June 22, 2017
Down to Devon
a drive south
We're ready. Saddlebags and panniers have been stacked in the back with our three bikes secured on the car's rear rack. Just before setting off Dave sets the GPS on his iPhone. We're off.
About six hours of motorway driving later Dave turns off a narrow lane and we slowly cruise across the tranquil camp site that's spread out on a remote Devonshire field a mile or so past the village of Ashburton. It's around 5 - just as planned - and see my daughter Ruby and her hubby Alan have already got their big tent up.
Our new tent is smaller than we imagined. Debbie and I bought it yesterday in a rush as the poles to my decent one have gone missing in my daughter's incredibly chaotic garage. You don't get much for 15 quid - about 20 bucks. It'll do.
We pitch it beside a hedge that runs around the field and directly behind the site owner's tractor and long trailer, thinking they'll act as a wind-break. It's small. We can both just squeeze inside and I tell Debbie it’ll be best if I sleep with my head sticking out the door. Our panniers will have to stay on the bikes.
My grandson Charlie is riding his bike up and down a rough track that runs across the field. It slopes and he’s going fast, using his rear brake to make a dramatic halt right near the end. It seems inevitable he’ll skid and come down and graze the skin off his hands and knees. It’s one way of learning.
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