clairedavieswriter

Today started as yesterday ended: following the Camel upstream. Despite the rain, I didn’t get the hump.

The trail’s railway heritage showed us the way:

I passed the usual joggers and dog walkers (no doggers, as far as I could tell – see earlier blog if that comment seems perplexing) but no cycle tourers, let alone Lejoggers – in fact at that point I’d seen none in either direction since Land’s End, apart from a pair of glum-looking gentlemen sheltering from the rain in a barn (#lightweights).

Just as I’d started to wonder if I was the only idiot doing the scenic (for which, read ‘long’) Sustrans route, I passed several – cyclists, not idiots, to the best of my knowledge – two youngsters on mountain bikes, a couple my age on a tandem, who chorused a determinedly cheerful Good Morning as they steamed by in synchrony, and a solo Jogler (ie north to south), completing a trip she’d had interrupted by the pandemic. She was the only one who stopped to exchange notes – funny how travelling alone can actually be less isolating than travelling with others.

The Snail’s Pace café at the top of the trail was today’s port in a storm. I avoided the cream first/jam first controversy by choosing butter, but no doubt have caused some other unintended offence by cutting the scone in half vertically. It’s a cultural minefield, I tell you.

On Bodmin Moor I was greeted by sunshine, amazing views and some deeply disinterested sheep. Thick clouds hung in the valleys left and right, but to my surprise I avoided rain for the rest of the day.

At the far side of the moor, I found myself cycling on a disused airstrip – like a Cold War version of Singapore’s East Coast Parkway, without the bougainvillea.

It was at this point (to quote the late, great Gerard Hoffnung) that I lost my presence of mind. Given the choice of two routes: inland, which according to Sustrans was only “slightly shorter and less challenging”, or via the coast, I opted for sea views. As I rolled generally downhill off the moor, getting tantalising glimpses of deep blue sea between the hedgerows, it was looking a great decision…

…until I came upon this little beauty of a valley just south of Widemouth Bay, which unfathomably does not get a mention, or even the suggestion of a chevron, in the Sustrans guide:

I rapidly realised the folly of trying to ride a heavy bike down a slope this steep (see ‘Cornish hills’ in my earlier blog). However, on foot and in cleats it was no easier – like trying to control a rampaging bullock while wearing tap shoes. Trixie looked mortified. I guess I was too busy at that point to think about the implications of dropping so steeply into the valley, but once at the bottom spotted the near-vertical tarmac strip climbing out the other side. It’s certainly one way to stretch out your hamstrings after a day’s cycling.

After those exertions, this was a welcome sign:

And the pasties were truly restorative…

Which meant time to explore some of the sights:

But not quite enough energy for a dip in the sea pool..