May 5, 2012
Ashburton
via Dartmouth and a steam train to Churston
He must be at least 80, but his eyes lit up like a boy's upon seeing my bike. He doesn't introduce himself, but does tell me wistfully about his days cycle touring in his youth, staying in hostels, as we stand outside Frogmore's post office.
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My host kindly packaged and boxed my foot-high piece of pottery and did a real good job of it, too. It goes surface mail and the post master says it'll take about 3 months to arrive in Taiwan, meaning I'd be home to collect it.
I spend a couple of pounds on a pair chocolate cakes from the in-store bakery, the clerk telling me the road goes up and down as it heads north up the coast.
The temperature is very low and me riding in shorts gets the attention of locals and passing motorists as I go towards Torcross. The wind is blowing in off the sea and the sky has a dismal tone without the slightest bit of blue and it looks like it'll stay this way all day.
The Frank Patterson drawing that I show a man feeding ducks in Torcross says it doesn't look familiar to him and so I explore the one street and the promenade which only lasts 100 metres and it seems the building - a general store - that's depicted no longer existed.
A US Sherman tank is here, part of a D-Day memorial, so that gets photographed instead.
The road is a causeway and the wind blows me backwards as I pedal north towards the holiday town Dartmouth, with spots of rain peppering my yellow jacket. Sure enough, the road climbs and drops at regular intervals with inclines of 16 percent signposted to remind me it isn't just my imagination saying it's difficult and although it's a cold day, sweat runs down my forehead and my glasses steam up whenever I stop for a breather.
The ancient Butterwalk in Dartmouth looks just like it did when Frank Patterson drew it all those decades ago. I replicate his sketch with a snap and takes a few others before finding a café with Wi-fi and Skyping Debbie to let her know where I am and pay over eight pounds for a pot of tea and a cheese pannini and she hears me say how expensive England is.
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The Lower Ferry is just across the street and it costs one-twenty to get across the estuary to the neighboring town of Kingswear, where the first building on the left is the railway station from which steam trains depart. It's unlikely these tourist attractions will accommodate bicycles but they do and also stop en route to Paignton at Churston, some 200 feet higher than the sea, and that's where I get a ticket to for the price of four-fifty.
The train chugs into the station after 30 minutes and it takes about just 15 to travel to my stop. Only I get off.
The cruise down from Churston is a fast one and instead of going into Paignton I make a sharp left and head for the small hamlet of Cockington, along a nice, tree-lined winding lane, to where Patterson sketched a couple of delightful illustrations for Cycling magazine.
The cottage Patterson drew is no longer there, but the village smithy's thatched roof shed on a corner is the same.
Patterson also drew a scene in picturesque Totnes, a town back towards Plymouth, but it's better just to head to Ashburton where my ex-wife lives. There's the offer of free accommodation in her caravan and with rain on the horizon, camping is not a nice option.
It seems straightforward on the map, but it's a horrible ride. Although only a dozen or so kilometers away from Cockington, it takes forever and the roads are very busy. I hate it and vow that the next day will be different... small, country lanes are going to lead me around Devon.
It's a slightly surreal experience, meeting Mandy after quite a few years, especially in a place I've never been to before, yet a town she calls home. We share a few beers and catch up on what people we know are up to and I drink a few pints and instinctively knew that the next day won't be an early one.
Today's ride: 65 km (40 miles)
Total: 2,584 km (1,605 miles)
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