Excitement is mounting.

We are hoping for a more peaceful summer than last year

Sitting outside my kitchen window is my trike, Hercules, resplendent with his electric assist, bright yellow sunroof and Trevor the trailer, all waiting in anticipation for this first test ride and prior to going away camping in a couple of weeks. It feels like an age since I was anywhere using this kind of set-up and let's face it, it was at least two years ago in reality.

Trevor sits quietly, his aluminium box shining brightly in the strong sunshine. Last time I used him was when Teresa and I did a tour of Norfolk, a few years back with two folding bikes. Today, I'm just going shopping in Okehampton, but I need to refill the cupboards and restock the freezer as I've spent quite a lot of time away from home working recently. So that should give me plenty of weight to haul around, helping me see what the Bafang mid-motor is really capable of doing.

Yes, I know. I bought a TSDZ2 motor, but it gave me problems from the start and I'm still sorting that out. I was left feeling I could never tour on it. My confidence fell through the floor after just one ride. Once I get it sorted and it settles down I may reappraise it. On trying to decide a course of action I just ordered another motor, a Bafang BBS01B. A gut reaction to feeling stupid in my original choice of TSDZ2. Although I loved the torque sensing drive of the TSDZ2, the first time ended up being the last time I used it!!

Wimbleball Lake campsite

Back to this morning. It was due to be hot so I wanted to leave before that really got going. I was a bit limited by having to visit Specsavers in Okehampton (what joy us older folk have) at 10.40a.m. and then shop afterwards. 

 I wasn't thinking about any of that as I sat off. I was wondering whether the single chainring (34 tooth) and motor, along side my ever-weakening legs would see us able to ascend the great hill to Abbeyford Woods on the return journey when we would be hauling a considerable weight of a fully loaded Trevor? There was only one way to find out, so, falling into the seat, another graceless gesture born of ageing, I decide to just pedal away and see what was what from there.

And that's the thing you see. Sitting down on a trike is super-comfortable. It feels homely and welcoming, unlike have a thin seat wedged up your chuff as on an upwrong bike. Don't get me wrong, if I was racing I would choose a road bike, but I'm not and my man-parts are really thankful for riding recumbent.

Sunset in Oban, Scotland on one of my big tours

I had hardly left the close when somebody asked me where I was going. This is the 'Trevor effect' and why I chose to use a trailer when fundraising around the UK coast in 2011. It looks as though you are doing something big and people want to know what it is. She was less than impressed when  I said 'Okehampton for my weekly shop'. Her reply was along the lines of, 'Really, I couldn't get my shopping in a box that small'. Trevor's box is around 100 litres!!!!! Massive in cycling terms.

And so I sauntered up Park Road, a new experience as I usually puff and pant my way up there cursing as I go. Trevor bumped and rattled as only an empty trailer can, a kind of crude, mad, musical accompaniment to my rhythmic pedalling, think Keith Moon and you will be in the right ballpark. 

Then I noticed the Dartmoor in the distance. I had to stop and stare. I wanted so much to be there, or somewhere similar. I've been missing wild places during Covid and cannot wait to escape the norm and head off again. 'All in good time,' I thought quietly to myself as I resumed my journey and set of across Hatherleigh Moor toward Jacobstowe. 

It was noticeable that my breathing wasn't heavy or laboured. The motor had seen to that, effectively levelling the steeper hills. I didn't really use it again until after Jacobstowe and that is how I ride. Many need to use more assist than I currently do. I expect I will as I age but at the moment it is just there to ease the journey, not to make it possible. The result of that is that I seem to use hardly any battery at all. This 18 mile round trip didn't even see me drop one of the five battery bars! I was amazed because I used a lot of assist on the bigger hills in particular. 

Glorious Devonshire river, ambling peacefully at this point in it's journey

All of this meant that I was even more chilled-out than usual, able to look around and watch the world drift slowly by. Fields of straw lay drying, ready to be bailed and collected. With the sunshine it shone with a golden tinge to its earthiness. I could smell it and it made the experience more visceral in that I seemed to be absorbed into the scenery, rather than being above it looking down. This is another aspect of trikes that I love. You are not above the world looking down, you are embedded in it, almost as though you are crawling through the undergrowth like a creepy-crawly.

Looking up at the trees as I rode through Abbeyford Woods I noticed how intertwined everything is. Each tree having it's own space, room it had fought for as it reached for the sun growing ever taller. Small gaps between each trees canopy looked like a mosaic with the branches and leaves never quite touching one another. Nature certainly creates the best art.

All of his came to an abrupt end as I approached Lidl. The car park wasn't too busy, but the people around the store seemed to have no sense of others as they barged and sneezed their way around the isles. Few wore masks and even fewer washed their hands upon entering the store. In short it was a dystopian nightmare after the beauty of the ride there and all it's peacefulness. 

I felt invisible as people barged past, leaned over me and even moved my trolley to get to what they wanted. Never speaking. Never being polite or showing any consideration. I just wanted to run, or rather cycle away right then. But the need to shop was greater than the desire to get away and so I just carried on.

In reality I was only in there for twenty minutes or so, after which I loaded up the trailer with fresh vegetables, fruit, tins, frozen fish and other yummy food stuff, before heading away from the town.

Western Ireland between the rain showers

The world was pin-sharp through my new spectacles and under the ripe sun the buildings shone in a way I would associate more with the South of France than 'Soakhampton' as it is affectionately known.  The sun canopy was doing a brilliant job keeping the worst of the direct sun light away from my head, body and most importantly my eyes. I never once felt as though I was overheating which is new to me. I stopped wearing cycling apparel when I began to ride recumbent. No more horribly sticky manmade fibres for me. I now just  choose baggy tee shirts and shorts with my clip-in shoes. I sauntered over the wee ridge from the shop and headed down the one-way street the opposite way from traffic. Contra- directed cycle lanes make a great deal of sense in man ways, but it still feels odd.

