June 19th – We’re off. To the Jamaica Inn
82.6 miles – total so far = 82.6
6,972 feet of climbing – total so far = 6,972
Max elevation 926 feet
7 o’clock and the alarm goes off. I would love to say that the morn dawned fine and fair, but I would be lying.
Where I had looked out across a sunlit bay yesterday evening, I now couldn’t see the other side of the bay! In fact, I was having trouble seeing this side. I could see the bikes still there on the roof of the car, so the B movie syndrome hadn’t kicked in and they had not been nicked overnight. The landlord had been right. No crime in Cornwall, or at least that part of Penzance last night.
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The weather forecast for the Sunday was spot on sadly and there was a fine mist or drizzle wafting around in the wind, all was grey.
Pulled the curtains back and had another 5 minutes. Breakfast wasn’t until 7:30ish, so I was sure I could have those extra few minutes. It really wasn’t very nice out, maybe if I waited a little bit it would get better.
This kind of indiscipline would not be tolerated as the days went by, but remember, I was new to this and not sure about what was coming up.
The automatic morning activities are always slightly strange when you have a new bedfellow. Do you use the bathroom first, getting dressed, laying of the morning log, how sensitive are you both, will you take a lot longer to get ready, all odd little questions that pop into the mind. As it turns out, neither of you has three legs or two heads or any strange deformities, you manage to get dressed and joke about the lovely weather and wander across to see if Helen and Steve are ready for breakfast.
Of course they are. I very quickly form the opinion that I have some very organised capable people with me. Just as well, as my mind seems to be narrowing down to what is ahead on the road.
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We wander down, and its ready for us. Cereal, fruit juice, tea, toast, full fry up, with a good sausage. I always feel that you judge the quality of a breakfast by the quality of the sausage, and this was a pretty good one. Not the best you will ever have, but nice and meaty with some herbs for added flavour. Vegetarians eat your heart out, actually, last thing they would eat. Maybe we need a new saying, eat your lettuce heart out. Not very snappy.
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As we eat breakfast, could not help but feel that we had almost accidentally stumbled into Fawlty Towers. First one old couple came down and were escorted to ‘their’ table, then another. Just missing a mad owner and a Spanish waiter. For safety’s sake, we did not mention the war.
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Looking out the window, the weather hadn’t improved, but time was getting on so it was head upstairs to change into cycling gear, pack bags, clean teeth, ablute (my spell check doesn’t like ablute, but surely if you can perform ablutions then I should be able to ablute), check everything at least another twenty five times and then look almost sheepishly at Stewart.
‘Right, let’s head off then.’ I almost felt a touch apologetic. Perhaps it was because we didn’t have the blazing sun I felt I had promised, perhaps it was because I had pored over todays route and knew that none of the training we had done had climbed anywhere near the number of feet we were going up today, perhaps it was just nerves.
But at the same time, there was great excitement. This was it, the start of the single biggest physical challenge I had ever and quite possibly would ever try and undertake.
Pick up all the bags, check around the room, and head downstairs. Steve is sorting out things at the front desk while we take bags out to the car.
It is still damp outside, but at least it’s not windy. It’s not cold either, well, not that cold.
Into the car. It’s already like climbing into a cave as although it is a very good sized estate car, it has been packed with all sorts of crap to support the ride.
A box of bike spares, two spare wheels, bag for bike clothes, bag for normal clothes, another bag that came down on the train…as well as Helen and Steve’s bags. Stewart was the one taking up the least space as he had come down with a very small bag as he had to carry all his stuff on his back when he left us tomorrow afternoon. The plan was for him to drop off after about 50 miles of day 2 and then he would head down 17 miles to catch a train home from Exeter, so he didn’t need a suitcase to carry on his bike or to leave piles of stuff behind.
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Doors closed, seat belts on, off we go. About 8 or 9 miles to get to Land’s End and our beginning, the real beginning.
