Bideford to Taunton - Day Nine - Bristol to Cornwall round trip

Incognito

Before breakfast I tried to wash the curry stain out of the towel but nothing short of a wash cycle heated to 100 degrees was going to shift it. I gathered up the various takeaway containers and the empty wine bottle and stuffed them all into one of my pannier bags. The room smelt strongly of vindaloo so I also flung open the window.

"Shit," I muttered, "this is not going to go down well."

We went down to breakfast where Mick tried to make conversation with the owner with no success. He clearly was not interested in making small talk. I would guess what he wanted to say but couldn't was: "You've had your bed for the night, so eat your breakfast and hurry up and fuck off, so I can get on with cleaning the room for the next moron with a bike that turns up."

I worried that his wife would be sneaking up to inspect the room whilst we were tucking into our bacon and egg, which took the edge off my appetite. After breakfast I rushed upstairs and grabbed my things. I couldn't wait to get out of there.  I cowardly offered to wait outside with the bikes whilst Mick paid. He was gone a while and I became convinced that they were having an argument about whether he should pay for the laundering of the towel. Apparently not, he eventually emerged and said, on the contrary, the owner had (as usual) said very little.

We thought it prudent however to stay off the main road and we left Bideford by way of a convoluted route through backlanes and alleyways and a residential housing estate. just in case. As we climbed a steep hill out of the town, Mick said with satisfaction, "He'll never find us this way!"

The honourable thing of course would have been to confess to the towel incident and offer to pay for it. I had suggested as much to Mick that morning but he had vehemently opposed the notion. "Serves him right," he declared. "It was overpriced, unwelcoming and unfriendly. There's no way I'm 'fessing up to that!"

Having made our escape from Bideford we headed along minor roads towards South Molton. I wanted to clean my gungy bike chain but didn't have a cloth so I popped into a charity shop and bought a man's handkerchief for ten pence. "There, m'dear, that'll be a lovely hankie for you," said the old lady behind the counter with approval. I didn't have the heart to tell her that within two minutes it would be covered in oil and then chucked in the bin.

After a coffee and a couple of bananas we continued heading east. We briefly joined the A361 and quickly realised our error. The traffic was hurtling along at a terrifying speed. We quickly got off again and joined the B3227 instead. This was much more pleasant and reasonably quiet. On our left we could see the hills of Exmoor parallel with us. This road, although not flat was much less punishing in terms of gradients than the one on which we had travelled down the previous week.

The weather had been superb all week, warm and sunny and very pleasant for cycling. Now however, clouds rolled in from the west and it started to rain heavily. As we sped down the 250 metre gradual descent towards the Exe Valley I started to feel very cold as well. At the bottom of the hill we stopped for a quick route check and a garage owner there, overhearing us, told us to cycle round the valley to Bampton rather than up over the hill. We didn't need much persuading.

By the time we got to Bampton we were soaked and shivering. We dripped into a tea shop and sat for half-an-hour huddled over a pot of tea trying to dry off. I would have liked to have stayed longer but we still had a way to go. The less we cycled today the more we would have to do tomorrow. So we heaved ourselves up and cycled on along, still on the B3227, to Wiveliscombe. A quick inspection of the town did not indicate a huge choice of accommodation so we decided to continue to Taunton and then call it a day. A further consideration was that we knew that Taunton had at least one Wetherspoon pub.

Some people complain about Wetherspoons with their big barn-like establishments and their stack-it-high-and-sell-it -cheap approach. But I like them. Or rather I don't like paying £3.40 for an un-special pint of beer in an un-special pub as we had done in Glastonbury. Wetherspoons pubs may not be special but at least one only pays £2.20 in an un-special pub instead. And they always have a reasonable choice of beer, often from smaller breweries.

M'mmm beer lovely beer

Not long ago we had bought a polypin of beer from an independent brewery and had been charged£1.20 per pint. "Why do they charge so much in pubs then?" we asked the brewer.
He shrugged. "They don't have to," he said. No doubt publicans will cite overheads, rent, staff costs etc. etc. But the fact is, I and many people I know, simply don't want to pay, and can't afford to pay, a tenner for a round of three drinks. Anyway, rant over.

It was seven o'clock by the time we got to Taunton. I tried to use my iphone for the purpose I had bought it, to look up accommodation, but, as had been the case on the whole trip, it was hopelessly slow. So we went to the tourist information and started phoning some numbers from the accommodation list on the window. We couldn't believe the prices, many of them  were charging. £100 per night plus! This was Taunton for goodness sake. There's nothing in Taunton!

After dialing half a dozen numbers we rang back the first one we had tried which had  quoted us £69 and we said we would take it. They then said that the price didn't include breakfast. I was tired. I lost my temper. "I asked you the price for Bed and Breakfast!" I yelled. If I had wanted the price for just Bed I would have said so!"
"Ok, ok," said the woman on the other end of the phone. "I'll include breakfast in the price."

