June 18th - To Penzance, to then go beyond
0 miles cycled – total so far = 0
0 feet of climbing – total so far = 0
Max elevation 0 feet
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Now, it is Saturday, June 18th, can we go to Penzance? Yes, it is time to go to Penzance.
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I think I said earlier that it is quite a long way from Lewes to Penzance. That does mean the journey takes a while.
Out of interest, why Penzance? Well, it's quite close to Land's End, about 10 miles, and there aren't a lot of other places with hotels that are closer, so there we are. Also, I'd never been there and it sounded quite nice. In fact, not been anywhere near that far west, so it was all a good start to the adventure.
Saturday morning dawned fine, sunny and quite pleasantly warm. I think I would happily take that for the next two weeks, but have been checking the forecast quite a lot over the last few days and it didn't look as if we were going to have any chance of staying dry Sunday and Monday. Enjoy the sun whilst not riding!
​The alarm went off long before it needed to, but I did want to have lots of time to prepare that bag I had packed, repacked and then repacked last night. Also, Jenni was working an early so she was up at 6:30 anyway, so I might as well get up then...ish.
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Check the train tickets. Big bowl of porridge for breakfast, I am sure I will have a lot of that on the way up the country as it's good slow release food for the start of a long day riding, or a long train journey. Bag by the front door, being picked up by Kerry, Stewart's wife who is giving us a lift down to the station in Lewes, so want everything ready. The train goes at something like 9:18, so 8:57 I give the cats a tickle, wander out, lock the doors, and stand at the top of the driveway waiting for my lift.
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You may be getting the idea that I have shades of paranoia about not being ready on time, or missing a train, or something like that.
​8:59, no sign of them. 9:02 still no sign. Should I phone to see if there is a problem, no, that's silly. 9:05. No car. What is going on, don't they know we need to stand on a platform for 20 minutes waiting for a train? Honestly, what, ah there they are.
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Ok, hello, how you doing, how things, all ok, nice day, weather doesn't look great for tomorrow, yea....general chit chat.
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At the station, thanks for the lift down Kerry. Happy birthday Alex. We made it with plenty of time to spare, no need to worry at all. Then see that the train is cancelled!
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Sorry, the train is cancelled. Why didn't we get here an hour earlier? Well, this is inconvenient, but after an initial moment of panic, stoic commuter man kicks in.
Having had the dubious pleasure of commuting to London for 20+ years, cancelled trains are nothing new and there will be a way round it. And there was.
​Instead of going via Brighton as our ticket said, we became rebels and hopped a train to Haywards Heath. This in the end lost next to no time, and as each of the connections we had to make contained elements of leeway, it was no biggie.
Haywards Heath by 10, be at Clapham for 11 and Reading by just after 12.
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Don't know about you, but if I have a picnic and am on a train, I want to start eating it straight away, so it took great will power not to tuck into my sandwiches and pie.
Having negotiated that challenge, we got to Clapham Junction, and then hopped onto a crawly train that would take us to Reading. This turned out to be quite entertaining as we had coincided our trip on a day and at the right time to be sharing the train with hundreds of people heading off to Ascot races. Loads of hired suits, all looking quite similar, some jolly good plummy accents as well and the ladies looked mighty fine.
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This did mean that doing my first phone call to Uckfield FM, who were taking daily updates on the ride was done from somewhat unusual circumstances. I thought I would spare those next to me the details of how things were going on the train that they were on as well, so got up and went over by the door, where I proceeded to inform those standing there of how it was going on the train that they were on. In best train traveller tradition, no-one batted an eyelid that the bloke next to them seemed to be talking to someone on the radio. I had hoped for at least a furtive glance or two trying to work out if I was someone famous, is that Michael Douglas maybe as he is lucky and looks a bit like I will when I am ancient, maybe it's Bradley Wiggins (Sir) as he seems to be talking about cycling, but no, didn't spot anything. Travelling cattle class on South West trains, ok, not likely to have been someone famous I suppose.