The misty drizzle has made things damp, the roads have been dripped on, the trees are doing the dripping, the clouds are dripping, everything seems to be dripping, but only gently.
Watch the roads closely, as what we are driving on, we will ride back on towards Penzance when we start, so this is about the only time we will have fore warning of what is coming up. That is usually useful.
On the way to Land’s End, we go past a sign for The Minnack Theatre, an amazing open air amphitheatre . I saw a programme about this recently so recommend to Helen and Steve that they could drop in on the way to the first meeting place as it had looked really good.
Getting close now, weaving through Sennen and then, there it is, the car park. Not just any old car park, this is the car park at Land’s End.
I expected it to somehow be significant, monumental, grand, meaningful. After all, it is nearly the start point for so many people’s dreams and adventures, but it’s just a scruffy old car park.
The cloud has lowered, the drips become more of a curtain and there is a feeling that all sound is deadened and somehow you are in a bubble. Appropriate as I will soon become accustomed to living in the bubble.
Bikes unloaded, lights set, Garmins loaded, shoes, coats, gloves all on, let’s go find that signpost.
Not quite what I had expected in terms of the buildings either at Land’s End. The Land’s End Experience! Shawn the Sheep, a cinema, shops, Arthur’s Quest. Certainly making this a ‘destination’ as well as it being a natural destination for cyclists, walkers and runners to set off on the journey.
All these offerings seemed to be closed, I suppose it was 9:30 on a damp Sunday morning. But it is the middle of summer (hah!!), surely there should be maximum tourist fleecing mode engaged. Nah, it’s too wet.
Clanking our way through the buildings with bikes and cleats, we headed to where we assumed the sea was as we thought that would be where we would find the signpost.
Sure enough, there it was, not sure about the sea though. If you went to the edge and looked down, you could see the sea. If you looked along the coast, it disappeared.
The signpost is also part of the Land’s End Experience it seems as if you want to have your picture taken in touching distance, it will cost you about £15. Or you can stand the other side of the rope and shift around until it is in the background of your selfie. To be fair, your £15 does get a personalised message. Wonder how many people get them to put up ‘this isn’t worth £15’.
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Opposite the signpost is a low white wall on which there are two plaques that commemorate two cyclists who lost their lives whilst attempting a LEJOG, one of them on his 12th! Derek Hawkins was that unlucky man, killed in an accident October 25th, 2001 and Stuart W Miller on June 15th 2007. Researching afterwards, there are a steady stream of fatalities on this ride, but then there are so many people doing it.
Sobering thought that there is an element of risk associated with the journey as up to now I had approached this with the invincibility of youth (even though I am not young), believing that nothing can go wrong.
These plaques moved me into B movie syndrome for a short while where you start considering everything that could go wrong. The deteriorating weather didn’t help either. B movie syndrome will pop up again from time to time, basically it is the irrational fears that lurk in the pits of your mind to be troubled when something odd happens to your psyche.
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It was time to call the radio station again. This had been a bit in doubt as apparently, they don’t get many phone calls on a Sunday morning so weren’t sure of how to put me to air, but we managed it and the good listnership of Uckfield FM were given a quick weather update from the Duchy of Cornwall and the start of the plugs for Cardiac Risk in the Young. Also, a promise that I would be phoning Gary the next day at an earlier time, as long as everything went ok today.
Picture time. We mustered a few smiles in the selfies, I was sporting a Raz hat that I had borrowed from Ruth that she got on one of her many nights out in Liverpool. Its ok though, she’s reining it in now.
We were just hanging about now. Another couple had set off a few minutes ago, and as I was to find out much later, a husband and wife had set off about 8 o’clock that morning, on their honeymoon. I may kill the suspense, but they survived the trip still besotted with each other.
There was no more putting this off. Get on the bike and ride.
Steve had the camera out for a send-off video of us riding into the fog, lights slowly dimming as we approached the edge of the other side of the road, no, make that car park.
