Day 23 St Ives to Land's End

Zennor

I woke at 6am and couldn't sleep so went out to check on Horse who'd been locked to some railings all night. Horse was still there, but one of the rear lights had been nicked. I had a leisurely breakfast, and a late departure at 9am. It was a steep hill straight from the pub door, then a descent almost back to sea level before a steady climb to the cliff-top moors. Storm Clodagh was by now having a ball, gusting over 70mph, and I crawled along, occasionally being brought to a halt, and once getting blown completely off the road. The worst sections were as I approached the crest of hills, and my helmet would repeatedly lift up and down as the slack in the straps was taken up. At least on the downhill sections I felt like I

Carn Galver

was covering ground, and occasionally a high dry stone wall or hedge would provide some respite from the wind and there would be a few seconds of blissful calm. Zennor was only 8km, but it took an age to reach. Standing stones and old tin mines were passed, the most impressive at Carn Galver. In the distance I could just see the tops of the cliffs at Bosigran. The last time I'd climbed there was in 1982, just 24 years old. I wondered what I'd have said if someone had told me that in 34 year's time I'd be biking that road into storm force winds?  It was a relief to arrive in St Just and see Land's End signposted as 6 miles away. The headwind became more of a sidewind, then it was onto the A30 through Sennan. If I'd had the OS map for the area I'd have seen an off-road path through Sennan Cove and on to Land's End, which would have avoided the A road.
The last 20 metres were decidedly odd. There was a white stone plinth on either side of the road emblazoned with FINISH. 'Finished off' would have been more approriate as I collapsed over the line. The cheerful figure of Shaun the

Sheep waved from beyond the Grecian-style pillars, and the words UGHNU which had me wondering whether I'd become competely unhinged, until it became THE LAND'S END DOUGHNUT COMPANY. Visitors from the Far East were staggering around with looks of utter bemusement at a helicopter impaled on a girder, a temperance building, Arthur's Quest and the Lost World Experience, all closed. I had the obligatory photo underneath the sign.
'What do you want on it?' 'The Long Way To Little Comfort?' 'Not enough room. About End-to-End?' 'That'll do.
I went into the restaurant and order a Cornish cream tea, and rang Fiona up. "I've made it!', voice almost cracking with emotion. Then I rang the folks.

The end is nigh

'Hello Dad'
'Hello son. What's the weather like in Inverness?'
'Don't know. I've just arrived at Land's End'.
'Yes it's been windy here too. Is Fiona there?'
'NO DAD I'M AT LAND'S END. I'VE JUST ARRIVED!'
Heads were turning to see why I was shouting.
'Land's End? Just arrived? What took you so long?'







Day stats 31km    455 Metres of ascent

Off road 0km 

A road 4km 

B road  26km 

Unclassifed road 1km

Well done Horse

Day 22 Boscarne to St Ives

St Newlyns East

 I popped the last of my super-pills and was away by 7.45am in a brief lull between showers and took a back road to Rosenannon, then St Columb Major where I grabbed some sandwiches. I took the road through White Cross and into St Newlyn East,  a pleasant enough village but absolutely dominated by 100 metre high turbines (more than twice the height of the original ones). Nice one Scottish Power and local councillors. And what have you done with St Newlyn West? I dropped into the village shop which was busy, and had a cup of tea, chocolate, bananas and a pain au chocolat as good as any in France. I was less impressed with the headlines of the local paper: BATTEN DOWN THE HATCHES FOR STORM CLODAGH.

Arsenic Mill, Cornish Coast-to-Coast

Cornish Coast-to-Coast

Then it was onto the NCN32 into Zelah, and down the east bank of the River Allen and into Truro where I took refuge in a Costa as a heavy shower went through. I headed for the Cornish Coast-to-Coast Trail along the very undulating NCN3, and joined the trail at Bissoe, where the friendly bike shop staff told me to take the higher of the two paths to stay out of the mud. Thanks chaps! The trail mainly followed old tramlines and railways; surely they must be flat(ish). I don't think Cornwall does flat. There were lots of spoil tips, chimneys and old mine buildings, and the area has World Heritage Status for its industrial past. Many of the pale white slag heaps are still vegetation-free after 80 years due to the toxic arsenic.
Wacky place names were now back in vogue: Playing Place, Come-to-Good,  Cripplesease, Splattenridden, Goon Gumpas and Wheal Busy. There were a lot of wheals around and I assumed it meant mine; in fact it's Cornish for 'place of work.'

Cornish Coast-to-Coast

 The rain held off for most of the trail, but the wind really hit me as I approached Portreath on the bike/pedestrian pavement. Storm Clodagh was ahead of schedule!

Portreath

I took the coastal B road, and once up on the moors I felt the full force of the wind, the strongest yet of the trip. The gusts would stop me, and during the lulls I wasn't doing much more than walking pace. St Ives was starting to look very distant. There was a steep downhill to St Gwythian, but with the wind roaring up the slope to meet me I could barely reach 20kph. It was soul-destroying.  By the time I reached Hale it was dark, and I took the St Ives turning which put me onto a horrendous large busy roundabout where I brought both lanes to a halt as the drivers let me scuttle to safety.  I headed along a hard shoulder for half a k, then turned back as this wasn't where I wanted to be.  I dismounted and led Horse around the roundabout of death, back to the B road and into Hale and back on track. There was a bit of off road around the estuary, then into Lelant where I did a wee back road diversion to avoid the A road, and into St Ives at 6pm. I went straight into the nearest pub and had a couple of celebratory pints.
After a couple of no's at B&B's (not for one night sorry) I booked into the Sloop Inn, and had a great night in the bar with good food, company and beer. Just over 30k's to go, into the teeth of Storm Clodagh.

Day stats 95km   1412 Metres of ascent

Off road 14km 

A road 4km 

B road  19km 

Unclassifed road 58km

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