As a newbie to this cycling malarkey, I've only ever really toured with GPS. I'm not sure quite how I'd have made it work before. In a less populous country, I guess you could just strike out for the far horizon, pausing occasionally to wonder at local wildlife or to converse with the natives. In England, I can't see this working out. I'd either end up following lots of busy main roads from a to b, because I'd need the roadsigns; or I'd spend a huge chunk of time surrounded by paper maps meticulously preplanning routes that I'd undoubtedly mess up half way through. Which would either result in, in the former case, loud honking and potentially a squished cyclist, or, in the latter, bemused circling and a cyclist sleeping rough. So I say hurrah for komoot, wahoo, RWGPS and all their kin. Because without them, I would never have got to Tavistock in quite the way I did today.
I headed out of Plymouth and was directed up an unremarkable side road. Which became a cycle path. Which quickly became a wooded route through some splendid countryside, passing over a couple of viaducts and taking me upwards on a smooth and very gradual incline. In turn, the Plym Valley trail then morphed into the Francis Drake trail, as it headed directly through the moor. I was able to pause briefly to wonder at the local wildlife (Dartmoor ponies) and to converse with the natives (a bunch of fellow cyclists somewhere around Horrabridge). It was exactly the kind of route I'd never have found, and at the end of it lay the town of Tavistock, and cake.
Plymouth had now disappeared. This was about eight miles on, and you couldn't turn off if you wanted. So, few dogwalkers or pedestrians. When it's not covered in leaves, I bet a few locals do time trials along here.
The Francis Drake way, heading to his birthplace in Tavistock through the open moor. Dartmoor is a notorious wilderness and finding a smooth cycle route through it was an unexpected surprise.
Tavistock is a rather splendid Dartmoor town, with imposing buildings in the local grey stone that look as though they'd resist earthquake and tidal wave alike (not that this is ever likely to be put to the test). The town was historically wealthy, with significant mining activity and connections to the nobility. It remains bustling and commercial, if only because of limited competition from the far smaller Dartmoor towns which surround it.
Tavistock Guildhall: a study in how to make grey stone sing.
Tavistock pannier market. Apparently, it's been running since the twelfth century. So it would have been rude not to pop in briefly some 900 years later.
More Tavistock street scene. Up that little turn on the right lay a vicious hill, heading up to one of the viaducts that overlooks the town. Inevitably, that was our route.
I hadn't been expecting too much to report on today, and after the pleasant surprise of our first stage, the second part of the journey fully lived up to my hype. Just a succession of damp and narrow country roads, many of them intent on turning Raven mud-brown, and all of them rising and falling like the sea in a storm. This was a very hilly day, and although 60 miles wasn't our longest distance, 6000ft of climbing was a pretty stiff test. For us, at least.
My only picture from the next bit of our trip. I felt obliged to play with the filters on my new phone camera to make it look more exciting. Behold that emerald green grass!!
Our second stop was planned for Great Torrington, only about ten miles from our destination of Barnstaple. There simply wasn't anywhere much of note before it. And by the time we approached, I was pretty exhausted. It was getting on for two o'clock, and I needed some calories. We dropped down to the bridge at the entrance to the town and I looked up with horror at the steep descent that stood between me and the main street. Half a mile of 12-13% gradient. I had to pause half way up, but clipped back in (we don't do walking, partly because it's even harder than cycling when you wear cleats) and I fell into the bakery which was pretty much the first shop we came to. If anything was worth the climb, they were. They served Christmas pasties, pizza with pigs in blankets, and about forty varieties of cake. I went for a hot traditional pasty, a chunky lump of bread pudding, and a biscuit. Plus diet coke, because you have to watch your weight on these hills. I can't really tell you much about Great Torrington, even after a Wikipedia search, but I can tell you that it's entirely worth a pilgrimage for its baked goods alone.
I sat in the window seat, and watched everyone else struggling to choose what to buy. Mostly, they just gave up and bought two or three things. You could make a killing running a weight watchers franchise round here.
Raven, however, parked up right outside the shop, because crossing the road was too much to ask for at this point. Also, though she doesn't eat much, she's also an aficionado of cake, and enjoyed a close up view.
And so, feeling ready to face the hills again, I clipped back in and headed north for the final ten miles to Barnstaple. The hotel was another cheap deal, this time on the southern edge of the city and a couple of miles away from the action. But south came sooner than north, and it had been raining heavily for the last hour, so I had no regrets. After stopping the satnav, I headed in for a hot bath and a kit wash.
You could say that it was a net downhill day. But by god, it didn't feel like it.
It was a couple of hours later that I walked into Barnstaple to get some final calories on board. By now everything was dark, so I've not taken extensive photos. Tomorrow's route will first head in through the centre, so I'm thinking of some early sightseeing, and possibly a waterside breakfast somewhere. If you're interested in what the place has to offer, you'll have to check the next instalment. It's the last one as we head homewards again, and Raven goes into winter hibernation.
Just a brief teaser. The Christmas decs were up, and it seems that I absolutely DO have to get on with some shopping. In the next week or two.