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To get the best dramatic shot of us disappearing onto the mist did involve riding the wrong way down the road as the way out went round a bend to the left, but it was far more cinematic to just ride straight. Did get told off by the bloke now in the hut guarding the car park. ‘You’re going the wrong way’. Wouldn’t be the last time we heard or said that today.
In fact, let’s start straight away.
In preparing the route, I had used various mapping options, created half of them using one tool to then find I couldn’t get them down to my Garmin from it so started again on another, well on Garmin actually. Also used maps and street views a lot to see what the roads looked like. Checked junctions a lot so I could see what roads were like when turning onto them and as much as possible stayed away from dual carriageways, A roads, and main roads.
This did take a long time, about a week of solid plotting to get a set of routes. This was only done after I packed in working to prepare for the ride, couldn’t have done it whilst still working.
I could have nicked other peoples, or followed the ‘official’ routes, or there is a SUSTRANS route I think, but it felt more in keeping with what I wanted to get out of it to plan the route myself, and be the first, and quite possibly the only person to ride that particular version of a LEJOG.
During this exercise, as I was to find out, I had put too much faith in what was often shown as a solid green line indicating a cycle path. I suppose I should have thought that they may not have always meant road bikes, but I was in the planning mindset, or wearing the planning blinkers and that thought never entered my mind. Consequently, I was to come across a few paths fine for hybrids or mountain bikes, less well suited for road bikes.
My approach to these varied, sometimes I pressed on, sometimes I acknowledged that there was a better route as an alternative, hopefully. Re-planning routes on the fly can be a bit nerve wracking as the screen on a Garmin doesn’t show a huge amount, and if you zoom out, then you lose the small roads. Remember that for later.
Why is all of that pertinent now? Well, coming out of the entrance to Land’s End, there was a cycle path I had found on the left and used that to wiggle along the cliffs to Sennen.
One look and we decided we would stick to the road.
This was an easy one, as I had fixated on the first day’s route and knew full well where the path was going to bring me out, and having sat in that nice warm car coming through Sennen a few minutes back, was quite happy to say that the A30 was fine. At this stage, the A30 is just a quiet country road and there aren’t many people who do come this far west. The road off to Land’s End Airport (not sure if it is International) was even smaller.
Not too wet in the air, the roads were wet and the first few miles do just steadily go uphill. So, we took this very easy, waved to Helen and Steve when they went past us in that nice warm car and curved our way through Sennen, the first village on the route.
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OK, the description of the route and ride has now started. Over the next umpteen thousand words, pages, days, I will try and find many different, varied (another word for different), exciting even, random ways of saying I went along here, up there, down there, round there and ended up there. It will get boring and unlike the satellite boxes for TVs, you can’t fast forward me, but you can skim read I suppose. I will be deeply insulted. Maybe I will stick in the odd joke or two to keep it flying along.
Carried on in quiet fashion on the A30 towards Penzance, and after 5 miles started descending into the town. This was interesting as a sign of things to come. The roads were very wet even though it was only intermittent drizzle, and going down something in the region of 5-7% you had to mind the white lines, drains, man hole covers and keep an eye out for potholes as there didn’t seem to be a lot of friction between tyre and road.
That wasn’t a problem for long, as we started to get the truism, what goes down in Cornwall goes up more and more and then some more for good measure. I know, wimpish, and true cyclists find Cornwall a doddle, but remember, old legs, inexperienced, lightly trained, heavy old bike, strong head wind, snow, lizards and every other excuse needed allows me to be a wimp.
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It really should balance out, but over the first two days I am convinced somehow, we climbed up more than we went down. Having descended, we slowed up as we climbed up about 200 feet over the next mile, doesn’t sound much but very conscious of taking things gently and a lot of things I had read in advance warned about how the little extra efforts add up and whilst they won’t get you that day, the cumulative effect will suddenly leap out on you three days down the line and you grind to a halt in screaming agony.
After this climb, the route takes us around the back of Penzance. Nice quiet road, even has a view of St Michael’s Mount. As I stop to snap off a picture, you can just about see St. Michael’s Mount, a proper old tinkers cart goes past with some real characters sitting up on the cart. Friendly too, we share a view on what a nice day it is and they chug off.
