Day 21 Okehampton to Boscarne

Melton Viaduct

I was away at first light, and onto the Granite Way, initially a tarmac trail following the Dartmoor Railway, then following the old line which skirted the west side of Dartmoor. I was pretty tired and put that down to the traumas of the Okehampton Experience. At least the knee was behaving itself. Despite the low cloud and limited views the Granite Way was really enjoyable, and it crossed two impressive viaducts on its way to Lydford where I traversed the edge of the gorge before heading across the moor to North Brentor on the NCN27. This turned into a bit of a nightmare, a really rough bouldery track where I seriously feared for Horse's health. I cycled most of it through bracken off to the side. Onto the back roads the route went through Longcross and Milton Abbot before passing a cider mill at the appropriately-named Felldownhead, before dropping down to the venerable Greystones Bridge over the River Tamar. The road out of the valley had three V gradient markers, so I set off with some trepidation and after eating some soggy glucose tablets I found lurking in the barbag, and slugging most of the water. The hill wasn't bad in the end and I was almost disappointed. Then it was on to a village with the delightful name of Little Comfort, set on the banks of the Lowly Brook. It lived up to its

NCN27 to North Brentor

name: no shop/cafe/pub/phone coverage. And it started to drizzle. My route then went through several confusingly-named villages all beginning with the prefix Tre, which means homestead in Cornish. At Higher Larrick there was a steep descent and climb past the valley of the River Inny, followed by a bit of B road to Plusha, then an A-road avoiding detour through Trevague, where the drizzle turned to heavy rain and I scuttled into the King's Head in Altarnum. I was too cold and damp for a beer, so had a big pot of tea and a baguette several feet long.
The route now headed just north of west across open moors to Davidstow Airfield, with the wind and rain really picking up. I rejoined the NCN3, and headed direct into the headwind past Crowdy Reservoir. It was grim going, and I put on my waterproof/insulated gloves for the first time. Within 5 minutes my hands were soaked and I'd have to squeeze the handlebars to drain them.The NCN signs were now painted on the road, and I missed a crucial turn-off and ended up taking a long descent down to the River Camel about 3km upstream from where I should have been.   All the way down I'd been thinking 'I wouldn't like to bike up this'. Cursing profusely I re-climbed the 80 metre hill and turned off to Churchtown and St Breward. Thoroughly drenched by now I went into a pub car park and tightened up the brakes which had been reluctant to stop me on the big descent. I asked a chap which way it was to the Camel Trail. He didn't say anything, just shook his head in disbelief and pointed down the road. I stopped at a shop and bought a pasta meal and chocolate. "Oh I've got a pair of those gloves. Great aren't they?" "Well they were for the first two minutes". I resisted the temptation to prove my point by giving them a squeeze.
I descended to the Camel Trail and pedalled furiously to avoid hypothermia. At one point there were four pheasants on the trail and they all flew off except one, which ran down the trail in front of me. After 200 metres I started to feel guilty, but not so guilty that I was prepared to sacrifice any forward momentum and let it escape. Its legs were still a blur after 400 metres, and just as I was starting to wonder if pheasant would go with pasta it shot through a gap in the fence and disappeared.
By now it was getting gloomy so I kept an eye open for camping spots, which were not forthcoming. Eventually I saw a sign which said NO ENTRY OR ACCESS TO THE RIVER. Perfect. It was nearly dark, and I'd be gone at first light. I put the tent up in double-quick time, threw the wet clothes down the end of the tent, chucked the soggy gloves outside in the hope that a passing badger would eat them, made a brew and a meal and must have been asleep by 7pm.

Day stats 93km   1094 Metres of ascent

Off road 28km 

A road 0km 

B road  7km 

Unclassifed road 58km

Day 20 Taunton to Okehampton

Grand Western Canal

I was awake at 6am and popped a pill straight away, hoping it would kick in by the time I'd left. With headlamp on and all lights blazing I biked in the dark through a fine drizzle to Nynehead, then joined the Grand Western Canal near Greenham Weir, still part of the NCN3. The towpath was perfect, the water crystal clear, and the rain stopped. What a great canal! Even the bridges were friendly; they had names, not numbers like all the previous ones: Whipcott, Fencer, Fussed, Ebear. My OS map suggested the NCN3 left the canal at Samford Peverell, but a couple of dog walkers said I  could bike all the way to Tiverton, a nice bonus. After Halburton there was an aqueduct over the railway that put the canal out of business, then a memorial to the crew of a  Canberra bomber that had crashed in the canal in 1961. The crash had been largely forgotten until dredging work in 2003 uncovered fuselage fragments and mud smelling of fuel.
I was sorry to reach Tiverton, the canal had been such a puncture-free delight. I had no hesitation in awarding it the Best Canal Oscar. I dropped down to Tiverton and had two flat whites, a panini and an almond twist which all hit the spot perfectly. 5km of B road took me out of Tiverton, then I turned off through Pennymoor, Paddington, Black Dog and Morchard Bishop, which sounded like a vegetarian variation on the 'More tea vicar?' phrase.

