Pendeen to Land's End

Many thanks to Liz and Mike for accommodating me at short notice, and being such excellent hosts.     It was a really relaxing stay. As I left their house, for the final ride of this journey, it was under a largely blue sky, with warm sunshine. The road took me the ten miles from Pendeen, through St Just, past Land's End airport, to Land's End itself. Regular flights go from the airport to the Isles of Scilly. I noticed the man in the control tower at the airport excitedly grabbing his iPad as I cycled past. We exchanged a wave as he took a photo. I can't imagine that happening at Heathrow! I stopped for a couple of hours in St Just, and enjoyed a traditional Cornish pasty, a large mug of coffee, and some flapjack. The penny attracted a lot of attention. An old lady jokingly asked if she could have a go. A man and his son came and admired the bike, though the boy, who I guess was no older than eight or nine, had no idea as to why the bike was called a penny farthing. And why would he, when pennies today are so small? I gave him one of my Victorian pennies, and his father explained what a farthing was. Before I knew it, I had been approached by organisers of tomorrow's Lafrowda procession through the town. Lafrowda is a two week community arts festival of theatre, dance, musical performances, quizzes, workshops, and processions, that has been running in St Just since 1996; the name 'lafrowda' being the ancient name for the church lands where the village of St Just in Penwith stands today. I sat for some time soaking up the sense of excitement. Everyone seemed to be talking about the festival, and there were stages being erected, official T shirts being distributed, and bunting waving in the breeze. As I left the town, I saw a monster tea cup and saucer being moved from one building to another.    

The closer I got to the End, so the more motorists were excitedly tooting and waving. A Swedish couple on a motorbike stopped to take a photo, and I raised my hat as I cycled past. Unfortunately, I was going down a hill at the time, and my hat subsequently blew off. By the time I had brought the bike to a standstill, I had a walk of several hundred yards to retrieve it. A van drove past, the horn honking repeatedly, and the boy I had given the Victorian penny to in St Just, stuck his head out of the passenger window. He gestured to show how he was holding the penny in his hand, a huge grin across his face.

Whilst I waited for Kathy and Chanti to arrive, I spent a coupe of hours in the First and Last Inn in Sennen, just under a mile from Land's End, enjoying a pint or two of cool Guinness. I don't know if it's true or not, but this pub is reputed to have once been the haunt of smugglers. There is a tunnel, known as 'Annie's Well,' covered with a plate of thick glass, which is said to extend all the way to the cliffs. There are a number of different stories, but as I understand it, a former landlady in the 1800's, Ann Treeve, was said to have been involved in extensive smuggling and wrecking, along with the local parson at the time. Eventually, I guess involved in some sort of dispute between smugglers, she gave evidence against Dionysius William, a farmer from Sennen. For such service to the crown, she was staked out by disgruntled locals on Sennen beach, and allowed to drown with an incoming tide. Whilst waiting at the inn, I was interviewed for BBC Radio Devon. BBC Spotlight were unable to attend the end of the ride, due to a shortage of staff.

Thirty four years ago, when I left for John O'Groats, Land's End was a fairly deserted place. As I recall, I had to phone a number in order for someone to bring the road sign and take a photograph. Today Land's End is, in my opinion, a garish holiday complex, with amusement arcades and a theme park, including a 4D film experience and 'Arthur's Quest.' There is also a 'Land's End Doughnut Co,' and a shopping village. The site was purchased by Peter de Savary in1987 for £7 million, outbidding the National Trust. The site was subsequently sold to Graham Ferguson Lacey in 1991, and then in 1996 to the current owners, Heritage Great Britain PLC. Beyond the complex, one can still get a feel for what Land's End once looked like, a remote headland, from which, on a clear day, are views across the Atlantic, pounding the cliffs below, to the Scillies.

And so to the end of this journey, what can I say? Rainer Maria Rilke said 'The only journey is the one within.' John Steinbeck, in 'Travels with Charley: In Search of America,' said 'A journey is like marriage. The certain way to be wrong is think you control it.' Walt Whitman, in 'Song of Myself,' said 'I tread a perpetual journey.' Anatole France, said 'If the path be beautiful, let us not ask where it leads.' Steve Maraboli, in 'Unapologetically you: Reflections on life and the Human Experience,' said 'If you fuel your journey on the opinion of others, you are going to run out of gas.' Finally, Seneca, a Roman philosopher in the mid 1st Century, said 'Every new beginning comes from some  other beginnings end.' These are just a few of the hundreds of quotes I have come across about journeying.