The back roads work well, avoiding the town and lots of roundabouts, traffic lights and traffic, and takes us to about 15 miles in. Then we hook up with the A30 again.
It has become somewhat busier now.
Also, this was the scene for a somewhat unusual happening. Not a sentence that I expected to type here, but Stewart ran over my bollocks.
That probably needs explaining.
Where I had been working in Guildford before the LEJOG, on leaving, the people I had been working with were kind enough to give me a leaving present. A set of rear bike lights, shaped as a pair of danglies. These fitted on with a soft clip and going over a bump, the clip came undone and Stewart had no chance to avoid running over the happy sacks. How many synonyms can I get in here?
We pulled in and decided to pocket them, somehow, I should get onto billiards here, but am struggling to see how without crossing the line of general decency, and those who know me would realise I would never do that.
It gave us a laugh anyway. Picture us, standing in a lay-by, holding our sides with mirth as we examined my plums, but all too soon, we needed to press on.
Still dry, and the next miles were slightly more up and down as we headed across the thin bit of Cornwall from Ludgvan to Hayle. Again, I had chosen to go round the outside of Hayle, this time on the A30, as it looked preferable to going through the town, then it was time for the first of the meet ups.
We had all agreed the night before that we would meet at Hayle first after 20 miles. It was a bit loose, in that we said we would meet at a shopping centre where there was an M&S. I had noted on my Garmin route where this was, and showed it to Steve who noted down some details and we were sure it would all be ok as it didn’t look hard.
We had expected this part of the ride to take an hour and a half, it was on fact nearer two hours. Also, we arrived at the shopping centre as per the Garmin and found that we were there alone as it turned out we had more than one shopping centre in Hayle. Quick phone call and we were sorted out and waited for Helen and Steve to arrive.
When they did arrive, they at least are very easy to spot as you see Steve’s bike sitting on top of the car as it drives into the car park. Thankfully the car park didn’t have one of those height barriers as that would have been embarrassing had Steve driven his bike into a barrier, I’m sure some people must do that, silly though it sounds.
They circle round and then spot the two cyclists jumping up and down and pull over beside us. Stewart looks delighted to see them.
Great feeling to see them as although there had been a bit of a hiccup, here was proof that the way I had thought this could work would work. By agreeing meeting points, and using this little tracker thing that ran on my phone, the theory was that the support cars wouldn’t have to crawl along near to the bikes all the time, which would have been sow and potentially dangerous, rather they could just rock up at designated meeting places at about the right time and all would be well.
At this stage, the tracker was working fine and we had faith in it.
Anyway, Helen opened the back of the car and pretty much appeared to have bought Tesco’s! In advance, I had said that bananas, some cake (in addition to that supplied by Nick and Geoff, excellent Bakewell Tart), water to counter that lost in the great heat of the British summer, energy bars, other fruit, maybe some chocolate, sandwiches at lunch time would be fine.
What appeared to be there was enough to feed me and Stewart for a week. Marvellous support team!
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Even more brilliant, towels. Never gave that a thought, but so good to have towels to dry off with and sit on and wrap up in. Brilliant support team!! If this keeps on I will fill up lines with exclamation marks.
Several chocolate bars, cakes, sausage rolls, and bananas later, we thought we had better set off again as it was getting too comfortable standing around talking and we still had just under 60 miles to go. Also, the weather wasn’t guaranteed to stay as good as it was at that moment, it wasn’t really raining and wasn’t cold either.
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Before setting off though, we found there was a problem with this approach for meeting up at the next place. The little tracker that was integral to Helen and Steve knowing where we were used GPS and drained my phone battery quicker than a quick thing.
Steve here displayed his amazing forethought as he had a portable phone charger that would tuck into my cycle jacket plugged in and recharge the phone as I went along.
