Day Three - Zider and Faggots

Everything hurts. My bottom hurts in the three different places (Cornwall, Devon and Somerset). My shoulders hurt and my legs hurt all over. My eyes hurt from all the sweat and sun cream. When you are in this much pain and you find yourself in Somerset, there is only one solution. Scrumpy. You can tell that Somerset is the home of scrumpy. There are orchards everywhere, the pubs have a choice of up to 50 different ciders and the locals drive like they have had a skinful of the stuff before they got behind the wheel. So far we have had Cornish pasties and Devonshire ice-cream. Today it was Somerset cider and a mouthful of local faggots. What’s not to like. 

Today's ride was glorious. It was 115km of which 110km was hot and rolling and the last 5km was straight up a 20% climb to the top of the Mendip hills. I felt like Alberto Contador and I looked like Albert Steptoe. At the top was a viewing point and I had the most fantastic view of Glastonbury and Wells Cathedral and nearly all of Somerset. I was watching the view for ages - I was waiting for Lorain (because I am much stronger on the climbs – did I mention that). But that just shows how high we climbed. I just climbed it a lot faster.

Day Two - "Are we nearly there yet?"

On paper this was going to be our toughest day. On the bikes it was worse than that. Our internet mapping software told us that we were going to climb about 1700m today. It lied. It lied and it laughed at us as I swore at it. Today’s leg from Golant to Exeter was 122km. We passed 1700m at 85km. I started swearing at it at 90km as I generously gave it 5km of grace for ‘rounding errors’. The more I swore at it, the more it lied to me. By the end it had penalised me to the tune of 2090m of sweary climbing lies.

Despite that. The scenery today was incredibly diverse and quite spectacular. We went from rolling hills to river estuaries, through forests and over Dartmoor – where we saw the famous Dartmoor wild ponies and Lorain DID NOT have a Devonshire ice-cream off Willy. And there were hills, lots and lots of hills. One nasty descent was down a farm track through a forest and we had to descend all the way on the brakes and averaged 6km/h. I felt cheated. Lorain felt sick.

Not only did we have real Devonshire Ice Cream but we also sampled the delights of Cornish cream teas just before we got on the ferry to cross the Tamar from Cornwall to Devon. The ancient rivalry between these two proud counties was still evident. We left Cornwall in bright sunshine and we arrived in Devon 4 minutes later and it was cloudy.

Day Two - The Dorm is the Norm

Staying in a dormitory in 2010 is not the same as it was in 1985. It isn’t the intolerance of age, nor is it the heightened sensitivity to smell (though 30 whiffy wet cyclists is an assault on the olefactory senses at any age) it is the combination of morons and mobile phones.


The first mobile phone alarm went off 05:10. It’s amazing how ‘Amazing Grace’ does not fill you full of grace when it’s a tinny ring tone. Did I mention it went off at 05:10. The bloke didn’t wake up. Luckily, I did. Unluckily, my drifting back to sleep co-incided with the end of the phone’s snooze period. The bloke didn’t wake up. Luckily, I did. By the third ring I woke the bloke up to tell him that his mobile phone was trying to wake him up. This proved to be a big mistake. I had woken up a man suffering from ‘Technology Tourettes’. He proceeded to swear at his phone at the top of his voice for ages. This appeared to be quite ineffective at getting the phone to stop ringing but proved very effective at waking the rest of the dormitory. It also proved to be the catalyst for every other unattended mobile phone to start chirping in a digital dawn chorus. Anybody who cannot work a mobile phone alarm should be euthanized in their sleep.

Day One: We're Here for Eternity

First of all an apology. Lorain, I am sorry for slagging off the printed maps. They did indeed come in handy today. You were correct and I was wro……..I was wrrrrrrrr. I was stronger than you on the climbs.

Cornwall is bloody hilly. In 104km of cycling we did 1700m of climbing with heavy bikes and 11kg of panniers. The minor roads were lovely and leafy and traffic free and the descents were winding and fast. I got up 60km/hr on the downhills and my heavy bike felt really secure. My sphincter was a different matter altogether.

When in Cornwall, do like the Cornwallishers. And I don’t mean marry your sister and listen to the Wurzels, I mean eat pasties. Not only are they perfect cycling food, when served in Cornwall they are to die for. So Day One is done and it was hard……..but wasn’t a killer. And whilst Golant YHA is not as celubrious as that in Penzance, it has incredible views out towards Exmoor and it is cheaper. Yay.

 

On the dinner menu tonight is ‘Beef in Betty’ – it’s got my name all over it. I am sharing a dormitory with a big hairy German backpacker. He has a beard and keeps smiling at me. I am hoping that he doesn’t fancy putting his Beef in Betty.

Day 0 - Home to Penzance

"I love it when a plan comes together." - John "Hannibal" Smith, The A Team

Lorain 'Mr. T' McCann pulled a blinder today. Here's the agenda and what went wrong.

1. Collect hire car from Manchester Airport and ensure it could carry two bikes - check

2. Drive 311 miles from Northwich to Truro - check

3. Get the train from Truro to Penzance with the bikes - check

4. Cycle to the Penzance YHA and check in - check

5. Go for fish and chips - check.

EVERYTHING went to plan. And what's even better is that I managed to bagsy the top bunk in the Youth Hostel. Yeeeesssssss. Lorain was fizzing but that's the kurayzee antics that we have been getting up today. Who knows what jolly japes tomorrow will bring. Maybe we will have to do some cycling.

The Trip Down South

Q: What is the difference between a Rembrandt and a Picasso?

A: You can't fit two touring bikes, four panniers and two cyclists in a Rembrandt

Weighty Matters

"I've been on a diet for two weeks and all I've lost is two weeks" - Totie Fields

Cyclists are obsessed with weight. Cycling is easier if you have less weight to carry. Michael Rasmussen (left) went to extremes to reduce his weight. It was said that he drilled holes in his head and shaved his bike frame (or something). The end result was that he fell off his bike 5 times in one stage of the Tour de France in 2005 and his bum looks really big in those shorts. Amateurs are not much better. Rather than eat a few less pies, us weekend road warriors will think nothing of spending an extra £2,000 on a superlight carbon fibre bike that weighs 2kg less than their current bike.

By my calculation, each kilogram of weight saved on a bike means you pay £1,000 more to the bike manufacturer. If it worked the other way, I have put three bottle cages on my bike, strapped 45 litre panniers on the back and packed them with 11kg of stuff. By my calculations, Dawes owe me £12,000.

The packing was fun. Clearly I cannot leave without my netbook (1.2kgs with power lead) so to keep the weight down I had to compromise on underpants (1 pair). I will always be able to get on line in Starbucks it's just that no-one will want to sit in the same shop whilst I do it. Lorain adopted the Rasmussen methd. The kitchen scales were out and her trousers were selected based on the fact that they were 100g lighter than the alternative pair. Here's hoping she adopts his physique as well. NOT.