To Great Torrington

Trelill to Great Torrington (55 miles)

This will be our shortest day because originally we had intended to stop in Wadebridge rather than come on further on the stage from Penzance. Probably not a bad decision because the second full day is when the legs start to notice that training has been a bit minimalist and this is a rather rude shock to muscles accustomed for the past few months to relaxation in front of the TV on wet winter’s evenings.

There has been steady and heavy rain throughout the night, justifying covering up the tandem, but the morning dawns clear, albeit wet under tyre. The weather forecast is similar to yesterday for sunshine with heavy showers, but with an added promise of thunder thrown in. Taking the overall national forecast into account, it sounds as if the West Country is having the best of it (certainly compared with those folks down in the New Forest).

Again with all the rainy gear on board we head out under a clear sky with a profusion of birdsong at about 9:00 a.m. Our route takes us north towards the north coast before heading north-east along the high ground through Delabole, around a wind farm, and then down to a small cycle museum before Slaughterbridge. We stop and look at the entrance to the museum, but it is not open today.

After crossing the A39 we turn east into the wind and climb across moorland through a disused airfield to Davidstow Moor. For a few miles along here our route overlaps with the Sustrans West Country Way, including the narrow, grassy/muddy and fast downhill little lanes through Hallworthy, where on the previous trip Bob + Pat and Keith + Sue missed a turn and lost me as I was trailing behind but managing to read the map with more accuracy. I point out to Sheila the junction where I had pondered whether to return and risk missing them again, or to wait for them to re-group and find me.

We repeat this trick for ourselves in a few miles. Having twice waved greetings to the same white-van woman, we are enjoying a whoosh downhill and miss a turn before Warbstow. Disinclined to go back up hill we continue down, crossing the River Ottery at the next bridge and then turn along the river for a mile to rejoin our intended route at Langdon.

The sun is shining, all is right with the world, and there is a village green complete with bench as we cycle through Week St Mary. So in best cycle-touring tradition we stop for elevenses (ignoring the fact that it is only 10:30 a.m.) We hang our overshoes on a bush to dry and sprawl in the sun munching chewy bars and bananas. The stop extends to taking photos and a visit to the public toilets before we decide that we really ought to think about pedalling again. We wheel the bike off the green and discover that the rear tyre is flat - a really sneaky puncture, and number four in four days!! Back to the bench and out with the wheel. A friendly local resident offers us a bowl of water, but we decline having found the hole using the tube rotation in front of mouth ritual. Repaired and hand-washed back at the public loos we finally set off after a very extended stop.

Somewhere or other Sheila announces that she has scored a record breaking count of garden trellis structures and such like, declaring it to be the influence of Groundforce and other TV gardening programmes that are more obsessed with structures than plants. I can’t say I have noticed; but I suppose if you are the stoker you have time to combine cycling with hobbies like train-spotting or garden viewing, not having to attend to little details like potholes in the road or cars that turn right without signalling.

Arrival in Bude is accompanied by the rain starting and some very threatening lumps of black cloud in the sky overhead. We head smartly for the tourist information centre in the main car park in order to get some directions for finding the CAB office, and we shelter there while the rain gets heavier. In a lull in the rain we set off for the CAB, but have difficulty in locating which building it is in amidst a mixture of churches and church-like buildings together with other civic buildings. Sheila heads off to ask at one of these and I shelter under a porchway and engage two locals in conversation. They point out the CAB building and fill me in with lots more than I need to know about all the required local Bude information of the day, including who is marrying whom and at what time. The rain sets in again and we shelter under the overhanging roof of the youth club while waiting for blue sky to arrive again and then take our photos of tandem + CAB front door.

It now being bright sunshine and lunchtime we wander around Bude with the holidaymakers before choosing a cakeshop come café. I re-arrange their tubs of plants in order to make a parking space for the tandem and Sheila commandeers a table. It is a very acceptable stop made even better by its perfect timing in that while we are there the heavens open with a massive deluge of rain and hail. Perhaps the gods are making up for punctures by preserving us from a soaking.

Replete and in sunshine again we head out along wet roads for Stratton being very impressed at the carpet of hailstones on the roadside verges. We ride along the ridge from Stratton over High Barrow enjoying the long views out to and over Dartmoor, before the lanes again become a typical switchback. In one of the dips and looking quite a small stream we cross the River Tamar and stop for photos of the Kernow and Devon county road signs. Devon hills then fully live up to their reputation. As we join the A388 to Stibb Cross Sheila comments (and I quote), “It will be less steep on the main road”. How wrong can the stoker be? These Devon road builders do not see the mere prefix of an “A” to a road number as being a reason to reduce the number of arrows on the map or the gradient of the hills on the ground.

After our exertion we decide that afternoon tea is required as we arrive in Stibb Cross. Unfortunately there is nothing on offer and after exchanging some friendly banter at the roadside with three well built and “happy” male wedding guests we halt in a rather unprepossessing factory yard for an al fresco chewy bar stop. The whole place is shut up and empty until I decide to have an impromptu but discrete comfort break in the corner of the yard, whereupon a van plus woman driver immediately arrives to give the place a security check over.

From here it is pleasant run on through small roads to arrive across the bridge over the River Torridge to the foot of Great Torrington, which has an impressive setting overlooking the river from the top of a long and steep hill. We toil up this along Mill Street for a while and then decide we have nothing to prove and step off to walk the rest of the way to the town centre. Sheila also points out that our B&B is at the bottom of the hill and so we will have to go back down and repeat this climb the following morning. Why is it that on the only occasion when a B&B is not at the top of a hill at the end of the day, we have to go up anyway in order to visit the CAB office? Anyway we locate the CAB and take photos, and then explore the town including the market buildings and impressive clock in the town square. All in all Great Torrington is a smart historic town well turned out to attract spending visitors. Then it’s down the hill to the B&B and Jessie. As landladies go Jessie stands out from the crowd. Very friendly, a widow, and well up for the “talk you to a standstill” prize. We get tea and cakes and a run down on her life history including time spent in Nigeria. (I do my best with places that are about 300 miles from where I lived in Nigeria). She also tells of previous cyclists who have stayed with her. But we are well cared for, the tandem is invited in to the conservatory and she gives us a donation towards our charities. We make a note to send her one of our E-to-E cards and a note of thanks when we reach Kirkwall.

After adjusting the brakes and mending the inner tube puncture we get washed and changed; and then set off to the Torridge Inn (at the bottom of town) for dinner. A friendly pub with some colourful locals (if not great food). Sheila tries to match up some of the photos on the wall with interesting looking customers leaning against the bar. We have a £1 punt in their competition, which I do not fully understand, but no matter because we don’t win. After dinner we set off for an evening stroll back up the hill, but half way up Sheila remembers that she has left her bag with all of our combined wealth of cash and bits of plastic contained in it on the pub table. She returns at a startlingly high speed with a gravity assisted run but, as Ican’t possibly keep up, I stroll down in her wake trying not to appear too fussed about entrusting all my wealth into her care. Re-united with the bag and its contents we decide to give the hill a miss and return to the B&B.

Great Torrington to Bridgwater