I Made It!!!!
Sunday, 16. July 2006, 22:18:04
I made it all the way to Cornwall! I cycled about 650 miles from Edinburgh to Cornwall! I had to get the train about three times: first from Haltwhistle to Windermere because of gale force winds; then from Lichfield to Stratford-upon-Avon, to avoid cycling right through the middle of Birmingham; then from Bath to Street, and Street to Exeter because of a heat wave. Despite the hundred or so miles covered by train, I still managed to cross four national parks and hundreds of miles.
The weather wasn't good for most of the trip, and on some days this spoiled it a bit, but overall, I really enjoyed the tour. I covered Part 1 of the trip in the last post, so I'll only go into detail about Part 2 here.
I set out from Chesterfield with a well oiled and newly serviced bike, heading along the main road to Bakewell for lunch. I found the shop that sold original recipe Bakewell Puddings. The ones that you get in the shops aren't worth eating when you've tried a real one. It was delicious, and perfect to go with my lunch as I sat by the side of the river. From Bakewell, I had a long climb up to the Tissington Trail, a gently downhill cycle track running from Buxton to Ashbourne. I left the trail about half way down to stay at YHA Alstonefield for the night. The surface on the road up was newly laid, so I got a layer of gravel tarred onto my wheels.
The lane near YHA Alstonefield
From Alstonefield the next day, I encountered mobile road works and got slightly tarred again. Fortunately I wasn't feathered. Back on the Tissington Trail, I headed south to Ashbourne, then straight down the A515 to Lichfield. The B&B that I was staying in wasn't all that good, but the bed was comfortable enough, and I found a coaching inn in the town centre for dinner.
Lichfield lies just to the north of Birmingham, while my next stop, Stratford-upon-Avon, lies to the south. Cycling that day would have meant a full days ride through the housing estates and confusing city centre of the second largest city in the country. I opted for the train, and arrived early in Stratford, so I had plenty of time to look around the home of Shakespeare. I found a French cafe for lunch, and then wandered around by the canal side.
The hostel at Stratford is about a mile from the town, and is in an old country house at the edge of a very posh village. They had a traditional themed menu, so I tucked into pate and crusty bread, Fine Sausage (sausage and the local equivalent of Yorkshire Puddings), and Baked Applejack (a baked apple, stuffed with a hot flapjack mixture and drenched in cream). In case you're wondering, the YHA seems to take pride in feeding its guests well. I frequently ate three course breakfasts, two course packed lunches and three course evening meals.
The next day, I set out for Gloucester. The route that I picked took me along the affluent edge of the Cotswolds. There was quite literally a farm shop every mile or so, and each village was prim (the only suitable word!) and picturesque. Arriving in Cheltenham, I was confronted with a maddening array of dual carriageways. After finally getting through Cheltenham and into Gloucester, I was encouraged by how smart the road towards my hotel was. Then I noticed a decline in the buildings, before ending up at the local version of the dodgy parts of Leith (there was even a harbour nearby for the ship canal) This was one of the days that I spent in a heat wave, and the room was seriously overheated. I had to have the window open and listen to the sound of grown men sobbing as they came to terms with England's departure from the World Cup. The hotel didn't serve food, so I headed into the city centre and found a chip shop with a restaurant upstairs. I got a window seat and was treated to a perfect meal, while learning about the Land Registry from a group of civil servants at the next table having their pre-holiday meal out.
Gloucester Cathederal
If I had followed my original plan, I would have had to spend another night at the Spalite Hotel in Gloucester. The prospect of that was not in the least appealing, so I quickly altered my plans, and rode down to Bristol, staying the night at the youth hostel there. I have to say that this is the best detour that I have made. I thought that Bristol would be just another provincial English city, like Cheltenham, or Lichfield. It is in no way like that! The city has an amazing feel to it. There seems to be so much going on, and it feels connected to the rest of the world. You meet people who aren’t just locals.
