June 23, 2017
Heading west-ish
clapper bridges and Dartmoor
One good thing about the new crappy tent is it is easy to pack away. Being single-skin, it only takes us a few minutes to stuff it in its nylon bag.
More good news: all our panniers get thrown in the back of Alan's van, saving us a bit of weight. He'll follow our route.
We share a mug of tea under an overcast sky before Dave, Debbie and myself ride out of the camp site, leaving Ruby and Alan to sort out their camping gear and van, and Charlie and Oscar. We agree to meet up the road at a village called Pondsworthy. It's less than 10km away.
I reckon Charlie will enjoy riding through the shallow ford there – a stream that runs across the road. It’s called a splash. What five-year-old doesn't like splashing through water on a bike?
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It’s a climb first thing and the narrow road is a bit busy. The plan had been to cut through a park area, but I miss the turning and it’s only when we get to an old stone packhorse bridge over the River Dart that I know where we are on the map.
We then trace the tumbling channel of water, half hidden down a bank on our right. It weaves this way and that and looks quite shallow and pristine. It seems like you could wade across to the far bank without too much problem.
It’s not very long before our jackets come off.
We veer off left and start a 20 percent climb and have to walk a bit. In places trees form a tunnel and make it very easy on the eyes, while ferns and purple digitalis sprout up in the hedges. We ride through a couple of hamlets, but don’t see anyone.
Ruby et al are on their bikes when we cruise into Pondsworthy, which consists of just a handful of thatched roof cottages of postcard quality.
Alan and Ruby have already scouted out the super steep hill just ahead, mistakenly thinking that I'd planned for them to go up it.
We spend a few minutes going back and forth through the splash, which, as I had guessed Charlie enjoys - but without actually getting his feet soaked.
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The hill out of the village is another that's about 20 percent. We walk before I eventually push Charlie slowly along - something he gets a kick out of.
My plan had been to rendezvous over the top, where Alan could have parked his van along a quiet farm lane, a spot where I imagined it to be flatter, about 2km from Pondsworthy. Instead, we all slog away for 30 minutes or more.
Once we’ve regrouped, near the top, Ruby decides to turn around and zip back to the van, as Charlie doesn’t like all this hard climbing.
A few hundred meters ahead, near where the narrow road crests, I show Debbie a burial cairn set back off the road. It's a circle of rocks about 2 meters in diameter. There are a few of them plus other Stone Age and Bronze Age relics scattered around this part of Dartmoor. The three of us then have a fast drop down to a farm, where the tarmac ends.
We go along for a short while before coming to a gate and follow Public Footpath signs leading steeply up onto the open moor, passing through a couple of other farm gates and up a rough track. We walk.
When I plotted this part of the route, I’d found a set of neat stepping stones across a stream reached via a path heading north-west from the farm, but we seem to be heading directly north. We keep walking the bikes up a steep track, which soon disappears into stubbly grass, some of which is knee height. There doesn’t appear to be a designated route over to our left. We must have missed something at the bottom of the track.
My compass says we're continuing due north, so I know we’re missing the stepping stones and a path that runs beside a stream, one which would have taken us directly to Bellever, where we’ll hopefully meet up with Ruby and the family.
We try riding over the grass, but it’s just easier to walk. The ground below is rough.
Thankfully the weather is kind. It would be pretty wild up here if the clouds descended and the wind picked up.
Eventually we crest a hill and in the distance see a car going along a road near what must be Bellever.
Once we get back on to tarmac, it’s only a minute before we drop to the Bellever bridge and the adjacent clapper one which has a piece missing.
We can’t see Alan’s red van parked up, but soon hear Charlie shouting. They’ve had a walk along the stream in search of us.
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We’re behind schedule.
A village called Postbridge is about 2km away. There’s a shop there and we need a drink and a bite to eat. It doesn't take us very long to get there, even though it's a slight climb and windy.
We have our first Cornish pasties at the shop in Postbridge, sat at tables outside. They’re nothing special and a bit dry, but fill a hole. The two boys have yummy ice cream - a sweet treat Cornwall is famed for.
Just across the busy B3212 is another clapper bridge. Being easily accessible, it’s a very popular one and other sightseers are there snapping away. We do the same and then start the ride along the main road towards Pricetown. It's a climb again.
The road ahead is pretty straight. As I said, it's slightly up, but that's not the main problem. Coming down it to meet us head on is a fierce wind, one which restricts our speed to single digits.
Dave’s knee is playing up and he's soon lagging behind. Debbie and I wait at a rough lay-by for him to catch up.
While there, Alan pulls up in the van and then offers Dave a lift. He doesn't hesitate and somehow manages to squeeze his bike in the back, resting it on a pile of camping equipment and bikes. His relief is evident and we say we’ll see them all in Princetown, just a six kilometres away.
Cycling there is a brutal battle for Debbie and myself and we pause at another clapper bridge I'd spotted online - a cute one hidden just off the road and invisible to passing traffic.
The formidable sight of Dartmoor Prison soon comes into sight, the massive walls grey and uninviting. It is remote Princetown’s main claim to fame and gets a mention in Arthur Conan-Doyle’s classic Sherlock Holmes Hound of the Baskervilles. The story plays out on the surrounding bleak moorland.
My plan is to explore some of Dartmoor, as there are a few ancient stone circles and a rare stone row, but as we talk to Alan and the crew through the window of his van in a parking area at the back of a pub in Princetown, it seems best to abandon the idea. It looks like rain is coming, with fine drizzle drifts over the bleak landscape and covers the small town with a damp veil.
Dave wisely stays in the van and we agree to see each other in Tavistock, where we will look for accommodation for the night. Our dinky new tent is unsuitable for inclement weather.
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Oddly enough, the sun is out in Tavistock.
Debbie and I soon meet up with the others near the old chuch which has one window designed by the Pre-Raphaelites in the 1880s. A volunteer warden in her 60s doesn't know anything about it, but I spot a postcard on the display table and then see it across the vast interior, so walk over to take a few snaps.
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Ruby says a nearby campsite isn’t anything special, so Dave, Debbie and I agree to find a B&B. This is harder than we imagined. Most are full, but we eventually manage to get lucky in Weatherspoons - a national chain of centrally located pubs that focus on food.
The price is reasonable and the room is adequate, albeit a bit small.
Later, once they’ve sorted out a camping spot, Ruby, Alan and the boys come back and join us for dinner. Apple crumple is on the menu, so I treat myself.
Today's ride: 80 km (50 miles)
Total: 80 km (50 miles)
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Now I must take some time to mosey around the rest of the website.
Happy cycling in 2018!
Suzanne
6 years ago
Yes, I've been here from the get-go. It was basically mine and Jeff's journals for a good while, but most of them have dropped out of sight as traffic has increased.
Best wishes for 2018!
Graham
6 years ago
Your list of journals on CrazyGuy is a lot longer than you have here.
Are you going to copy more of them over?
Mike
6 years ago
All he best for 2018!
Graham
6 years ago