Taking to the water

November 28, 2024

A coastal jaunt

Well, I promised myself some mini-tours over the winter period, and the time for the second has fallen due.

Last week we had snow. Then we had 80mph winds, and flooding. So when this week's weatherman mentioned greyness and drizzle, it felt entirely reasonable to take a forecast of anything other than biblical weather as a sign that Raven and I should head off to the horizon once more. I'd booked this trip some weeks back and, as December approached, if we didn't crack on with it, things were only going to get colder, wetter or windier.

The plan was for another three-day tour, this time staying within Devon. Day one would be the longest, in terms of mileage, and would take us around the coast and inland towards Plymouth. I was intending to post the RWGPS here and had set the route to start a mile away from my house, because you know, personal data blah blah. When my GPS unit offered to take me to the start, I didn't realise I'd also have to press 'go' when I got there. So we didn't manage to record the first 15 miles of the trip, but we stuck to the planned route as below. You'll have to skip to Google maps to investigate more fully. Sorry.

A bit of an up and down day. But that's Devon for you. We don't really do flat roads.

Houses along the seafront at Dawlish. If you look carefully, you'll see the main railway line to Cornwall running in front of them. It's spectacular, but about a decade back it was washed away in a storm, and took some pretty major engineering work to reinstate.

We headed south past our local beaches at Dawlish, and off towards the sands at Teignmouth and Shaldon. Teignmouth is a lovely town: although quieter out of season, it has a working port and lots of businesses to accompany its seafront side. The quay was originally built in the 1830's to ship Dartmoor stone to the capital, for the construction of London Bridge.

Over the water from it lies Shaldon, a quaint old place of rambling streets and - increasingly - the gargantuan glass-fronted follies of wealthy folk who have come for the views. It's more genteel, and the population is older: while Teignmouth works, Shaldon gets up, makes a cup of tea, draws the curtains back, and watches its neighbour over the water with slight bafflement. And then it toddles off to see what daytime TV has to offer.

The bridge between Shaldon and Teignmouth has a lovely view along the estuary. Up one side the railway runs, looking for all the world like a toy train set as it rattles improbably close to the water.

The view towards Shaldon, today at low tide. If you've spotted that there don't appear to be any flat ways to escape the town, you're absolutely right.

We steered briefly away from the water to make our way a few miles further south, to Torbay. The bay badges itself as 'the English Riviera', which seems fair given that it's in one of the warmer parts of the country, with a mild microclimate and a new beach around every bend. For those still unconvinced, they've embarked on a pretty extensive programme of palm tree planting. The bay is made up of three settlements: in order for us today, Torquay, Paignton, and Brixham.

Torquay harbour. It's the largest of the three towns, and gets properly busy in the summer months.

As seaside resorts, Torquay and Paington have probably seen better days (there's a reason that Fawlty Towers was set here). The phrase 'faded grandeur' describes many of the public spaces, but the natural landscape is still pretty good. Plus, did I mention palm trees?

I'm sure I recognise the arboriculture...

We continued south to Brixham, which is not just a popular tourist destination (again) but is also still one of England's most important fishing ports. It's another higgledy-piggledy town, with plenty of cake shops (which we avoided: too soon) and more hills than any cyclist wants to see. Also, it has a replica of the Golden Hind. See below. This was the ship that Sir Francis Drake used to circumnavigate the globe, which was some feat back in the day. Sadly, he didn't also have easy recourse to Brixham's fudge shops or fish and chip restaurants, or the crew might have been far happier with their trip. So in many ways, the replica is a marked improvement.

The old harbourside at Brixham. All roads lead up from here. Most of them, quite substantially so. Yay.

A fishing port, a life sized replica of the Golden Hind, and a glittery reindeer. I challenge you to compose a similar short anywhere else on the planet, without recourse to AI.

We paused at Brixham's war memorial as we climbed up away from the town. It was looking resplendent; in the background, you can see some of the town's fishing fleet, and the wider bay with Paignton and Torquay.

From here, we pressed on in search of coffee. The village of Kingswear lies about six miles west, and is the departure point for ferries to the busy town of Dartmouth. In the summer, you can queue here for an hour or more, and signs along the road let you know how long you'll be waiting from your current position on the road. Dartmouth sits in a properly spectacular setting, which is why it's so popular. And it's a great place for hungry cyclists.

Some views down to the river. To be fair, it's prettier in the summer, when the greys and browns are replaced by blues and greens.