After a great stay in Bristol, I cycled about ten miles to Bath. There is apparently a brilliant cycle path between the two cities, it is flat, well surfaced and scenic. So, I took the roads. I seemed to be heading up and down hills all the way, until I arrived in Bath, and realised that it isn’t flat. I had always pictured Bath as being a flat place. The photos of the Royal Crescent are really deceptive. Unfortunately, the hostel was half way up a very steep hill. I had to get off and push, but even that was hard work! The hostel itself was nice, particularly the food.
From Bath, I took the train to a small village near Street (which is near Glastonbury). I can now officially declare that Castle Cary train station is the worst rural station in England. I tried to book a ticket for the next day from Yeovil to Exeter and the Station Master refused to let me make a reservation for my bike, even though I’m not allowed to take it on the train without one. I had to have one made by phone. The other reason for my dislike of the station is the complete and utter lack of food. There isn’t even a vending machine. The station is about half a mile from the village, yet they don’t provide anything for passengers to eat! I eventually managed to find an English Tea Shop/Thai Restaurant, and had a club sandwich and iced coffee to set me on my way to Street, which was about ten miles away.
Glasonbury Tor
YHA Street was the first hostel in the South West of England, and it has maintained a lot of its traditional hostel feeling. It isn’t catered, so I made up some Pasta’n’Sauce which I bought in the local Co-op. The hostel is built in the style of a Swiss Chalet, with wooden balconies all around the front providing a comfortable place to read in the evening. I also managed to meet a YHA Separatist. I don’t think he would describe himself like that, but they seem the most appropriate words to use. We ended up talking about capitalism, globalisation, Thatcherite politics and the YHA’s decision to close a lot of hostels until about ten thirty at night.
From Street, I had a short ride down to Yeovil, so I set out in the wrong direction and took some time to explore Glastonbury. I tried to get up to Glastonbury Tor, but there are no signs from the road and I ran out of time and had to set off for Yeovil to catch my train. If you ever go to the South West of England, avoid Yeovil at all costs. Signs going into the town proclaim that it has “the heart of the country, the mind of a city”. After passing through the town, I decided that this meant that there are severe traffic problems and a lot of people living in Council estates. Whoever thought up that slogan had clearly never spent any length of time in a decent city!
The station at Yeovil Junction was a welcome change. All the staff were helpful, and there was a feeling of a traditional station to it. I got a cup of coffee and a cake from an unbranded, independent buffet! It might not sound like much, but there are too many stations with Starbucks or Costa Coffee charging premium prices for junk. I was let down by Southwest Trains, who failed to take account of bikes with luggage, and I had to use a fold down seat next to the door so I could hold my bike up. Arriving in Exeter, I hadn’t very high expectations, so I was pleased to find an off road cycle path starting near the station and leading to a road near the hostel.
The next day, I set out on my penultimate day of riding. I had to cross Dartmoor National Park. It didn’t seem too bad on my map, only around thirty miles. Unfortunately, I forgot to check the contours. I had a steady climb for the first ten to fifteen miles, then up and down for a while, before a sharp drop down into Tavistock. I once again managed to clock 35 miles per hour! It turned out that my B&B was further out of Tavistock that I had thought. I added to this by making a wrong turning and taking in a very long, steep hill. When I eventually reached Heal Farm B&B, I was relieved to find that it was a nice place. I had a bad experience with the past two places, so I was a bit worried that this would turn out to be another Spalite Hotel. I was so taken by the luxury of an en-suite room with a television, that I managed to stay up 'til midnight watching Question Time (I know, its sad!), resulting in me sleeping in the next day and nearly missing breakfast. Fortunately I didn’t and I had one of the best full English breakfasts yet. The milk was even from that very farm. Talk about cutting down food miles. It had only travelled a few tens of meters!
Arriving in Cornwall!
For my final day of riding, I set out across the River Tamar into Cornwall, and up to Bodmin Moor. I never noticed how hilly Cornwall was before. There seem to be hills everywhere. My map had steep gradient markings on most roads! I stopped for lunch in a small town somewhere (I have passed through so many small towns that they all seem to merge into one), and then continued past a reservoir and across the A30.
The last two miles were on Bodmin Moor proper. There is a large area where ponies are kept, and, being on top of the moor, its flat and scenic, with views of the tallest hill in Cornwall. Breaking with my usual character, I broke into song, whistling whenever I passed houses so as not to make people think I was mad, though after 21 days on the road, I might have been! Arriving at the campsite, I managed to beat my mum to the front gate, but she still got a picture of me arriving.