The point of no return soon appeared. Do I turn left up the big hill or do I sneak around to the lesser hill a couple of miles don the road? Eeny, meeny, miney, left. It was the hill then! Surprisingly, we seemed to soar up it. It wasn't particularly fast, but faster than usual and with far less effort. By the time I hit the steepest gradient I switched the assist to four (out of five) and just cruised up. An impatient driver in a van overtook me, right on the steepest part on a sharp bend. Stupid, because in five more seconds I could easily and safely pull over and let them by.

I couldn't believe how easily I had managed that with my massively heavy trailer. I still had another notch to go on the assist as well. I looked at the battery meter, Despite having done around 12-13 miles, it still showed full up. I crested the hill and turned the assist right down to '0' and simply cruised through the woods in awe of its beauty. The piercingly bright light seemed to turn the leaves on the trees opaque and sparkle on the ground wherever it broke through the canopy and found the road. I would have stopped but for the fact that I had frozen cargo in Trevor's box. It is lined with insulation  but today was exceptionally hot and I felt the need to carry on home.

Western Scotland. Where? Go look and you will find it.

Between here and Jacobstowe the road surface is reminiscent of somewhere that has been recently bombed. There are so many deep holes in what used to be a tarmac surface and no clean line through them, especially as I now had five wheels on my wagon. Some holes  have been crudely and cheaply filled, making the situation even worse in my opinion.Without suspension you end up chattering your teeth and spine for a couple of miles before there is any improvement. So much for National Cycle Network routes having priority on resurfacing. My way around this is to slow right down and pretend all is well. Once you do that, your mind goes calm again and the clattering minimised.

Before I knew it I was back at Hatherleigh Moor, staring at the same, magnetic view of Dartmoor from this local beauty spot. I felt lucky to be alive, lucky to be here and lucky to have all the things I have in my life right now. I believe the expression is one of contentment. It feels like there is nothing in the world that I don't have that I need. 

On reaching my front door I wanted to turn around and do it all again. What a great feeling that is. Excitement at the thought of travelling again with Teresa and our bikes filled my mind. All I needed now was a shower and to enjoy the peace and beauty surrounding my home as the day waned and the sun slowly set on what had been a virtually perfect day riding my e.trike.

Until next time.........................

Just another day

The Exe estuary at dawn.

Up at 0615 and away at 0715. I leave Teresa's house on my way to work for the first time in months. The surprisingly cold air (for May) takes my breath and catches in my throat as I get to used to the way-too-quick transition from slumbering gently to riding my work bike. 

The ride to school along the Exe Trail must be one of he nicest commutes to work anywhere. Despite the headwind, I cannot help but smile. On these early commutes there are precious few other people around so I simply relax into a rhythm and look at the view.

The Dawlish coastline is spectacularly resplendent in its crimson red sandstone clothing. The sea, still looking cold and uninviting, rises and falls slowly as the gentle swell comes ashore in rounded and regular waves with no great height. Last week the sea hammered this coast violently in complete contrast to the serenity that now abounded. How quickly things change? 

There were few decisions to be made once away from the hullabaloo of the main road. Even the worlds cyclists and dog walkers were still tucked up in bed, leaving me to drown in the silence. It was wonderful. 

Just prior to where the madness begins

How different things are when the world wakes. the noise of thousands of vehicles attacks you involuntarily, stealing those precious moments and throwing you back into the 21st century whether you wish to be or not. The traffic trying to access Exeter astounds me. Most vehicles have one occupant, who sits looking bored and uninterested, trying desperately to wake up and face another day at work before they arrive. I'm now wide awake, heart beating out a strong rhythm. I continue to watch the traffic queueing for the Countess Weir Roundabout until the lights change and it's my tun o move again. Carefully crossing,

The commute now changes. Droves of cyclists, walkers and runners are all working hard, pushing their limits as they overtake this old bloke. They often approach in silence and without warning. That's okay because they are working out and time taken to complete Strava sectors is far more important than people!. I remember being like that too and look back wondering why I used to do that. Life is too precious to rush through as I once did. Better take it slowly, watch that duckling swim and the sun disappear behind a cloud than force yourself on to beat your best time to work, as if that compensates for working in an office or unsatisfactory job each and every day.

I carry on gently, only occasionally pulled from my peaceful zone by those cycling assassins that think its uncool to have a bell and cool to buzz you without warning while remaining totally silent in their Rapha shorts and with 120 PSI in their tyres. They all wear dark glasses and the latest lycra fashion  and barely shift their cold-stare as they pass us mere mortals who are chugging along peacefully while minding our own business. 

I prefer to monitor the cycle jostling quietly in my own bubble with no desire to join in.  I just keep left, something I believe should be a rule for all users of shared paths, and let them whizz by. How can so many commuters be seemingly allergic to having a bicycle bell to warn others they are approaching? Even worse, how can they pass people so fast and close, even though they themselves are aware that the person in question doesn't know they are there? Yes, shared cycle lanes are getting to be like roads. they don't work once you get to a certain level of traffic. Many think they are most important person on the road and unsurprisingly they demonstrate the same kind of behaviours as the drivers of the vehicles they so deride. 

