saoirse50
Veteran
A few months ago, the lovely Handbag (who is rarely seen round these parts but is nevertheless riding lots out there in the real world, well on the track anyway) ventured to suggest we go on a cyclecamping trip. Our first idea was the Yorkshire Dales as, not being a native of these islands, she was keen to go a bit further and wilder afield. So, the trip was planned, cheap tickets to the northern lands obtained well in advance and campsites sorted (as Handbag’s one stipulation was a daily hot shower, so wild camping was out),
Then, the first setback. Problems at work meant I could not leave on the Friday afternoon as planned- new tickets were now horrendously expensive on Friday evening and Saturday morning, beyond our pockets anyway. Not daunted, I found someone to take the old tickets off our hands and we ventured out to the limits of the South East Network. We took a train to Salisbury, intending to head down to Exmoor, via the Somerset Levels, planning to camp somewhere in Devon, ride round Exmoor for a couple of days and then head to Exeter for a train home.
Saturday 2nd June
The first day was lovely. A sunny glide down the Wylye Valley, then a few minor ups into Somerset a quick stop to pick up supplies then a swift charge across the flat land (although my Roberts doesn't really do swift) to our campsite which was up a hill on the edge of the Levels, from whence we could view Glastonbury Tor. We decided to avoid this hill by means of a fairly friendly track which approached the site from the other less steep side. The track became a mile and a half of deep ruts and flinty rocks, a bit of a challenge with a full load but completely doable and added further variety to our day, with views of a heron and a Marsh Harrier. A fine end to a good 65 miles or so, although Handbag had to do a lot of waiting for me on the ups.
View of Glastonbury Tor from first camp by saoirse.davis, on Flickr[/url]
Then, another little setback. The aged Trangia burner I have used for many years perfectly well, seemed to be clogged up and took ages to heat water, couldn't manage to boil it and cook our spaghetti properly. The result was a rather gungy splurge of pasta and vegetables, which I struggled to consume, although Handbag finished off the dish with something close to relish, but not quite.
We were both tired and took to our tents not long after sundown.
Sunday 3rd June
Up early, I decided to wash out the burner, thinking it may be clogged with soot, after my windy camping week on Skye at Easter. Meths burns pretty clean, except when it’s windy. This process did improve the burner’s performance, although it was still slower than usual. Time for a new burner, I think. Proper coffee (I once again recommend the GS Outdoors Java Press) and scrambled eggs. Then off to Exmoor, via Watchet, Blue Anchor and Dunster.
Another beautiful day, although both Handbag and I were suffering from serious hayfever, despite being dosed with plenty of anti histamine. In much of this part of the country the roads are lined with high hedges. The hedgerows are full of beautiful wild flowers, in full bloom during late May and June. The drawbacks are the hay fever and the fact that, if you are short, as are both Handbag and I, you can’t see the view. I also found it quite claustrophobic, totally different from the wide, open skies, hills and fields crisscrossed with drystone walls of the Dales. It was like riding through a beautiful maze for miles.
As we approached the coast we took the A road from Kilve for a bit- narrow, bendy and full of people racing each other in their fast cars on this beautiful, sunny day. We were glad to head off down to Watchet and Blue Anchor. A brief glimpse of open sea and sky for a few miles and then we left the coast and went through Dunster. Here the skies darkened and the sun disappeared, and as we headed up towards the middle of Exmoor, the rain began. And it was heavy. Visiblity was very poor and we decided to abandon our plan to follow the little roads around North Exmoor, over Dunkery Hill on our way to the campsite, and just go straight there along the A and B road to Exford and thence up to camp. It wasn’t much shorter, but a lot less climbing and so would be quicker. A few miles outside of Exford, in driving wind and rain, Handbag spied a B and B. She paused at the driveway, looking at me wistfully, blinking big, sad (and very wet) Spaniel eyes. I said I was going to carry on as it was less than 10 miles now and I would pick her up tomorrow if she wanted to stay in the B and B. Bravely, she gritted her teeth and said she would carry on. too.