So, that was my trip. I’m surprised that I made it, even if I did cheat a few times. It was definitely worth it though.
The weather wasn't good for most of the trip, and on some days this spoiled it a bit, but overall, I really enjoyed the tour. I covered Part 1 of the trip in the last post, so I'll only go into detail about Part 2 here.
I set out from Chesterfield with a well oiled and newly serviced bike, heading along the main road to Bakewell for lunch. I found the shop that sold original recipe Bakewell Puddings. The ones that you get in the shops aren't worth eating when you've tried a real one. It was delicious, and perfect to go with my lunch as I sat by the side of the river. From Bakewell, I had a long climb up to the Tissington Trail, a gently downhill cycle track running from Buxton to Ashbourne. I left the trail about half way down to stay at YHA Alstonefield for the night. The surface on the road up was newly laid, so I got a layer of gravel tarred onto my wheels.
From Alstonefield the next day, I encountered mobile road works and got slightly tarred again. Fortunately I wasn't feathered. Back on the Tissington Trail, I headed south to Ashbourne, then straight down the A515 to Lichfield. The B&B that I was staying in wasn't all that good, but the bed was comfortable enough, and I found a coaching inn in the town centre for dinner.
Lichfield lies just to the north of Birmingham, while my next stop, Stratford-upon-Avon, lies to the south. Cycling that day would have meant a full days ride through the housing estates and confusing city centre of the second largest city in the country. I opted for the train, and arrived early in Stratford, so I had plenty of time to look around the home of Shakespeare. I found a French cafe for lunch, and then wandered around by the canal side.
The hostel at Stratford is about a mile from the town, and is in an old country house at the edge of a very posh village. They had a traditional themed menu, so I tucked into pate and crusty bread, Fine Sausage (sausage and the local equivalent of Yorkshire Puddings), and Baked Applejack (a baked apple, stuffed with a hot flapjack mixture and drenched in cream). In case you're wondering, the YHA seems to take pride in feeding its guests well. I frequently ate three course breakfasts, two course packed lunches and three course evening meals.
The next day, I set out for Gloucester. The route that I picked took me along the affluent edge of the Cotswolds. There was quite literally a farm shop every mile or so, and each village was prim (the only suitable word!) and picturesque. Arriving in Cheltenham, I was confronted with a maddening array of dual carriageways. After finally getting through Cheltenham and into Gloucester, I was encouraged by how smart the road towards my hotel was. Then I noticed a decline in the buildings, before ending up at the local version of the dodgy parts of Leith (there was even a harbour nearby for the ship canal) This was one of the days that I spent in a heat wave, and the room was seriously overheated. I had to have the window open and listen to the sound of grown men sobbing as they came to terms with England's departure from the World Cup. The hotel didn't serve food, so I headed into the city centre and found a chip shop with a restaurant upstairs. I got a window seat and was treated to a perfect meal, while learning about the Land Registry from a group of civil servants at the next table having their pre-holiday meal out.
If I had followed my original plan, I would have had to spend another night at the Spalite Hotel in Gloucester. The prospect of that was not in the least appealing, so I quickly altered my plans, and rode down to Bristol, staying the night at the youth hostel there. I have to say that this is the best detour that I have made. I thought that Bristol would be just another provincial English city, like Cheltenham, or Lichfield. It is in no way like that! The city has an amazing feel to it. There seems to be so much going on, and it feels connected to the rest of the world. You meet people who aren’t just locals.
After a great stay in Bristol, I cycled about ten miles to Bath. There is apparently a brilliant cycle path between the two cities, it is flat, well surfaced and scenic. So, I took the roads. I seemed to be heading up and down hills all the way, until I arrived in Bath, and realised that it isn’t flat. I had always pictured Bath as being a flat place. The photos of the Royal Crescent are really deceptive. Unfortunately, the hostel was half way up a very steep hill. I had to get off and push, but even that was hard work! The hostel itself was nice, particularly the food.
