May 6, 2012
Mortonhamstead
via Widdecombe in the Moor and North Bovey
My hangover isn't too bad, but it's 10 o'clock when I venture down for breakfast and around 11 by the time I set off towards Widdecombe - the combe referring to valley.
This is the actual village made famous by the English folk song about Uncle Tom Cobley and all going to the village fair, one which is held each September.
Once over a small stone bridge it's a mater of climbing and after ten minutes a woman leading a young child on a small horse tells me there's a way to go when I ask if this is the halfway point. It's steep too, so much so it has me walking for a short while.
From the top, tors (subtle granite peaks) stick up from the moorland, with cumulus clouds billowing up and casting shadows on the undulating fields in the far distance. It's a day to be riding with the wind behind you and my luck is in.
The sign says 20 percent and I'm going the right way, but a cyclist in red is somehow managing to pedal. He has well-developed leg muscles that are clearly visible - due to the effort required even with low gears, but just after taking his photo his chain can't cope with his exertions and snaps, bringing him to an abrupt halt and he topples onto the tarmac. He signals he's okay and doesn't require help, luckily.
The cyclist in plus-fours that Patterson drew riding towards Widdecombe's church, one with a 120-foot tower that can be seen for miles away, is seen cruising along a bending lane. The location is hard to find; it does't seem to be the steep drop I cruised down or the route coming from the west, although looking at the shadows on the church, it must have been. Perhaps he exercised a liberal amount of artistic license, or maybe trees have grown and some chopped down, but it isn't a scene I'm able to recreate.
The good news is a Morris dance to celebrate the start of May is staring in the shadow of the ancient church in 10 minutes, so I hang around to take in the centuries old tradition. One troupe are clad in black, their faces painted to match, while there's a troupe of female dancers wearing clogs and swinging wooden weaver's bobbings above their heads, in the style Lancastrian Morris dancers. The music comes mainly via an accordion and drums, with dancers hitting sticks together to the rhythm.
Before setting off, I have lunch in the village café and treat myself to some apple crumble, one of my favorite UK deserts. It's the first portion I've had for years.
Instead of following the road sign for North Bovey and Mortonhampstead, I seek out the lane going north on my map, which is a single track route with virtually no traffic. It starts near a pub and is a gem, flanked by trees and high hedges.
What looked like the village shop in North Bovey that Patterson sketched is there, but it's not a business - it's now a house that's up for sale and I wonder how much such desirable places fetch. It's easy to find due to the old stone cross located in front, on the village green, and I take a snap to replicate Patterson's illustration.
The whole village is one picture postcard and a nice place to stay, but Mortonhampstead isn't far and that's where I head for after 15 minutes of wandering around.
Patterson's drawing of the almshouses - places built for poor people - in Mortonhamstead is easy to replicate and after that I look for The Warren Inn. A young man in the village fish and chip shop says it's around 3 or 4 miles away and after thinking it over, I decide to ride there.
It turned out to be just over 6 miles and they're mostly up. Riding up on the high open moor, my toes are numb by the time I go to the old inn. My hope is there'll be beds available as it's gone 7:00 PM now and it'll make a nice end to the day - sitting down and enjoyed the pub's delightful atmosphere with a pint.
It's obviously been a B&B, but the word 'Inn' is there in name only. Instead of having a beer I take a snap in the grey conditions and give the print to the woman in charge at the bar who says she's never seen the Patterson sketch before, then set off back down in both my fleece and yellow jackets.
The first B&B that appears at the edge of Mortonhampstead gets my custom.
Today's ride: 49 km (30 miles)
Total: 2,633 km (1,635 miles)
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