Aqueduct

Severe undulations led past a sign warning about kangaroos, through Bondleigh and on to Honeychurch where I stopped for a brew and some chocolate.
There was a big descent into Sampford Chapple, then across to Brightly and into Okehampton.
I decided to use the youth hostel. I hadn't been in one since my late teens, and thought it would be nice to have people to talk to. And I'd heard they did nice rooms these days, and had really 'upped their game'.
It was a steep hill up the YH, where I was offered a shared dorm for £18. I suspected my gear-spreading tricks might be more suited to a private room, so I asked if they had any. Yes, for £50. That sounded pretty expensive, but I was tired and thought it would be a nice hotel-style room, so I stabled Horse in the drying room, which wasn't heated, and took my bags up to the room. It was a tad disappointing: small, with two bunk beds, an attached shower room with paint flaking off the ceiling, mouldy sealant, and a hand towel. If I hadn't been so tired I'd have gone and found a B&B where I'd at least get breakfast thrown in. The room overlooked the railway terminus, which was blaring out Christmas carols over tinny loudspeakers. I made myself a cup of tea, and found the common room, where a cooking programme was on the TV, and a chap sat there with his laptop wearing those "Don't even think about talking to me" headphones. So much for company. I drank up, grabbed my wallet from Room 101 and fled into town for food and beer, where the London Inn filled both those requirements. The barman tried to tempt me with a dessert, but with an  ascent of Station Road  imminent I wisely passed. As turned onto the side road to the hostel I noticed two things. The hostel was on Klondike Road, and having just had £50 extruded through the nostrils, that came as no surprise. Secondly the carols were still going full belt at the station and it was gone 8pm. I crossed the bridge to the station and enquired when the carols would be turned off. "When the next train comes in, which is soon." I should have asked for a definition of 'soon'. Temporarily mollified I returned to my cell and phoned Fiona. "What's that noise?" "Oh, Once in Royal David's City." "It's very loud isn't it?" Eventually the last train came in, and it sat there engine turning over noisily. I kept telling myself it was just the purring of a large cat, and gradually the blood pressure dropped as I started to drift off to sleep. Then the engine was turned off, and "Oh Come All Ye Faithful" took over. I soaked tissues and shoved them in my ears, but there was no escape. It was like an acoustic torture they use to break people, and just as I was on the verge of cracking it all went quiet.

Not another wrong turn!

Back road bliss

Day stats 90km  1136 Metres of ascent
Off road 18km 
A road 2km 
B road  10km 
Unclassifed road 60km

Day 19 Monkton Combe to Taunton

I wasn't overly chuffed with a pricey pub that couldn't get a plumber in to fix a radiator, but they did arrange for me to start breakfast at early at 7.45, which was great. The staff had been really friendly, and the food excellent, so despite the unplanned sauna the Wheelwright's Arms gets a thumbs up.Traffic was heavy in the lane outside the pub. It was the school run for Midford College, and I threaded my way through a pride of 4x4's, then down past Tucking Mill, once the home of William Smith, the man who produced what has been called 'The Map That Changed the World', a geological map of England and Wales. It's incredibly accurate and detailed, and produced by him in 1815, when getting about would have been a mission in itself. Cycle helmet off to William Smith!

Shoscombe signage

The route rejoined the railway track, and after an enjoyable 4km off road, with a couple of tunnels thrown in, it was quiet back roads to Shoscombe Vale, before another off road trail into Radstock, a very cycle-friendly place. Another section of old railway track led to Kilmersdon, where I sat on the steps of the war memorial with a cup of tea. The left knee was hurting already, so I popped a couple of painkillers before setting off towards Chilcompton on the longest stretch of B road since Scotland. It was a busy road, and very undulating. The bike didn't sound too happy either. The back wheel budgie had returned with some mates, and they were squeaking away like there was no tomorrow. I emptied the last of the lubricant on any likely-looking suspects and headed down towards Wells. Originally I'd planned to go through Cheddar, but opted for this more direct line due to the knee. Another 6k's of B road saw me in Wells, where I admired the cathedral then had a couple of flat whites in Costa just as the drizzle started. It was a completely off road cycle path on the NCN3 out of Wells, then back roads through Launcherley and then a few