Without that, we would just have been hoping that we arrived at the right place and met up by using phone to tell each other where we were. That could be a fall back at times, but we were confident it would only happen occasionally.
The next meeting point agreed, we were going to meet in the middle of St Erme, we waved goodbye to the lovely warm car with all the food and friendly people in it and rode out the side of the shopping centre.
The first part of the next leg ran parallel to the A30, through Connor Downs, nice little climb, then down to Roseworthy and as we were to get used to, back up again the other side of the valley. Going up that far side, not the widest of roads, but wider than some we would see later, did have a bus behind us for a while.
Honest guv, we went as quickly as we could.
Apart from coming out the back of Penzance, these were the first hills we had come across, and although only small at a couple of hundred feet, were steady enough. In training we had tried to do quite a lot of hills, so that the bigger ones wouldn’t be quite such a shock and in training had agreed that we did need to have our own approaches to hills.
Not everyone goes the same speed up hills. Some people get out of the saddle and bounce around all over the place, others sit all the time and grind away or spin in a low gear, some charge at them at the start and slow, others try and speed up as they go up.
Whatever you are in terms of your approach to hills, if your partner on rides doesn’t ride the same way, then one or other of you will suffer. We had agreed that we would try and ride together, but if either of us needed to go or drop, we would do what we needed to and meet at a point down the road.
On the first of these hills, what we had found training played out again. However you elect to climb the hill, it is really good that you make sure that you take as much momentum as you can at the start to make the first part of the hill a false flat.
I always felt I did this, but Stewart had some combination of effort, gearing, weight, speed that meant he would cruise up to my rear wheel for the start and then as we went up the hill, he would slow up whereas I maintained the speed I had started really climbing at most of the time. Weird. Even a year later and having talked about it, we don’t know how we do things differently to make this yo-yoing happen, but we just accept it now.
We then dived under the A30 to dodge around Cambourne, and head through Tolvadon Downs and Illogan. However, going along Puggis Hill, the route said turn left. That quickly didn’t seem to be a good idea as it was a farm track.
Short discussion, check on the Garmin map screen and we turned around to carry on along Puggis Hill, as at least the newer Garmin I had showed me maps (thank you Ross!) that meant we could see if we went along Puggis Hill, we would get back on track.
And we did…
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Carried on past Cambourne, Pool and then Redruth, a touch damper now, but still not too heavy, as we were riding towards Wheal Rose we saw brown signs for old tin mines. Well, surely this was a selfie moment, we can spare a few minutes to go take a look at a relic of Cornish industrial history, it was kind of a holiday so why not!
Almost as soon as we got back on the bikes, the karma of the ride paid us back by the rain increasing and a second route malfunction. This one cost us a bit more time and distance, but again the maps helped. Back along by the A30 past Scorrier and then onto the A30 up to Three Burrows and off towards Allet.
I think these early route problems were caused partly through the fact that at the start of plotting, I was sort of finding my way so to speak, and also I was obsessing about avoiding the A30 as so many blogs I had read made it sound like a death trap. B movie syndrome you see, and that was while sitting at home!
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The A30 was somewhat busier by this bit, but at least we had a white line to hide to the left of while quite a lot of traffic pulled out to give us space. Bit of spray coming up made it feel colder now, and it was continuing just going up and down, up and down. Not big hills, just one after another.
Going down one, we went past three bikers with big panniers on, I assume they were doing the same as us, just with more weight. With the weather starting to drop off, I was very glad not to have that weight to carry as well.
We were only on the A30 for about 4 miles here, and didn’t have vast amounts of it planned for the rest of the day, meaning that we gritted teeth, got on with it and then got off. About 5 miles now to the next meeting.
These 5 miles were real Cornish lanes, mud and grass up the middle of the roads, constant sharp up and downs, and on a sunny day you would have been sweating but saying how pretty it was. Now, everything was just quiet and grey. And just starting to feel a long way from home with a long way to go. The world was closing in and not seeing cars bombing past as on the A30 reinforced that feeling. You started to feel forgotten, in a place you did not know, and hoped you knew where you were going. Conversation slowed.