When we got there is was a very nice hotel and the receptionist didn't turn a hair at us dragging our filthy bikes in, providing a downstairs room for them to be stored until the morning. Mollified, I was extra nice to her when we checked in, thanking her profusely for everything.

She got the last laugh though. She had booked us into the room next to the central heating boiler for the hotel and it kept us awake half the night.

Miles cycled today: 59
Total miles: 369

Our route is here

Great Torrington to Bideford - Day Eight - Bristol to Cornwall round trip

We only had a short journey planned today as we were going to visit my relatives in Appledore. We headed up the Tarka Trail,retracing the route we had taken in the dark the previous evening. This is a lovely section of the Tarka path and it it was easy to chew up the miles. Mick had lost his bell on the long run into Bude, he now improvised by shouting "ding-ding" when approaching pedestrians. One passer-by was particularly impressed. Laughing, she said, "lovely bell, where can I get one?"

At Bideford we took a minute to admire the magnificent town bridge known as the Long Bridge. The bridge has twenty four arches which are all different sizes. Originally oak, work begain in 1474 on the stone bridge which is a Grade One listed monument. The stone bridge followed the lines of the oak one, with the different size arches reflecting the different lengths of timber used for the lintels.

We cycled on along the front and up over the hill to Appledore. We were on my home territory now. My grandmother hailed from Bideford and for generations before that my relatives lived in and around Great Torrington. My aunt and uncle had recently moved back to Appledore and I could understand why, it is a beautiful place. It was the first time I had been here and I felt at home straightaway. I liked it very much indeed. Narrow streets of brightly coloured houses straggled along, linked by old alleyways and courtyards.

We stopped for a Hockings Ice Cream from the ice cream van parked on the front. Hockings is a proper local Devonshire ice cream, and is only available in their vans in North Devon. Made from a closely guarded recipe, the company was started by Dave Hockings in 1936 in a converted 1928 Morris Cowley van. Othre family members have since joined the business and thus far they have sensibly resisted the temptation to mass market their product. It was delicious: creamy and smooth and all a good ice-cream should be.

"This used to be the rough end of town", said my aunt as we wandered along a picturesque street of tiny cottages. "Your grandmother wouldn't let me come and play down here."
As my grandmother's family was not exactly well off, it must indeed have been pretty rough. Difficult to imagine now.

By the time we had settled in for some home made cake and tea at my aunties, time was getting on. We waved goodbye and headed back over the headland to Bideford, where we decided we may as well find a bed for the night. We asked in a local pub whether there was any accommodation nearby and were directed to a bed and breakfast establishment at the back of the town. The proprietor said we could bring our bikes through to the back but insisted on carrying them himself.
"Too many idiots rip the wallpaper or get oil on the carpet," he said.
"We looked at each other but said nothing as he lugged the bikes though one by one.

The place had the feel of a commercial travellers hotel, and there were stern signs instructing the guests on the many activities they were not to indulge in: no takeaway food in rooms, no alcohol in rooms, no noise, no having sex, no enjoying yourself in any way whatsoever. Ok, I made those two up but they may as well have been on the list. The spare bed had a large sign on it saying that if the bed was used then a charge for an extra person would be made. It all added up to an unfriendly feel about the place. Unfortunately, after going out  for a few beers we completely forgot about the instructions, bringing back a bottle of wine and an Indian takeway which Mick managed to spill over the white towel he was using as a napkin.

"I'll sort it in the morning," I thought foggily, as I went to sleep.

Miles cycled today:22
Total Miles: 310

Our route is here

Launceston to Great Torrington - Day Seven - Bristol to Cornwall round trip

We were late leaving Launceston as we dallied awhile drinking coffee with the lovely people at Launceston Cycles.

When we got on our way we took the main road to Holsworthy. We stopped for a break in the main square.
"Do you notice anything?" said Mick suddenly.
"No, like what?"
"No flowers," he said.
I looked around. he was right. It was the middle of April and yet all the flower tubs were empty. No hanging baskets either. Not a flower in sight anywhere.
"No money," said Mick dolefully. "Holsworthy might not be as poor as a northern town but it's still struggling."
After this bleak assessment we decided to get on our way. I decided to once again pick up Sustran's Route Three.

For a day out pottering around, Sustrans routes are great. However if you actually want to get anywhere then they should be used with caution. A Sustrans path will go to great lengths to avoid main roads. I can understand why, if you are out with your five and three year old, the last thing you want to do is suddenly find yourself next to lorries thundering past you at sixty miles an hour on the A30 or whatever. But sometimes a Sustrans path just feels like it is leading you on a merry dance. As we zigzagged our way out of Holsworthy we found ourselves, for a while, heading south. I have no sense of direction at all but Mick just sort of sticks his nose in the air and can tell more or less which direction we are headed. He did this now.