A number of consistent themes, in regard to what makes for the best journeying through life, have come out of the interviews undertaken on this John O'Groat's to Land's End penny farthing ride. 'A Penny for your Thoughts,' has revealed the importance of the journey itself and not the destination; the need to challenge limiting societal formulas, narratives, or discourses about what is the 'right,' 'normal' or 'expected' path to follow; the need to let go of an attempt to control outcomes or try and manipulate where our paths in life might lead; a preference for living in the 'now,' vs living defined by a past to be regretted, or a future to be feared; the need for authentic connection with others, including owning our own vulnerability; that it is never to late to start out on any new venture; the need to take risks, overcome fears, and move beyond boundaries; and that life can change dramatically, as a consequence of loss or illness, and so the need to embrace life fully in each precious moment. Listening to the stories of all the contributors has certainly left me reflecting on my inner 'map; where that map came from, what directions on that map help or hinder my journey, and what I might choose to leave behind and what I may choose to take with me as I continue to journey through life. Like most people, I have many unanswered questions. However, as Rilke says, in one of my favourite quotes:

Be patient towards all that is unsolved in your heart and try to love the questions themselves, like locked rooms, and like books that are now written in a very foreign tongue. Do not now seek the answers, which cannot be given you because you would not be able to live them. And the point is to live everything. Live the questions now. Perhaps you will then, gradually, without noticing it, live along some distant day into the answer.

In this blog, I mentioned when referring to my battle with the elements over Dartmoor, when my morale was low, and I was cycling through thick cloud, being blasted with rain and wind, how the thumbs up from a passing motorcyclist significantly raised my spirits. He probably had no idea of the impact of that simple gesture. We all have an influence on one another, often in ways we cannot ever fully know or appreciate. Just as the big wheel on the penny farthing cannot function without the little wheel, and just as the little wheel needs the big wheel, so every contribution that we make, however big or small, seen or unseen, heard or unheard, counts on our journeys through life.

I want to say a big thank you to all those people who have helped me along the way on this journey; to the numerous people who have stopped and chatted, offered encouragement, cheered, clapped, given me the thumbs up, or provided tea, coffee, cake, sandwiches, and bacon butties; to Jude from Beauly for her assistance in finding me accommodation, and her deliciously squidgy banana cake; to Ross and Emma, Alan and Lori, Joey and Verna, Twig and Carol, Benjo, Adele and James, Bev and Nick, Dave and Ann, Carla and Jeremy, Gill and Nigel, Juliet, Mark and Rowena, Nick and Debbie and family, and Liz and Mike, for offering me overnight stays and their hospitality; to Jean, the landlady of the first bed and breakfast I stayed in for her generosity of spirit, and not charging for accommodation; to the numerous people who have liberally shared their thoughts in exchange for a Victorian penny; to Matthew Trott for sending me spare spokes; to Jeremy for lending me the wheel from his Moulton; to Alan for accommodating the bike overnight in his shed; to Steve Browne, who first had the idea of introducing 'Cycling without Age' in Exeter, who has sent me numerous texts of encouragement along the way, and who together with his partner Carolin, helped me pack the penny farthing to be taken by courier to Wick; to Martin from Ride-On in Exeter for his support and encouragement; to all those people on Facebook who have been supportive, particularly Marc's comments; to John S for his helpful texts; to people who have left their thoughts on the Blog; and to you the reader for sharing this journey with me. Thanks too for all those people who have sponsored 'Ride-on' and 'Cycling without Age,' or stopped me on route and provided donations. Then there is a special big thank you to Kathy for her support in enabling me to have the time and space in which to make this journey, and her daily texts and encouraging words; and to Chanti - who is, she tells me, my number one fan - for setting up this blog, for the wonderful JOGLE T shirt, for promotion of the ride through the 'One' magazine - an article she produced in her job as a graphic designer - and for requesting the involvement of the BBC Spotlight programme and Radio Devon. I was deeply touched to see Kathy and Chanti waiting at Land's End for me with a banner. It's official, I am a 'wheel man!' Though I won't be shaving my legs.

Pendeen

I spent the first part of my morning in Pendeen accompanying Mike, my host, to the coast watch station in Cape Cornwall, where, along with numerous other volunteers, he spends a half-day shift, once a month, keeping an eye out over the Atlantic for vessels in distress. I understand there was a lifeboat rescue of a sailor a couple of years ago, who, as a consequence of overturning his yacht, hit his head. He had been unable to upright his vessel or make a distress call. Undoubtedly, such volunteers, manning such stations and reporting such incidents, provide a valuable service. Whilst at the coast watch station, I briefly looked at the wall charts recording recent wrecks. Many vessels, have floundered on the twin-peaked islet named 'The Brisons,' about a mile offshore, resulting in significant loss of life. 'Brison,' or 'brisant,' is French for 'reef breaker.' The number of wrecks along the whole of the Cornish coastline is staggering, though these have reduced significantly in recent decades with the introduction of new technologies. However, in 2011, the 9,000 tonne Karin Schepper's cargo ship, on route from Cork to Rotterdam, ran aground near Pendeen lighthouse, fortunately on one of the few patches of sand in the area, and on a rising tide. These factors prevented a disaster. The same ship ran aground in Scandinavia in 2009, the chief officer at the time was found to be in a state of intoxication, and asleep on watch. There was no lookout on the Bridge, and Bridge Navigational Watch Alarm System was switched off.

