Day 2: Sidmouth - Stonehenge - Alma Mater

September 7, 2024

Day 2: Sidmouth - Stonehenge

via Andover

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My experience with wild camping in southern England is now pretty extensive - so much so that, despite it being densely populated even by western European standard, I feel pretty confident I can camp undisturbed without too much planning. Nevertheless, it's been a couple of years since I've done it and I had to say I had a little trepidation, especially on such potentially steep terrain and with dodgy weather conditions.

So I was pretty delighted with my spot in the green lane. It isn't the Marshwood vale, but it's about as close as you can to the ancient forgotten lane and double hedge the protagonist hides in in Rogue Male. Fortunately things went better for me than for him: I slept wonderfully and, though I was up before sunrise, there was barely any need - nobody was going to discover me.

I packed up and spun down to Sidmouth, negotiating the stony track much better in the light. Sidmouth is a nice little place, but I didn't linger, being faced immediately with a brutal wall of a hill climbing up the other side of the River Sid - which somehow managed to sustain a gradient of 15% for several kilometres. I was pleased how I managed to winch myself up this without too many stops. The few cars were courteous as well, including someone who stopped and waited for me, and then when they saw me speed up a bit not to make them wait, called out "take your time - oh no, sorry, not being sarcastic!" which was quite funny.

Early morning in the hills around Sidmouth

The start of the monster climb. As usual the photo doesn't really capture the slope - but it involved gaining about 170m over a couple of kilometers. I don't think there were any portions less than a 10% grade!

Got some nice views at the top, with the distinctive red sandstone cliffs of the East Devon coast shrouded in mist

After sleeping on the ground I was pretty happy with my climbing, and felt good spinning along the (comparatively) flatter terrain on top of the cliffs towards Branscombe, the next little cove. The weather was much clearer and brighter, and I was making much better progress, keeping to the surfaced lanes.

I passed the Salcombe Regis campsite: it looked nice but I was pleased I hadn't elected to camp there. I would only have gained a few miles and there was no way I would have wanted to go back down the hill to the town for supplies. Apart from that there were a few curious sights up here, which I'm sure I'd visited way back in the 90s growing up.

At the top of the climb is the Norman Lockyer observatory, a rather early (1910s) set of telescopes, which I'm certain I did visit growing up. In fact I have a pretty vivid memory of being shown the rings of Saturn at a young age - they were so distinct and looked so much like the picture books I think I even thought it wasn't real. I was a weirdly sceptical little kid!

There is also an absolutely massive donkey sanctuary on the hilltops. I like donkeys as much as the next man, but it really does go on for acres.

Donkey assisted therapy. Not traditional psychoanalysis, but I'm sure they're good listeners.

I was then rewarded with an exciting spin down into the next cove at Branscombe. I repeatedly passed "Road Closed" signs, but (as usual) elected to ignore them, and was rewarded with a traffic-free road and an easy squeeze through the closed section.

Trepidation as I approached the closed section - I really didn't want to have to backtrack and climb back up. Bikes could easily get through though!

Of course this couldn't last, and the moment I passed through the little village it was climbing again with a stark 15% grade back up onto the tops to get to Beer.

Beer is a wonderfully-named and charming place that I had visited with, as it happens, a bunch of people from college about 18 years ago. We all piled into the youth hostel, walked to Sidmouth (I think!) and cooked pasta. Fun times.

First I had to get there though. Just as I reached the top of the climb, I noticed there were a few cars queuing, and a pickup truck parked sideways across the junction. My first thought was there had been a quite dramatic accident - but it turned out to belong to a farmer, who was closing the road as they moved cattle from one field to another. I was happy for the 10 minute rest while the chubby beasts were herded through. Once the last stragglers had departed, I could continue to Beer - and from here it was a short ride to Seaton, where I would finally depart the coast.

This window seems to have a plant permanently growing out of it - in Branscombe

Even my camera could not bear to focus on the 16% grade sign

I'd done all this in less than 2 hours and was feeling pretty happy with myself. Seaton is a larger place, and is the mouth of the river Axe, the which forms a flat, marshy alluvial plain strikingly different in geography from the brutal valleys I'd been passing through.

I could follow this north 15km all the way to Axminster, following cycleways through the nature reserve and then some rather obscure signed tracks diving under the main roads.

Axminster is a charming little town, but was surprisingly packed even considering it was Saturday morning. I took care with the traffic, and then spotting a bakery went in and brought an excellent sandwich (far better than the non-Cornish pasty I'd foolishly bought in Topsham the previous day).

Very limited headroom crossing under here, but I was still glad to stay clear of the main road (and of my helmet)

After struggling a little to find the way out of Axminster to the east, I set off with a spring in my pedals.

Unfortunately, the next few miles really took it out of me. Partly this was due to the rain, which started coming down again, and partly the unrelenting climbing back up to 200m - but mostly I think it was just exhaustion of stamina with pretty much the same cause as the day before: I went too hard, too early on those monster hills on the coast, and was now (to use the technical term) knackered.

I'd reckoned on needing about 15km to get to a village, to find a seat to have lunch - but it seemed to take forever. Looking at the GPS trace it was actually only a little more than an hour, but I fairly collapsed when I reached the (very lovely) village of Thorncombe. On the plus side, I had a covered seat and a water fountain, something that's very unusual in rural England.

The height I gained was hard to perceive, then I suddenly got good views across the Marshwood Vale

A turn of the 20th century water fountain! Very unusual.

Top lunch spot, in a lovely village. Friendly locals said hello to me as I ate!