We finally climbed the hill out of Exford, completely wet through, and squelched our way to the reception where the extremely kind farmer’s wife/hostess/shopkeeper rang around to find a B and b for Handbag, and I pitched my little tent in the pouring rain. Much to the admiration of other campers two of which supplied me with hot coffee and sandwiches next to their open fire. Far fewer backpacker type people here than in the Dales or Scotland. Mostly car campers with children and whacking big smallhouse type tents. The twelve year old daughter of one could not quite believe I could produce a tent and cooker from inside my panniers. I believe she suspected I was Mary Poppins on wheels.
Monday 4th June 2012
I had arranged to meet Handbag about 10am in Exford outside the White Horse Inn where she had spent the night. It was a lovely day and she was instantly reassured as we began our circuit of Exmoor, that the area was indeed very beautiful. It had been hard to see anything yesterday through the wild sheets of rain that side swept and head butted us according to the twists and turns of the road. Now the views were wide and sweeping and the ride over the wild moorland and down to Porlock brought forth several “This is amazing” type comments. It was indeed.
View from Webber's Post by saoirse.davis, on Flickr[/url]
A guy on a road bike joined us for a few minutes, and warned us not to attempt the ford at the bottom of the descent on the way to Porlock. It may look temptingly shallow, he said, but the bottom is an uneven collection of paving bricks and stones and almost certain to upend you. He spoke with feeling and possibly with first hand experience. Wild moorland gave way to woodland on the descent and from there we decided to head to Porlock Weir for lunch and a relax in the sun by the sea. We were very tempted to make this a long 80 maybe 90 miler and time the end of the ride for sunset, as we could be heading down westwards from the highpoint of Exmoor, Dunkery Hill at that time if we planned it right. However, the forecast was for rain later and by 2pm the clouds were visible. So we decided to climb back out from Porlock Weir and then head back to the campsite across the moor still making a terrific trip of maybe 40 miles or so around and across Exmoor. Handbag was even heard to proclaim as we topped out over Exmoor and looked back down at Porlock and the blue-grey sea and cliffs beyond “Now that WAS a hill.” We had developed quite a good system over the weekend of her whizzing up the hills leaving me way behind as her strong track trained legs powered her up even the steepest of gradients with seemingly effortless grace, followed by me catching up and, if possible, overtaking on the descents with the minimum possible use of brakes and absolutely no grace whatsoever. This system nearly ended in disaster on our last descent before the campsite as, relishing the fairly dry conditions, I failed to employ the brakes at all before a rather spectacular hairpin and ended up clattering straight ahead, off the road onto a rough, seriously rutted farm track, scattering chickens, a few sheep and a surprised sheep dog. Luckily, the gradient of the track eventually changed upwards enough to slow me down, enabling me to stop and retrace my path back to the route and call out a warning to Handbag, who had just appeared above the bend.
Looking down to Porlock Weir by saoirse.davis, on Flickr
from Luccombe Hill (perhaps) by saoirse.davis, on Flickr
Another view across Exmoor by saoirse.davis, on Flickr
Back at the site, Handbag pitched her tent further away from the river as the clement weather had brought out the midges, and I repitched mine too. We cooked a good pasta meal this time- proper homemade ragu, and Handbag proved to be a skilled spaghetti cook and server. I suggested a trip to the pub, which meant a short 2 miles down the hill, but Handbag declined. But after a short while sitting and chatting, the midges drove us inside our tents. Then the rain did indeed make its presence felt once more.