Getting close to St Erme, main road to cross, give Steve a quick ring and they say that it would be better not to stop in St Erme as it really wasn’t nice, in fact it was a place to be avoided. So, we agreed that we would meet up in a layby just over the road where we would meet.
Stewart and I pulled in and in a few seconds Helen and Steve arrived, and this time there was no hesitation in getting into the car out of the rain. More chocolate, sandwiches, drink, dry off, chat about the route malfunctions, how they were having fun tracking us and how the meeting had been a bit hit and miss.
We also discuss literature as we are staying at the Jamaica Inn of Du Maurier fame and Helen says she will get a download of the book for them to listen to while waiting for laggardly cyclists.
Far too soon, Stewart and I looked at each other and reluctantly crawled out of the car to get back onto wet saddles and head off again. Next stop was a shorter one, 15 miles, on the way to Roche past Victoria, and then it would only be 17 miles to The Jamaica Inn.
Mixture of roads, more up and down hills. You see, already I keep going on about the road going up and down, but it did. Cornwall is not flat.
By now, we had accepted that was just the way things were. Also, the rain was now just steady. I think it was on this leg that we crossed the line and it was now more a case of let’s get to the end of the day. We had done 45 of the planned 78 at the second stop, so were well over half way, but we were slow and time was getting on. The latish start, route issues and uncertainties due to not knowing the area, wetness, slippery muddy roads and to be honest, a degree of early complacency all meant that the expected 14mph was nowhere near being achieved.
The early excitement and pure fun of the first two legs was now somewhat tempered by the elements, and the relentless up and down, have I mentioned that yet?
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As I said, in many ways, the downs were as hard as the ups as with mud and grass on many of the small picturesque roads, well they would be if it was sunny, I found I was spending most of the downs at least braking at times. On some of the steeper downs, with the odd bends thrown in, by the time we reached the bottom from fingers up through the elbows was all aching from constant straining. But that was preferable to either sliding sideways around a bend or into a hedge.
Quick phone call from the road going through Goss Moor Nature Reserve, again, probably lovely on a sunny day and we confirmed where we were meeting and it was only a mile or so away. These stops whilst needed as we were learning the art of meetings also added time.
With the third and final meeting being only a mile away, that was good. Not so good, it also was next to a fish distributor. Lots of trucks and lorries coming and going and a strong smell of fish, even on a Sunday. Straight into the car, rub down with the towels and eat cake and chocolate. Was aware of Helen and Steve now being a bit more determined in being positive for us so I think we must have been showing signs of wear.
Quick decision that as time was getting on, we may as well head straight on out so short stop, and we were off again.
Where the weather had been wet, as it had been darkish and also on main roads a bit I had been using the front bike light a bit and this was showing signs of running down. Spare batteries back in the car. Ah well, it was only just after 5 o’clock, 17 miles to go and we should be in by about half 6 at the latest.
Interesting decision coming up now, we were riding across the A30 heading for more small roads to wiggle around towards Bodmin and those small roads now seemed less attractive than earlier so we elected to change the route.
Oh no, I hear you cry. That’s like people in horror films who never turn the lights on when they enter a room in a dark creepy house, just asking for trouble.
We chose that it would be quicker to head down the A30 to the Jamaica. It wouldn’t matter that we were off route as the A30 would go all the way to the overnight stop and warmth. Simple.
That went fine for 6 miles, as even though this was solid dual carriageway, loads of spray and quite busy, we were riding in the gutter and some people even pulled away from us to avoid splashing us. Some didn’t and the wind along with a slap of water was tedious.
Then there was a sign for roadworks, and even worse there was a sign saying no bikes allowed through the roadworks!
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Up the sliproad.
At first this seems like we have landed splat in B movie land, off the planned route and still miles away from the end of the days ride with no idea of how to get there. Taxi!!