Leaving the coastguard station, I walked Mike and Liz's dog Charlie along the coast back to Pendeen, amazed at the size and scale of former mine workings in the area. Many of these mine shafts stretched far out to sea and deep underground. Life for miners was not romantic, as has sometimes been portrayed, but really tough, working in hazardous, hot, damp and dark conditions, breathing in air polluted with dust. Life expectancy was short, and disasters, such as that which occurred in the Levant mine in 1919, when the man engine and miner's cage collapsed, resulting in the loss of 31 lives, were an ever present reality. Other hazards included falling rocks, flooding, and all sorts of physical conditions, including silicosis - a terrible wasting disease caused by mica dust - tuberculosis, rheumatism, bronchitis, and deafness caused by explosives. Then there were the hazards associated with handling arsenic, wearing little in the way of protective clothing. Women and children were involved in mining work in the 18th and 19th centuries, labouring for a ten hour day, six days a week, often involving a walk of some miles to and from home. It is recorded that 7000 children were working in Cornish mines in 1839. Boys below the age of 12, and women referred to as 'Bal Maidens,' broke rocks to a manageable size for ore crushing machines. Geevor mine, near Pendeen, is well worth a visit, conveying a real sense of the history of mining in Cornwall, and the hardships endured by the employees. Now, much of the area, is slowly being reclaimed by nature, wild grasses, heather, and flowers reestablishing themselves around what remains of the chimneys, buildings, and disused shafts. I saw numerous butterflies flitting between plants, including Meadow Browns, Large Blues, and Speckled Woods. And a screeching buzzard was hunting unusually low over gorse and ferns. Far below the high cliffs, on a sparkling sea, a fisherman aboard a bright orange and blue fishing boat, was lifting lobster pots.

The rest of the day, I largely spent resting. Tomorrow, my 55th birthday, I shall make the staggeringly long ride of ten miles from Pendeen to Land's End.

Newquay to Pendeen

Whether it was on account of a north-easterly tail wind, or the fact that I'd slept well the previous night, or that I'm coming towards the end of this journey, or that I'd built up muscles climbing the Cornish Himalayas, or the fact that it wasn't raining, I don't know, but leaving Newquay, despite aches and pains, I seemed to have more energy, strength, and fitness than I have had since leaving John O'Groats. The A3075 from Newquay to Redruth wasn't a particularly safe or pleasant road. In places it was narrow and bendy. Perhaps this was another motivating factor for pedalling so fast. Whatever it was, I simply flew along, all the way from Newquay, through Redruth and Camborne, to Hayle, taking almost every hill that presented itself in my stride. I felt as if I was in my early twenties again, with boundless energy. I did find myself at times recalling how I cycled Land's End to John O'Groats, for the first time, thirty-four years ago, and how there seemed to be less traffic on the roads. I remember stopping on a Cornish beach, on a warm sunny day, and how it had been empty apart from me; and I remember cycling along Loch Ness and hardly seeing a car all day.

The afternoon brought me to one of my favourite, if not most favourite, stretches of road in Britain; the winding coastal road between St Ives and St Just, a road that seems in no hurry to take you anywhere. I have cycled end to end three times, and each time I have done it, this stretch of road has left me inspired, content, and glad to be alive. As I pedalled along, I tried to ascertain why. I am sure the weather makes a difference, for I have always cycled this stretch in warm sunshine, under a cerulean cloudless sky, the sea sparkling just beyond the cliffs, gulls gliding on the breeze. However, it's more than that. There's a timeless quality about the landscape, with small, ancient, irregularly shaped fields, in which cattle graze, bounded by stone walls adorned with red sedum; quaint cottages built from granite; slopes above the road covered in ferns and purple heather; and hedgerows with a multitude of flowers, such as yellow bird's foot trefoil, purple sea thrift, blue sheepsbit scabious, foxgloves, pink campion, white blackberry flowers, and cat's ear (much like a daisy). There were also yellow gorse flowers, and that sweet smell of coconut wafting in the air.

I stopped at the Tinner's Arms in Zennor to refill my water bottle, where I was subsequently surrounded by people wanting to take photographs of the bike and make donations to the charity. Once again, I was struck by people's generosity. A young boy called Tristan was intrigued as to how I got on and off the bike. I allowed him to climb up on to the saddle, and he was amazed at how high off the ground he was. I left Zennor to a round of applause and cheers. A mile or so out of Zennor, I was overtaken by two cyclists riding end to end, keen to have their photograph taken next to the penny. One of them was hobbling badly, having suffered a knee problem for many days.