Work paraphanalia

My thoughts turn one last time to what I've seen during this mornings commute. The tranquility on an all-but-empty path by the estuary has filled me with joy but other things also make me smile. The Grey Heron, whose wings beat so slowly you feel it might fall from the sky at any moment. The two pairs of Goldfinches, surely the most colourful birds in the UK, as they flash past in the completely opposite manner to the Heron. Beautiful, bright red and gold, almost blurred images, enjoying the early morning sun. At Cockwood, an Egret sat quietly fishing, motionless and ever patient. What we could learn from these creatures if we took the time to look and think about how we affect them with our ever-more, grabbing lifestyles.

Back in the real world I am now on the road. I take up the correct position in my lane as I start to pass parked cars on my right, the opposite lane. A black car coming towards pulls out, despite it being my priority and I refuse to move. When he stops, he waves his arms around and calls me a fucking idiot out of the window, adding that I should learn to ride!! I've only been back at work for a week and his is the third incident of his kind.

The worst incident involved an RAC van overtaking me on a Toucan crossing after I had clearly signalled I was turning right and taken up my priority position, designed to say 'please don't overtake me!' The life-saver check saved my life as his van with it's screaming engine roared past me in violation of all the rules in the Highway Code by exceeding he 20mph speed limit across the zig-zags and crossing. He was clearly furious that I slowed his journey for all of ten to fifteen seconds. My mind, unlike his, pondered the what-ifs for a few miles after that. I was physically and mentally shaken even though I heard him accelerate and knew exactly what would happen next. 

Today, the road where this incident occurred was quiet, as was the road where my priority road positioning was seen as blocking somebody's progress deliberately. Another cycle lane took me towards School. This one has a blind entrance that nobody can see into or out of,   As I cautiously approach, taking a wider line, a man on a bike zooms around the corner with no expectation of anybody being there. I am ready for his thankfully, but what if I were inexperienced? 

A cyclist in primary position at lights. Why is this such a threat to drivers?

What began as a serene and beautiful ride to work ends in a melee of bad parking in restricted areas and people standing, vehicle doors open, in the road getting their various progeny to school. These are the same children I have to attempt to teach the good knowledge, road craft and behaviour that will keep them safe and riding on the road for years to come. 

Out on the road now, this time acting shepherd to six anxious children in hi-vis vests, drivers of other vehicles, people on bikes and pedestrians all pretend we are not there in their bullying approach to road sharing. I am their eyes and ears. My role is to protect them as they learn. I get shouted at again for getting in somebody's way as I take the lane, our priority, blocking their progress. I say nothing, just check around and move on. How can you act that way when confronted with six small children learning to cycle on the road? It's beyond me to know.

At the end of he day I cycle home, tired from being outside and tired from looking after children's well being as they attempt to learn a skill that could change their lives for the better, forever. I leave the madness behind as I recross the Countess Weir bridge to pick up the Exe Estuary Trail once again. from here to home will be gentler, My mind can start to heal from the bombardment of road bullies and idiots that I have to deal with since leaving home. I say heal because riding in the city every day leaves me feeling damaged and vulnerable. I choose to do it because I want to encourage people to change to a different lifestyle, rather than the grab and run attitude we are living with now.

Other than being busier than in the morning, the trail works it's magic. I'm soon feeling alive again as the responsibility I have chosen as my work drops away. The Goldfinches are still there and nesting Swans also. I hear what I think might be a Reed Warbler which brings a smile to my face and I get gently lost in the hypnotic sensation of pedalling my bike gently home as the sea whispers in my ear

.

Until next time................................

Down to earth with a bump and no bounce.

Devon peacefully slips into a new day.

It's been a beautiful spell of weather recently and I've been trying t take advantage of it prior to returning to work. I have swapped the rear hub motor on Hercules for a Tong Sheng TSDZ2 mid drive and were initially mightily impressed. More about that later on. Having spent some time stripping the old motor from the bike, I looked forward to testing the new motor to see the difference that double the pulling power and a torque sensor makes.

The torque sensor responds by giving more assist when you make more effort and push harder, rather than being a simple on/off switch like the hub motor pedal assist. The hub motor will now become the workhorse on my work cycle, a role to which it is perfectly suited. The new motor won't suit new riders or those who want some extra shove for free. You have to work to get the best from these mid-drive motors.

Just for reference, during this change over I moved the seat rearwards a little as there would be more weight upfront and generally fiddled around with the rack and how much the seat reclines. The battery is now back on the boom, upfront. By the time I was finished I was keen as mustard to get out and try the new motor.  

Off we went, out of the close, waving to people on the way. The new motor whirred away like a small electrical screwdriver, noisier than the hub motor but not too invasive. The first hill is Park Road. Steep enough first thing to be a pain and a real pull. I put the motor on tour setting (2 of four levels) and cruised up the hill, still working hard enough, but oh so easily in comparison to unassisted efforts. And that was running a 42 tooth front chainring! This was grin inducing. 

It's not always dry though.

Being so unlike the hub motor still felt like a surprise, although I don't know why? I have since learned that you can use the torque sensor to run the motor really efficiently, giving really good range from your battery. This is because you only apply a lot of torque on the steepest parts of hills. In between you can back of as until the assist start to fade and stay there. Utterly brilliant, it feels so natural to use.

Down the next hill I let the trike roll and it seemed less sensitive and more stable than previously. Another bonus then? The sun continued to shine and I continued to grin as I played with my new toy and headed for Abbeyford woods. 