One of Dartmouth's landmarks is the Britannia naval college, where all naval officers go for training. I was once lucky enough to be a guest at a dinner put on by the commanding officer, and it's a remarkable place.

Kingswear also has its own steam railway, running from Paington and depositing passengers next to the Dartmouth ferry.

So we embarked on Raven's third ferry ride, and the first one in England, after her previous jaunts to and from the Orkney isles. It's only a five minute crossing, with beautiful views. Not least, of the surrounding hills. Again.

The ferry is pretty much a flat barge that takes about ten vehicles, steered by a tugboat roped alongside. They simply nudge it into a ramp at either end, then turn around and repeat.

Other ferries are also available, however. This one looks slightly more comfortable, unless you're driving a van, in which case it's as helpful as an ejector seat in a helicopter. Dartmouth in the background.

Dartmouth isn't just home to the naval college, it was once home to the British navy itself, back when our navy was far more remarkable than now. Today, it boasts lots of yachting types, but it does retain some great historical buildings. The Butterwalk, below, is a 17th century edifice. And we popped to the old market just behind it for a midday snack.

The Butterwalk. It appears that 17th century builders didn't use plumb lines. Maybe they came in on the water, and didn't have their land legs.

Brunch. You can tell Dartmouth is posh, because that's fancier than a normal breakfast roll. And they'd placed a rose, so Raven and I could share a little moment together.

The route westward from here was inland, and far less picturesque. Things happen by the water, when you're an island nation: adventures, conquests, empires. Away from the water, it's mostly fields. Which you trudge through on the way to the coast, to have adventures. Inland, in short, is often duller.

So the second half of the ride was mostly up and down through country roads of varying quality. It had been wet on recent days, and many of the roads were still like streams as they drained the land and soaked the passing cyclists. Bits of the trip were quite technical: hemmed in by grassy mudbanks in the middle of the carriageway, and encroaching hedges on the nearside, we splashed perilously down the tyre's width of clear road, trying to dodge its potholes and debris in the ten inches available, whilst simultaneously ducking branches. Cycling in the UK is not just good for your fitness, it's also good for your reactions.

50 miles in, we reached Ivybridge. I'm probably selling it short but I don't think there's too much remarkable about this town, other than its cake shop which makes pretty outstanding custard slices. I'd been intending to stop here for lunch, but the timings hadn't worked out that way, and anyway I think a custard slice has enough calories to fuel a Tour de France stage.

Ivybridge. If you can spot anything particularly noteworthy, please say so in the comments and I'll expand on the caption. Otherwise, I'm a bit stuck.

This left us an hour or so out from our final destination of Plymouth, and, as with most city approaches, as we got closer we found ourselves zigzagging on and off cycle paths next to major roads. 65 miles in, we pulled up to the booked Travelodge, I briefly washed Raven off, and then we both headed up to a third floor room to do the usual cleaning and charging routines. That is, we both headed up, but the routines fell to me. Raven feels that she's too much of a thoroughbred to do menial work.

View from my hotel window. We're right in the centre. Not bad for £35.

Being winter, it starts to get dark early, but in spite of the gathering gloom I embarked on a quick walking tour of some key Plymouth landmarks. It's a city well worth visiting. Although it was extensively bombed in WWII, and bears the scars of rapid reconstruction, it does retain some spectacular buildings and has a wealth of history. Plymouth is still the largest operational naval base in Western Europe, and it was from here that Drake sailed to defeat the Armada, and the Pilgrim Fathers left for somewhere or other over the pond.

Today's ride has been a great one for sights and for history, and if you're ever around, I can recommend this part of Devon for a ride. As long as you're ok with hills, that is. Tomorrow's route takes us north, and has far fewer settlements. But we'll find a cake shop somewhere, or I'm trading in my lycra for a skateboard. Hope you'll come along.

The view across Plymouth hoe. There were two large grey boats in evidence, one here: frigates, destroyers, or some such. I'm no expert, but they were definitely naval ships, and - if it helps - I can also confirm that they weren't aircraft carriers.

Smeaton's Tower, a now redundant lighthouse moved to Plymouth hoe for decorative purposes. It's become one of the city's key landmarks/ symbols.

The Barbican: Plymouth's historic port area, with cobbles and narrow streets aplenty. Also, pubs. Lots of them.

Another shot of the Barbican area, complete with Christmas lights. Dammit, should I be doing some present shopping?

Today's ride: 65 miles (105 km)
Total: 293 miles (472 km)

Rate this entry's writing	Heart	4
Comment on this entry	Comment	0