The further I cycled towards St Just, past Gurnard's Head, and through Morvah, so the more I saw chimneys and buildings of disused mines, a stark reminder of the areas industrial past, and a once thriving tin industry. Last year I visited the Pendeen mining museum, and was struck by the lengthy procedure involved in extracting tin, copper, arsenic, and other metals. There was something very poignant about seeing the walls lined with photos of the men that worked down the mines in the recent past.

So now I am staying with friends in Pendeen, some ten miles or so from Land's End. I am, sadly, rapidly running out of road to cycle along, and this journey is nearing its completion. As my friend John put it, 'the end is nigh!' It has crossed my mind that I might turn around and head back to John O'Groats! On Friday evening, when Kathy and Chanti are able to be at Land's End, and hopefully BBC Spotlight too, I shall cross the finishing line. Actually, I'm not sure there is a finishing line as such, so I'd best stop cycling before launching myself off a cliff! But there is a signpost at Land's End, and it will be good to reach it after one thousand miles or so on the road.

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.

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!

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.

  

Tiverton and 'A Penny for your Thoughts.'

I spent a most relaxing day in Tiverton, enjoying being reunited with Kathy and Chanti, a walk along the Grand Western canal, a coffee at the canal basin cafe, a haircut (yes, it does still grow), and in the afternoon and early evening, attending the Tiverton hot air balloon festival. One of the largest balloons weighed approximately two tons - given the weight of the basket, the passengers, gas burners, gas bottles, and of course the balloon itself. It's incredible how hot air alone can allow such weight to ascend. Many thanks to Juliet for her hospitality, and the amusing picture of the UK that was on her door when I arrived at her house, with a line drawn from John O'Groats to Tiverton, an illustration of a penny farthing, and motivational words. It made me chuckle. And a huge thanks to Chanti for the wonderful T shirt. I love it!

Whilst in Tiverton, I went in a car for the first time for over a month, and was horrified at how fast it felt. It made me aware of how, for the last three weeks, I have been travelling through life at a different, or perhaps more sane pace; one allowing for connection with nature, other people, and with my own thoughts. Chanti has arrnaged for BBC Spolight to be at Land's End next Friday evening, and so I can now go at an even more leisurely pace for the last 134 miles. My next journey will be to Moretonhampstead, with a view to pedalling (and no doubt walking) over Dartmoor.  

Given I have been alluding to it throughout this blog, I thought it would be helpful to say something about the inspiration for 'A Penny for your Thoughts.' Essentially, my interest is in the idea of life as a journey, and the 'maps' we use to guide us on that journey. However, as Alfred Korzybski, the Polish American writer and philosopher, once wrote 'the map is not the territory.' It's a familiar expression to me, the concept being central to the work I undertake as a systemic psychotherapist and trainer. What Korzybski was wanting to convey with this expression, is that we confuse maps with territories, or models of reality, with reality itself.

Underpinning the work I do, is a core belief that there is no external reality we can all agree upon - i.e. that we all see the world differently, filtering it through the lens of our own experience, or through our own individual 'map.' Thus no two people will ever perceive an event, or the world, in exactly the same way. I have in my work, and in thinking about my own personal 'maps,' been particularly influenced by Carter and McGoldrick's family life cycle model. This considers the impact of 'vertical' and 'horizontal' stressors, as well as a number of 'system' levels, affecting our sense of identity and our capacity to manage change.

Vertical stressors are influences from the past. These might include the lasting effects of world events, or our particular family's way of managing life cycle events, such as leaving home, or managing conflict and difference. It includes passed on beliefs and values. Vertical stressors will also include what John Bowlby, renowned for his work on attachment, referred to an 'internal working model.' Our attachment experiences shape our expectations of others and of ourselves in terms of our sense of self worth, closeness and distance, dependence and independence, togetherness and separateness, affection, trust and love. These early experiences powerfully shape our relationships in adult life. I like to think of this as an internal map. The interviews I have undertaken to date, powerfully demonstrate the lasting impact of early experiences, ranging from a deep sense of feeling secure and loved, to experiencing trauma and neglect. These experiences in turn have an impact on the beliefs, implicit or explicit 'rules,' and boundaries defining territory - for individuals, friendships, couple relationships and family life.