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When we got to Ascot, suddenly we had the train to ourselves.
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Then we got to Reading. Time for a coffee as we had half an hour to wait. Check in for Stewart, Jenni was still working so I just people watched. Next train was more comfortable and we settled down to gaze out the window, eat, drink, chat, read, sleep, look at watches and all the other things you do on longish journeys.
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The first part of the journey is really pretty whizzy and fast, Exeter no time, less than 2 hours. From there though another 3 hours to go as it started twisting around. It also runs right along the coast in places, amazing construction and around Dawlish, recent reconstruction where what had been washed away was now thankfully rebuilt. Extraordinary bit of line that.
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Stewart commented that he had always thought the hills in Cornwall rather attractive, but he was now looking at them with a slight feeling of trepidation.
There did seem to be a lot of up and down, rather bearing out my fears.
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The colour of the countryside was also changing. Where it had been pinky red through Devon, Cornwall was definitely grey, slate grey roofs in all the towns. Looked quite nice in the sun though.
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4:30, another half an hour or so now, we had been going quite well, noting some of the places we went through we would be riding through tomorrow. The line really does wiggle. North Cornwall, South Cornwall, North Cornwall and so on. Bodmin, Redruth definitely both on or close to the route for Sunday.
​Cambourne wasn't though and when we got there we had a bit of drama. This was when, as Stewart calls her, the 'bag lady' truly entered our consciousness.
​You know how it is on trains, when there are other people near to you talking and you half listen / hear what they are talking about at times without it being interesting enough to you for you to pay it much attention. Well, the bag lady and her mother had been shopping, had lots of success as well from the number of bags there were dotted around, and liked a good chat. All fine and they were quite happy.
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Then they got to the daughter's station. Now, maybe this is just the commuter in me coming out, but if I was on a train coming into my station and the doors weren't going to open in the front two coaches, I think I would have known that. Well, sadly the daughter didn't.
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Having collected up a very creditable number of bags, she had made her way to the door and after the train stopped tried getting out and failed. Banging on the door, someone on the platform trying to open the door, more thumping of the door as of course it may be stuck and a good wallop would open it, bit like the idea that the only tool you ever need is a hammer. Didn't work, door still shut, bag lady in a panic as she thought the train was about to go.
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Collect up the bags, run down the train to go to the next door down, slip or trip or something, scream and then declare that she had dislocated her knee!! Obviously in a lot of pain, fairly well controlled language and the guard was summoned.
Suggestions that she might like to hop along weren't met well, and it did look as if the poor lady (lost the bags for the moment) was going to need rescuing by an ambulance.
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Then, somehow, and I have no idea how, there was a change in the voice as she declared quite calmly that the kneecap had just popped back in and up she got and limped off and the train could go!
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True commuter in me noted we had only been held up 10 minutes, not too bad. We are a kind and loving breed us commuters, and once you are one, you are one for life.
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Hopefully she was ok afterwards and able to carry all the bags, well, I guess mum did as she went with her.
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Back down towards the coast again now for Penzance, text Steve from the numbers we remembered to swap at the last minute on Thursday to say that we would be there soon. Helen and Steve had been there a little while so would have the lay of the land.
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Safely arrived, collect the bags and go meet up. Nice little walk along the seafront to the hotel where we were booked in. As with the vast majority of the hotels that I had booked, this was not one that I had stayed in nor was it one where I knew anyone who had stayed there. Internet searches, Trip Advisor were the only sources used. I suppose in years gone by, I could have asked a travel agent to do all that, how do they manage to survive now?
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Anyway, The Yacht Inn was our abode of choice in Penzance. The pictures were both inside and outside which is always a good sign (never trust one that just shows some arty picture of a shower room with sticks in a pot), the reviews were good and it was situated right by the sea so we could dash over the promenade for a quick dip and enjoy the waves breaking on the beach.