The daughter of a friend had once said that she had seen fairies in these woods (she was 8 years old then). They certainly feel magical for some unknown reason and I love to park up there and take a cup of tea from my flask. On this day I didn't, I just slowly and gently continued my ride, listening to the birdsong and sucking up the peace emanating from the wide-variety of trees. I felt as quiet as the woods internally, a great change from recent anxiety ridden nights and the main reason I cycle. Through the thicket of branches the sun played like a child with a torch, flickering and flashing as I rode along, changing the light constantly and unpredictably. 

The other end of the woods ends in a plummet, a steep descent with sharp bends and little room for two vehicles to pass. Rolling down here, brakes at the ready, The trike seemed more stable again as I  continued in a relaxed and happy state to the valley floor where I headed for he wonderfully named Monkokehampton. 

This is one of the roads that the Tour de France used last time it was here. It undulates, but never gets too demanding and it twists and turns in places making it great fun. I reached the farm at the top of a significant rise, which is followed by a si descent that could be taken at speed, were it not for the fact that the road is not too wide and other vehicles tend to come around the bends on the wrong side of the road to meet a recumbent trike that they didn't expect to see heading directly towards them.

Scotland in May!

This can often lead to a panic reaction from them as they swerve and head for the hedge before they realise that there is plenty of room for us both really and that driving a little slower would have really helped in this particular situation.

Anyway, what happened next is a bit of a mystery. I will consequently hear people shouting loudly via social media about direct steering etc, but this was not the fault of the steering. the fault I think lies with me  alone. I heard the back wheel lock. The rear of the trike spun. Prior to this it didn't feel slightly twitchy or unstable. I think I then counter-steered into the skid, maybe not. If I did counter-steer, then I may have overdone it because Hercules slewed the opposite way and high-sided me. PING,  just like a Moto GP crash, only much slower and lower. Given that I was round a slight left bend, the physics says that I should have rolled the other way. That is why I suggest that I over did the counter steer into the skid.

I hit the ground on my left side and then the trike hit me, rolling over my head and finishing up on my right side. The only thing I thought while all these shenanigans were taking place was, 'What the fu**'. What followed is typical of us cyclists (and motorcyclists, I should add). How's my trike, was the first thought. That was followed by the realisation that I was lying in the road in exactly the right place to get squished by any vehicle that could appear rather quickly around the corner at any moment,

I jumped up, no thought for any injuries, and dragged Hercules, and myself, to the grass on the side of the road. At least we were safe now. I did a quick summation of my injuries: sore ankle, elbow, knee and  left buttock. All the usual then? More importantly, in my mind only, was the condition of the trike. There were a few scratches and scrapes on both sides, but other than that it looked fine to me. In this situation you can do one of two things: sit and feel sorry for yourself, or self rescue (get on and ride). I have a lot of experience of this! I packed up my paraglider and walked away carrying the glider following a crash in Snowdonia after losing control at 100 feet and hitting the ground super hard. I didn't know I had broken my spine, collapsing one of my vertebrae. It is amazing what you do under shock, isn't it? This was a minor irritation in comparison, so I got on Hercules and pedalled again. Apart from the fact I had lost some skin and was bleeding a bit from various scrapes I was fine. Phew. 

Trike,. Celtic cross. What's not to like?

Now call me daft but I felt really curious after that as to what had caused the crash. I never believed it was anything to do with direct steering (other than my overreaction when the trike spun. So, in the name of science I let the brakes go down the next hill and let the trike do it's own thing. I stayed relaxed and the trike rode beautifully with no tendency to spit me off again. Hmmm.

On reaching home I felt sore and knew that the next week or so would not be pain free. It takes me much longer to heal now than in my younger days, but I knew that I would. I spent that week wondering what had happened, deciding I would never know and letting it go.

A few days later I decided to investigate the poor gear changing I had experienced that day. As soon as I started this process it all began to make sense. When I fitted the motor I hadn't changed the chain length because it previously ran on a 42 tooth ring anyway. What I didn't allow for was the fact that in this configuration I would be using all nine gears at the rear, not just four as I had previously with the Triple chainring when it was on the big ring. As a result, I think I must have shifted gears for whatever reason (getting ready to pedal again?) and locked the back wheel. So, it was all my own doing because I should have checked the gear changing performance after fitting the motor and prior riding out.

This would explain why the rear wheel was all but ejected from the frame, bending the quick release skewer along the way. Luckily the drop-outs were still fine. They are tough cookies these KMX trikes. I have now added some extra links to the chain and I have checked the gear operation. All seems well again, which is more than can be said for my poor, battered body, which will take a while longer. A salutary lesson then? Never hurry. Always double (treble) check things out before riding. I usually do, and didn't on this occasion.

A few days later I was back out, marvelling at the new motors ability to help me out whilst using very little power. It was good that I did that, relatively hard ride because the day after that it packed-up! There appears to be no link to the crash, the motor was unmarked. I had swapped the Blue gear, a notorious plastic gear that strips-out eventually. The brass replacement was so much noisier that I swapped it back. After some thought I decided that it would probably quieten down if I fitted it again and gave it time to bed-in. I did that, double and treble checked my work and went out to test it. Nothing at all. Not a sausage,

Someday very soon again, we hope.

Assuming I had done something wrong, I stripped it out again and replaced the blue gear with the expectation that it would work again. Still nothing at all. The display lights. The speed sensor works, but nothing else does. Ooer!! Basically, I had parked up after the long ride  across to Dartmoor and back and the motor possibly failed. 

Opinion seems to be that the controller has exploded, hence the funny noises! The seller has agreed to replace it for me straight away. I just need to strip the motor and have a peep. It may be that this particular motor is old-stock. They were renowned for blue gear failure and controller failure. Yes, I am annoyed, but what can you do? Of course I'm back working this week so I can't do anything right now. I will take a peak next weekend though and I will be taking pictures as I go along, I look forward to sharing those with you.