Tuesday 5th June 2012
I had planned a 45 mile trip up and over Exmoor and through the Devon countryside to Exeter where we were to catch our train home. The morning was cloudy but dry, but, as we broke camp, the rain started. The Satmap Active 10 had gone a little crazy yesterday (no doubt driven mad by the wind and rain to which I have subjected it over the last couple of years) and we now had to use proper maps. Which was fine, as I am used to that, but not fine because I had forgotten the map cover so it had to sit in my bar bag and we had to remember the villages we needed to pass. As a result, we ended up climbing two hills out of Exford instead of one. And the rain was just getting heavier and heavier. More climbing to get us over Exmoor. We could see and hear nothing, apart from the thick rainfilled mists, very occasional car headlights looming out of the clouds and passing us in a cloud of wet, and the wind which swept up from the south west, where we were heading. Handbag was clad in full waterproofs, bottoms courtesy of User10571. and I think she owes him a lifelong debt of gratitude. But I expect a bottle of SB will suffice. I was dry from the waist up, but had consigned my aged waterproof trousers to the bin after my Easter trip to Skye, finally conceding that, after 15 years, they weren’t really waterproof anymore. I had not yet replaced them. Hence the wild descent into Dulverton left me saturated as I had forgotten to zip up my jacket as we began the ride down. I waited quite a while for Handbag at the bottom and was just on my way back up to check she was OK when she coasted into town. We arrived in Dulverton wet, windswept and wondering if another 30 miles or so of this through lovely countryside we couldn’t actually see, was worth it. Over hot chocolate and coffee we considered our options- main road straight to Exeter seemed to be the best bet. Then the lovely locals, like shining angels, came to our rescue. Firstly, the two women behind the counter who minded not a bit my dripping over everything in the shop, and gladly opened up maps to show me that Tiverton Parkway was a shade nearer with frequent trains to Exeter. Then, the owner of the lovely Tantivy café and shop in Dulverton spotted us too- and photocopied the relevant pages of the OS map I didn’t have and gave us excellent directions so that we could avoid riding all the way down 6 miles of dual carriageway to the station. He knew exactly what we were going through as he had ridden LEJOG last year in a fortnight. Thank you sir, and your lovely staff and your lovely hot chocolate.
So, we gave up the idea of riding through Devon villages, over Devon hills and feasting on strawberry clotted cream teas under blue Devon skies and headed out once more into the wind and rain again, under dark skies, so dark we needed lights, along the Exe river road and thence to Tiverton Parkway. We squelched onto the platform and then the train. Twelve minutes later, we were in Exeter St David’s, where I changed clothes completely in the Ladies, including my lower undergarments. God bless Ortliebs. We finally sank back into London bound train seats on a dry and warm South West train heading for Waterloo.
At Clapham Junction, it looked cloudy but dry so Handbag decided not to take the train to Forest Hill after all and ride with me on the back road route. Within 5 minutes, it was pouring with rain again and I think she may have been contemplating murder as we rode across Clapham Common.
We parted after a cup of hot tea at my house. After Handbag returned the tent, sleeping bag and rollmat I had lent her, she headed off on the final wet mile of her journey. I am not sure that she will be asking to borrow my spare kit again.
Then, the first setback. Problems at work meant I could not leave on the Friday afternoon as planned- new tickets were now horrendously expensive on Friday evening and Saturday morning, beyond our pockets anyway. Not daunted, I found someone to take the old tickets off our hands and we ventured out to the limits of the South East Network. We took a train to Salisbury, intending to head down to Exmoor, via the Somerset Levels, planning to camp somewhere in Devon, ride round Exmoor for a couple of days and then head to Exeter for a train home.
Saturday 2nd June
The first day was lovely. A sunny glide down the Wylye Valley, then a few minor ups into Somerset a quick stop to pick up supplies then a swift charge across the flat land (although my Roberts doesn't really do swift) to our campsite which was up a hill on the edge of the Levels, from whence we could view Glastonbury Tor. We decided to avoid this hill by means of a fairly friendly track which approached the site from the other less steep side. The track became a mile and a half of deep ruts and flinty rocks, a bit of a challenge with a full load but completely doable and added further variety to our day, with views of a heron and a Marsh Harrier. A fine end to a good 65 miles or so, although Handbag had to do a lot of waiting for me on the ups.
View of Glastonbury Tor from first camp by saoirse.davis, on Flickr[/url]
Then, another little setback. The aged Trangia burner I have used for many years perfectly well, seemed to be clogged up and took ages to heat water, couldn't manage to boil it and cook our spaghetti properly. The result was a rather gungy splurge of pasta and vegetables, which I struggled to consume, although Handbag finished off the dish with something close to relish, but not quite.
We were both tired and took to our tents not long after sundown.
Sunday 3rd June
Up early, I decided to wash out the burner, thinking it may be clogged with soot, after my windy camping week on Skye at Easter. Meths burns pretty clean, except when it’s windy. This process did improve the burner’s performance, although it was still slower than usual. Time for a new burner, I think. Proper coffee (I once again recommend the GS Outdoors Java Press) and scrambled eggs. Then off to Exmoor, via Watchet, Blue Anchor and Dunster.
