons hotel which is somewhat like Fort Knox with digital security on all doors; but I’ve got a huge room and I shall eat and drink well.  Tomorrow, all being well, I shall round Land’s End and start heading east.



Day 4 - Cornish ups and downs

I filled you in on Premier Inns last night: they’re all much the same but seem to have their own little quirks.  I pitched up at Wadebridge at about 5pm, this time dry and a little more energetic.  PI have their own in-house restaurants at many of their outlets, which they term Thyme, and there were two girls laying up for the evening when I arrived. I was booked in and told that it was company policy not to allow charging of electric bikes on site, a variation on “don’t do it when you’re not in the room” that I was told last night.  Needless to say, I made the right noises but proceeded to charge my battery whilst I was in the room.  Which policy is correct, I don’t know but I’m not going to ask the question of HO in case I get the wrong answer (from my POV).

I did the usual and came down for dinner at about 1830.  The menu at Thyme is pretty much the same as Brewer’s Fayre, maybe fewer choices but not by much.  As the Calamari the night before was so good I went for it again: this time a portion twice the size of yesterday but equally good and I followed up with a chicken Makhani curry with Naan and Poppadum, and very good it was too.  I drank Doom Bar x2 for which I had to pay extra and went for a pud which cost me an extra £2. I wanted cheesecake but there was none, so went for a chocolate sundae which was disappointing.  Putting it all together a filling dinner and breakfast cost me about £36 which is not too bad.

The morning dawned fair, still a bit of wind about and a chill in the air but no forecast rain.  I’m dressing up in bib tights and a warm jersey and suspect that I shall do so for the whole trip.  Breakfast was PI best and I filled up with the expectation that I wouldn’t have lunch.  I was on the bike by about 0930 and made my way to the bridge over the River Camel. 

The Camel trail follows the track-bed of the North Cornwall and Bodmin to Wadebridge railways. Cornwall County Council acquired the land in 1980 and converted the bed to a public trail which now runs from Wenford Bridge north of Bodmin to Padstow.  I remember riding bikes along the trail, 35 years+ ago, en famille, including our Jack Russell terrier, Tipsy, who, daughter Kate reminds me, rode in a pack on my back and rested her paws on my shoulder whilst she enjoyed the wind in her face: it caused some merriment from other users.  As I posted a picture of Salami yesterday, here’s one of Tipsy (sadly, I can’t find the one of her on a wind-surfer) but she was a game little dog who’d try pretty much anything.

Anyway I joined the trail from Wadebridge to Padstow and there were several others, including dogs, enjoying the dry weather, The Camel river opens out into its estuary at Padstow with Trebetherick and Rock, known as Chelsea-on-Sea, on the opposite bank.  Rock is also home to Sharp’s brewery, now owned by Molson Coors, who’s most famous brand is Doom Bar, named after the sand bar in the middle of the estuary that has caused countless shipwrecks.

Towards the end of the trail you cross an iron bridge with a safety warning on it.  Why fire engines are considered expendable is beyond me.

I made my way around the edge of Padstow, sometimes known as Padstein after its most famous resident Rick Stein who owns several food outlets in the town and headed down the coast, now with the wind mainly behind me.  I dropped down to Harlyn Bay, narrowly avoiding a double deck bus coming in the opposite direction

And climbed up a steepish hill which I managed without engine.  As yesterday this was the pattern for the day: regularly up and down 2 or 3 hundred feet, sometimes with and, less often, without the engine.

Next sea visit was Mawgan Porth about 5 miles down the coast.  As expected not many people out in the bracing wind

Onwards to Watergate, passing Cornwall (Newquay) airport.

and Porth, now close to Newquay, the biggest settlement on the North Cornwall coast.  The working harbour has all but disappeared and tourism is the main earner.  It’s a rather depressing place on the first day of October, still a number of people wandering around the streets; but shops and businesses do little trade outside the summer season.  I cycled around the whole town,

even venturing out on a rough track to the Headland and back along the Gannel that marks the southern boundary of the town, today bereft of water.

I passed Fistral beach, known world-wide for it’s surf, just as a brief storm came and went in a few minutes.  I sheltered in a bus stop to put on a rain jacket but it was soon unnecessary.

I then found myself dropping down a very steep and narrow road to the National Trust beach at Trevaunance.  The climb up again was the steepest of the day.

Next stop Porthtowan.  I admit I didn’t get down to sea level on this occasion but took the picture from on high

I was now heading pretty much due south, keeping close to the coast but seeing no sign of the sea until I reached Perranporth

Continuing on past the RAF station at Portreath I surprised a horse rider (and she me) as we met on a blind bend.  Fortunately, her horse behaved immaculately. Again, dropping to sea level at Portreath, which was once the largest port on the north Cornish coast, sending copper ore to Swansea for smelting,

knowing that there would be the inevitable climb back again.  This was the last visit to sea level, and, although there were still some ups and downs, I reached my destination, Camborne at about 5pm.  I’m staying in a Wetherspoons hotel which is somewhat like Fort Knox with digital security on all doors; but I’ve got a huge room and I shall eat and drink well.  Tomorrow, all being well, I shall round Land’s End and start heading east.



Day 5 - Land's End

Yet another ‘Spoons, this time the John Francis Basset in Camborne.  The building is an imposing structure in the centre of Camborne, originally the Market House.

it was paid for by John Francis Basset, squire of Tehidy who made a great deal of money out of mining tin and copper (Poldark?)  Wetherspoons acquired the building in 2010 and spent over a million converting it into a Hotel and restaurant/pub.  I had a bit of a problem in finding my way in and security throughout is paramount.  Once I had found reception, I was checked in by a charming lady who told me my bike had to remain downstairs.  I didn’t have a problem with that and removed the battery to charge in my room on the second floor.  Fortunately, there is a lift, so I didn’t have to cart my heavy panniers up 2 floors.  The room was enormous, the bed comfortable and the shower excellent: no complaints.  I washed myself and clothes, stuck everything on charge and went down for supper. Greene King IPA at £1.79 a pint, fish and chips and a side salad and roasted veg gave a bill of just over £20.  Another pint and a pud added another £5, so I was well fed for £25. It’s basic cooking done well and the service via the app is second to none.

Despite the comfortable bed I still awoke at an ungodly hour and failed to get back to sleep; so felt a bit frazzled when I went down for breakfast at about 0800.  I had yoghurt and fresh fruit followed by what they term a traditional breakfast, basically a small fry-up which cost a total of £7.63.  Tea or coffee was available for no extra cost.  It’s about par for the course but no longer cheap.

I was packed up and on the road by 0851 and quickly found my way out of Camborne on some quiet  back roads, past the rugby club, now no longer the force they were back in my day, with Penzance Pirates being the premier club in Cornwall nowadays. I headed west through Connor Downs before crossing the A30 at a somewhat scary roundabout just short of Hayle.  The traffic thinned a bit as I passed the Copperhouse Pool and the wide River Hayle estuary

as I headed for Carbis Bay and St Ives.  I have paid an annual membership to Tate Galleries for many years, believing that art in all its forms is important.  I seldom get the direct benefit of visiting the Tate galleries because I don’t go to London much, so today was an opportunity to get something back for my subscription by visiting Tate St Ives.  I’ve been there before but not for many years and got rather lost in the back streets before I found it.  I passed the harbour

and eventually had to ask the way.  The building is somewhat hidden in its surrounds and overlooks the main beach at Porthmeor.  To get into the building you have to climb substantial stairs or there is a ramp up which I took my bike as there was nowhere obvious to leave it at street level. At the top of the ramp is an open theatre with tiered seating and cushions and it was here I abandoned the bike.  Inside you are greeted by a volunteer.  I was able to brandish my membership card and was told that everything happened on floors 3 and 4.  I couldn’t discover what happened on 1 and 2 and the remainder of the ground floor that wasn’t taken by reception.  As to be expected most of the works on display are either by the St Ives artists of the early 20th​​ century or their cohorts.  There is a room devoted to Mark Rothko, the paintings now, hopefully, hanging the right way up.  Perhaps the most impressive thing about the building is the way that the curved windows reflect the surroundings making art in themselves

There’s not a huge amount on display but I’ve always enjoyed the art of, inter alia, Nicholson, Hepworth. Lanyon and Heron so it was a nice diversion from cycling.