Wells

k's along a ruler-straight road over Queen's Sedge Moor  straight into a stiff headwind. An off road cycle path took me around Glastonbury and I was clear of the Mendips and hiding onto the Somerset Levels. Levels was a word with a lot of appeal. I followed the NCN3 west to Ashcott, and by this time I could hardly use my left leg to pedal. I struggled on to Chilton Polden where I made a jug of tea and ate the prawn sandwiches which had survived the Wheelwright Arms cauldron. I started making contingency plans, as I was seriously worried about being able to continue. I could rest up as there was nothing I had to rush back for (sorry Fiona). I could send all the camping kit back and carry on travelling as light as possible and abandon the 'carry your

Launcherley back road

home' principal. Hell I'd carried the kit for 1500km!I took out the first aid kit to see what pills I had left, and remembered I had five very out-of-date strong painkillers I'd been prescribed in New Zealand for a back injury. I swallowed one of those, raised the bike seat a little and carried on.
At Cossington I followed a short section of old railway track to Bawdrip, which sounded suspiciously like a Glaswegian STD, along the King's Sedgemoor Drain to Chedzoy, and onto a path along the River Parret which led into Bridgewater where I joined the Bridgewater to Taunton Canal. After the Rugeley debacle I decided to check with the locals for the right direction to Taunton.  The survey revealed that

Somerset Levels

2/3 people interviewed didn't have a clue. Fortunately the last chap did, and I set off after a short prayer to the god of puncture resistance, along a good towpath liberally sprinkled with dog walkers. Apart from one 500 metre section that was so wet and muddy I slewed off and landed in the slurry it was a great path.  By now it was 4pm so a camping spot had to be found soon. I filled up with water at a canal-side house, then reached the end of the canal at Taunton as darkness fell. I put on all the lights, eventually found the continuation of the NCN3, and camped in a wood near an electricity sub-station near Upcott.I hadn't stopped to buy any food, so I made a brew and took stock: five toffees from last night's room, two unopened cheese sandwiches and one egg butty, which unfortunately had escaped from its packet and was spread around the inside of the pannier.  One little-advertised feature of waterproof Ortlieb panniers is how easy it is to scrape errant food off the shiny surface, so nothing was wasted. There was always porridge if the stomach was keeping me awake.  Despite the knee problem it had been a reasonably good day distance-wise, my second-longest in fact. The knee had stopped hurting, and I hoped I had enough painkillers to see me to the finish line. A tawny owl was hooting as I read 'Middlemarch', and it was lights out by 7.30.

Bridgewater to Taunton Canal

Day stats 110km  560 Metres of ascent
Off road 49km 
A road 1km 
B road  18km 
Unclassifed road 42km

Day 18 Kineton to Monkton Combe

I had a shocking night's sleep in rain and heavy gusts, but still managed to be away by 7.30, headlamp on in the gloom.The River Windrush was chocolate-brown after the rain, which thankfully had stopped. After a busy couple of k's on a B road over the Naunton Downs it was bliss to get onto the backroads through Salperton, Compton Abdale and Cassey Compton. The steep climbs were less blissful, and it was a rollercoaster of a route. Just down the valley from Cassey Compton was Chedworth Roman Villa. Anywhere discovered by a gamekeeper digging for his errant ferret has to be worth a look, but it would have to wait until next time.
The White Way, another Roman road was relatively level going, though the knee was still quite sore and a bit of a worry. Cirencester was busy, with stalls, bunting and folk dressed up in peasant clothing. Fearing an outbreak of morris dancing I fled to the nearest Costa, and lined up two flat whites, a croissant and a carrot cake. I left Cirencester in drizzle, struggled to find the NCN45, but eventually escaped, eventually joining the NCN254 into Malmesbury, then Foxley and Norton. I had a second lunch in Corsham (mum's packed lunch was on its second day!), a town which had good NCN signs (though I confess I was cursing at one unsigned T junction until I realised it was one-way!) Back roads and a short section of B road led to Bradford-on-Avon, picturesque and surprisingly busy. I fled the travel and scuttled down to the Kennet and Avon Canal and the NCN4, for instant peace and quiet, but with some trepidation. I was still carrying the scars of the Coventry Canal puncturefest.

Bradford-on-Avon

The towpath was wide enough for a car, and I followed it for 7km. The Avoncliff Aqueduct was confusing, and I was pleased to see four other cyclists looking equally bemused. Once you realise the towpath changes sides it makes sense. I was soon at the Dundas Aqueduct and the Dundas Wharf where the original crane, tollhouse and warehouse still stand. It was a great wee trip along the canal: no punctures, and a light calm evening with even some patches of blue sky.