Another beautiful day, although both Handbag and I were suffering from serious hayfever, despite being dosed with plenty of anti histamine. In much of this part of the country the roads are lined with high hedges. The hedgerows are full of beautiful wild flowers, in full bloom during late May and June. The drawbacks are the hay fever and the fact that, if you are short, as are both Handbag and I, you can’t see the view. I also found it quite claustrophobic, totally different from the wide, open skies, hills and fields crisscrossed with drystone walls of the Dales. It was like riding through a beautiful maze for miles.
As we approached the coast we took the A road from Kilve for a bit- narrow, bendy and full of people racing each other in their fast cars on this beautiful, sunny day. We were glad to head off down to Watchet and Blue Anchor. A brief glimpse of open sea and sky for a few miles and then we left the coast and went through Dunster. Here the skies darkened and the sun disappeared, and as we headed up towards the middle of Exmoor, the rain began. And it was heavy. Visiblity was very poor and we decided to abandon our plan to follow the little roads around North Exmoor, over Dunkery Hill on our way to the campsite, and just go straight there along the A and B road to Exford and thence up to camp. It wasn’t much shorter, but a lot less climbing and so would be quicker. A few miles outside of Exford, in driving wind and rain, Handbag spied a B and B. She paused at the driveway, looking at me wistfully, blinking big, sad (and very wet) Spaniel eyes. I said I was going to carry on as it was less than 10 miles now and I would pick her up tomorrow if she wanted to stay in the B and B. Bravely, she gritted her teeth and said she would carry on. too.
We finally climbed the hill out of Exford, completely wet through, and squelched our way to the reception where the extremely kind farmer’s wife/hostess/shopkeeper rang around to find a B and b for Handbag, and I pitched my little tent in the pouring rain. Much to the admiration of other campers two of which supplied me with hot coffee and sandwiches next to their open fire. Far fewer backpacker type people here than in the Dales or Scotland. Mostly car campers with children and whacking big smallhouse type tents. The twelve year old daughter of one could not quite believe I could produce a tent and cooker from inside my panniers. I believe she suspected I was Mary Poppins on wheels.
Monday 4th June 2012
I had arranged to meet Handbag about 10am in Exford outside the White Horse Inn where she had spent the night. It was a lovely day and she was instantly reassured as we began our circuit of Exmoor, that the area was indeed very beautiful. It had been hard to see anything yesterday through the wild sheets of rain that side swept and head butted us according to the twists and turns of the road. Now the views were wide and sweeping and the ride over the wild moorland and down to Porlock brought forth several “This is amazing” type comments. It was indeed.
View from Webber's Post by saoirse.davis, on Flickr[/url]
A guy on a road bike joined us for a few minutes, and warned us not to attempt the ford at the bottom of the descent on the way to Porlock. It may look temptingly shallow, he said, but the bottom is an uneven collection of paving bricks and stones and almost certain to upend you. He spoke with feeling and possibly with first hand experience. Wild moorland gave way to woodland on the descent and from there we decided to head to Porlock Weir for lunch and a relax in the sun by the sea. We were very tempted to make this a long 80 maybe 90 miler and time the end of the ride for sunset, as we could be heading down westwards from the highpoint of Exmoor, Dunkery Hill at that time if we planned it right. However, the forecast was for rain later and by 2pm the clouds were visible. So we decided to climb back out from Porlock Weir and then head back to the campsite across the moor still making a terrific trip of maybe 40 miles or so around and across Exmoor. Handbag was even heard to proclaim as we topped out over Exmoor and looked back down at Porlock and the blue-grey sea and cliffs beyond “Now that WAS a hill.” We had developed quite a good system over the weekend of her whizzing up the hills leaving me way behind as her strong track trained legs powered her up even the steepest of gradients with seemingly effortless grace, followed by me catching up and, if possible, overtaking on the descents with the minimum possible use of brakes and absolutely no grace whatsoever. This system nearly ended in disaster on our last descent before the campsite as, relishing the fairly dry conditions, I failed to employ the brakes at all before a rather spectacular hairpin and ended up clattering straight ahead, off the road onto a rough, seriously rutted farm track, scattering chickens, a few sheep and a surprised sheep dog. Luckily, the gradient of the track eventually changed upwards enough to slow me down, enabling me to stop and retrace my path back to the route and call out a warning to Handbag, who had just appeared above the bend.