In terms of 'system' levels, we can consider how our 'map' is affected powerfully by the cultures we live in, and messages about what is 'right' and 'normal.' These messages are conveyed through  'dominant discourses,' taken for granted truths that escape critical scrutiny. And the language we use to describe the world, also defines that world. As Desmond Tutu put it 'Language is very powerful. Language does not just describe reality. Language creates the reality it describes.' Effectively, I am describing how realities are socially constructed, and linked to power. Whether for personal, political or economic reasons, some people have more power to 'dictate' reality; a reality we then measure ourselves against, and largely fall short of. This in turn can lead to feelings of shame, self-doubt, powerlessness, and fear. For example, in the West, there is a dominant discourse about 'success,' largely equated with materialism. But if materialism is the measure of 'success,' why have I seen so many wealthy people for therapy over the years? We can in addition think of our maps as being constructed by - or defined by - discourses or stories, linked to gender, race, religion, age, ability/disability, class, education, ethnicity, and sexuality. What has come across powerfully in the interviews I have undertaken to date, is the need to defy these powerful, restrictive discourses in order to live authentically. As one participant put it so well, quoting Henry David Thoreau, the American essayist, poet and philosopher, 'If a man does not keep pace with his companions, perhaps it is because he hears a different drummer. Let him step to the music which he hears, however measured or far away.' Perhaps, it is only when we relinquish the more restricting aspects of the 'maps' we have been given, that we can embrace the idea expressed by so many participants, that it's the journey and not the destination that is most important; and how too much focus on the future removes us from the present moment. As Thoreau, in a less well known saying put it, 'You must live in the present, launch yourself on every wave, find your eternity in each moment.'

Horizontal stressors are those things that inevitably happen to us as we move through life - experiences of birth, childhood, starting school, adolescence; leaving home, a marriage or partnership, middle-age, divorce, older age and death; and what life unexpectedly throws at us, such as redundancy, illness, unexpected natural events, and accidents. A consistent theme that has emerged from the interviews, is that we can be free to make choices, and don't have to be bound by the consequences of things that have shaped us. We can be who we think we are, rather than what has happened to us. A number of people have spoken about how 'negative' experiences and adversity have been transformed positively, allowing for greater authenticity and connection with others. They have also spoken about how in order to live spontaneosusly, and in the moment, one needs to give up a need to be in control.

As already stated, I am interested in where we get our 'maps' from; how they guide us on our journeys, affect our perception of the world, help or hinder us in relationships, and affect our experience of change. You'll often hear people referring to having 'lost their way in life,' how they have 'lost their bearings,' or how they have chosen the right or wrong 'path' in life. The idea of life as a journey is embedded in literature and in our culture. There are numerous stories and novels capturing the idea of people taking journeys in order to face challenges, move beyond boundaries, develop resources, and grow. Joseph Campbell, in 'The hero with a Thousand Faces,' referred to a monomyth, or a hero's journey, referring to tales that involve a hero going on an adventure, winning a victory in a decisive crisis, and returning home transformed or changed.Then there are numerous poems using the metaphor of life as a journey; such as Robert Frost's 'The Road not Taken,' Herman Hesse's 'On a Journey,' and Sylvia Chidi's 'The Journey of Life.'  On the cycle track from Bath to Bristol, I came across the sculpture below. Beside it was a quote from Ben Okri, 'The road was the worst hallucination of them all, leading towards home and away from it, with too many signs and no directions.'

I am also interested in what we choose to do with the unique 'map' we have been given. What if we were to accept that our 'maps,' with their boundaries, rules, ups and downs, and paths to chose between, are just maps, and that they do not define the territory? What if we were to choose to 'tear' them up metaphorically, or at least make choices about what most helps or restricts us from these 'maps' on our journeys? What if we were to stop trying to control or defend them? Then what? Would we be free? Or would we be left with uncertainty, an unsettling idea that perhaps our sense of identity, or self, is an illusion, or a construction? There would be no boundaries to our maps, no clear pathways, no signposts marking the way. What might we discover? What experiences might we have in common that help us? Might we find we are all connected, and that the idea of separateness is also an illusion?

I believe it was the Colombian writer Gabriel Garcia Marquez, who wrote in one of his novels that 'the inability to tolerate empty space limits the amount of space available.' What if this were rewritten as 'the inability to tolerate a map without boundaries, limits the amount of territory open for exploration?'

'A Penny for Your Thoughts' is a semi-structured interview based upon six questions:

What are your thoughts about life as a journey?
What have you learnt, growing up, or from wider society, that has helped or hindered you on your journey?
How has what you learnt impacted on you going down one path or another?
If you could have a conversation with your younger self, what would you say?
What has been a highlight of your journey?
If you can imagine being significantly older than you are, what would you be saying to yourself now?

Whilst I have been able to interview a significant number of people on my cycle ride from John O'Groats to Land's End, I am looking for further people to interview. If you would be interested, please feel free to contact me on johnwoolner2@hotmail,com. In exchange for sharing your thoughts, I will give you a Victorian penny, one with the great queen Vic on herself. How can you resist that? All interviews will be held in confidence. Whilst it is my intention to write up the themes that merge from these interviews when undertaking an MA in travel and nature writing at Bath Spa university this autumn, I would not quote from any individual without their prior knowledge and consent.