Until next time...........................

 

Old beginnings

Cruising on Kermit, my lovely old Azub T-Tris trike.

When I picked up a bicycle in 2009 it felt like a new start. I remembered what it had meant to me previously, bike-packing around the Scottish Highlands on ancient trails and roads and touring Picos de Europa in Spain before the Jeep tracks were paved over and ruined forever. That connection and sense of adventure could never be fully broken and by adding in the huge amount of fun we had mountain biking around North and Mid Wales in the 1980's and early nineties, I guess it was inevitable that I would pick up a bike again at some point.

And it was perhaps that marriage of something familiar and yet somehow new that saw a smile return to my face and hope being reborn in my heart. There have been thousands of miles under my various sets of wheels since that time and, Covid aside, there will be many more.

For me it has always been more about being outside than any particular sense of achievement from anything I've done. It's part of my DNA to be in places where solace rules the roost and the real world, along with all its realities, fade a little into the background. In a way you could say it's my lifeblood. Take it away, like this past year, and I start to whither and die. I need it as much as oxygen and water, as one of my life's foundations.

Have trike will travel. This wee journey was still over 1000 miles long.

Whilst not even being close to the transformation that butterflies endure, it is transformative for me. Once I close the door of the house and pedal away, a sense of relief and freedom sweeps over me that doesn't exist anywhere else in my life. 'You may go and explore', says my mind and so I do, deeply.

Perhaps it's all those years of climbing, flying, mountain walking and sleeping out in wild places. Perhaps it is just the accumulative mileage of man and bike. As Flan O'Brian iterated in his book: The Third Policeman, as people age they become more and more like their bikes in a transformative process that also sees the bicycle become more and more like them until it's hard to discern one from the other!

I should add at this point that my own cycling experience doesn't feel the same at all if I choose to ride an upright bike for any distance now days. It is just too uncomfortable, even on the most comfortable bike I've ever owned, my Trek 7.5. hybrid. No, for any distance I feel that should be left at home where it belongs, replaced by the wonderful recumbent trike that gives an almost religious experience when you get used to riding it. The view, the comfort, the consideration you get from others on the road, along with the social interaction it encourages leaves you feeling part of the world, rather than separate from it. Snails, tortoises and the like may have a point after all?

While trikes can be lightened and encouraged to go fast, there seems little point, unless you are in the position where you love competing and for various other reasons cannot ride an upright bike. And many people think that is their place, a chariot for those with physical and mental challenges and not to be taken seriously by 'real' cyclists. I'm not prepared to get covered in crap because mudguards are uncool. I hear how slow I am uphill. How heavy it is compared to matey's £8000 carbon wonder-bike. I hear how I cannot be seen and therefore shouldn't be on the road. As I said sarcastically to the last person who pounced on me and said just that, 'How do you know I'm here then, if you cannot see me? 

Come shine or.......

Each and every time I escape my house with Hercules the trike, I see, hear and feel things that I otherwise wouldn't, or would simply miss if I was in a hurry. My trike has taught me to slow down and while I don't expect young men to have a clue what I'm talking about, older men and those who battle saddles sores with various creams and lotions might want to take a closer look.

And there is another conversation I frequently hear: 'What you need is padded shorts mate,' I hear somebody saying to a fellow 'upwrong' rider. 'What you need is a good chamois cream,' says another. What you need is to get your bike fitted, another saddle, fatter tyres, less weight, better wheels, to spend more, better quality clothing, boingy forks. STOP. Perhaps what you need is a recumbent and then none of that matters any longer. But they are soooo expensive, I hear you all shout. Yes, but add up all the extras you have bought and the number of bikes changes you feel you needed in order to be comfortable and keep going fast, along with keeping up with the essential 'development' of road bikes, I'll put money on it that my trike cost less. Each to there own I guess.

...rain.

Comfort is relative. A stool is comfortable when you are camping, but it isn't a sofa is it? The new ICE trikes come with a seat that looks more comfortable than my sofa and my lowly KMX has a pad on the seat that effectively does the same thing. Abject comfort is one of the main draws to recumbent trike riding, and not have to balance is a gift you can only dream of when struggling with a fully loaded bike that won't do as it's told. Due to all the advantages that mainstream manufacturers ignore, as soon as you sit on a trike, you relax, and you stay that way, all day, and the next.

There's another similarity to the tortoise I mentioned earlier as well. My attitude to cycling is no longer about shiny things. No, it's about just riding slowly, how prehistoric is that? I only need one word in my cycling vocabulary and that is 'recumbent.' It's enough for people to be either a) Completely interested or b) completely disinterested. And that is wonderful as I don't have to justify my ride or feel embarrassed because I'm riding a Chris Boardman bike (which are excellent from what I understand). Yes, perhaps the biggest bonus of all is avoiding bike envy/bullshit. Rapha who? Eddy what? Campagnolo? Is that a Pizza with four cheeses? Yes, you will be completely oblivious to all of this and virtually invisible to 'serious cyclists' who aren't quite able to nod or say hello as they maintain, what they think to be, a race-face when they pass you by as you dawdle along. 

Innerleithin to Moffat. Stunning.

This in turn will lead to unflustered rides without Strava mapping your every move and times. You won't need a bike in the lounge, one of those without a back wheel and a screen through which somebody shouts at you. You can just, simply go out and ride, in the real world! Anywhere, any distance, any time and on your return, although tired from pedalling you won't need an Osteopath or personal masseur to get you back out again. You won't even need a computer as you won't have any analysis to do other than the studying of a map (remember them?) for your next ride whilst enjoying a cup of tea with a biscuit (a bourbon or custard cream and definitely not a Power-gel of any kind).