Onwards to Land’s End and turning the corner. There’s a big lump of granite that sits at the end of the south west peninsula and the poor cyclist has to endure a lot of ups and downs to reach the end point.  I’ve visited Land’s end three times on a bike.  Firstly when on holiday in the 80s , then when I started my LEJOG in 2015 and, finally when I completed my JOGLE in 2021.  The whole place is a bit tacky but there weren’t too many people about today and I took a picture of the bike and sat down to a cup of tea and a pasty

The pasty was excellent, full of meat and veg and very good pastry but it stayed with me the whole day and I was till tasting it 4 hours later.

I still had half the journey to complete and continued on towards Mousehole, passing through Lamorna and climbing a very steep hill before zipping down to the little port.

The Lobster Pot restaurant is no longer, converted to flats 20 years ago and the Penlee lifeboat that suffered such a terrible disaster in December 1981 when all hands were lost whilst trying to save the crew of a stricken bulk carrier, has moved to nearby Newlyn. 

The road from Mousehole to Newlyn, still a thriving sea port with a substantial fishing fleet and wet fish market,

is relatively flat and I made good time before coming up behind a traffic jam.  I GOAPed for a short distance to get past the problem and then cycled the best part of 5 miles along a concrete cycle path round Mounts Bay.  The path ran out at Marazion, home to St Michael’s Mount

cut off from the mainland by the tide.  I continued, weaving through the narrow streets of the village and climbing the hill to Rosudgeon before, somewhat inadvisadly dropping steeply down to Praa Sands

Inadvisably because I had a very steep climb back again.  57 miles in I decided against going all the way back down to sea level at Porthleven and continued on the main road to Helston where I easily found the Blue Anchor pub and collected the keys to my room for the night. First night  not in a Premier Inn or Wetherspoons.  What will it hold?



Day 6 - The Lizard

I pitched up at The Blue Anchor in Helston at my usual time of 5pm.  I don’t seem to alter this despite leaving at different times in the morning.  Becky was on bar duty, washing glasses when I arrived and there was slight confusion as to who I was and which room I had been booked into.  It seems that Booking.com doesn’t quite fit their standard but it was all sorted satisfactorily and the bike went around the back of the building whilst I was given a key to Room 3 on the first floor of the adjoining house, No 52 Coinagehall Street.  The room overlooked the street which made it a bit noisy, but it was large and airy and the bathroom well appointed.  As the pub doesn’t do food, I walked up the hill and found a Chinese: Singapore fried rice and sizzling beef were ok and sufficient, a bottle of Tiger washed it down and I​​ wandered back and called into the Wetherspoons pub for a cheap pint.  They had sold out of Greene King and Doom Bar and the only ales were Tintagel Castle Gold and Harbour Special.  I opted for the former and it was very good at £1.99 a pint.

Despite a very comfortable bed I woke early and couldn’t go back to sleep.  No change.

I went down to breakfast at 0800, a choice of cereals, yoghurt and juices and a decent fry-up produced by Becky who was once again on duty.  She married a sailor and they have spent 20 years living in the area whilst her husband served at RNAS Culdrose until he retired and became a self-employed car mechanic.  Her daughter is just about to start GCSEs.

I was packed and ready to go at 0900 but made the mistake of walking the bike up the hill instead of cycling down it.  Either would have got me to the same place but the uphill route put me the wrong way on a one way system so I pushed for 5 minutes until I arrived at the outer perimeter of the RN Air station.  I was then able to mount up and ride two sides of Culdrose which covered about 3 miles.  I was heading south to Lizard Point.  I last went there in 2019 when it was my last port of call in successfully visiting the​​ four cardinal extremes of Britain.  On that occasion the weather was horrible, and we had no time to enjoy the occasion.  What a difference today: sunshine and no sign of rain. On the way I dropped down to Poldhu cove, which still has a WWII Pillbox on its southern shore

The climb up to the village of Mullion was steep and needed strong assistance from the motor.  Another 5 miles got me to Lizard village, full of touristy shops and food outlets.  I kept going and took my bike all the way down to sea level.

The view from the top of the cliff was impressive and I walked around the area for 20 minutes or so before making my way back through the village.

The road back took me to the east side of the peninsula to Cadgwith village, a fishing port that has featured in a BBC documentary about the struggle to make a living out of traditional fishing.  The road down to sea level and back out again are extremely steep and the fishing fleet virtually block the narrow street.  They’d been out and returned already and were sorting the catch and making everything shipshape.

20 miles in the landscape changes significantly.  Gone are the ups and downs into hidden coves; instead, the roads run straight and the terrain is flat acid heathland that has been designated the Lizard National Nature reserve.

Suddenly satellite dishes loomed up, Goonhilly Earth Station that was once the largest satellite earth station in the world but whose importance has now been reduced.  Most recently it acted as the Earth station for a robotic moon landing by American Intuitive Machines Inc.  Presumably now open to any bidders, it has been linked with Spaceport Cornwall in Newquay.

The route now turned north to cross the end of the Helford River Estuary at Gweek, whose rusting hulks don’t seem to have changed much in the last 5 years.

Gweek is also home to a​​ seal sanctuary​​ that cares for injured and orphaned seals, returning them to the wild where possible.  Some can never survive in the outside world and are well cared for marine experts.

Once again, the terrain altered to the ups and downs that have become so familiar over the last 5 days, indeed at Nancenoy the road went uphill at about 20%, down immediately by the same amount and then up again, this time not quite so steeply but it was hard work.

I was making my way towards Falmouth to catch the ferry to St Mawes on the Roseland.  I’d booked my place on-line at a 10% discount giving a one-way fare of £8.55 for me and the bike.  I thought that I might make the 1315 Ferry from Custom House Quay but it was half and hour later before I was able to board, carrying my bike down steep steps whilst a kind girl hefted my heavy panniers into the boat.  Last time I made this trip ten years ago on my​​ Lands End to John O’Groats trip​​ I was soaked sitting in the bows when we hit the chop in the outer harbour but today the sea was calm and the crossing uneventful. 

Getting off the boat at St Mawes was even more difficult and I almost slipped and fell with the bike.  My helper from Falmouth kindly deposited the panniers on the quay and I was able to put everything back together again an make my way north up the Roseland Peninsula.

I was now on very familiar territory.  My wife owned a cottage in Tregony for many years and the family took their hols in Cornwall. This time I didn’t visit Tregony as I decided to stay close to the coast and, instead made my way to Caerhays, somewhat surprised to find scores of pheasants pecking around the seaside sward, courtesy of the shoot run by Charles Williams, the current owner of Caerhays Castle Estate.