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Checked in, and we managed to get the owner to agree to do us an early breakfast. It was down for 8 o'clock and we managed to get it half an hour earlier. Very nice, helpful man who as we explained what we were doing and why was more than willing to help. He was just going to be the first of many such people, and I am ashamed to say that I have forgotten his name. In fact, in many cases where we met some wonderful people, I have no idea who they are, but I am so grateful to them for their kindness and generosity.
Now, up to look at the rooms. As the trip was all self funded, we weren't in five star hotels, so we weren't expecting four poster beds and butlers. We weren't disappointed, but both rooms were perfectly serviceable. I recalled that I had booked the last two rooms that they had available and one was a twin and the other a double. As Stewart and I weren't (still aren't) married it seemed to make more sense for Helen and Steve to have the double. They also got the sea view, we had a nice view of a wall and the back of the hotel. Not a problem though as it shouldn't interfere with any sleep.
Another slightly strange thing that we had and they didn’t was that while they were in room number 6 (I can’t remember if they were in 6, but it’s a good number and is close to our number), which was 7. However, whilst their 6 was a proud resplendent 6, ours was an afterthought of a 7. About a third of the size of theirs, and really not looking very proud of itself. I even took a photo of it as at this stage, a photo journalistic approach was on the cards where anything and everything was going to be recorded.
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I had phoned The Yacht Inn in January to book the rooms, as I very quickly found phoning hotels direct as opposed to using the internet hotel booking sites always, or very nearly always gets a better price. It did here.
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If nothing else, booking direct should mean the hotel can avoid paying the commission to the web people, so by saving them that, by pointing out I was doing a charity ride, most and certainly the small independents happily shared the spoils.
One thing there that may seem a touch premature, was booking rooms in hotels up and down the country in January when we weren't even going in school holidays, but there was a reason. As with many of the fly drive trips that we as a family have done, there are one or two places that we base things around and the rest drops in around those. This was to be no different. One of the places on the list was to stay at The Jamaica Inn at Bolventor.
Jenni and I had driven past in on one of our earliest holidays in about 87, and one plotting routes it came up on the map. That made it seem like it was meant to be. In early planning, we were going to have the first days riding on June 18th, but the Jamaica Inn was fully booked that night. Hang on, this is January and a hotel in the middle of nowhere was full six months hence?? Yes. It had space on the Sunday, so a quick check around and we shifted everything one day.
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That is getting ourselves a bit ahead of time though, as that's 24 hours away, or about that. For now, what about the joys of Penzance on a Saturday evening in June.
It was a really pleasant evening and as Stewart and I had been sitting on the train all day, a bit of a walk down the prom was in order. Where we were staying was to the western end of the bay, just by a magnificent salt water lido. These lidos have been undergoing somewhat of a renaissance in recent years and this one looked as if it had been given plenty of tlc. Nice clean white paint, good little café, and a cracking pool. Not quite early enough for us to be tempted in and I did have swimming trunks with me. I think actually I was pretty glad we were just too late as I am sure it would have been freezing!
From the lido, we walked westwards. Odd thing with the promenade was that the access to the beach was mostly barred off even though the steps looked to be quite serviceable. After half a mile or so, things were starting to peter out so we turned around and wandered back to have an ice cream at the lido. The sea front was quite lively in that there were a fair few people about, and the seafront seemed to be mostly hotels and pubs.
We got back to the lido, sadly the pool bit as I said was shut, so I could stand there quite safely saying how nice it looked and wouldn’t it have been wonderful to have a quick dip in sea water in the open air in June in Penzance…and sound like I meant it.
The little café there was serving an interesting range of comestibles, but we settled for an ice cream and sat looking over the bay to St Michaels Mount. I hadn’t even realised that was at Penzance. Hadn’t done that much research it seems on the town when booking it, but it was a wonderful view over the water with the sun shining down.
When I say it is at Penzance, the causeway actually goes across from Marazion, About 4 miles away round the bay, so we just sat and admired it whilst eating our ice creams.