Cheddar to Tiverton

I had my best night's sleep since leaving John O'Groat's last night, so much so that it felt as if I'd been drugged. Thanks to Gill and Nigel for accommodating me, for a delicious supper, and to Gill for partaking in "A Penny for your Thoughts.' Apologies for drifting off to sleep during conversation at supper!

You would think that after a good night's sleep, the body would be all fired up and ready to go. The opposite proved to be the case. Riding a penny farthing requires a lot of upper body exertion, especially on hills. I pull on the handlebars in order to give my legs more power. Yesterday, I don't feel I ever got into any rhythm or pace. I felt tired, and my arms and legs felt weak and like lumps of lead. Having said that, the countryside was stunning, and for the first half of the ride, reasonably flat. I was on the Somerset levels, an area I have always so enjoyed riding in, and it was a warm, sunny, summer's day. In the distance, beyond the fields of grazing Friesian cows, could be seen Glastonbury Tor, topped with the 15th century, roofless, St Michael's tower.

There are long, straight water channels running across the levels, many of which are for drainage, These have been unable to cope with the amount of rainfall in recent years, and dredging work continues. It was lovely to see huge yellow waterlilies; swans gliding through the water; herons standing alert by the water's edge, or flying with their huge prehistoric looking wings; and numerous emperor dragonflies hovering or darting over reed beds. At times the road was lined with rows of willows, there leaves glistening in the strong breeze. My route took me though Shapwick Heath National Nature Reserve, and the Hawk and Owl Nature Reserve on Shapwick moor. The Shapwick reserve is a biological site of special scientific interest, aiming to conserve and enhance the  wildlife of the area. Across the site runs the ancient Sweet Track, the oldest timber trackway discovered in Northern Europe.

As I passed through the attractive village of Wedmore, I was stopped on numerous occasions, people curious about the penny farthing passing through the village. I think in the last two weeks I have had more photos taken of me than in my entire life. Leaving the village, walking up a steep incline, I was passed by a group of cyclists, throwing themselves at the hill with great determination. I caught sight of the red 'M' and a dot on the back of one the men's legs. An iron man! I bet he didn't notice the the 'Wheel Man' tattoo on the back of my leg!

The Somerset levels are steeped in history, and I only wish I had time to write about this in more depth. One of the most famous battles in the area, was the battle of Sedgemoor in 1685, which came about as a consequence of the Protestant Duke of Monmouth attempting to overthrow the Catholic king  of England, James II. I passed Burrow Mump in the small village of Burrowbridge, with its ruined church overlooking Southlake Moor. This hill, and archaeological evidence of a motte on the hill, led to some calling the hill King Alfred's Fort, though there is little evidence that King Alfred the Great made use of the hill as a fortification. I guess all sorts of claims are made in the names of legendary kings and queens. I have seen dozens of sites related to King Arthur on my travels. He must have had many round tables, or transported one with him. But it's the agricultural history of the levels which interests me. One cannot help but feel many traditions and ways of life have been lost forever. What does survive however, is a rich tradition of growing willow to make baskets; and traditional cider making, as evidenced by numerous cider apple orchards.

I'd been able to keep to minor roads all morning, passing through delightful villages, with equally delightful names; North Curry, Stoke St Gregory, Knapp and Creech St Michael. Arriving in Taunton however, my choice of road became more limited. I was now cycling during the heat of the day, a heat haze rising, tar melting on the roads. I found myself at times on the A38, with an incessant stream of traffic roaring past. Reaching the road sign for 'Devon' was a strange experience. I have so enjoyed cycling across the stretch of Scotland and England, and now it felt as if my journey was nearing its end. However, having done John O'Groat's to Land's End twice before, I know that there is still a way to go, and that Devon and Cornwall have the most difficult and hilly terrain. It was so refreshing to be able to eventually turn off the A38, on to the Grand Western Canal, with its quiet footpath and cycle track, and views across the Devon countryside. Seeing eight newly born cygnets, fluffy and downy, guarded by two proud parents, brought a smile to my face.

The sky was dotted with hot air balloons as I completed the last part of the journey. This weekend is the Tiverton hot air ballon festival, where I shall spend part of the day tomorrow. On Sunday I shall set off once more, though I still have to decide whether to go round or over Dartmoor; the short, sharp approach, or the long, enduring ride around Dartmoor's fringes. What would a 'Wheel man' do?

