Moretonhampstead to Trekenner, Launceston

Many thanks to Mark and Rowena for accommodating me last night. It was good to catch up with them, and to be able to walk through the village to my father's house, and catch up with him too. If you are ever in Moretonhampstead, I would recommend the pizza cafe. The pizza and salad Mark and I shared the previous evening, was undoubtedly the best I have ever eaten. The cafe is run by an Italian man, who moved to Moretonhampstead a few years ago. The herbs he uses, he grows himself. It certainly excelled anything you'd be able to purchase from one of the large pizza chains.

As I set off this morning, it was bright blue skies, warm sunshine.... I wish! I think the expression is 'in your dreams.' It was drizzling, and I knew I was in for a long climb, up on to the road that leads across the moors to Tavistock and Princetown. I hadn't gone very far, when I noticed the wet ground bubbling. Or at least that's how it seemed. Closer inspection revealed hundreds of tiny frogs, no bigger than a centimetre at most, leaping in different directions. I think this one, in the palm of my hand, given its rough skin, may in fact be a baby toad.  

Soon after that, I saw ponies being moved from a small meadow, to the Dartmoor miniature pony centre; some no larger, so it seemed, than a child's rocking horse. A cockerel was crowing repeatedly on a farm.

The first hour or so of today's ride largely involved pushing the bike up steep inclines. As I ascended on to open moorland, I noticed how the fine drizzle had bejewelled spiders webs in hedgerows, or on bramble bushes, with tiny water droplets, as it had every blade of grass. There were numerous ferns lining the road, many of which were still unfurling from tight coils. Large black slugs slithered across the wet grass. There were numerous foxgloves, yellow toadflaxes, and purple vetch.

And rising from the grass and heather, and singing so beautifully, were skylarks. These delightful birds have been my companions all the way from John O'Groats. But as I climbed even higher, the light breeze in Moretonhampstead gave way to a  strong, gusty, southwesterly headwind. The drizzle turned to rain, and as I got even higher still, on to more exposed moorland, I was lost in dense cloud - visibility reduced to ten or twenty yards. I am grateful to the motorcyclist who passed me at this point, and who gave me the thumbs up. It's amazing how one single gesture like that can lift the spirits. At one point, the strength of a gust brought me to a complete standstill. That would be fine on an ordinary bike; one would simply put one's foot on the ground. On a penny, it's an entirely different matter. Stopping dead like that, motionless, can only result in a fall. You need motion in order to be able to climb down. Fortunately, I was able to give one Herculean last lift of my right leg, resulting in the tiniest amount of forward motion, and just sufficient to enable me to leap off.

So for the next four hours, I battled against the wind and rain. In the face of this onslaught, I decided I had three choices; to moan, groan and feel sorry for myself all the way to Tavistock; to turn around, defeated; or to take on the full might of the weather with a positive attitude. I chose the latter. The more the wind blew, and the more the rain lashed down, so the more determined I became. I hadn't just cycled nine hundred miles in order to give up now. I felt sorry for the occasional French, German and Dutch tourists that passed me in their cars. I imagine they must have read in a brochure somewhere about beautiful Dartmoor, and seen pictures of isolated tors, Dartmoor ponies, and wonderful views across the Devon countryside. And here they were, driving through cloud, being blasted with wind and rain. I stopped at the bus shelter in Postbridge, ate some snacks and had a drink. And then I battled on, through Two Bridges, and all the way to Tavistock, where I arrived cold and wet. Here I was to be greeted enthusiastically by the friend of Mel and Sue, two women supporting four riders doing Land's End to John O'Groats, that had stopped and taken a photo of me near Loch Fyne. She recognised me from photos they had shared.

The next part of the ride was pretty uneventful, though once again involved some very steep climbs and descents. Crossing the Tamar, over the Grey Stone Bridge, brought me into Cornwall, with a strong sense of this journey nearing its end. Arriving at Trekenner farm, I had a shower, alarmed to find how sore and wrinkled my feet had become sitting in wet shoes all day. It was painful to stand barefoot. I then enjoyed some local cider, and a supper of vegetable chilli with the family. I looked at the forecast before I went to bed. Yes, you've guessed it!