Kent to Land's End: Day 3 - Seas of Red Valerian

I was cycling with food in mind. Breakfast was dealt with at the first village I went through, I had a BLT and a coke, food tastes better when you genuinely need it. I underestimated its immediate importance. After each hill I'd climbed I thought it wouldn't get steeper or longer than the last. I was repeatedly wrong. I wasn't naive enough to think it would all be flat easy pedalling, but I wasn't quite prepared for the relentlessness that would evolve time and time again.

Soon I was crossing the River Exe, which runs mostly through Devon, ending at Lyme Bay on the south coast, somewhere I would hope to visit later on in my trip. Once I crossed the bridge the lane rose violently, twisting and turning for 2 and a half miles before it gradually eased. Although not before long I found myself descending, which by now only meant one thing, there would subsequently be a climb. And this descent was steep, which only grew my apprehension for the ascent. It was half a mile long with an average gradient of 10%. What with the extra weight I was carrying it was brutal. I never once climbed off, I wasn't going to walk anywhere. This harsh demonstration of the west's geographic change set the days itinerary.

The River Exe

Miles were ticking over quite slowly, I tried to stem my impatient glances at the GPS reading, each look seemed to slow time. There was however a small moment of respite mid way through the day, a stretch of flat open road. I made good time and savoured the progress. Church spires gave me advanced warning of towns and villages I'd pass through, long before the road signs did. Sometimes however the hedgerows were too high to see them. When I passed entrances to fields where these giant hedgerows gave way to gates and an opportunity to see left or right, I made use of it and tried to spy a destination.

Most of these hedgerows were not just green, they cowered foxgloves, red campion and scarlet pimpernel and of course, cow parsley. As I neared the coast this changed further, at points there appeared to be no green at all and nothing but a sea of red valerian. As the day wore on and I stopped as I did to check my location, I came to a sudden and worrying realisation, I was heading too far south. My planning the night before wasn't as thorough as it should have been and I'd missed a turn which would have made my route a little less stressful. But it later proved a blessing in disguise.

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I crossed into Cornwall, which felt good, the 6th and final county. I had what I thought would be my dinner in Launceston, chips again. I ate them opposite a hotel, I'd be lying if I said I wasn't tempted. Anyway, a campsite was found and I sped through back lanes with haste. I just wanted to get there and relax. The site was very obscure and hidden. I pulled into what looked like someones back garden yet included 4 motorhomes. I awkwardly loitered for a minute or two wondering where to present myself, not a clue. I eventually meandered over to a family enjoying their dinner.

They kindly pointed the door to report to. I did as they said but no one answered. I gestured in their direction as if to say 'no luck'. I wandered over again and one of them remembered that Mary, the owner, was out and they were sure it would be OK if I paid in the morning. But joked as long as I didn't leave at dawn without coughing up. I set up my tent sheltered next to a wall, phoned my Dad to say I'd arrived. Whilst on the phone one of the family drifted over and asked if I'd like some food as they had more than enough to go around.

I changed out of my cycling garb and followed the summer scent of a barbecue. They were extremely welcoming and even more kind. I had salad, sausage, burger, bread and even a small glass of red, I thought it would help me sleep. I spoke of my adventure as they asked. The daughter told me of her 10 Tors challenge and forthcoming DOE. I finally left them to enjoy their evening and went to set up my tent, I was once again, very tired. It was a 75 mile day with 5,500ft of climbing. I lay in my tent listening to their laughter. I strongly regret not taking their photograph or writing them a note of thanks to leave with them in the morning. Though they knew I'd been grateful. This is how I wanted the adventure to go.

When morning came I couldn't quite make out the weather on the other side of the tent. I opened the entrance and couldn't quite believe the sight I saw. Misty drizzle and wind with a heavy dew. This wasn't the plan, I don't want to ride in this, this is my bloody holiday. I gingerly started to pack up. A guy clad in a dressing gown poked his head out of his caravan and offered me a cup of tea. Yes please, was obviously my answer. He seemed to be a permanent resident, he had a very messy caravan and was watching TV. I drank my tea whilst getting my stuff together. Out of the corner of my eye I saw a nuthatch bobbing like a sparrow and snatching at some seed thrown down.

A Dutch couple who were getting ready to drive home to Holland spoke to me a few times in their broken English. 'Good voyage' was their main message. They had nothing but smiles for me. Mary appeared and apologised for not being around the night before. I asked how much I owed her, she seemed unsure and said 'Oh a couple of quid', I gave her a £5 note. We chatted briefly and then I set off in perfectly miserable conditions. Although looking back, I wouldn't change a thing, after all, this is England.