For extreme recumbent riding you can get Shimano sandals. Sad beyond words but a strong statement about how far from the cycling norm you have drifted. You can get shirts with pockets in the front, really. Why bother? I haver returned to ordinary baggy shorts and a T-shirt. How untechnical is that? no Lycra to be seen anywhere,  No drop-backed coat to stop spray. No rear pocket for a credit card and aforementioned Power Gel. Just a pannier on the back with stuff thrown into it. 

So as you can see, like the tortoise I am also a dinosaur, soon to be extinct but still ploughing my own furrow at my own pace. Bargain.What could be better? For me, nothing comes close. 

See you out there, or not if you don't want to talk to me because I ride recumbent.

Until next time.........................

A cautionary tale

Cycling makes you feel good.

It's a beautiful day here in Devon. Maybe the last one for some time? The sky is cobalt and the sun feels wonderfully warm on my skin. I'm out for a trike ride, the first since I began to work again and also since I fitted an ebike kit to Teresa's bike. She isn't here today, but the smile on her face as she disappears up another hill is with me always. Yes, we are now an electric couple!

I'm off to see my friends who run a cycle hire business. I've only seen them briefly on one occasion since March, such has been the weirdness of 2020.  I may not be able to see many people again if things keep going where they seem to be heading with the reemergence of Covid 19, so it's a case of one more dance before bedtime for me and Hercules.

Even though it's a beautiful day, there are hints of autumn. Piles of acorns line the lanes and the fresh breeze has that cool easterly edge to it. I cannot imagine there will be many more days like this, certainly not this year, so I have every intention of making the most of it. Those acorns snap, crackle and pop like the famous breakfast cereal as I ride over them, constantly reminding that I will have to clear the garden of them soon. That can wait, it always has for the last sixty years. A gardener I'm not.

I'm running a kind of experiment at the moment. I trying to learn how to maximise the benefit from my newly added electric assist. I've changed the battery, placing the frog battery on Teresa's bike and the big bottle battery on Kermit. It has a bigger capacity than the frog battery and I have no idea what it will do. Todays ride is around 30, hilly, miles, so that should at least point me in the right direction. I am playing with using higher levels on hills or leaving it on low power all the time. I think I feel best when I'm just using a little assist. I still feel like I want a workout, just not as tough.

For the most part of this ride, the first 12 miles from home are uphill. There are a couple of breaks in this with a short but whizzy downhill prior to Gribbleford Bridge. It isn't a nasty monster uphill though, just a gentle incline with a few steeper sections. I love the ridges that tend to run west to east in Devon. I often plan my rides to use them as much as possible. North to south is just constantly hard, so I minimise that where I can.  It felt wonderful today with the assist on a low setting. Just that bit more relaxing. I think overall that is what I'm finding. Assist means less effort which in turn means more fun. Just what you might expect and the other  bonus is that you recover more quickly and can do it all again tomorrow should you wish.

I felt almost zen-like as I slowly climbed. Farms that have been there for many years came and went, still looking very last century, or is it the previous one, to my eye? My mind was fully occupied with the wildlife and scenery and my muscles thankfully did what they are supposed to do. It felt in my mind as though I was slowly drinking a large glass of liquid nectar, my emotions all settling into a place of joy and an overall feeling that I was filling up with endless positive energy. I could let go of any negatives that tried to invade my mind and just be in that mindful place, the one where nothing gets to you. Interesting. As the assist runs down, I charge up. Seems a fair enough swap to me.

This beautiful high point is a lovely place to take five.

And so it was when I heard a rustling in the hedge row. I slowed, not wanting to disturb whatever was in there. All of a sudden, a flash of red and white bounded up into the air whilst seemingly cartwheeling along. It was a stoat. I sat and watched as it proceeded to drag out a dead bird from the hedge row, one that was much bigger that the Stoat itself. Dinner for the young? I hoped so. As suddenly as it appeared it saw me watching and shot off across the road as though rocket propelled, only to rustle and hide in the undergrowth on the far side. It would return for its prey once I departed. I could still feel its presence, imagining those beady eyes watching studiously from its grassy hideout.  Only on a bike and by riding slowly do you see these treats. I felt blessed and rumbled quietly away.

I sat by the Celtic cross at the top of the hill and watched the world go by. It looked the same as when I last came this way several months ago, before lockdown. Every so often a car would pass by, the occupants often sporting masks as Covid protection. Why they felt they needed them inside a car I will never know, but it flung me back into the other world, the one of people and not Stoats. I much prefer stoat world if I'm honest. I look at our consumption and greed and want to cry. Our planet is bleeding to death and we can't be bothered to help it and ourselves into the bargain. I've always felt these things deeply. A soul in the wrong place at the wrong time? Maybe, but I'm not alone.

Continuing on, I passed the golf course. You can tell this by the numbers of BMW's and Mercedes you see there. Another long, fast downhill stops the bleak thinking and restores the grin. Its a steady downhill all the way from the top of the valley to the bottom and a heck of a climb out the other side. Oh well. What goes down, must go up. Halfway up the other side the assist motor started switching in and out of power. My immediate thought was, " I wonder if he controller is overheating." The reason for that thought was that I had changed the battery over and had stuffed the controller in a small, padded bag that was hidden with little airflow behind the seat. Opening the bag a wave of heat hit me. "How silly of me," I thought, and proceeded to remove it to allow cooling. This also gave me time to have a drink which I hoped would have the same effect on my sweaty body.