Lots more ups and downs before dropping back to sea level at Portmellon, with the waves breaking over the road.

Over the next hill to the thriving tourist town of Mevagissey, after Newlyn the second biggest fishing port in Cornwall, still plenty of visitors around in October.

The remaining 5 miles to St Austell are fairly kind to the cyclist and I arrived at the Travelodge, as usual, at about 5pm.



Day 7 - Cross country

I had several options of where to stay in and around St Austell, but it didn’t occur to me to consider Travelodge until about 10 days ago.  When I went on their website, I found such an amazing deal that it was a no-brainer.  Now I’ve stayed in Travelodge in the past and considered them a pale imitation of Premier Inns, often a bit run-down and nothing more than a cheap bed for the night.  However, they have changed their game and the hotel at St Austell has an on-site bar and restaurant.  The deal was bed, breakfast and a 2 course evening meal for £73.98 which is the cheapest night I’ve had on this trip.  When it came to the fine detail there were extras; but even with a couple of bottles of Doom Bar and a pudding the bill was under £90.  The bed was comfortable, the room large enough for me and​​ my bike and the shower was powerful.  The only weakness was the restaurant service, with not enough staff to cope with demand; so longish waits for food.  I had a plate of garlic bread, steak and ale pie with mash and peas and sticky toffee pudding with ice cream and enjoyed all of them.

Breakfast this morning was help yourself to as much as you wanted, and I had my fill.  Knowing that I had less then 50 miles to travel to Plymouth I was in no great hurry to start, so it was 0946 when I hit the road, heading back down the Pentewan road to start with, but branching off to Tregorrick which involved an unexpectedly steep climb.  Just over 2 miles later I hit Charlestown, a port built for the export of copper and then china clay.  The port proved too small for the china clay business which moved just along the coast to Par and the harbour is now owned by a film company who hire out square riggers for tv and film.  There are often some substantial ships in port, but not today.

I made my way around Carlyon Bay with its sandy beaches (made largely from waste from the china clay mines, and golf course and did not stop in Par with its massive sheds for drying china clay which is pumped to the site as a slurry before being exported as a dry product.  A steep hill with traffic lights at the bottom tested me on the way to Fowey, 10 miles into the journey.  I bumbled around the town which I have visited in yachts but never, as far as I can recall, from the land. Narrow streets and all sorts of shops catering to tourists give it an historic feel.  I was​​ heading just up-river to Bodinnick to catch the ferry across the river.  The ferry has plied its way back and forth 3 times an hour for four hundred years but only in its present form as a car transporter since the 1970s. 

It cost me £3 and there seemed to be plenty of vehicles travelling in either direction to make it a viable business.  The alternative is to drive 7 miles upstream to the bridge at Lostwithiel.  If you want to get to Looe, as I did, it’s a no-brainer.

The hill from the Fowey river starts steep but relents and didn’t cause too much sweat. I had considered going down to Polruan, on the other side of the estuary from Fowey but managed to miss a turn and by the time I realised, felt it better to keep going to my next stop, Polperro, which is a very similar village to Fowey, today with throngs of tourists who have to park 750m up the hill and walk down.  The village clings to both sides of a steep valley.

As my proposed exit route up Talland hill looked too steep to contemplate, I made my way up the valley and joined the main road to Looe.  I came screeching down the hill into the town, my disc brakes shrieking at the effort.

Looe was even busier than Fowey and it was slow progress through the town to the beach

This was where things got interesting.  The route I had planned out of Looe showed a road heading steeply up to Plaidy and down to Millendreath Beach.  In the event there was no road, only a steep set of steps for about 100metres that I bumped the bike down

Having reached Millendreath I needed to get out.  The road started fine but soon became an unmade track that got worse and worse, forcing me to unload the panniers and carry the bike up yet more steps.  A lady walking in the opposite direction told me that I was past the worst and would soon hit tarmac, which indeed​​ I did.  However, I had wasted a lot of time and effort before making progress to Seaton

A bit confusing as I associate Seaton with Devon and will visit it in a couple of days time.

The road beyond Seaton was pleasant to ride past Downderry but then back to more of the steep hills that were taking a toll on the battery.  Once on top I was riding 3-400 feet above Whitsand Bay,  with good, if rather hazy views across to Rame head that guards Plymouth harbour

Finally I headed north and dropped down into Cawsand past military forts that have been converted to residential accommodation.

I was rather hoping that the climbing had ended but, once again, took a wrong turn that sent me up steep hills that needed the motor.  The battery was seriously low, and I was down to one bar on the read out.  I knew that I had some climbing to do in Plymouth, so I was trying to conserve power which meant that I was having to work hard to get up hills without the motor.

Eventually I arrived in Torpoint and got on the ferry which, pleasantly, is free for pedestrians and cyclists. 

As I feared, the other side saw a steep climb up from the river, but I made it and followed the main road into the city from Devonport to my hotel, the Leonardo, which I reached at about 5.30pm.



Day 8 - Back in Devon

I thought that yesterday might be a bit of a break, but it was not to be.  Despite being the shortest distance I have travelled so far, the climbing meant that it was as hard as any other.

The girl who checked me in at Leonardo Hotel, Plymouth (formerly Jurys Inns) was friendly and efficient.  We chatted about my challenge which I described as Watchet to Whitstable via Weymouth.  “Whitstable in Kent?” said she, “I grew up there!”  My bike was put into a store-room overnight and I was assigned Room 227 which proved to be about as far from the lift as possible which wasn’t a great start.  The room was spacious and the shower worked well.  I hung the washing up and​​ ventured out for something to eat.  On the way to the hotel I noticed a Chinese buffet, eat all you want for a fixed price and that was where I went.  In the event the £9.99 increased to £15.99 on a Friday night and the pint of cider cost £6.  Unfortunately, it was a bad choice.  The food was unappetising with soggy batter and swimming in liquid that I hesitate to call sauce.  I made a meal of it and went back to the blog.  Whilst writing there was a great deal of loud music coming from the street below together with the noises of cars and motorbikes one expects in a city.  I closed the window which had been open to dry the washing; but it made not the blindest bit of difference.  I hoped that, at least, the dance music would cease at a sensible hour, but no it went on into the wee small hours and coupled with boy racers taking off down the road after midnight, meant that I got no sleep at all, and got out of bed this morning feeling groggy.  Breakfast put me in better humour; help yourself a la Premier Inn, with everything from fresh fruit to a full fry up (and particularly good sausages). I checked out and complained about the Room.  The different receptionist accepted the complaint and suggested that I write to HO as well, which I have done this evening. I’ve booked to stay in the Leonardo Hotel in Southampton on Monday so I trust it will be a better experience.

I was on the road just before 0930 and made my way along pavements to the Laira Bridge which has a dedicated cycle bridge, formed from a former rail bridge, running alongside the dual carriageway road bridge. 

It is firmly closed for safety reasons but there are dedicated cycle lanes marked on the main bridge so no great problem even with the fast moving early morning traffic.  As usual I got myself lost: it’s all too easy to get in a cycle lane that takes you in the wrong direction and I had to back track and make some looping diversions before I hit the A379 which makes its way towards Dartmouth.

My route took me away from the main road and up some steep hills, giving me views of the rolling Devon Countryside with Dartmoor in the distance.  I’ve cycled across and round Dartmoor on many occasions but not this time.