Cirenscester to Cheddar

I had a most relaxed day in Cirencester, and am very grateful to a friend, Jeremy, for showing me around the town, visiting his leatherwork studio, and taking me to the local art centre. I was most impressed to observe a local craftsman blowing and shaping glass. Not having seen this process before, I was surprised by how malleable heated glass is. Having collected a lump of molten glass on the end of a pole from a kiln, the craftsman then blew a small amount of air air through it, before twisting and turning the pole, and using a series of tools for measuring, shaping and cutting. It also required reheating the glass from time to time during the process. A big thanks to Jeremy and his wife Carla for their warm hospitality, sharing their thoughts so generously in exchange for two pennies, a bed and delicious meals, and giving me the space to rest. I am also very grateful to Jeremy for loaning me a wheel from a Moulton bicycle to use for the rear wheel for my penny. Unfortunately, I have had another broken spoke, and cannot repair the wheel until I get to Cheddar. I Jeremy and Carla well with their recently established leather business, making and selling inspiring and uniquely designed leather goods.

I had one of the best day's cycling on the trip so far to today, beginning with cycling across the beautiful  Cotswold countryside, the fields largely laid to grain crops - corn, wheat, barley and oats. One or two fields were carpeted with red poppies, The sun was shining in a largely cloudless sky, and it was the ideal temperature for cycling. As I passed through villages, workmen who were dry stone walling, laying cable, or pointing old stone cottages with lime mortar, stopped work, smiled and waved, or chatted. Children being dropped off to school either shouted excitedly, or stopped and stared in amazement; either that, or their parents would see the bike, and enthusiastically point it out to their children. A teacher stopped me on her way to school and took a photo. "I must show this to my class," she said. And a friend of two women I had met camping in Prestwick, who had just completed cycling Land's End to John O'Groats, also flagged me down and took a photo. She recognised me from her friends snaps.

I passed a large flock of goats, seemingly so white and clean, bleating loudly; saw a sparrow hawk hovering in a light breeze; once again saw and heard buzzards, circling on thermals; and flitting between the numerous flowers in the hedgerows, saw butterflies; including tortoiseshells, cabbage whites, and marsh browns. At the side of the road, just outside the village of Crudwell, gipsies camped on a verge beside the road, travelling in a traditional and ornately decorated caravan. A woman was poking a fire as I passed, and horses were feeding on the grass. A large sign said 'work wanted.'

My route eventually brought me to the edge of the Cotswolds, to a high vista point. Below, in the distance, I could see the Welsh mountains, and the two long suspension bridges crossing the Severn. Nearer, I could see the city of Bristol, sprawling out in various directions, and planes flying in and out of Bristol airport. I was able to find minor roads down to the busy Bath to Bristol cycle track, that follows the route of a disused railway. Passing through the city was relatively easy, partly because of my knowledge of the city, and partly due to the excellent network of cycle paths. I began to feel I was nearing home; even more so when the 'Strawberry Line' cycle track - so called because steam trains once transported amongst other goods, strawberries from Cheddar - passed through cider orchards, and trees laden with mistletoe. There is a long tunnel on the Strawberry Line, just outside Cheddar, which is unlit. It was an unnerving experience cycling through it, in complete darkness apart form the arched light at the end of the tunnel, especially when my front wheel hit something and nearly threw me off. Eventually, after passing the sparkling waters of the reservoir in Axbridge, I arrived into Cheddar, thirsty, hungry and tired.

Worcester to Cirencester

The first mile or two this morning, required cycling past queuing traffic. I was feeling uncharacteristically self-conscious, though the occasional toot of a horn, a thumbs up, or a child screaming out of a window 'awesome!' or 'I love our bike mate!' left me feeling more confident. Besides, I was soon on to a quieter road, cycling in parallel with the Malvern hills, a couple of miles to my right. In the morning sunlight, the countryside once again had a fresh, clean look about it. Apart from some sheets of rain brushing the tops of the Malvern's as I left, and one brief shower midmorning, I enjoyed largely blue skies and a warm wind all day.          

One of the loveliest sights in Worcester is the cathedral, on the bank of the river Severn. Built between 1084 and 1504, it has impressive architecture reflecting different periods of history, from Norman to perpendicular Gothic. The west side of its main tower appeared on £20.00 bank notes between 1999 and 2007, along with a portrait of Sir Edward Elgar. The cathedral, together with 'Glover's needle,' the tall spire of the  Saxon15th century, St Andrew's church, are prominent features of the city, and could be seen for miles after I left the city.      
 