Looking down to Porlock Weir by saoirse.davis, on Flickr
from Luccombe Hill (perhaps) by saoirse.davis, on Flickr
Another view across Exmoor by saoirse.davis, on Flickr
Back at the site, Handbag pitched her tent further away from the river as the clement weather had brought out the midges, and I repitched mine too. We cooked a good pasta meal this time- proper homemade ragu, and Handbag proved to be a skilled spaghetti cook and server. I suggested a trip to the pub, which meant a short 2 miles down the hill, but Handbag declined. But after a short while sitting and chatting, the midges drove us inside our tents. Then the rain did indeed make its presence felt once more.
Tuesday 5th June 2012
I had planned a 45 mile trip up and over Exmoor and through the Devon countryside to Exeter where we were to catch our train home. The morning was cloudy but dry, but, as we broke camp, the rain started. The Satmap Active 10 had gone a little crazy yesterday (no doubt driven mad by the wind and rain to which I have subjected it over the last couple of years) and we now had to use proper maps. Which was fine, as I am used to that, but not fine because I had forgotten the map cover so it had to sit in my bar bag and we had to remember the villages we needed to pass. As a result, we ended up climbing two hills out of Exford instead of one. And the rain was just getting heavier and heavier. More climbing to get us over Exmoor. We could see and hear nothing, apart from the thick rainfilled mists, very occasional car headlights looming out of the clouds and passing us in a cloud of wet, and the wind which swept up from the south west, where we were heading. Handbag was clad in full waterproofs, bottoms courtesy of User10571. and I think she owes him a lifelong debt of gratitude. But I expect a bottle of SB will suffice. I was dry from the waist up, but had consigned my aged waterproof trousers to the bin after my Easter trip to Skye, finally conceding that, after 15 years, they weren’t really waterproof anymore. I had not yet replaced them. Hence the wild descent into Dulverton left me saturated as I had forgotten to zip up my jacket as we began the ride down. I waited quite a while for Handbag at the bottom and was just on my way back up to check she was OK when she coasted into town. We arrived in Dulverton wet, windswept and wondering if another 30 miles or so of this through lovely countryside we couldn’t actually see, was worth it. Over hot chocolate and coffee we considered our options- main road straight to Exeter seemed to be the best bet. Then the lovely locals, like shining angels, came to our rescue. Firstly, the two women behind the counter who minded not a bit my dripping over everything in the shop, and gladly opened up maps to show me that Tiverton Parkway was a shade nearer with frequent trains to Exeter. Then, the owner of the lovely Tantivy café and shop in Dulverton spotted us too- and photocopied the relevant pages of the OS map I didn’t have and gave us excellent directions so that we could avoid riding all the way down 6 miles of dual carriageway to the station. He knew exactly what we were going through as he had ridden LEJOG last year in a fortnight. Thank you sir, and your lovely staff and your lovely hot chocolate.
So, we gave up the idea of riding through Devon villages, over Devon hills and feasting on strawberry clotted cream teas under blue Devon skies and headed out once more into the wind and rain again, under dark skies, so dark we needed lights, along the Exe river road and thence to Tiverton Parkway. We squelched onto the platform and then the train. Twelve minutes later, we were in Exeter St David’s, where I changed clothes completely in the Ladies, including my lower undergarments. God bless Ortliebs. We finally sank back into London bound train seats on a dry and warm South West train heading for Waterloo.
At Clapham Junction, it looked cloudy but dry so Handbag decided not to take the train to Forest Hill after all and ride with me on the back road route. Within 5 minutes, it was pouring with rain again and I think she may have been contemplating murder as we rode across Clapham Common.
We parted after a cup of hot tea at my house. After Handbag returned the tent, sleeping bag and rollmat I had lent her, she headed off on the final wet mile of her journey. I am not sure that she will be asking to borrow my spare kit again.