 I rode the rest of the climb without assist using the gears I normally would. There is little resistance, if any, from the light (2kg) motor, so it wasn't as problem. Although the mid motors are getting better, I still hear reports that pedalling without assist is hard work, and don't forget, if you have one of those and it packs up, you only have the big chainring and the gears on the cassette, This would make it impossible to ride in most of Devon's hilly surrounds. With the less powerful Hub motor, you get to keep your triple ring up front. I feel this is a much bigger issue than having the chain snap, which can happen on mid-drive bikes due to the torque they produce. That can be solved with a chain tool and a spare quick link in minutes. A 48/52 tooth chainring would be no fun at all without assist. You can put a smaller chainring on most, but unless you want a wide ratio one-by-ten or similar gear setup you will never get near the spread of a good triple chainring for touring. That's why I stick with it.

Of course, the controller had to go back in the bag for the trip home, but I unzipped it as much as possible and everything after that was hunky dory, including hills just as long and steep as the previous one. I vowed to change the system on returning home and without another thought set off again for the The Granite Way after and a break at my friends place: Devon Cycle Hire. It was great to catch up and hear that their business was doing okay after this troubling year. I munched on a flap jack before heading off for the mostly downhill run to Okehampton.

Back to cycling. The Granite Way is beautiful, but for the most part there is the continuous and loud drone of traffic on the A30 from the crowds of tourists heading madly for Cornwall and its long traffic jams. Most people probably hardly notice it, the noise of the traffic,but where I live is so quiet that to me it felt like the traffic was shouting as loud as it could into my ears, upsetting my beautiful equilibrium, at least until I got used to it. So, I endeavoured to tune out of that and turn my attention to the scenery by closing off my ears as far as is humanly possible, choosing to concentrate on the natural beauty rather than the ugly noise of thundering vehicles.

To ride this section on any bike, particularly in this direction, feels as though you are flying. For the most part it is a gentle downhill that encourages a large gear to be utilised along with a wide grin. You glide effortlessly along feeling the wind in your face and momentarily forgetting the loud hum of traffic not far away. The impressive viaduct and scenery over which it is built brings most people to a grinding halt, but I've been here many times before and I just carry on with a long glance toward the moor and the sense that I'm in some kind of heaven.

The siding near Okehampton has dead trains lurking in the bushes.

It only seems like a short roll from there to the road that leads into Okehampton. A steep hill takes you directly to what you might call a town centre. It's never been a great town centre, but after being ravaged by Covid 19 it feels even more like it's struggling to survive. Such a shame. People go to the supermarkets and little else it seems, relying on Amazon and other delivery services to supply their needs. I am just as bad, although I try to use businesses that are linked in to whatever goods I am trying to buy in terms of having a shop front somewhere. I don't know if it helps, but I've more recently been trying to support local shops and cycle shops so they are not lost forever, despite the extra cost. 

That's an aside. This downhill is brilliant if you like speed. When I got my KMX I thought it was really twitchy and might spit me off at any moment. Since then I've gradually got used to it and the steering now feels wonderful: sensitive and thrilling with the whole experience leaving me smiling like an idiot. In affect Hercules feels alive. He has a real personality that many other trikes I have ridden seem to lack.

I wandered back through town and along the very familiar lanes I have ridden a thousand times previously to my home in Hatherleigh. I cannot remember when I last felt that relaxed. Pictures were taken by the river. I stopped just to feel the peace several times. More than that I felt fulfilled, complete even. Exercise has always helped me find this, even though I don't work too hard any longer and ride in a completely chilled fashion. It those magic chemicals that lift your mind and soul in combination with the mindfulness and peace that comes from being amongst mother natures beautiful tapestry. Any escape from the house feels good, but cycling, for me at least, enhances the outside world in a way where sitting on my low perch it looks and feels so different to the one presented to us through the media. It was a blissful day out.

Roll on two days. I woke in the night in Dawlish with some pain in my knee. It wasn't extreme but very uncomfortable. I turned over and go to sleep only to be woken again by increasing knee pain. I didn't understand what was going on, but my kneecap felt hot and the knee itself stiff. I had banged it the day before and assumed it was bruised, the heat being part of the healing process. In the morning, hobbling around very painfully, with many worrying  thoughts in mind I decided that a ride would help ease the problem as long as I went gently. So I set off for Exeter with Teresa in the hope things would improve as I went.

I rode around St Thomas, evaluating the area for the  latest risk assessment at work. My knee was gradually deteriorating but I just kept riding, albeit very gently. Deciding to head for home (Dawlish this time) as the alarm bells began ringing I just felt I needed to rest and I hoped all would be well. How little I knew. 

The river after passing Okehampton.

Stopping at Turf Locks I tried to get off the bike. The pain surged through my body as I tried to place weight on my leg. This was not good. In  fact it  was plainly a bad idea, so, with little other choice, I continued without another stop. By the time I got home. walking was not really an option any longer. I hardly made it through the door using my bike as a crutch. Once in I slumped on the sofa wondering what on earth was going on?

I talked to Jasper, Teresa's son, and he kindly rang around his friends to see if somebody could give me a lift to A and E should I need it. I spoke to a doctor in my practise, did an E consult on 111 and spoke to them on the phone, along with a Dawlish medical centre. Nobody could offer any help. We called all the local taxi companies, none were available until after the school run was complete. How are you supposed to get help? A and E was never mentioned during any of my conversations with 111 or the local practise in Dawlish. It was suggested that I might take a trip to one of Exeter's walk in health centres who would triage it and then send me to A and E. It was a shame I couldn't walk! I thought we had been told that NHS hospitals were open for business? From where I sat it didn't feel that way.

