Tiverton to Moretonhampstead

No sooner had I set off this morning than it commenced raining, and so it continued for the next three to four hours. Today, although one of the shortest rides I have undertaken to date, also proved to be the most challenging.

Things started off well enough, averaging the dizzy speed of ten miles an hour all the way to Thorverton, passing over Bickleigh bridge - reputedly the inspiration for Simon and Garfunkel's 'Bridge over Troubled Water' - and down the beautiful Exe valley. It was early, and the roads were quiet. The air was still, and I heard the cawing of crows, the quacking of ducks outside a farm, the enchanting song of a thrush, the cooing of doves, and the constant dripping of rain. From time to time, a pigeon would flap its wings loudly, ascending sharply, before allowing itself to glide. Leaving Thorverton, I cycled past numerous cob walled cottages, their roofs thatched and mossy; and through lanes bordered with high hedgerows, adorned with pink blackberry flowers. I enjoyed the sweet taste of wild strawberries and cherries. There was the sweet scent from white and yellow honeysuckle, and at other times a strong smell of silage from farms. I passed through an avenue of trees, their foliage creating a dark tunnel. On one side, were a number of badger sets, rich red soil tumbling down the bank. Dozens of small snails crawled across the wet roads, and I zigzagged to avoid crushing their black and yellow striped shells. Outside a farm was a sign for 'strong white weaners' at £35.00 each. Approaching the village of Shobrooke, down a steep incline, there was a sign for ferret racing. I was impressed with the bus shelter in the village, with what appeared to be the community provision of cushioned seats. It was good to here an original comment from a passer-by, who asked me, looking at the front wheel of the penny, during a particularly heavy downpour, if I was expecting deep water.

Beyond Crediton, the ride took on an altogether different quality. The roads became increasingly  steep and narrow. Whilst most cars would pull over - and several drivers stopped and chatted - one woman, po-faced, in a large four-by-four, seemed to pay me no attention at all, forcing me into the hedge as she drove towards me. A man in a white van looked at me as if I had just arrived on a ship from outer space. Nearing Tedburn St Mary, I could hear the roar of the A30, sounding like the breathing of a huge monster, disturbing the quietness of the countryside. Beneath a bridge, as I passed over the dual carriageway, was a steady stream of lorries, motorbikes, cars, caravans and motorhomes. From here onwards the terrain was such that I had to walk for several miles, with steep descents and ascents - the worst being that either side of Clifford Bridge. This was extremely strenuous, the only way I could descend being to walk at a forty-five degree angle grasping the bike; and the only way I could ascend, being to take a hundred steps at a time, pushing the bike, before giving myself a minute or two to recover, my heart pounding in my ears. I was walking through pine forests, with a strong scent from pine needles, and through avenues of beech trees. Whilst it had stopped raining, the air was humid and warm. It felt as If I was in a sauna. Each time I stopped, I would observe lines of large ants climbing over pine needles, some carrying what seemed like small lumps of dead wood. Eventually, I reached Mardon Down, with a strong, cool, and refreshing breeze. There were views in the distance of Hay Tor, and back in the direction I had come from of Belvedere Tower, in Haldon woods. There was a long descent into Moretonhampstead, where I arrived tired, achey and cold.