However, had we not taken the A30 back after the last stop though, we would have missed this start of the roadworks. That would have meant us trying to get onto the A30 later on, as that was the end of the days route and that may have been more of a problem as at least here there were nice sign posts telling us where to go as there was a signposted diversion for bikes. First time I have seen one of those.
Started off on a nice A38 road, then straight away turned left down a track that was steep and wet and went downhill fast and long. Used to the fact that hands and arms ached at the bottom of this by now, but then started going up the other side.
I can’t even begin to tell you where this was. Looking at the map that Garmin racks at the end of the days ride, I can see that we were wiggling towards Pantersbridge, but I am sure there was at least one hill between us and Pantersbridge, anyway, if you are interested in where this was, check the route.
Inevitably, the road started going up after this. We weren’t going fast, but we did just about manage to creep past two ladies who were riding bikes walking the dogs! We had no choice but to be out as we were LEJOGgers, well, maybe we had some choice, but honour wouldn’t let us hop into the car even if it knew where we were, but the ladies were doing it for pleasure, either that or the dogs were bursting, but isn’t that why you have back gardens?
I tend to judge hills by beacons, as in Ditchling Beacons because I live in Sussex near to the Beacon. This hill we were climbing was the equivalent of one Beacon, being about 400+ feet of climbing at something around 10% over about a mile.
It definitely felt worse than that, down to it being wet, we were getting a bit worn out, we didn’t know when it would end or how it may get steeper or not or where it was taking us. Had we been on the plotted route, you can see what gradients are coming up over the next mile or so, but as we were off track, no such
info, so riding in hope and expectation only.
There are a couple of points to expand upon there.
Firstly, the car. It dawned on us that it was quite likely that Helen and Steve would not know where we were as the signal around here had been getting intermittent and they had been saying that for long periods when in more populated Cornwall we had been disappearing on the tracking app, so on the edge of Bodmin Moor we were more than likely invisible to them.
Next, the front light had run out now so if it got gloomy or dark, we had problems. More relevant as Helen and Steve may well not know where blah blah blah.
Then secondly, there was the point of where we were being taken by the hill and the route. At the end of the climbing, we came to a five way cross roads and I am sure you can guess what is coming next. No diversion signs.
Pulled over and started trying to work out from the maps on the Garmin (thank goodness I had maps on there) where would be best to go. Left would apparently take us back to the A30, but the road looked like a track and no guarantee that the roadworks were finished, straight across both roads seemed to go to an Old Cardinham Castle, sounded nice but wasn’t The Jamaica Inn, right was signposted for Mount.
At this point I was standing by my bike and became aware of a wet nose being shoved into my groin. The ladies and the dogs had caught up with us as we dithered and I am glad to say that the nose belonged to a being with four legs.
Not wanting to look a gift horse, pause while I consider obvious punning opportunities or just bad jokes, nope, won’t do it, so back to not looking the gift horse in the mouth, we asked the ladies what was the best way to The Jamaica Inn.
Apparently right was best. The left would not have been good as the roadworks were still there and the ladies weren’t even sure if we could get there, and it would involve going back down and up what we had just cycled up, but at a steeper point.
So, right it was to be. On how far it would be, less sure as usually it was a driven route for them, but only about 4 or 5 miles they thought (it would turn out to be 10.2 miles, not that it mattered at all of course...).
Thanking them profusely, we headed off down to Mount and then left up to what they said was Narnia. We did hear that right didn’t we, and also something about it being called Warleggan, but I am sure Narnia was mentioned. The mind and memory were going by now so the customary fact of forgetting directions 30 seconds after getting them was amplified.
The point that had been omitted from the directions I think was that to get to Narnia / Warleggan would involve riding up another Beacon, but steeper. Parts of this hill were around the 15% mark! That is starting to get steep for a couple of old geezers and again it was about a mile long. Why are so many hills about 1 mile long? Did Slartibartfast (am I allowed to reference that character from another great novel?) or whoever did Cornwall get bored after a mile of twisting and turning, or was he, or she, taking pity on cyclists saying they will have had enough of it by now? Who knows. You can tell I was rambling a bit by this stage.
