Trekenner Launceston, to Newquay

Many thanks to Nick, Debbie and family for a delightful stay and a lot of fun. I hadn't expected to have a go on a zip wire ride on this trip, but really enjoyed it, especially the high speed and dramatic way in which it ends. It was good to sit around and chat in the evening in the garden. Lou, I wish you well with your plans to be the first person to ride a llama from end to end. How about calling the llama 'Penny?' And many thanks to Nick's mother for drying my shoes out on the aga, and for her contribution to 'Ride-on' and 'Cycling without Age.' It was so, so nice to put on dry, clean socks, and warm, dry shoes this morning.

I really enjoyed the start of today's trip, cycling through narrow Cornish lanes, and passing through villages with unusual names, like Trebulet, Cardinham, and Rosehannon. There were signs to other unusually named villages like Linkinthorne, and Lushathorn. And there was a delightful bungalow, with the unusual Cornish name of 'Casa Mia.' I've only ever seen Bodmin moor from the A30, and so it was good to get an altogether different perspective, one unspoilt, wilder, and seemingly much higher. For some miles, I found myself cycling towards a large looming hill, with disused buildings and chimneys from the tin mining industry, silhouetted against the morning light. After cycling, or rather walking, up and down a number of steep hills, I briefly stopped in Upton Cross to buy a drink. Here I got into conversation with the shopkeeper and a few customers. One of the customers informed me that this area of Cornwall is known as the 'Cornish Himalayas,' and I was soon to discover why. The climb from Upton Cross on to open moorland was long and arduous, and whilst the weather had looked promising at the start of the day, it began to rain. And so it continued up until 7.00pm, when I eventually finished cycling. Had I had more time, and it hadn't been raining, I might have stopped and visited 'King Doniert's Stone' as I passed it, the remains of an impressive ninth century decorated cross, believed to commemorate Dungarth, King of Cornwall, who died in about 875; or the 'Hurler's stone circle,' a group of three ancient stone circles. Legend has it that men who played Cornish hurling on the sabbath were turned into stone as a punishment. Likewise, men who played tunes on a Sunday were turned into the nearby 'Piper' stones.

I shall definitely invest in a GPS system indicating contour lines on my return, for most of the day consisted of a series of roller coasters; walking down one 20% descent, into a wooded, deep valley, cycling maybe a hundred yards, walking up a 20% ascent, and cycling maybe a few hundred yards, before descending once more. I lost count of the number of times I did this, though it must have been at least a dozen. It left me drained. And I was, once again, completely soaked. It might have been alright had I been able to cycle downhill, but back pedalling would be impossible on such steep inclines. And whilst I am determined to finish the ride, and accept whatever comes my way, I came to curse the sight of another steep hill.

Bodmin was horrendous. That's all I can say about it. I found myself on a series of busy roundabouts, confused. The signposts were poor, with one cycle track signposted for Bodmin ending up in a hedge. For a good twenty minutes or so, I walked this way and that, trying to find my way out of the maze. Eventually, I figured out that the A38 was the way into the town, but I ended up walking a mile, for the road was narrow and dangerous, with lorries and traffic hurtling past, spraying me with water. I purchased a late lunch from a Polish shop, the young shopkeeper incredulous that I had cycled from Scotland. I eventually ate my lunch at 4.00pm, sheltering as best I could under some trees, large drops of water dripping on me, on the food (the large bun, covered in a sugary coating was delicious), and on the map, as I made a decision about where to head next. I decided to get to St Columb Major. This appeared a large town on the map, and there was sure to be bed and breakfast available. After another few roller coasters, I arrived there, soaked, cold, aching and exhausted. The smell of fish and chips wafted in the air. After asking a few people, I found myself ringing the doorbell of the only bed and breakfast in St Columb Major, anticipating a warm shower, a nice pub meal and a pint of Guinness. "She's away in Norway," said the voice of an old man. "I like your bike!" A woman came out of her house, hobbled across the street and took a photo.

It was seven long miles to Newquay. I don't know quite how or why the mind and body react as they do sometimes, and this is not the first time this has happened to me, when my morale is low, and I am tired, hungry and cold. I set off with a renewed energy, resolute, determined not to be defeated. I recall as a younger man reading about the Land's End to John O'Groats cycling record attempts, and how at one point, the cyclist who broke the record, fell off his bike in exhaustion. He was lifted back on, and set off once more. And even after having broken the record (which is well under forty-eight hours), he continued, determined to break the one thousand mile cycling record. I pedalled the miles to Newquay as if I was in a race, averaging twelve miles an hour! And when I hit another 20% descent and ascent, I ran down one side and paced quickly up the other. I rang the bell of the first B&B I saw, and was soon after lying in a hot bath.