I decided quite early in the planning not to venture into the South Hams, keeping away from Kingsbridge and Salcombe.  There’s basically only one way in and out and it involves a lot of steep hills so I cut the corner and headed directly to Dartmouth where I crossed the River Dart on the Higher Dart ferry at a cost of £1 for a cycle.

I was agreeably surprised on the other side to hear and see the steam train for which we had to wait before the long climb out of the valley

The climb isn’t especially steep, and I was able to avoid using the motor for a lot of it; but it does go on for over 2 miles.  It was then largely downhill until I reached the sea at Paignton with views across the red sands to Torbay

Cycle tracks, though a bit hit and miss in places, take you all the way to Torquay which was buzzing in the autumn sun.  Lots of people on the streets at lunchtime but not many on the beach in the fresh breeze.

There’s a significant hill out of Torquay and the motor had to go on as I made my way over the headland to Meadfoot beach

More climbing past Kents Cavern, Torquay’s answer to Cheddar and Wookey Hole and on through Babbacombe, now four hundred feet above the unseen sea. The motor was going on more than I had hoped, and the battery level was, once again, looking a bit low for comfort.  Back down to sea level at Shaldon before crossing the estuary of the river Teign by the long bridge, in the middle of which I stopped to take a picture.  Unfortunately the cycle way ran out just as traffic was beginning to merge for some road works and, although I signalled, I cut up an angry driver as I was trying to stay upright.  In the event all was well.

The road switchbacks to Dawlish Warren where I picked up the Exe Estuary cycle path.  The railway journey between Exeter and Newton Abbott, which I was shadowing on this stretch of road, is one of the most picturesque in Britain, staying close to the river estuary and sea, indeed so close that in February 2014 a section of it at Dawlish was washed away in a storm, leaving  West Devon and Cornwall without any rail link to the rest of the UK.  Amazingly, given the devastation, they were able to re-open the line eight weeks later, although it took eight years before the sea wall was completed.

The estuary cycle path is a 26 mile round journey from Exmouth to  Dawlish but I only had to cycle about 10 miles of it and then through the southern ‘burbs of Exeter to my hotel at Middlemoor.  It’s chucking it down as I write and more rain is forecast tomorrow on my way to Dorchester but I’ve been lucky with the weather so far.



Day 9 - Drenched to the boneTop of Form

The Toby Carvery is one of a chain of hotels/restaurants owned by Mitchell and Butlers and the operation at Middlemoor, Exeter provides motel rooms with a large restaurant.  I booked a room there quite a while ago as it seemed good value for money in the right area.  I arrived about 5.30pm and, having booked in online, was given a key and left to get on with it.  You have a key fob to get you into the communal areas and a traditional door key for your room, something that is becoming less common with most hotels having programmable cards. The room was quite cramped, and a little bit tired looking, with a large double bed but my bike fitted in fine and the modern bathroom with shower was excellent. A kettle for making coffee or tea seems standard nowadays but no biscuits as you get with Premier Inns and Travelodge.

Having done the necessary and hung up the washing to dry with the aid of an electric fan I went in search of food.  The restaurant was a couple of minutes walk from my room and I soon ordered tomato soup (tasty but underheated) and the Carvery with choice of 4 meats and help yourself to as many vegetables as you want and come back for more if still hungry.  The lamb was excellent, beef ok and the turkey nice and juicy.  Lots of vegetable choice but sadly the only greens were peas.  I finished my plate and went back for more cauliflower and dauphinoise potatoes and that filled me up, so no pudding and back to the blog after a couple of pints of Proper Job.

Breakfast was help yourself to as much cooked as you wanted but little other choice apart from toast and a couple of cereals – certainly not up to PI, Leonardo or Travelodge but it was enough to keep me going for the day.

The weather forecast, after heavy overnight rain, was bad with substantial rain due from midday, so I dressed in full bib tights and knit-lock jacket with my waterproof jacket accessible at the top of one of the panniers.  I got underway in overcast conditions at 0930 and made my way back to the Exe Estuary trail but on the other side of the estuary.  There’s a long section of wooden decking built up over the Marsh with view-holes through to watch wildlife.

 I decided not to go all the way down to Exmouth and Budleigh Salterton but cut across country from Topsham to Sidmouth, stopping  at Mutter’s Moor nature reserve to put on my waterproof jacket.  At Sidmouth the weather had deteriorated to a thin mist that fogged up my specs.  It was hard work to navigate with wet fingers making it difficult to​​ control my phone.  My cycling mitts were soaked through and, although I wasn’t cold, it was pretty miserable.

Several climbs on the way but no need for the motor until I got to the hill out of Sidmouth which went up to over 16%.  Above Sidmouth my route took me past the Donkey Sanctuary, which daughter Kate and her son Matty visited when they were over in summer 2023 and “adopted” one of the residents called Ruby.  Unfortunately, Ruby died earlier this year, and the adoption papers were passed onto Cleo.  I didn’t manage to see Cleo, indeed the picture shows just how bad the conditions were, but told Kate that I’d looked in.

It was now downhill to Branscombe, a pretty village in some steep sided valleys which sprawls down to a beach

The hill out of the valley was steep and needed full motor power.  Part way up I met a camper van coming down and had to GOAP for fear of falling off.  No chance of remounting for about 50 metres but eventually got going again to come back down to sea level at Beer and its adjacent village of Seaton as the weather cleared up for a while.

 At Axmouth,  another steady climb  for about 3 miles on my way to Lyme Regis.  I was seriously behind schedule and started to realise that I wasn’t going to be able to complete the route that I had planned.  I sped down into Lyme Regis which looked busy as the rain was starting to fall again.  I took the by-pass around Charmouth and headed to the top of the hill at Morecombelake, home of Dorset Knob biscuits.  The rain was now so strong that I sought shelter under a canopy of Felicity’s Farm Shop.  It took me several minutes to cross over the road for the weight of traffic and I was now wet through despite my waterproof jacket.

As it looked unlikely to let up any time soon, I pressed on, the rain almost blinding me as I came down the hills around Chideock.  At Bridport, where I had intended to carry on along the coast through West Bay and West Bexington to Weymouth I decided to cut my losses and make directly for Dorchester where I was staying the night with my very old friend and often cycling companion Rich who will join me on the next leg. It was utterly miserable and I don’t remember a worse day on my bike since I was travelling around Ireland in 2018.

Amazingly the weather started to clear, and by the time I reached Winterbourne Abbas the sun had begun to shine, and I arrived at my destination at about 5pm, drenched to the bone.  Needless to say, photography was impossible once the rain started.

Day 10 - Breaking brakes

Rich is one of my oldest friends, we’ve known each other for well over 50 years and cycle together about once a week.  He joined me for a couple of legs when I cycled from John O’Groats to Land’s End in 2021 and asked if he could come along this year.  Originally, he was going to join me for the Exeter- Dorchester leg but, as it turns out fortuitously for him, given the atrocious weather, he changed to today’s leg from Dorchester to Southampton.

I pitched up at his house in Dorchester at about 5pm to be met by his wife Lynne and immediately sent upstairs for a shower and change of clothes.  I brought all my​​ soggy kit down and stuck it in the washing machine and thence to the Dyson airer that got everything dry and toasty warm by the morning.  Rich and I wandered into town for a couple of pints of Butcombe  at the King’s Arms which was somewhat chaotic, with dirty glasses stacked all over the bar and a couple of barmaids who weren’t keeping up with demand.  Anyway, we got our drinks eventually and went back to the house for a delicious supper.  I composed the blog while Rich and Lynne watched TV and so to bed.