From Bath, I took the train to a small village near Street (which is near Glastonbury). I can now officially declare that Castle Cary train station is the worst rural station in England. I tried to book a ticket for the next day from Yeovil to Exeter and the Station Master refused to let me make a reservation for my bike, even though I’m not allowed to take it on the train without one. I had to have one made by phone. The other reason for my dislike of the station is the complete and utter lack of food. There isn’t even a vending machine. The station is about half a mile from the village, yet they don’t provide anything for passengers to eat! I eventually managed to find an English Tea Shop/Thai Restaurant, and had a club sandwich and iced coffee to set me on my way to Street, which was about ten miles away.
YHA Street was the first hostel in the South West of England, and it has maintained a lot of its traditional hostel feeling. It isn’t catered, so I made up some Pasta’n’Sauce which I bought in the local Co-op. The hostel is built in the style of a Swiss Chalet, with wooden balconies all around the front providing a comfortable place to read in the evening. I also managed to meet a YHA Separatist. I don’t think he would describe himself like that, but they seem the most appropriate words to use. We ended up talking about capitalism, globalisation, Thatcherite politics and the YHA’s decision to close a lot of hostels until about ten thirty at night.
From Street, I had a short ride down to Yeovil, so I set out in the wrong direction and took some time to explore Glastonbury. I tried to get up to Glastonbury Tor, but there are no signs from the road and I ran out of time and had to set off for Yeovil to catch my train. If you ever go to the South West of England, avoid Yeovil at all costs. Signs going into the town proclaim that it has “the heart of the country, the mind of a city”. After passing through the town, I decided that this meant that there are severe traffic problems and a lot of people living in Council estates. Whoever thought up that slogan had clearly never spent any length of time in a decent city!
The station at Yeovil Junction was a welcome change. All the staff were helpful, and there was a feeling of a traditional station to it. I got a cup of coffee and a cake from an unbranded, independent buffet! It might not sound like much, but there are too many stations with Starbucks or Costa Coffee charging premium prices for junk. I was let down by Southwest Trains, who failed to take account of bikes with luggage, and I had to use a fold down seat next to the door so I could hold my bike up. Arriving in Exeter, I hadn’t very high expectations, so I was pleased to find an off road cycle path starting near the station and leading to a road near the hostel.
The next day, I set out on my penultimate day of riding. I had to cross Dartmoor National Park. It didn’t seem too bad on my map, only around thirty miles. Unfortunately, I forgot to check the contours. I had a steady climb for the first ten to fifteen miles, then up and down for a while, before a sharp drop down into Tavistock. I once again managed to clock 35 miles per hour! It turned out that my B&B was further out of Tavistock that I had thought. I added to this by making a wrong turning and taking in a very long, steep hill. When I eventually reached Heal Farm B&B, I was relieved to find that it was a nice place. I had a bad experience with the past two places, so I was a bit worried that this would turn out to be another Spalite Hotel. I was so taken by the luxury of an en-suite room with a television, that I managed to stay up 'til midnight watching Question Time (I know, its sad!), resulting in me sleeping in the next day and nearly missing breakfast. Fortunately I didn’t and I had one of the best full English breakfasts yet. The milk was even from that very farm. Talk about cutting down food miles. It had only travelled a few tens of meters!
For my final day of riding, I set out across the River Tamar into Cornwall, and up to Bodmin Moor. I never noticed how hilly Cornwall was before. There seem to be hills everywhere. My map had steep gradient markings on most roads! I stopped for lunch in a small town somewhere (I have passed through so many small towns that they all seem to merge into one), and then continued past a reservoir and across the A30.
The last two miles were on Bodmin Moor proper. There is a large area where ponies are kept, and, being on top of the moor, its flat and scenic, with views of the tallest hill in Cornwall. Breaking with my usual character, I broke into song, whistling whenever I passed houses so as not to make people think I was mad, though after 21 days on the road, I might have been! Arriving at the campsite, I managed to beat my mum to the front gate, but she still got a picture of me arriving.
So, that was my trip. I’m surprised that I made it, even if I did cheat a few times. It was definitely worth it though.
WIDGETIZE