This morning started out really well! All packed up and
ready to hit the road shortly after 9am. The first few miles were great too –
completely flat, which was always nice as my legs were often really achy first
thing and took a good few miles to warm up properly.
I was really desperate for a cooked breakfast this morning,
and so tried the nearest Tesco, to no avail, then on to the nearest Asda, to no
avail either. There was nothing else for it, it had to be McDonalds! Trouble
was the nearest one was all the way in Bridgwater. I raced along the flat roads
from Highbridge to Bridgwater in record time, fixated on the salivating
prospect of a sausage and egg McMuffin, hashbrown and hot chocolate. I arrived
with just in time, but really needing the loo too – nightmare! Sadly I missed
breakfast that morning, but the quarter pounder was a fair compromise.
Back on the road again, and without the lure of a tasty but
nutritionally worthless meal, I found that my left knee was really starting to
hurt again. The cause, I had decided was partly because each time I stopped for
a quick breather, I put my left leg down. This meant that potentially hundreds
of times each day I twisted my left foot out of the clipless pedal system and
then supported my weight on the one leg. Also, the effect of frequently
clipping out of my left pedal had seriously worn down the left cleat, to the
extent that I couldn’t now properly clip in. This was a bit of a nightmare,
especially when cycling uphill or cycling out of the seat. The extra work that
my muscles had to do just to keep the knee in line was really taking a toll and
that morning my knee would spasm almost constantly and I was reduced to cycling
really slowly whilst alternatively gritting my teeth and swearing, loudly!
I located a bike shop that was on my route, using my phone,
and was soon in possession of a brand new set of cleats. Looking at the old
ones next to the new ones really brought it home to me just how far I had come
in a relatively short period of time, and how lucky I was not to have had
anything else go wrong so far! The new cleats were a joy to use – so precise
and effortless to clip in, and secure too, perfect! I made my way out of Taunton,
after making a wrong turn and traveling around the ring-road twice, and found
myself heading towards Milverton and Wiveliscombe along gently undulating and
quiet roads, through pretty Somerset countryside. At Wiveliscombe the road took
a turn for the steep, climbing out of the village and then levelled out again along
to Shillingford and Bampton. I was now in North Devon and close to Exmoor and
the scenery was pretty beautiful. I could see what many of the cyclists I had
met and spoken to along the way meant when they said that Cornwall and Devon
were hard work – the roads might not have been as high as the roads in the
Highlands, and the peaks certainly weren’t, but the hills were brutally steep
at times, and straight up and over too! At Oakford I came the closest I had
come on the whole trip to just getting off and pushing the bike to the top,
only the fact I had new cleats stopped me as I felt that to get off and walk
with brand new cleats would be criminal!
Another difficulty I faced in the South West was the endless
maze of minor roads. At times I imagined that from above the roads must look
like spaghetti that had been dropped on the floor. It was made worse by the
fact that quite often I would come to a junction and there wouldn’t be any
signage indicating the way forward, I would turn one way, go up a hill and then
realise that I was heading around in a big circle. The roads were always fairly
quiet and the scenery lovely, but at times it did get wearing and I would think
about stopping for the day nice and early to allow my tired body time to recuperate,
ready for the next day. One such place I was really tempted to do this was when
I passed a sign saying “No man’s land” that pointed to an open field! Sadly I
didn’t have any food, so couldn’t stop and carried on towards Witheridge. I
didn’t however realise what Witheridge’s name meant until I got there and had
to cycle up a massive ridge! The evening was now drawing in quickly and the
village didn’t seem to have an open shop.
I carried on along the B3042, and then along smaller lanes
to Forches Cross. By this time there really wasn’t much light left and at a
cross roads (again without a sign) I managed to flag down a startled looking
driver to ask for directions and the location of the nearest shop. With just a
couple of miles to go I set off in the direction of Lapford and the garage shop
I would find there. My brakes were now almost completely useless and going down
a long and steep hill I had to resort to putting the heel of my (expensive)
cycling shoes down to try and slow me down – this was getting desperate and not
especially intelligent as my fragile knee wouldn’t take too much extra strain.
My bike loaded up with food again I set off from the petrol
station to find somewhere to camp. The sky was an especially beautiful pink and
the last embers of light from the sun faded over the surrounding ridges, before
plunging the area into almost complete darkness. I found an open field right
next to a small cottage – usually this wouldn’t be an ideal campsite, but it
was really dark and I was desperate to get some rest. Fortunately the owner of
the cottage was outside, working in his garage. I startled him when I called
out to him, but he soon recovered and didn’t see why I wouldn’t be able to camp
in the field as it was unused – bonus! We chatted for a while, and his wife
joined us too, the both of them offering advice for tomorrow’s route. Pitching
the tent took no time at all, food consumed and then straight to bed,
shattered! Truro tomorrow, or so I hoped…
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