This morning, I was awoken by what sounded like someone having a shower but was, in fact, a huge rainstorm – not a good augury.  After breakfast of cereals and toast, we set off, after Rich faffed about changing the battery in his remote control, and hit the road just after 9am.  The skies were dark as we cycled out of town past Max Gate, home of author Thomas Hardy, through West Stafford, meeting a huge fleet of Silage trailers waiting to harvest maize and onwards to Crossways.  We turned down through a housing estate in Crossways which had some rather grand pillars with a sign saying slow down for hedgehogs - ironically there was a flat one in the middle of the road.

The route was pan flat, a pleasant change from what I had been experiencing up to now; but the weather deteriorated to a heavy shower about 8 miles in which had us sheltering under a tree whilst we donned rain-jackets.  The weather cleared for a while and then the rain came pouring down again whilst we were out in the open, with no sign of shelter.  We trudged on hoping for the best which came to pass as the storms disappeared and we were left with ideal cycling conditions through Corfe Castle. The ruins of which guard the entrance to the Isle of Purbeck.  The castle was owned by the Bankes family who sided with the King in the Civil War.  The parliamentarians besieged it twice, the first time unsuccessfully, but Lady Mary Bankes whose husband was away with King Charles in Oxford, eventually surrendered the castle in 1645 and it was slighted (demolished) by Cromwell’s forces, leaving what we see today, now owned and managed by the National Trust

We were heading for Swanage as the sun peeped through.  Nearly seventy years have passed since I was at school in Langton Matravers, and we passed close by that village on our way from Harmon’s Cross to the popular tourist town of Swanage.  The sea was fairly calm and there were hardy souls swimming as the sun peeped through.

From Swanage we climbed up Uwell road, causing a short blip of motor for me but Rich managed to get through the entire trip without using his.  Over the top we dropped down to Studland Village, past the unseen Old Harry Rocks, chalk stacks that are now much eroded and will eventually disappear

and the Knoll House hotel where we took lunch and tea on our school exeats

The Studland Peninsula has excellent sandy beaches, including one favoured by Naturists and inland is an area of heathland and acidic lakes that is a site of special scientific interest.  On the end of Studland point a chain ferry runs across the narrows of Poole Harbour to Sandbanks.  We stopped for a cup of tea at the Shell Bay restaurant before boarding the ferry which took us across for the magnificent sum of £1 a head.

We cycled through Sandbanks, once said to be the most valuable real estate in Britain, before taking to the promenade which runs for seven miles past Canford Cliffs and Branksome Chine, Bournemouth pier, Boscombe and Southbourne beaches until it runs out at Christchurch forcing us inland to cope, once again, with traffic.

During the journey along the prom, my brakes were squeaking and when I stopped to investigate it was clear that Devon and Cornwall had worn them out.  I stuck a new set of pads in the back brakes which helped but the sand we were picking up as we cycled along caused the front wheel to seize up, so I had to stop and replace the front pads as well.  I had to do a lot of fettling before I ended up with a rideable​​ bike and it wasted the best part of an hour.  Finally, all was well as we cycled through Christchurch and joined the busy A35, mercifully with a decent wide shoulder to keep us away from the fast-moving traffic. 

We branched off onto the A337 following, but out of sight of, the coast at Highcliffe, New Milton and Milford-on-Sea where my paternal grandmother lived for many years, so it is an area of which I have fond memories.  We once again saw the sea as we crossed the river in Lymington, a chocolate box town with a busy harbour and home to what is said to be the most expensive ferry crossing in the world, for the distance travelled, to the Isle of Wight.  We arrived as the gates on the railway crossing were rising so sped on across a cattle grid into the New Forest National Park, famous for its ponies which roam unfettered.

The road runs straight and true across the heathland which is a bit disheartening as it seems to go on longer than the five miles to Beaulieu, home of the National Motor Museum, founded in 1952 by Edward, Lord Montagu, owner of Beaulieu Palace.  It has grown from a collection of 5 cars to a purpose-built museum with over 300 exhibits, a monorail running through the middle of the main building.  It’s many years since I last visited it, and it certainly warrants another trip.

At Dibden Purlieu we joined a cycle track that took us either offroad or on pavements all the way into Southampton.  On the way we crossed Eling Mill Pond,​​ home to one of the oldest tide mills in the country.  It is currently being refurbished but will soon be back to grinding flour.

We were now cycling along the A33 but on a well-marked off road path.  The only problem came when we needed to cross the busy dual carriageway to make our way to the town centre, requiring us to double back on ourselves.  It was a nail-biting crossing but, once over we were on back streets or paths through the Park before arriving at Leonardo Hotel at about 1815hrs.

It was a very different day to the one’s I’ve been experiencing and nice not to have to do so much climbing.  Tomorrow will be similar, but tonight our bikes are in a store, and we have a good-sized room on the 6th​​ floor. We part company as Rich cycles home and I continue east along the coast.



Day 11 - from bad to worse

Leonardo Southampton is like Leonardo Plymouth (without the noise) and probably any other Leonardo in the world. The receptionist welcomed us and said we could take the bikes to our room or leave them in the Luggage store, which is what we did.  As Rich hadn’t used the battery at all there was no need to charge it and I. as usual, took the Fazua battery to our room and put it on charge overnight.

We went to the ‘Spoons for a couple of pints of Greene King IPA at £1.79 and Doom Bar at £1.99 and had a bowl of Nachos to nibble before we went to Diego’s a Portuguese restaurant just round the corner.  A chicken wrap and chips and a​​ Portuguese sausage and chips with a Becks beer, gave us a bill of £45 with a fairly generous tip.  A pleasant meal.

I filled my boots at breakfast while Rich was more abstemious, sticking to cereals and fruit.  As we checked out and were leaving the heavens opened and I got soaked, whilst getting lost on my way to the Itchen toll bridge, fortunately toll-free for cyclists.  Rich was heading back to Dorchester so retraced his steps from yesterday.

That was the last real rain of the day.  I got caught in some little flurries but generally stayed dry.  Unfortunately, it was far from the last of the problems.  As I was coming down the hill towards Bursledon bridge, I felt the familiar bump as the back tyre deflated.  I pulled into a small housing close and unpacked everything, turned the bike upside-down and removed the back wheel thinking that it would be easy to replace the tube and carry on. Usually it’s quite easy to get a tyre off the rim but not in this case.  I struggled to get the tyre lever to work easily but after much cussing and swearing off the tyre came.  I put in one of my replacement tubes and then found it almost impossible to get the tyre back on the rim.  Quite why it was such a problem I don’t know.  I don’t remember having trouble putting it on the wheel originally but it was a very tight fit and it must have taken me about an hour before I finally got away again. I was following the A27, mainly in cycle lanes or on the pavement, so the day was both noisy and, at times, noxious.

I was able to turn off the main drag and make my way across country on rough tacks along the Hilsea lines, an area developed by the military from the 17th​​ century onwards to protect Portsmouth.  It’s now been turned into a nature reserve and play area.  I manged to get lost, wasting yet more time before I picked up the bridge across an arm of Russell’s Lake that brought me into Havant. Punctures seem to go in pairs for me and, sure enough, twixt Havant and Emsworth down it went again.  This time an even greater struggle to repair and well over an hour wasted.  I determined to change the tyre at the first available opportunity which, fortuitously happened at Fishbourne where I spotted Barreg cycles.  They couldn’t have been more helpful.  I’m not sure if it was Barry or Reg that dealt with me, but he sold me a tyre and tube and spent a fair bit of time putting it on, for no cost other then the materials.  Typical LBS and sure to have plenty of customers because of the service they provide.