"Why are we heading south?" he said irritably.
"It's not for long," I retorted.
He then said something rude about Sustrans which I won't repeat.

I was relieved however when we turned left and started heading east. East was better than south although north-east would have been better still. We wandered around Devonshire lanes with Sustrans for a while through villages with lovely names: Cookbury Wick, Dippermill, Sheepwash before picking up the off-road Tarka Trail at Petrockstowe.

At Bude I had picked up a list of phone numbers for independent hostels and I knew that there was one at Great Torrington, Yarde Orchard. As we headed up the trail another ex-railway path, we saw signs for it. It wasn't in Torrington itself but in a village on the path a few miles outside. It was clearly a hippy-type eco place and was a bunkhouse rather than a hostel. The building was lovely, a recently built wooden structure, very light and airy....the place has won lots of awards for eco-tourism and apparently is "deep green".

Mick would have been in a bad mood anyway though, as the hostel was nowhere near a pub. He always gets crabby when we are away if he thinks he is not going to get a beer. I pointed out he was a total pisshead, to which he freely agreed.
"Anyway, we have to go into Great Torrington to do some shopping," he said, triumphantly.

We cycled along the road down a huge hill and then climbed up into Torrington.
"There's no way we're going back that route!" I yelled. "I'm not climbing up that hill."
Mick cheered up once we had sat ourselves in the pub. Across the room sat a very well dressed woman who must have been in her eighties at least. She was waggling her finger at us. I nudged Mick and we both looked across at her. Mick held up his hands in a gesture to ask what was wrong. She jabbed her finger at him again.
"Take your hat off!" she said severely. "Take your hat off indoors!"
Mick sheepishly removed his baseball cap and placed it on the seat next to him and the woman nodded approvingly before returning to her glass of sherry.

We returned to Yarde by heading out of Torrington in the opposite direction to the one by which we had entered, and picking up the Tarka Trail. It was rather eerie cycling along the wooded path in the dark but much, much better than tackling that hill.

Miles cycled today: 39
Total miles: 288

Our route is here

Exford to Bude - Day Three - Bristol to Cornwall round trip

Cannot believe the weather - beautiful sunny day again. After a lovely hearty breakfast at the youth hostel we set off towards Simonsbath where we turned left over the river and climbed up the hill. We passed a memorial cairn to John William Fortescue,
  
military historian and one timelibrarian at Windsor Castle. Sir John, as he later became, came from a land-owning family with an estate on Exmoor and he loved the area very much. He was also a keen naturalist and enjoyed studying local wildlife and, inevitably, shooting them.

As we reached the top of the more we were treated to magnificent views across Exmoor. The weather was glorious, warm and sunny.  Suddenly we realised that we were once again on Route Three.  It was strange - we would lose it and find it again all across the hills to Barnstaple.

Above Barnstaple we stopped in a quiet lane to have a snack. After we had eaten I needed the loo, and decided I would try out my Whiz Freedom™. This small piece of latex allows females to wee standing up and I thought it could be very useful given the number of times I am forced to pull over and climb into a field. I could be much more discreet using this little gizmo. Crucial to its efficacy however, is applying the Whiz™ the Right Way Round. Unfortunately I managed to fail this basic requirement and piddled all down the inside of my shorts. Mick fell around laughing.
"You women claim to understand the Offside Rule and now you think you can take this away from us too!" he chortled. "Peeing standing up is the one remaining male-only preserve we have left!"
"Just needs more practice, that's all," I muttered, changing into a clean pair of trousers.

We rolled into the town at lunchtime and wheeled our bikes through the main street in search of somewhere for lunch. And so we happened upon Butchers Row.  The street had a long iron canopy and was lined with old retail outlets. As we stood looking up the street an old gentleman, noting our interest stopped to talk to us. He told us that he remembered as a boy that the street was full of butchers shops at the time when Barnstaple was a major cattle market and the cattle would be brought in and slaughtered at the back of the market. Barnstaple has had a pannier market since Saxon Times.
(I have only seen pannier markets in Devon. Apparently named after the baskets which sellers used to use to bring their wares into market, I wonder why the term appears to be common in Devon but not elsewhere. Or are there other pannier markets I haven't come across?)

From Barnstaple we picked up the Tarka Trail around the River Taw Estuary. Apart from the obvious advantage of being flat, which in Devon is always something to celebrate, it was delightfully peaceful alongside the river apart from the occasional helicopter presumably flying in and out of RAF Chivenor on the opposite bank. The path follows the line of the disused Barnstaple to Bideford Railway. In 2009 James May used this section of the Trail to attempt a world record for his programme Toy Stories to build the longest model railway. The attempt failed, partly due to vandalism, but mainly due to the British weather, with torrential rain all day mucking about with the train's electrics. May said it was like "putting a hairdryer in a bath."