I love maps, and am reluctant to purchase a GPS system. But the maps I am using, are far from satisfactory. They are the pages I cut out from the sort of map book that can be purchased at a garage. Anything else would prove to be too heavy. I keep the page I am using each day in a plastic wallet on the front bike bag, below the handlebars, in order that I can read directions as I go along. However, this wallet is not entirely waterproof. In persistent downpours, the rain leaks in. Several pages have been soaked and dried - in the sunlight, or on a breeze, or under the hand drier in a public convenience - repeatedly. At times, the lack of detail on the maps can be very frustrating. I try and keep to minor roads, but when I follow some of the minor roads marked on the map, I find myself going down a dead end. Yesterday was a good example. I saw a minor road cut out a good chunk of a busy A road, passing through a couple of small villages. Having cycled a few miles, I found the road simply circled back on itself, across the M5, to the very A road I had been attempting to avoid. And that used up three-quarters of an hour.

After a couple of miles of cycling down the A road I'd wanted to detour around, there were bollards blocking the way, together with a large red sign saying 'road closed.' I cursed, and was about to look for an alternative, in great frustration, when a woman in bright green fluorescent trousers and jacket told me I could get through as a cyclist, but that the road was closed to all other traffic. As she told me this, a smart looking Audi and a Porsche screeched to a halt, did hasty three point turns on the gravel, and then sped off back the road they had just come down, with a screech of tyres, a roar of engines, and a cloud of dust. I meanwhile thanked the woman, and cycled, or leisurely zigzagged down the A road, through Bishop's Cleeve, feeling very content to have the road to myself. It took me past dozens of workmen, in bright orange fluorescent jackets and white hard hats, resurfacing the road, a strong smell of tar filling the air. Several of the men stopped work and chatted with me. One shook my hand. "The very best of luck to you mate!" The road eventually brought me out in Tewkesbury, a delightful town with medieval streets and abbey. Here I found several women busily sweeping the pavement, in preparation for Britain in Bloom.

At other times, I find the maps work well, taking me on meandering routes where I barely see another vehicle. Yesterday I took a delightful minor road through old villages, the roofs of the old stone cottages, far from horizontal, resembling the curved tail end of a fish. It's remarkable that the buildings stay standing at all. I ate lunch - fresh bread, cheese and tomato - sitting on a silage bail, surrounded by fields full of sheep and cows, and wonderful views across the Worcestershire countryside. Cycling on, a woman climbing a gate, cried out enthusiastically as I passed. I stopped, and we chatted. She was keen to know where I had come from and where I was headed, and I informed her how I was cycling end to end, and told her all about he charity I am raising money for. As I was about to say goodbye, and demonstrate to the woman how one mounts a penny farthing, I noticed a huge cross on the other side of the road, covered in dirty, faded, red plastic flowers. Some of the flowers had fallen off. "Oh dear," I said, "it looks as if someone had an accident." She proceeded to tell me how a young gipsy man had smashed his car head on into a tree, with such impact that the tree had been removed. "Hundreds, maybe thousands came to the service," she said, "many barefoot. Then they came to this very spot to say their goodbyes. I've never seen so many people attend a funeral. And so they came every year, for years. But they haven't been back now for a long time. That cross was so bright and garish when it was first put there, it looked completely out of place. Now you hardly notice it."

When you cycle slowly, and I'm sure the same would apply to walking along our highways and byways, you become acutely aware of death. I have seen numerous dead badgers, foxes, deer, hedgehogs, birds, and the carcass of a sheep. Yesterday, I found myself looking at the feathers of a recently killed magpie, marvelling at the iridescent blues and greens of the wing and tail feathers. I also came across a dead buzzard, intrigued at the complexity and intricacy of its patterning. Nature of course, as well as being beautiful to the observer, relies upon one creature consuming another. I have seen dozens of crows on this journey, greedily pecking at roadkill. But there is such a contrast between the pace and brutality of death on our roads, compared to the natural pace and order of things in the countryside. Yesterday, tired of the sound of cars rushing past, I stopped for ten minutes, parked the bike up against a gate, and looked at the flowers in the hedgerows and on a large patch of grass. I felt as if I'd been transported from one time zone, and one pace of life, to another. There were numerous butterflies -  such as Marbled Whites, Lulworth Skippers, and Meadow Browns - flitting between flowers, such as meadowsweet (with it's perfumed scent), early purple orchids (with such delicate shaped leaves), blue periwinkles, rosebay willow-herb, bull thistles, elderflower and field scabious. Large honey bees, buzzed from one flower to another, collecting pollen. I saw chaffinches and wrens. And again, there was the sound of skylarks from neighbouring fields. Later, in Cirencester, I was to see a sign at the entrance to a park. 'Nature does not hurry yet everything is accomplished.' It was attributed to Lao Tzu.

My road into Cheltenham took me past the racecourse. I had no idea it was so big, or just how many entrance gates there are, stretching out over a couple of miles. I was keen to reach my destination, and so didn't tally. Maybe I was in too much of a hurry, for I set off a speed alert system. 'Your speed is 29 miles an hour,' it flashed. And then I realised there was a car immediately behind me. The road out of the city was a half hour push up a steep gradient, and I feared I wa