Kennet and Avon Canal

I followed the NCN24 along the Somerset Coal Canal for a short distance, then joined the railway line which put the canal out of business. At Monkton Combe I was planning to continue along the Collier's Way which went through farmland and would be ideal stealth camping country.  At that point though I spotted the Wheelwright's Arms, and temptation set in. It was only 4pm and I could have biked for another half hour, but the knee was nagging away, so I went in to see if they had a room. It was nearly twice the price of The Priory and didn't serve breakfast until 8, but they had a row of real ale pumps at the bar, and a very tempting menu, so I booked in. They even let me put my bike in the room! I hung all the damp gear up, but couldn't get the radiator to turn on, so reception sent over a chap with some pliers. He twisted a hidden knob and got it going, so I headed off to the bar for food and beer, both of which were excellent. There were two couples also eating in the bar. Remarkably four of us were ex-teachers, and I wondered what the collective known would be. An escaping, a relief or maybe a husk of ex-teachers? One chap asked why I was cycling to Land's End, and I said it was my diet plan. "Is it working?" "Yes it certainly is" He nodded to his not insubstantial wife and said "There you go." She shot him a look that suggested he could forget about sex for the foreseeable future.

Dundas Wharf

Back in the room the heat hit me as I opened the door. Plier Man came back and turned off the radiator, but I still lay there spreadeagled on the bed and sweating profusely with all the windows open, for at least an hour. I greatly feared for the prawn mayonnaise sandwiches that I'd bought for tomorrow's lunch, so I filled the sink with water and left them floating there for the night. At least the kit would be dry.

Day stats 102km  733 Metres of ascent
Off road 9km 
A road 0.5km 
B road  8.5km 
Unclassified road 84km

Day 17 Nuneaton to Kineton

Old farts re-united

Warwick, West Gate

After a reluctant goodbye to the folks it was back down to the Cat Gallows Bridge to meet an old friend Martin who'd borrowed a mountain bike and was going to accompany me as far as Coventry, which was great! After 5 minutes I had the first puncture of the day, but it was the front wheel which made a pleasant change. It was  quick change as well: I was getting quite slick after all the practise! At the Coventry Basin, where the canal terminated  I said goodbye to Martin and headed across the city centre to join up with NCN52. As usual there was a dearth of signage but after a couple of detours a posse of taxi drivers pointed me in the right direction, and it was off-road all the way to Kenilworth, where the signs once again dried up and I struggled to find the NCN52 where it left the town. A combination of back roads and cycle paths saw me into Warwick where a sign proclaimed 'NO MORE CYCLE SIGNS'. I liked that; at least they were being honest! Christmas lights were out in force even though there were still 33 days to go!  I took the NCN41 out of Warwick, but missed the turn-off at Sherborne, so took a drive that was marked on the OS map, through some very large well-kept lawns. By the time I reached the PRIVATE NO ENTRY SIGN I thought I might as well be hung for a sheep as a lamb, so continued blindly on, emerging by the church and onto the Hampton Lucy road. I chatted to a chap sweeping leaves. "You came through the hall?! Bloody hell, you're lucky they didn't shoot you!" The Hampton Lucy road was an absolute delight, and I stopped for lunch near the Royal Shakespeare Theatre in Stratford, one of the few towns where I didn't get lost! From Stratford I joined The Greenway, another extinct railway line, then through Pebworth and Honeybourne, and along Ryknild Street, an unclassified road but quite busy. From Saintbury my route was an unrelenting climb of over 200 metres, and I had sore legs and a concerning left sore knee. I found out later the hill had twice been used for national hill-climbing championships, and I belatedly congratulated myself  for such an excellent route choice......

Hampton Lucy road

The Greenway

On the summit I passed Broadway Tower, then a sign saying NUCLEAR BUNKER OPEN THIS WEEKEND. I thought my brain might be playing tricks, so I turned around and checked to make sure. Yes the Cotswolds has a nuclear bunker! At Temple Guiting I had my water bladder filled at a farm, as the day was getting late, then I passed through Kineton which had a promising-looking pub. A few hundred metres further on I saw a good camp spot in a field which had been cut and not replanted, so I led Horse down to the edge of a wood and put the tent up as dusk fell.This was one advantage of the short days: stealth camping was a skoosh. I made a brew, repaired the puncture from the morning, boiled up a sachet of rice and set about eating the cooked trout my folks had given me. It was a 3 pounder, and it had to go. I wasn't going to bike with any leftovers. Suitably replete I lay in the sleeping bag digesting and reading until it was late enough for me to go to the pub without feeling like a total jakey.
The Halfway House was a great pub, with friendly locals who offered me a bed in their converted barn for the night. If I hadn't already set up camp I'd have gratefully accepted. I had a couple of pints, and was back in the sleeping bag by 8.30.


Day stats 100km  625 Metres of ascent
Off road 35km 
A road 6km 
B road  3km 
Unclassified road 56km