It's with great relief that we complete the 8 hour drive down to Cornwall, with a car filled to the gunwales and a doped-up cat in with us. We were worried he was going to yowl the whole way, but after a bad spell (he doesn't seem to like Bob Dylan much) he settles down and sleeps most of the way. On the other hand we do have to rearrange the car a little after some bags of bedding fall over due to centrifugal force going round one of Milton Keynes roundabouts, obstructing the gear stick and for a hairy moment preventing me from driving in anything over than 4th.
This week has been a hotchpotch of unpacking, sorting out solictors, and work during the week. The weather has also been so-so, and I've been raring to get out on the bike, so when I saw a sunny (and comparatively still) day I headed out for an exploratory ride.
I'd tuned the bike up a fair bit the day before, with particular attention to the brakes - I'd opened the back ones in particular up to such a degree they were just about acceptable in the flats around Biggleswade, but definitely wouldn't stand up to the hills I was expecting around these parts. It was running pretty sweetly now - no more rhythmic squeaking (from me or the bike).
My plan was a gentle start following the national cycle route west to Penzance, the main town of the peninsular of Penwith and the last before Land's End. That would take me from the north (Atlantic) coast to the south (Channel) in a relatively flat and easy way, though including spectacular St Michael's Mount. I then wanted to cross back over to the Atlantic coast, but this time over the high moorland that is pretty much all there is in the centre of the peninsular. This would be a climb, and potentially a bit of a challenge, especially the off-road stretch I'd planned.
Warning: rides in Cornwall will include some particularly ridiculous place names. How ridiculous? - well, how does Ventongimps strike you? Or Praze-and-Beeble? I'll be keeping tabs on the most absurd ones.
Following the slightly unofficial back way out of Hayle to St. Erth
I set off into the fresh westerly breeze on a stunning afternoon. The official cycle route avoids the dreadful A30, the only major road in the region (and pretty much the whole of Cornwall - if you're ever in the vicinity of Land's End, please promise me you'll never ride this road) along lovely backlanes along a miraculously flattish swathe between the coasts.
There was the odd car - more than I'd expect on these size roads in Bedfordshire - but the speed was much lower and the courtesy of driving much higher than I'm used to, so that was pretty good.
Looking towards some of the moors inland I planned to tackle later
Lots of old milestones around here. What was considered the most significant destinations has changed quite a lot - St Hilary is now a comparatively tiny village
The official cycle route follows an elaborate diversion around Marazion itself - this is presumably to avoid the rather narrow and twisty descent, shared with cars, through the village streets. I thought that sounded more interesting, and would reveal The Mount in a more dramatic way, so I went for it.
It's certainly exciting descending through the centre of the town. I really should have had my hands more on my brakes than my camera, but couldn't resist.
Traffic struggles with the narrow streets in the middle of Marazion - these roads are actually two way, but if anything the cars were over-cautious meaning I had to quickly get on my brakes. My parents stayed in the Kings Arms to the right when they first came to the Westcountry, more than 40 years ago.
Visitors to St Michael's Mount use the causeway, which is only accessible at low tide. The mount is the twin of Mont St. Michel, the even more spectacular abbey in Normandy. This is one of many links between Cornwall and the Breton lands in France - Cornish and Breton are related Celtic languages, and they have a similar name - Cornouaille - in French.
Then it was out onto the seafront for the last stretch of the cycleway along Mounts bay. This is a great way to avoid the main roads into Penzance, which are also narrow and congested as it approaches the centre. There were quite a few people about enjoying the amazing views over the bay - and towards the town the path becomes narrow as it's squeezed between the railway and the sea, and me and other cyclists had to give way as it's not really safe to pass each other at speed. I had to push a fair bit going into the wind, but the easy going (and the great views) made up for it.
The official cycleway is now entirely off-road all the way to Penzance, as a shared path completed last summer along the seafront.
The strangely named "Hoxton Special" is a surf shop. Hoxton is an area in London notorious for being ground-zero for hipsters. We're quite a long way from there!
Penzance railway station is truly the end of the line - I particularly like the sign pointing to "upcountry". The skybus, incidentally, is the helicopter link to the Scilly isles, which is very much the fancy way of getting there (the boat ride takes a notoriously rough 3 hours).
From Penzance I planned to leave the official cycleway - which continues off west to Newlyn, Mousehole and ultimately Land's End - to head north and cut inland into the rather wild centre of Penrith. This involved climbing out of Penzance, which was both a navigational challenge (as it's full of narrow and blind streets and a cryptic one-way system) and a fitness one, as the streets rise up sharply immediately from the harbour with steep little gradients of 10% or so.
I wanted to avoid the main ways out of town, so relied on the GPS to take me up through the minor suburbs and out to a place I knew I could get under the A30.
The little streets around the harbour are pretty and prosperous
The A30 is the only thing that passes for a main road in the region, and once I crossed under it the character immediately became rural again. I left the houses behind and started to pull up my main climb, up the Bone Valley. This is one of several intriguing tiny roads that radiate north into the moorland in the middle of the peninsular - all of them are single-track, high hedgerowed, classic country lanes.
I had to climb about 150m right from sea level at the quay. On the plus side, the gradients were sensible and I was now well protected from the wind. There was hardly any traffic, and any there was all seemed to be locals, happily pootling along at 20mph.
There was a connecting road that would take me to the Bay o' Biscay on the Gear Hill (amazing names) - but I thought I'd try out the unsurfaced bridleway. This was even after seeing on the GPS display that it did in fact have a name, and that name was Break My Neck Lane. I wish I was making this up.