Hostel at Bude

Bude lock

We passed through the very attractive village of Instow with it's Grade Two Listed signal box. Across the river we could see Bideford climbing up the hill. We were now alongside the River Torridge rather than the Taw. After crossing the river we left the Tarka Trail and took a minor road alongside the River Yeo and then back roads to Bradworthy. Here we wandered into the fine convenience store on the main square where we bought some superb pasties and got directions for the best ie. least hilly route to Bude. A thoroughly enjoyable long coast down into the town was marred somewhat by a pointless climb out again on the wrong road in search of Northshore Bude Backpackers. It was worth the effort when we found it though, we had a lovely private room with en-suite for under twenty quid each.

Miles cycled today: 62
Total miles: 154

Our route is here

Exford to Tarr Steps

Typical! I set my alarm for seven o'clock this morning and hot-footed it sharpish into the dining room, determined not to donate my sausage and bacon to one of those freeloading mountain bikers. The place was deserted and the shutters were down. Hmm, maybe I had been a little too prompt. When she did open, cook assured me that she had gone shopping and that the kitchen was piled high with pig in various guises. As it was the mountain bikers didn't even put in an appearance. Oh well, at least it meant a nice prompt start for today's walk.

I headed up the road from Exford to the junction with the B3223, Chibbet Post, then headed down Sparrow Lane, a quiet narrow road lined with beech hedgebanks.

Tarr Steps

At Withypool I stopped for a coffee to fortify me before the next stage. The tea-shop was closed but the little stores had just that week installed one of those little drink machines like the one at Stogursey. 

I needed that coffee before the steep climb out of the village. I was now on the Two Moors Way, following roads and tracks across the moor to the wonderful Tarr Steps.This is a "clapper" bridge (from the Latin "claperius" or pile of stones). It is often said to be prehistoric, in fact it is more likely to be medieval in origin. This was the only busy place I had come across since arriving at Exmoor, probably since there was a car park right next to the bridge. 

Exmoor jeep crossing the River Barle

Most people when out for the day don't like to stray more than about fifty yards from their car.At Tarr Steps people had crossed the road and were setting up picnics on the grass, and were having a wander over the bridge and back. But that was pretty much it. Having not seen a soul for about three hours I now queued up to cross the bridge and then caused a bit of a backlog by refusing to cross until I could take a photo with no-one on it. The jeep of course, didn't have to queue.

By now it was lunchtime. I had sandwiches and a bottle of water, but temptation had reared its very attractive head in the shape of the Tarr Inn. The garden was packed with people enjoying a drink in the spring sunshine. I went in and bought a pint of Exmoor Gold and sat in the garden watching the numerous chaffinches which were perching on the fence.

If you look really closely you can just make out a chaffinch on the fence......

The walk along the river from Tarr Steps back to Withypool was delightful.This was the alternative Two Moors Way route and it wound its way through woodland and fields alongside the River Barle, crossing brooks and streams by way of footbridges. Near the end of the path which had now left the river to its own devices, a small waterfall gushed out on my right hand side and on the left was a beautiful view across the valley.

Time for a beer! I called into the Royal Oak Inn in Withypool and ordered a pint. Just as I sat down with it in the lounge one of the staff began vacuuming around me. This was, to say the least, irritating. I took my pint and wandered outside but the sun was shining and all the outside tables were full. I headed down the road, still clutching my pint, and found the entrance to the other bar.

According to the pub, RD Blackmoore wrote part of Lorna Doone in this bar when staying at the Royal Oak in 1866. (Although this is also claimed by the Rising Sun in Lynmouth and the Ship at Porlock, so I don't know how much truth there is in the claim. But apparently he did stay in several inns on his holiday in Devon in that year so maybe he wrote a little bit in each of them.) The bar was empty except for two farmers sat at the bar. If either of them noticed me come in and sit in one of the settles in the corner they gave no indication. Although I tried to distract myself with a copy of Hare and Hounds I couldn't help but overhear their conversation.

"She was gagging for it, mind," said the younger of the two, aged about thirty.
"Were she?" his friend replied in an envious tone.
"Ar she were. She 'ad 'er 'and on me knee all the way back from Tiver'on," said the first.
"So what did you do?"
"Well I shagged 'er in the "orse box didn't I?"
I wondered idly whether the horse had still been in it at the time. Assuming that it wasn't the horse to which he was referring.
"Blimey!" said his friend. "An 'er bein' so bleedin posh as well. Did she enjoy it?"
"Well put it like this," said the young stallion, "I never 'eard 'er complainin!"

At this I picked up my pint and quietly went outside. I finished it sat on the step and then retraced my route back of Sparrow Lane to the hostel.