I had originally intended to photograph one of my favourite beaches in southern Devon but it was the wrong time of year for the sunset across the opening of the cove. Instead, I retraced my steps by a few miles to Ayrmer Cove and waited until around half an hour after the sun dropped below the horizon, to capture this long exposure shot.
Total mileage: 57
Terrain: Hills – challenging
Another fantastic day of sunshine for us, which considering the crappy weather we had had the previous week, was a blessing. We made our way from Perran Porth, up and out of the coastal town and along the north coastline.
We stopped for lunch at Padstow, a really pretty seaside port, festooned with about a zillion holidaying tourists. We were warned in the fish and chip shop where we purchased our food to watch out for the seagulls, which tended to dive bomb people’s lunches, aiming to grab some tasty swag. As it turned out, this was handy advice as we saw other folk being hassled by the crafty birds.
After lunch, we wheeled our bikes down to the beach, via a series of step stairs. Unfortunately, this reset Mary’s bike computer to zero and did some damage to Pete’s as well. From the beach, we waiting patiently in line for the ferry to collect us and take us to the other side of the channel, to a small enclave called Rock.
The ride from the coast to Bodmin Moor was unremarkable. However, Bodmin Moor itself was incredible; definitely one of the highlights of the trip. There, we started a long decline that saw us almost all the way to the outskirts of Launceston. We bumped into a local cyclist who kindly escorted us to the town centre and helped us find digs for the night.
Launceston itself is not so bad but the hostel we stayed in was pretty rough, especially after the two lovely campsites we had stayed at the previous nights. That said, we had an enormous supper and the guys began their campaign to try and get me drunk each night.
After purchasing a few final additions for my cycle ride on Friday, I made my way to the Condor ferry terminal at St Peter Port terminal. Unfortunately, as the ferry was due to arrive at 18:20 in Weymouth, I knew I would have a fairly full on ride to make it by the time it got dark.
Things did not start well; the ferry was over an hour later departing. It had been due to rain all day Friday and to my great fortune, the weather had abated. Indeed, on the journey over to the mainland, the skies cleared and large swathes of blue were visible. This perked my spirits up as I realised that I would have about 2 hours of sunshine to cycle 50 miles. No problem on my road bike but how would the Thorn perform?
Matters became instantly more complicated when us cyclists were hemmed in by a ferry load of cars waiting to disembark. We had to wait almost 30 minutes until we were able to leave the boat. Precious time was slipping away and the evening light was already beginning to filter through the progressively more patchy sky.
I had prepared my route at Pete’s place and listed out a series of directions. Alas, I was not able to find the first marker and ended up having to follow the queuing line of traffic to exit Weymouth. Here, the cycle was in its element as I was able to jump most of the tailbacks.
It was at this juncture that the sneaking suspicion that the evening’s ride was not going to be as straightforward as I had hoped began to creep in. The landscape around Weymouth is quite spectacular and decidedly hilly. With the additional weight of the steel framed bike and the three panniers, the cruising speed was down from 25mph to a far more modest 12mph. I did some quick maths in my head and realised that I would not make it to Ottery St Mary until after dark. My original expectations were that I would arrive in Weymouth and be off the ferry by 6.30pm followed by a leisurely saunter to Ottery, arriving at around 9.30pm riding the coattails of sunshine for the day.
With the much reduced pace, my delayed arrival in Weymouth and the fact that I managed to get completely lost so early on, I estimated my time of arrival at closer to midnight. Thankfully I had some lights with me but they were small, city lights, to ensure that motorists could see me on well lit urban streets. They were really not up to the task of illuminating a jet black road as I ploughed through the night on the A35.
Another problem was that after just two hours, I had exhausted almost all of my 2litre water supply. Having originally believed that I would be cycling earlier in the day, I had concluded that I would be able to refill my water bottles at service stations en route. Regrettably, it became abundantly apparent that this would not be the case as each and every petrol station I cycled past was closed.
I had also not counted on the road being so perilous. Cars hurtled past me at 60mph, inches from my rear panniers, buffeting me with strong gusts of displaced wind in the process. With the ever dimming sky, I prayed that my pathetic lights were up to the task of forewarning these motorists of my presence.
The route I followed took in some very long hill climbs, which many cyclists are not fans of. With the additional weight and my inexperience of handing the bike, I wobbled precariously as I steadily scaled each hurdle.With all the weight hanging over the rear wheel, the front end tended to weaver frantically as I spun the pedals in 4th gear, averaging a speed of around 5-6mph.
Finally, after more than three hours of exertion, cycling through the undulating Devonshire landscape, with no light save for the modest pool afforded by my front LED, I stopped in mid ascent, exhausted. It felt like I was climbing Mount Olympus to speak with the gods. I lay down next to the road and drained what little water I had left. It was dark. The stillness of the evening was broken only momentarily by the infrequent, speeding cars that whirled past me. I was running on empty. I had no chocolate bars or water to consume or a mobile phone to contact Bryony with, to inform her where I was. Indeed, I had no real idea at that point where I lay. Determined to make the remaining journey as fast as possible, driven by the need to quench my insatiable thirst, I pressed on after a 15 minute rest.
Finally, with an exultant whoop, I pulled in to Honiton and located a phone booth to call Bryony. After an emotional conversation (it was 12.30am I and was in fact 3 hours late), she said she would drive over to collect me. I asked a local policeman where I could acquire some water and he took me back to the Honiton police station where I drank to my heart’s desire.
It was quite an adventure; exhilarating, exhausting, educational. I realise that I am capable on my road bike, unencumbered by the weight of the panniers. However, my cycle ride across the UK was going to take more effort than I had first thought. Bizarre as it sounds, one of the reasons I was keen to undertake such a physical test was to push me well out of my comfort zone. This cycle ride informed me that I would indeed be pushed hard but that the reward afterwards would be far more than I had first thought.
Only through a great challenge can one achieve a great victory.
All Terrain Photography 