It started fine. And then truly started living up to its name. I took it very carefully. Actually, I was less worried about hurting myself than about the subsequent comical newspaper headlines ("local man breaks neck on Break Neck Lane").
It started fine. "Maybe the name's ironic?" I thought
I made it to the bottom without, um, breaking anything. The whole road is named for this handsome farmhouse, which is the only substantial building in this rather unpopulated area. I think of the Bay of Biscay being a long way away, but it's just around the corner of Brittany really.
Then it was up to the final part of the climb on Gear hill up onto the bare moor. Other than going the wrong way once or twice, this was a fairly straightforward climb, and I was pleased my fitness (which had atrophied badly) was holding up.
It started like this near Mulfra - still reasonably wooded and lush
Wesleyan chapel converted into a house. Cornwall was the home of methodism and nonconformism in the 18th century in general, and John Wesley gained a large following preaching in the open spaces around the mines. I suspect the current residents have left the "Teetotal" sign on ironically.
I had my eye on this offroad route, which will head to a stone-age burial chamber (a "quoit", or Cornish dolmen) on top of the tor. Seeing it on the ground, this is probably one to save for the summer.
The empty moorland opened up for me spectacularly as I breasted the hill. You can see the blue of the north coast peaking through. I had a similar view south - this must be one of the few places in the country where you can see both the English channel and the Atlantic ocean at the same time. The wind was pretty lively up here.
The next stage was my most, erm, ambitious. I'd spotted a long bridleway across the moor, actually through access land. It looked like a great way to get off the tarmac. Of course, I was a bit conscious that I'd be heading to the highest part of the moors in February. Would I get bogged down?
I peeled off the road at the turn to Ladydown farm. I must have been flagging a bit as I misread it as "Laydown", which seemed like a good suggestion after my climb. Instead I ate a bit of chocolate and waved at the couple of cars that (surprisingly) came down. I wasn't actually sure of the status of the lane, it didn't look like a public road, but was pretty sure nobody would stop me.
Soon I reached the open moorland and the track. To my surprise, there was actually a clear marking of the bridleway. So it's an entirely legal route (not that this has, erm, ever bothered me before).
But it so quickly degenerated! This was a real trial to get through. The actual surface was ok, it's not as boggy as it looked - it was just so strewn with stones and tussocks that I couldn't go more than a few metres before having to stop.
After dramatically crashing my shin against the serrated metal pedal (It drew blood! My out-loud response was "F-ing ow!" to the moorland in general) I gave up and ended up pushing for the best part of a kilometre. At least I had the fabulous views to the cliffs of the Atlantic.
I was hard going, and I was writing this off as a practical way to cycle, at least in winter. I had a good 2km left to go, and pushing the whole way would be a drag.
But then I turned a corner, and a miracle happened - the surface became hard and stony, I started going downhill, and I was able to cruise the rest of the way through the empty moorland. That alone makes the route worthwhile!
I could ride all the way down here, with fantastic views to the west
I popped out at the end of the path near Amalveor, on a dense network of country roads that I knew could easily take me around the back of St. Ives and Carbis Bay back to Lelant on the west side of the Hayle estuary. This was all to the good, as it was now getting on for 4ish and I thought traffic would likely have built up on the main roads to those popular resorts on the coast.
The lanes had something of a sting in the tail, as I found myself taken by surprise by a wicked little 8% hill climbing up to the St Ives road. I was really feeling tired now, but the tailwind helped push me up, and then it was a long a glorious cruise down into Lelant and the estuary.
Now that's a Westcountry lane (eight foot hedgerows, narrow, bendy, and covered in poo). Country lanes, take me home.
The ancient church of St Uny in Lelant. Nobody quite seems sure who St. Uny was, or whether he really actually existed. One interesting thing though is that this church is built on the site of a Roman fort. It's commonly thought the Romans didn't make it as far as Cornwall, but in fact they did establish military outposts, and the Hayle estuary as the only real natural harbour on the north coast was a strategic stronghold.
Leaving Lelant via the Saltings, I picked up the cycle path that follows the causeway across the estuary. Prior to the 19th century, this was a major barrier to travel in West Cornwall, and there were lots of accidents of people trying to cross the quicksands of the estuary without a guide.
The road crossing is fast and busy, and I'm happy to avoid cycling on the road while enjoying the sun setting over the estuary and pools.
Unlike many of the other towns in the area, Hayle was built on an explosion of industry in the 17th century. Huge copper smelters and iron foundries were established, and soon it was a major ship building centre as well. Now all that industry is gone, but the system of pools, docks and harbours remains - and is packed with birdlife all through the year.
Looking out over the estuary from the causeway back to Hayle. Those birds are actually curlews.
A lot of the pools and wetlands are now heavily protected. Hayle is a major centre for birdlife, as the pools and estuaries almost never freeze in winter, and so many birds common and rare come here to feed all year around.
Overall - a fantasic first ride. What amazing variety in just 40km! Atlantic to the Channel and back; St Michael's Mount, the resort of Marazion and the town of Penzance; moorland and pastoral lanes. Traffic was fine, and Cornish drivers (the locals) are excellent, really careful and friendly.
And I felt a lot fitter than I expected, and my back gave me no problems. I am still pretty wiped-out though.
Today's ride: 40 km (25 miles) Total: 111 km (69 miles)
Jon AylingTo Kathleen JonesCheers Kathleen! I definitely bit off a bit more than I could chew for February - but still great fun. Reply to this comment 2 years ago