At least now I felt that I had solved the puncture problem but was running very late.  My projected journey of 77 miles would normally take about 8 hours with stops, so expected arrival at Newhaven would be the usual 5 pm.  I plugged on, by-passing Bognor (bugger Bognor) and hit the sea again at Littlehampton.  The wind was getting up but was behind the beam so, if anything, helpful.

I now had to do a 5 mile detour inland, as there is no cycleway along the coast between Rustington and Goring.  Yet more delay as I was held up at rail crossings on the way.

However, from Goring I was now on cycle paths or lanes for most of the rest of the journey and then, to cap a horrible day my front brake, once again started binding for no accountable reason.  It was holding me back so badly that, eventually, I stopped and removed the brake pads, hoping that the rear brakes, used sensibly would be sufficient, particularly as there were no steep hills to come. 

Daylight was fading fast as I hit Brighton with another 10 miles to travel.  I switched on the lights and they worked admirably until the front light dimmed and wouldn’t come back to full power, so I finished the journey through Rottingdean and Peacehaven with inadequate lights and dodgy brakes, arriving in Newhaven at 7.45pm.

As it has been such a traumatic day I’ve taken no pictures, so the blog is just a load of blether.  Maybe tomorrow will see some improvement, both in the weather and my fortunes.  I’m not sure what to do about the brakes; tomorrow is the longest projected journey but again, mainly flat until the last 5 miles. I’ll sleep on it whilst the thunder rolls around Newhaven and the rain, once again, lashes down.



Day 12 – Pedalling

When I arrived at Newhaven last night at 1945, in the dark with a defective front light and no front brakes, I wondered if I was completely mad to be trying to achieve my aim. Claudia, my host for the night had been trying to contact me to find out where​​  was but welcomed me and showed me what I needed to know. She also told me that there was an Italian restaurant and a pub within walking distance who would provide food. On my way I passed through Peacehaven which had more fast food restaurants than I had ever seen in the space of a mile, but I didn’t stop because I was intent on getting to my destination.  Unfortunately by the time I had washed and charged  and walked to the Haven pub in the start of a thunderstorm they had stopped serving.  I had a couple of pints of excellent Harvey’s best bitter​​ and some crisps to keep me going before walking 5 minutes down the road to the Coop which stayed open until 2300 to buy some chicken drumsticks, bread rolls and cheese to keep me going.

Amazingly I slept quite well, but my kit, that I had washed, didn’t dry overnight.  I put some of it on damp but had some dry bib trousers. I’d bought a Soreen malt loaf in the Co-op so that was my breakfast, and I made my way to Seaford to renew my acquaintance with the coast.  On the way I took a picture of the ferry that had just docked from Dieppe.

I was making my way to Eastbourne over the seven sisters national park and the first section was a doddle along  a bike path to Seaford

A somewhat different story after that as I climbed over a significant lump making good use of the motor.  I by-passed Beachy Head and sped down into Eastbourne where I spent a bit of time finding my way to the front where I joined a bike-path that took me 3 miles along the prom, still quite a number of people enjoying the sea air. At the end of the prom is Sovereign Harbour a complex of housing and commercial property that has been developed since 1990 on an area of shingle.  I had to go inland to get around it and then stayed away from the sea until Bexhill

Where I joined another excellent tarmac bike path which took me along the sea wall and through Hastings, past the grand pier

and through to the end of the prom, with its quaint fisherman’s huts for the storage and drying of nets that have been turned into shops and restaurants for tourists.

Uphill once more because cliffs get in the way of a sea path, quite a substantial climb up to almost 600 feet above sea level and fast down again to Pett Level where the road was closed to motor traffic for about 3 miles as they resurfaced it.  I, therefore, had a traffic free run all the way to Winchelsea where I once again had to veer inland to get around Rye Harbour, through the town of Rye which had me singing “Sing a song of sixpence” in my head and across country through sheep pastures for a mile or two until I joined yet another off road cycle track to Lydd where a short sharp shower had me reaching for the rain jacket but not before I got a good soaking.

I was making my way around Romney Marsh, famous for sheep farming and Dungeness, famous for a couple of nuclear power stations, both now closed since 2021.  The billion or so cost of de-fuelling these stations falls on the tax payer and it is unlikely that another one will be built on this site.

At New Romney I followed the A259 along the coast, still on a cycle track until at Dymchurch I joined the grandest cycle track I had yet seen, along the sea wall

all the way to Hythe where I had to take to the highway for a short time.  My route took me alongside the Royal Military Canal and some unsurfaced tracks which caused an amusing incident as a very yappy dog chased the bike causing me to swerve and gently fall over as the tyres slipped on the grassy surface.  I immediately got up and carried on up the hill for half a mile or so until I realised that I only had one pannier.  Consternation.  I turned round and found the pannier where I had left it. Relief.

Now 68 miles into the journey the climbing started again in earnest.  I was heading inland to stay the night with some dear friends who, unfortunately for me, now getting fairly tired from all the pedalling I had done, live about 550 feet above sea level. I crossed the M20 at Frogholt just as it spurs off for Le Shuttle and continued on through Lyminge, eventually arriving in the deepening gloom of the evening at about 1820hrs.  It’s been a long day on the flat which has meant little rest from pedalling but helped by some excellent cycle paths.



Day 13 – To the end of the coast

I pitched up at Alison’s house,​​ where I have stayed on many occasions, as night was falling.  I wheeled my bike around the back of the house and Alison opened the door and welcomed me. At that point I noticed my front tyre was completely flat; but it was late, I wanted a shower and a drink, and it could wait until morning.  Pete and I played rugby together at Blackheath and although he’s a good bit older than me we have similar farming backgrounds and a shared interest in game shooting, so we’ve kept in touch for 50 years or more.  He and Alison have known each other for even longer but only earlier this year decided it was time to get married!

We had an excellent meal of ham hock and vegetables and a fruit pie and rather too much red wine.  I still had the blog to tackle when we went to bed at about 1130 and I only managed to write about half before calling it a day.  After 5 hours sleep, I woke up and continued writing, but when I came to publish, the internet connection let me down and I went back for another couple of hours in bed before I was up at 7.30 and getting packed with the hope of leaving at 0900.  We fiddled about with the Internet dongle but to no avail, so I delayed publication until this evening.  Alison cooked us a splendid FEB so the day started well but I’m not sure what I’ve done to deserve the bad breaks over the last couple of days which continued when I tried to fix the puncture.  The first tube I tried didn’t have a long enough valve and I couldn’t get my pump to work with it.  I tried another tube which seemed to work but when I started to put the panniers on it was losing air and I was losing patience. Eventually I found a small hole in the tube and put on a self-adhesive patch.  Praise be it worked but I had the distinct feeling throughout the day that I would have to do it again.  All of this faffing about meant that my projected 0900 start became 1010.  I was due to cycle the best part of 75 miles so, with stops for pictures and inevitable wrong turns it would take in the region of 8 hours – another finish in semi darkness.