A couple of things were clear: one was that I had certainly made the right decision in camping where I did the last night (there was no way I would have made it over all that coast, through Axminster, and then up to the Marshwood Vale). The second was that it was going to be a struggle to get to the vicinity of Warminster today, and then have a monster day 3 to get to Wantage.

Something had to give and I rather guiltily started scanning the map for train stations. Crewkerne had one, and I was sure I could get further east from there, but wasn't sure exactly when. In Drimpton the rain really started coming down again, which sealed my plan to cut off some distance by rail. A little web search and I was disappointed that I couldn't get further north - but trains from Crewkerne would take me east to the vicinity of Salisbury and Andover.

After an *awful* lot of Devon, I suddenly cross over three counties - this is the Somerset/Dorset border

I did at least finally reach the Marshwood Vale. Interesting small cider producer here...

The weather was getting worse and I figured I would appreciate not being under canvas. Not knowing which destination would be better, on arriving at the station I bought a ticket to the further one, Andover, to give me more options. Salisbury is a city, is fancier and more visited so figured Andover might be cheaper!

I had no idea when the next train was, so was slightly perturbed when I got on the single platform that there was one departing in 3 minutes (actually, it had been delayed, so this was sheer chance). The rattly old local train had a good bike space and astonishingly good internet. Within 5 minutes I'd determined that, rather than spending 100 quid on a hotel in the centre of Andover, I could have a bed in the Stonehenge youth hostel for £30 (or £50 if I wanted a private room, which being almost 40, clearly I did).

With this booked, I just had to determine whether to get off at Salisbury or backtrack from Andover to the west to reach the hostel, which was in the middle of nowhere near Amesbury. Counter-intuitively, it looked like much better riding from Andover, so I elected to stay on the train until then.

Weirdly, Amesbury and Axminster are two places my Aunt lived for many years, so I was somehow doing an unintended tour of her old haunts.

For the hour I rode the train the rain came down heavily. Any regrets I had about hopping on the rails were soon washed away.

Andover is an odd place, being heavily associated with the army and being surrounded by huge barracks. I had a bit of a trail getting out of the place, with closed roads and a very slow set of lights on some roadworks which I passed through 3 times in my efforts to get west. Once I was out on the open road the landscape opened up, and I had some fantastic riding on relatively gentle gradients, with some nice afternoon sun!

I rode through a number of rather sleepy little villages, where I was a little surprised to be greeted warmly by every dog-walker I passed. Psychologically I can feel a little like a fugitive having slept in the woods, so it's always a bit surprising to be welcomed into polite society...

Some good thatch going on here. Pubs called the "Black Swan" always remind me of Curb Your Enthusiasm now

As well as numerous barracks and military installation, there was this curious country house, also indicated with a red-bordered sign (meaning defence installation). Some sort of officer or intelligence training HQ?

Some nice open countryside, with a deer just visible

Crossing from Wiltshire into Hampshire, I was racking up the counties now

Right after crossing the border, and being distracted again by a deer that appeared boldly framed in a track leading onto the road, I was within 1 mile of the youth hostel when disaster struck. Well, it didn't seem like disaster immediately - I didn't know what I was in for. I got a flat!

Now, my first impulse was one of curiosity - as I've never got a flat from riding in any of my tours (I did destroy a tube, but that was when I bent the rim in a collision). I was just thinking "hmm I've got this packing thing down well, I've used almost everything except my tools".

Well, be careful what you wish for. Because not only did I have a flat, but there were (i) multiple holes in the tube and no obvious ingress that could have caused them and (ii) my repair kit was now very old, and the adhesive and patches refused to stick well. The kicker was (iii) - my single spare tube also had a slow leak. It also (iv) began to rain.

I took the wheel off and unpacked everything. Once I'd fixed the leak once, I rode a few yards and it had gone again. I got the tyre off again and switched the tube for the one with a slow puncture - this thankfully seemed to stay up. I could (and probably should) have just wheeled it to the hostel, but was determined to get the bike on the road again.

On arriving at the hostel, I gave the receptionist a call and was shown in, with the bike kindly being stored in the conservatory. "I bet you were glad to get in before the rain" she said, and sure enough it did hammer down shortly after I arrived, around 6pm.

The hostel was pretty nice, and my room was ideal! The main downside is it was in the middle of nowhere, close only to the hellacious A303 road and beyond easy walking distance even to Amesbury. I fortunately had some pasta and sauce in my pannier so figured I'd cook that for dinner.

The receptionist was super-friendly, but the other residents in the hostel were ... kind of odd. I suppose it takes a certain sort of character to be staying on their own in a loosely YHA-affiliated hostel, away from public transport, out of season (ahem). There was a lot of not making eye contact or responding to greetings, as well as sitting around in too short-shorts watching TV on private devices with headphones on or having endless despondent phone calls. I know youth hostels have not always had a cosy vibe, but clearly nobody was going to make conversation.

I tell myself it wasn't in revenge for the unfriendliness, but I'm slightly ashamed to say I, erm, pilfered someone's food from the communal fridge. In my defence (and against the posted rules!) it was unlabelled, and next to a bunch of food that had been marked as "help yourself" so I could convince myself it was fair game. So, uncommunicative Polish guy, I'm sorry I stole your garlic bread. I can only say I was very, very hungry and needed the calories.

On the plus side he didn't say anything.

And my tyre was staying up!

Conservatory in the Stonehenge youth hostel. It's pretty good!

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Today's ride: 75 km (47 miles)
Total: 160 km (99 miles)

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