But I was also thinking that we had done about 4 miles from where we left the ladies so it was surely only a mile or more to go.
Until we arrived at another T junction. 6 miles in, and absolutely no sign of the Inn and it wasn’t even mentioned on the signpost, nor was Bolventor, the risibly named village where the Inn is located (about three houses made up this village).
Again, left to the A30, but that seemed risky and on checking later we would have had to turn around, unless we just defied the rules, but we didn’t go that way, we thought we have to go right, even though it was starting to take us South East when we needed North East.
Then, another stroke of luck, and I really must pay recognition to the ladies of Cornwall as this time two bedraggled cyclists flagged down a solo lady in her car to ask her if we were going the best way, right ways seemed to be a thing of the past.
She stopped. Only afterwards did we register how unlikely this would be in many parts of the country. Even more amazingly, she had a map book that we could check on and we were going the right way, only another 4 miles….
More profuse thanks, and I am ashamed that we didn’t get any names to thank in person, but when they see the film they will remember us I am sure, after all I am the dead ringer for Brad Pitt or whichever superstar plays me.
This last part took us around Colliford Lake, past Brown Gelly, with Kilmar Tor and Beerah Tor in the distance. I know that from looking at the map as all we saw was the lake. Cold, dark, rough, uninviting, the rest was in a cloud. Somewhere around here, Stewart stopped and took a picture of a cow. It was a nice cow. I also suspect he was starting to lose his marbles.
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At least this was only going slowly upwards to about the 900 feet mark. Then there was a light ahead.
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The deep feeling of joy when that light in the distance turned out to be The Jamaica Inn, well you had to be us to know what that felt like.
It was about 7:30 now, we had been on the road for around 9 ½ hours, and it felt as if it had all been wet.
As we cycled across the cobbles at the front of the Inn, managing to stay upright as they were slippery, the door was flung open and Helen came dashing out to welcome us with Steve close behind. I think I can honestly say I have never been more pleased to get somewhere and see someone as I was to be there seeing them.
It was then dashing around to get the bikes and riders sorted, dried out and cleaned off. We managed to get one bike into each room, very carefully and wrapped up in a sheet that I had brought with me. This issue of where to put bikes was to be a running gag for some people throughout the ride.
Give the bikes a wipe down, they were filthy, but only so much you can do in a small, nicely decorated room. Then leave them standing on the sheets, being gently re-lubricated while we showered and tried to return to more of a normal human being state. Apparently, we hadn’t looked at our best on the way in.
Quick text and phone call home to Jenni, who struggled to believe that we had only just finished then, beer, that was what was needed next.
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Down to the bar and a pint is very quickly procured. Sitting by the window looking out at the road we have just come down off the moor, pretty well dark now, still chucking it down with rain am so glad to be dry and in the warm with friends and we can start reflecting.
Lots of excited chat as Stewart and I return to life and start to enjoy the next part of the experience, that is reliving the day from a comfortable seat with beer in hand. Suddenly, it all seems a bit more fun than it was an hour or so back. Also, it’s great to get Helen and Steve’s perspective on the day as their day was very different but not without stress either.
Quite quiet in the pub, so we go through to the restaurant. I was given a copy of Daphne Du Maurier’s Jamaica Inn before starting the ride and had started reading it, so it was unfortunate that there was a plaque in the floor telling me that was the spot where a certain character was murdered! Spoiler alert for the photos.
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In the restaurant, fish and chips ordered, start to feel tired so plough through the food, did I have a pudding, others may remember, but it was very soon time for bed and rest as tomorrow we were going to start earlier. Aim to be off by 9.
Back to the room, again, can’t remember the character the room was named after, ablute, and into bed. Into the double bed. Preference on sides didn’t matter as I could sleep on the cobbles outside now.
Lights off, day one done. Twelve more days riding to go.