To start with I made my way towards Dover by the back roads, heading roughly south east through the Kentish Weald, narrow roads with trees either side often meeting in the middle and creating a dark tunnel that opened up to provide views of grassland. Past the Black Robin pub at Kingston and the Duke of Cumberland at Barham, the roads rising and falling for the 15 miles to Dover.  I by-passed the port area and climbed up past Dover Castle the head of which is Lord Warden of the Cinque Ports, all of which (Hastings, New Romney, Hythe, Dover and Sandwich) I have visited on this trip.

At the top of the hill, above the famous White Cliffs (unsurprisingly not a bluebird in sight) I joined a delightful cycle path that descended at a pleasant gradient through St Margaret-at-Cliffe and found the sea again at Kingsdown.

Now heading along the promenade through Walmer and Deal with its stumpy pier and fishing boats pulled up above the tide-line

I passed the Royal Cinque Ports Golf Club, down a toll road, which I got through without paying,

 and kept inland from the golfing gem of this area, The Royal St George’s which has staged the Open Championship15 times, last time in 2021.

Through Sandwich I joined a track alongside the busy A256 and then made my way by back roads, stopping to take a picture of a Viking Longship replica

past Ramsgate port and marina

through the centre of town and on up the coast through Broadsdtairs

My main objective was to cycle around the North Foreland, not the eastern most point of Britain, that title belongs to Lowestoft Ness but the easternmost point of the south coast of England.  I have to confess I was confused as to when I actually achieved that, but it was around Kingsgate

Once around the bend there about six miles of concrete promenade, in places with waves throwing water high over the sea walls and onto the track

Past Margate and Westgate at Birchington-on-Sea I dived inland for about 8 miles, avoiding Reculver, at one point following an arrow straight farm track close to the A299 Thanet Way and finding the sea once again at Herne Bay.

More excellent Promenade, with cycling banned from 10 until 6 from May to the end of September.  Herne Bay once boasted the second longest pier in the UK but it was largely destroyed by storm resulting in the strange anomaly of the pier head remaining as an island over a kilometre from the shore.

My main objective was now Whitstable where I would leave the coast and head inland for the rest of my journey, my by-line of Watchet to Whitstable achieved.

There was a steep climb out of the town not helped by slow moving traffic but once over that it was a straightforward ride for the final ten miles to the Premier Inn at Faversham which I reached at about 1820 in gathering darkness.



Day 14 – Heading for home

You know what you’ll get with Premier Inns and that is where I ended up last night at Faversham.  I’d booked an evening meal in their Thyme restaurant and went for the same salt and pepper calamari that I’d enjoyed earlier in the trip.  It was as good as I remembered, and I followed it up with chicken topped with bacon and mozzarella served with coleslaw and chips – not bad but not outstanding. Sticky toffee pudding and custard rounded things off.  Sadly, they had no real ale, so I had to make do with a pint of Atlantic keg.  I nipped across the car park to Aldi to buy a bottle of wine to help me write the blog and bought some Jaffa cakes for the next day.

The usual excellent help yourself breakfast filled me well and I was on the bike at 0900.  I was heading to stay with more old friends in east Surrey and Tony had managed to find a local bike shop who would fix my brakes if I got there in time.  75 or so miles to travel over not very hilly terrain should take me about 8 hours.  The weather was sunny and bright but distinctly chilly and I wore bib tights.

Faversham is 100 foot asl but I had to climb up onto the Kentish Weald at about 500 feet so switched the motor on quite early.  Once up there it was rolling countryside covered in woodland, especially sweet chestnut coppice which is used for fencing.

I was in end of term mood: I’d achieved my ambition of cycling from Watchet to Whitstable and it was now a question of getting home.  Although the countryside with autumn colours starting to appear is always interesting, I found little of specific note to photograph.  One thing that is clear is that squirrels have become a serious pest and are taking a toll on decent forestry. 

Nothing much of interest as my route took me well to the south of the Kent County Town, Maidstone, until I reached Tonbridge 35 miles into the journey.  Having got used to the excellent bike paths by the sea it was disappointing that I had to take to narrow pavements to avoid the heavy traffic on A227.  I had no need to cross the River Medway as it flowed through the centre of town on its was to the Thames estuary at Rochester but had to Goap through the grounds of Tonbridge Castle as​​ cycling, and pretty much everything else was banned.  The castle has been  restored but I didn’t stop to look, passing the Motte which rears up beside the track.  Once away from the castle grounds I remounted and made my way along a mixture of surfaces beside the rugby club and through woodland before I emerged on tarmac at Powdermills.

Through Edenbridge I stopped to eat my Jaffa Cakes before joing the A22 at Blindley Heath

I made my way around Horley the town just to the north of Gatwick Airport which, knowing that it is in Sussex, made me wonder about how many counties I have visited and how many of them more than once.  It’ll be 10 in total after tomorrow and, I calculate that I’ll have visited Somerset, Devon, Hampshire and West Sussex more than once.

Little more of interest to report, but a fair bit of up and down towards the end of the journey which made me reach for the battery switch.  I reached my destination in Cranleigh at about 1645, amazingly, earlier than I had projected.  I had a quick shower and Tony put the bike in the back of his car and we drove to Mike’s bike workshop where Mike Bamber generously resuscitated my front brake for free as I was on a charity ride.  If you’re ever in need to an LBS in the Cranleigh area, he’s​​ your man​​ www.mikesbikeworkshop.co.uk.  His workshop is an old glasshouse that has been clad in timber

A couple of pints at a local Brewery converted from farm buildings put us in good order for supper.



Day 15 – chills and spills

As I said yesterday,  Mike Bamber​​ mikesbikeworkshop.co.uk, came to my rescue by sorting out my front brake but it’s worth repeating as he is the epitome of a local bike mechanic, prepared to drop everything and help where he can.  Once again Mike, thanks. We loaded the bike back into the car and went on to Firebird brewery, founded in 2013 by two professional brewers who met at the University of Birmingham Brewing school.  It is now a meeting spot for hundreds of people, busy when we arrived at about 1800hrs and when we left, after a couple of pints of Heritage XX.

It’s not quite what I’d call a pub, but it’s pleasant enough and clearly popular.  They brew half a dozen different beers and stick them in cans and bottles as well as the draught that we drank.  We returned to a delicious supper cooked by Julia whilst we were out enjoying ourselves. (she also washed my smelly clothes). One of the nicest things about eating with friends, as opposed to in Wetherspoons, Premier Inns etc, is that there are always well cooked vegetables and that, to me, makes all the difference. An excellent meal in good company.

Just a little history: Tony shared a flat in London with my now wife Annie and her childhood friend, also called Annie back in the early 70’s.  I then got to know Tony when I took a job with Guardian Royal Exchange, managing part of their substantial property portfolio.  There were a gang of us, assorted young professionals, who would meet for a liquid lunch most Tuesdays in the Lamb in Leadenhall market.  Needless to say, not much work was done in the afternoon. Tony married Julia who, co-incidentally, was born in Malaya as were my sister and I.  Tony is also godfather to our daughter Kate so the friendship is deep.

This morning Julia went above and beyond and cooked me eggs and bacon before she went off to play tennis and I departed at about 0930 to ride 57 miles to Andover.  Tony waved me off before driving to the tip and then on to play golf..

The weather was, once again overcast with a threat of rain and I was dressed accordingly as I made my way through Cranleigh

I had noticed that there was an off road track that led north west from Cranleigh towards Peasmarsh and Mike and Tony confirmed that this was an old railway line.  The surface looked a bit dodgy from the start with puddles and slippery patches of mud that I gingerly tackled with one foot unclipped.  A mile or so in there was a tree completely blocking the way and I had to lift the bike through and over it.

