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Who ate all the pies?
As soon as we had made the decision and moved our compass bezel 90 degrees the riding improved massively. In 15 minutes we had ridden a swift grassy downhill section and were on a tarmac road. Julie was ecstatic about her new Marzocchi Marathon Bomber forks which she claimed were the most revolutionary things she had ever encounted on a bike since wheels were invented. I was just pleased to be on a road, albeit an unmapped one. We rode to the next junction and sat wondering what to do next. We hadn't seen another person for hours and were pretty unsure of the direction to take when a rather unlikely event occurred and
a nice policeman appeared and asked if we were ok (who says there's never one around when you need one!) Two minutes later we had directions to a shop, and a road section back onto the moor after the walking section. A Result!! A monster downhill road section saw me hitting nearly 80km/h and unsurprisingly took us quickly to a small village. The shop was great and as it was 5 o'clock it provided a much needed meal. Huge Cornish pasties and a whole freshly made apple pie disappeared in no time, as did a few pints of milk.
I sat contentedly (euphemism for 'over fed and feeling slightly sick and stiff') as we watched over the green of a beautiful Devon village in the afternoon glow of a baking summers day. My skin prickled with dried sweat and slight sunburn and I knew it had been a great day. If only we didn't have a 250 metre climb back onto the moor top'.but you cant have everything!
Green land with matching Julie
A slow crawl up a monster incline brought us back up to the top of the hill on a small road. The sun was finally losing its heat and the glow of evening was settling over the buzzing heather. In the distance the sea was gently glinting a bright blue and contrasting sharply with the green heather and implausibly red soil. I was speechlessly drinking in the view feeling like a very privileged human being when Julie arrived looking a little green. It had been a vicious hill after such a large meal and I was only too happy to rest for 10 minutes as we sat in this empty wonderland. We had a further 20 km before the hotel was due and in keeping with the scenery the last few miles of the days trails were spectacular. The red soil contrasted sharply with the blue sea and green foliage. The hills were sharp and pointed and reminded me more of the Guatemalan Highlands than the Dorset I thought I knew, and finally for perfection a few drops of rain finally damped down the dust and provided that unique smell of summer rain as we coasted over empty flat single track trails through beautiful scenery to the seaside and our swimming pool clad hotel.
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Things had definitely taken a turn for the better. We were both seriously tired, but we knew we had made the right decision to drop off the moor for food and water. The day had been a big climber (5500ft) and although we hadn't been fast we had made it. My arse had finally numbed past the point of no return and as we walked stiffly to our dinner booking at a pub down the coast from the hotel I was pleased with my choice of bike. Perfect for the job you could say'
Tomorrow would be our last day and the warm up ride would be finished. After a day off we would enter the first serious stages of South and mid Wales before crossing the light and dark peak districts and heading to Manchester ready for the serious hard core of the last 10 days. Never keen to let an opportunity of free accommodation pass us by we had lengthened the last day in the SouthWest in order to allow us to stop in the middle of Bristol with Julie's sister. At the time of preparation this seemed like a fine idea both saving us money and allowing us a short break for free as we rested our battered bodies and repaired our bikes.
When I finally dragged my backside from a comfy bed at the 7:30am alarm any extra added miles had turned from a small red squiggle on the map to a gargantuan undertaking. Whose idea, I belligerently demanded, had it been to add a further 20 km to the days route'.I was sleepily reminded that I had been such a tight arse with the finances that I had refused to pay for two days at the specified hotel and so to shut up whinging. What could I say'..
Breakfast came and went and my legs felt as bad as they had for the last three days. The difference today was twofold. Firstly, when I awoke I knew that tomorrow I was going to ride precisely zero km, up precisely zero hills. Secondly, and perhaps most significantly, I knew that no matter how bad my legs felt now they would pedal as I demanded, and not just for an hour or two. If I told them to pedal for 12 hours (and I ate enough Farls') they would do just that. I had gained the knowledge that despite my worst fears I could currently keep pedalling almost indefinitely if I had to. There was almost a spring in my (slightly crippled) step as we cycled along the shore of the clean, blue, Bristol Channel with a cooling breeze fanning my golden locks whilst birds tweeted in the trees. OK, OK, so I'm bald, they were seagulls, and the Bristol Channel smelt a bit like sewerage but you get the idea, it was the first day that had started positively.
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