Time starting to get on now, and as we had arranged for an early start in the morning it seemed best to sort out the evening meal and get settled down. Somehow, whether it was the pleasant evening, nice company, new town, there really didn’t seem to be any need for hurrying.
So, we went back to the hotel and picked up Helen and Steve, asked at the bar where was good to eat as eating at the hotel seemed to be out of the question as they were preparing for a hen party evening. Not sure if they were heading here, but Steve had already recorded two sightings of six feet tall inflatable penises. Could be interestingly noisy later.
We were given a couple of recommendations and strode out with a purpose, the purpose being to get fed and have a drink to celebrate the start of the epic.
Found the first one, which was really pretty busy but they could do us a table in an hour or so. We felt that was too long to wait and whilst we had a pint outside in the garden over looking the harbour decided not to take them up on that and try other places as there seemed to be a few around.
We had been chatting to another couple inside while queueing up and had swapped what we had been recommended, so it should come as no surprise when we got to the next one and found they had snaffled the last table, Even had the bad grace to look smug about it and make some comedic remark that wasn’t particularly funny, well not from our perspective, but we were still in good humour, it was light and there were plenty of other places to go.
The next one was like a cross between a canteen, an opium den (never been in one, but had them described in Sherlock Holmes) and a bunker. Walked in and walked out.
Now, if I was looking to provide a useful travel and eating guide to the harbour area of Penzance, I would be supplying names, addresses, phone numbers, menus, but I’m not and I can’t remember them anyway.
Finally got to another place and this was less full, well, really quite empty, which makes you wonder if you will be poisoned and all the locals know that so they stay away. However, it was starting to show signs of getting dark and as this was the middle of summer, that did mean time was ticking by. In the end, very nice meal had by all.
It was a good opportunity to get more time together as a group and talk over a wide range of subjects.
That inevitably turned at some stage to talking about Annie, and how what we were doing was so little, but at least it was something.
It is so difficult to know what to do or say or even how to write this. How can I, even as a parent ever imagine what Helen and Steve go through every day? It is also very much in the mind when writing this and other posts to the blog as the ride went along just how much of a balance is right to strike between the stomach churning agony of loss and grief, the respect for privacy, the drive and intention to make some good come of it, the exhilaration of completing parts of the ride and also just the fun and laughs that naturally came along the way.
As I say, it was, is and will be Helen and Steve’s loss, but I was also very aware of what my daughter Ruth had lost. I’ve said it before elsewhere, but as I was with her when she found out that Annie had died, I never ever want to hear her or anyone cry like that again. If the money raised from doing this ride and other rides and walks and fund raising could lead to screening days where one young person had their problem found before it killed them then at least there was that to hold onto.
But, throughout the ride, Annie was there with us, one way or another.
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The mood lightened somehow and with food eaten, beer drunk, there was no getting away from it now, it was getting close to bedtime.
We did think as to whether to take the bikes off the rack and secure the in the hotel or the rooms, but that wasn’t going to be easy and the bikes were locked onto the rack. The landlord also informed us that they don’t have crime in Cornwall.
Reassured on that note, we left the bikes where they were, said our goodnights and went upstairs to bed.
This was the first night before a days riding, so was my first guestimate in how to prepare now and save time in the morning. Get the clothes out, pack bags a bit, pile up bike things, check Garmins charged up. All in all, it was as good as I could do, but was really nowhere near the slickness that would develop over the next two weeks.
10 o’clock, did I have a chance of sleeping? Nope. Lie on the bed watching some of the European Championships that were on. That involved watching the Republic of Ireland get thumped by the Belgians and Iceland draw with Hungary. Good old plucky little Iceland, great result for them. Fell asleep when Portugal and the orange baboon came on for a dull draw with Austria.
Apropos of nothing, how do you get four elephants in a mini? 2 in the front, 2 in the back.
Alarm set, teeth cleaned, pill taken, phoned home. As ready as can be and too late to do anything about it now.
Finally to sleep.