Worse was to come as I swerved to avoid a particularly large muddy puddle, hit my shoulder on a tree and fell into the middle of the puddle, covering all the nice clean clothes in black mud, losing my phone from its pocket and grazing my knee.  My jacket, particularly, suffered and I took it off and stuck it between the panniers, held on by a bungee.  I cleaned the phone as best as I could, donned my fluorescent yellow waterproof and continued.  There was yet another tree down which had to be negotiated but there were a large number of cyclists in both directions, all on mountain bikes.


After about 7 miles I was on tarmac and made better progress but was soon back on tracks, one taking me part Puttenham golf club (surely nominative determinism at work there) crowded with Saturday morning golfers, the tracks going through quite dense woodland

I took to a road that shadowed, to the south, the A31 Hog’s Back, a notoriously dangerous stretch of road that has caused many deaths, most famously that of Mike Hawthorn, the 1958 F1 driver’s champion when he lost control of his Jaguar whilst racing a gull-wing Mercedes.

No such drama for me as I once again took to the Boondocks, past a couple of friendly horses

The path grew narrower, until it was barely showing

And I was faced by a kissing cycle gate that caused some difficulty, doubled because 100 yards further on there was another.

I was now approaching Farnham, in gridlock by the station but fortunately not on the road that Rita was sending me down. Once again I had to take to a narrow footpath that was, thank goodness, the last bit of off-road for the day.

I safely crossed the dual carriageway Alton road and re-entered Hampshire last passed through around Emsworth on Day 11. I was heading for Upton Grey, the village in which my mother and her two sisters grew up. My grandparents are both buried in the churchyard, along with many other ancestors, and I paid my respects just as it started to spit with rain.  The gravestone is in dire need to cleaning and the grass trimming; but my sister and cousins plan to remedy this next year.

North Hampshire is a country of rolling downs and woods

but the general direction of travel for me, at the half-way point, was now downhill.  I passed under the M3 just before North Waltham, voted Hampshire’s prettiest village according to a plaque on the side of the bus shelter where I stopped to eat the banana and clementines that Julia had pressed upon me

The weather was improving with glimmers of sun and the last ten miles of the journey over rolling roads was quite pleasant.  I crossed the River Test, seeing a few small fish but none of those monster trout for which the river, with its gin clear water is famous.

And finally, I was in Andover, although wrong turns took me around the town by a much more circuitous route than necessary, and I booked into the White Hart Inn, a Marston’s house, at 1640hrs.



Day 16 – Back home     

The White Hart Inn in the centre of Andover dates back to the 17th​​ century and shows signs of its age. I don’t know how long Marstons have owned it but it could do with a bit of tlc, certainly with the carpets in the common areas.  I booked in and asked where I could leave the bike, having been told by Marstons central that there was a cellar.  The receptionist scratched his head and said no to the cellar; but if I was leaving before 10 it could go into the function room which was going to be used for a tabletop sale later.  So that’s where it spent the night.  Panniers, battery and I were banished to Room 28 which was the furthest possible point from reception and up and down a few flights of stairs.  However, the room itself was large and airy and the bathroom not too bad.  It’s interesting that nearly all the hotels I’ve stayed in​​ have had bath tubs with a shower over and this was no exception.  The major plus point was that there was a fan heater in the room, and I was able to dry out my shoes, socks and bib tights ready for today.

Having washed and put everything on to charge I decided to go to Wetherspoons which was just around the corner. Marstons menu and prices were very similar but in ‘spoons I got a free beer thrown in and the second pint only cost £1.79.  I ate sausage and mash with some extra roast veg and garlic bread followed by ice cream with shortbread and blueberries.  All absolutely fine.  On the way I ditched the cycling jacket that I had got so covered in mud.  It had seen better days and 2 of the 3 zips were broken, so it went in the bin.  I do like the Wetherspoons app.  You sit down at a numbered table, put in your order on-line, pay for it (in this case with Paypal} and a minute or so later a beer magically appears followed by your food when it’s ready.  All very efficient.  What’s not so good is the ambience with a lot of noisy lairy people around you: you can’t have everything.

I skipped breakfast this morning and still didn’t get on the road until 0900.  It was distinctly chilly and remained so all day.  I regretted the fact that my full cycling gloves were at the bottom of one of the panniers (I couldn’t remember which) and I was wearing mittens.  It took me a little while to pick up on the route out town but, once on it, Rita gave clear instructions.  I arrived at the tunnel under the A303

And was soon on the road to Salisbury.  I stayed north of the main road making my way through some charming villages.  I found myself passing by the farm of a good friend of my son and the tractors were out working. For almost ten years they organised a charity bike ride called Nelson’s Tour de Test Valley in memory of a son who committed suicide.  Over those years they have raised hundreds of thousands of pounds for CALM, the campaign against living miserably.  I participated in three of the events, on one occasion cycling to Grateley from home and then cycling the 50-mile organised route giving me a 100 mile day in the saddle.  I then grabbed a lift home in the car.

Plenty of big arable fields in Hampshire with many of the old hedges grubbed out to make room for the massive equipment that is now de rigueur and the old open grass downs now growing cereals and oil seeds instead of grazing the traditional Hampshire sheep breeds.

I wound my way through Cholderton, Allington, Idmiston and Porton, staying south of the secretive Government laboratories that have dealt with all sorts of chemical weapons over the years. There was a long three mile slog along the arrow straight Portway before I arrived at Old Sarum. I crossed the River Avon, one of eight by that name in Great Britain.

 Unfortunately my plotted route took me up a path so narrow and steep that I had to GOAP for about 200 yards but once over that I made my way past Old Sarum Castle

Originally built as a Motte and Bailey by William the Conqueror within an old Iron Age fort which dates back to 400 BC, the structure was added to and strengthened until it lost its defensive value and was allowed to deteriorate until sold by Henry VIII.  It’s now administered by English Heritage and is a popular destination for tourists and locals.

Once past Old Sarum I was on entirely familiar roads that I have travelled often, so the navigators went to sleep, and I kept pedalling until I thought I’d better stop for a bit of nourishment at Barford St Martin where the Budgens supplied a Costa Coffee and some cherry Bakewells to keep me going for the second half of the journey.

Now in Wiltshire (the final of my 10 counties) The scenery changed back to smaller fields and more hedges as corn gave way to horn.

After that the camera stayed in my pocket as I wound my way home.  I dropped in to see son Rob for a cuppa on the way past and was back at Home Farm by 1530hrs.

It’s been an interesting journey with highs and lows.  I’ve done an awful lot of climbing and I’ve come down some steep hills with dodgy brakes squealing in protest. I haven’t seen much sun and I’ve been absolutely drenched, but that’s probably because it’s late in the year to be adventuring. I’ll piece it all together over the next couple of days and let you know the total travelled



Edit Post

Update

It's all over

That's it. I've completed the ride. It's a bit longer than my trip to the Pyrenees last year and the best part of 8,000 feet more climbing which, perhaps, goes to show how flat the west coast of France is. I feel pretty exhausted and don't plan to get back on the bike for a week but I've still got at least 824 miles to do between now and 31st December to reach my goal of 6000 miles for the year. I find it quite cathartic putting my thoughts down each evening so thanks for accompanying me. Hopefully I'll be off on another adventure next year.



Top of Form

Top of Form

Top of Form

Top of Form

Top of Form

Top of Form

Top of Form

Top of Form