Eventually, at around 5pm, I got a taxi to Exeter (at great expense) to A and E in where I was eventually seen by doctors. After a little over five hours, at 23.10 I was sent home with a suspected infected prepatellar bursitis (swelling and infection of one of the sacks of fluid that help tendons and kneecap run smoothly) with a large fistful of antibiotics. I was told there was fluid around the kneecap and they didn't know if it was blood or from the infection. What fun. I fell twice trying to hobble on crutches to the taxi home, such was the now extreme pain in my knee. I felt spaced out and giddy, probably from the codeine. 

Getting in and out of a taxi with an unbending, excruciatingly painful leg was also great fun and took an age. The taxi driver was superb, patient and helpful, even waiting until I made it into the house before he drove away. I have to admit that it was touch and go. I have no recollection of how I got upstairs that night but I did.

Hercules enjoys the shade.

Next morning everything felt worse. I couldn't weight my leg at all and just sitting on the edge of the bed, trying to gently place it on the floor, caused great pain. I've had many injuries in my time. It goes with the territory of the things I've chosen to do in life. This pain was in a league of its own. I was so fed up. Last night I had been glad to return home, but now I knew I probably had to go back. Another taxi was out of the question, so I gritted my teeth, quite literally, and hopped my way downstairs, out of the door and down to the bus stop before I could really think about it!!

Again, the driver was brilliant, being very careful until I was seated. From the bus stop at the hospital entrance I had to hop all the way to A and E, which is at least 400/500m, maybe further, from the entrance. I don't have the upper body strength I used to have, but I do still have the same dogged determination and bloody mindedness. And so it was done. 

Having a swell time. There are 24 hours between the first and third line. Thank you NHS!

This time I got fast forwarded. The doctor took one look at how much the infection had spread, he had drawn a line the previous night for comparison, and admitted me for a couple of days for observation and intravenous antibiotics. Bugger. I was in the best place though and over the next two days people  came and went drawing ever bigger lines around the ever increasing infection. By day three the drugs began to work. Thank goodness was my only thought. My arms were like pincushions from constant blood tests and numerous cannulas. I breathed a sigh of relief right there, knowing the tide had turned. It the certain knowledge that I would be released into the community I felt that my mind had suddenly lightened. 

From then until now I have been taking it easy, leg up, doing very little. This doesn't come naturally to Graeme's so I had to work on it. It's been greatly helped by the almost continuous rain that we've seen in Devon and I'm glad to say that the result is that a big improvement has taken place, my knee beginning to look more normal again. Yay. They say time is the great healer. Let's hope it still is!

I write this not to gather sympathy, but rather to illustrate how life can change in a couple of days. It's important, especially in these times to keep a perspective on what is going on. While everybody worries about Covid 19, there are plenty of other things out there that can upend your life when  you least expect it, just as this did. There were no warnings to heed, it just happened. As it turned out my experience was relatively minor, but left alone, untreated, it could easily have turned quickly to Sepsis, not a good thought at all.

Escapology, the cheap way!

That wonderful day out on Hercules, cruising around the Devon lanes to Dartmoor burned so bright in my thoughts that I could hang onto it while in hospital. Even when I couldn't walk I was thinking about where I might cycle next time I got the opportunity. And that is the point. If you can find a purpose to keep getting out and being active, grab it with both hands, whatever it is. Life is not forever and neither can we assume that tomorrow will allow us to do what we can do today.

This episode woke me up again, reminding me of what is really important to me. Two weeks down the road I can walk again gently and hope to be back on the bike next week if at all possible. I hope that I have now had all the surprises in store for me for in 2020. It's been a bit too exciting in the wrong kind of way and not the sixtieth year I had planned for. There is still so much to be thankful for and I think I will choose to hang on to that.

Until next time.......................

Not a million miles from home.

An evening relaxing by the stream. Well earned.

 It felt a special moment as we stood outside, bike and trike loaded for a short tour. We had confined ourselves to the local area around my house. We were smiling and laughing like children with the excitement of being free again to explore after all the recent restrictions due to Coronavirus. The destination was as irrelevant as any daily mileage goals would have been and what we might achieve by completing it. It was simply a few days riding our bikes and sleeping under canvas (polyester really). A few precious moments where everything to do with 2020 could be put into a different perspective as we allowed nature to consume us, beguile us and maybe transform us into something a little more mindful; than we have been of late.

Teresa was on her, appropriately named, Specialized Vita and I would be riding my modified KMX Kolt trike that I have just converted to electric assist. Age waits for no man and I have begun feeling the need for a little extra shove in recent years as I said in my last post. I'm as fit as I can be but the hope is that this modification will help me maintain a good level touring ability into old-age. I stepped back from a mid-drive motor, almost twice the torque of my rear hub motor, as I don't need that right now. As I age this will change and that will be the time for even more of a push.

We no longer want to camp ultra-light and so this trip saw us carrying a lightweight duvet from the bed and a pillow each! Softy southerners and proud of it. More usually we had my Trangia, a spirit stove that I love. It's slow and relatively heavy and takes several minutes more to make a brew than your average gas or petrol stove. And that is its charm, it wont be rushed. No matter what you want it just chugs away unnoticed until steam signifies your brew is ready. In all fairness, we had looked for some gas but there seems to be a shortage as everybody is now going on holiday in the UK and camping seems the way to go as it's outdoors. Meths is much cheaper though and freely available in most of Europe.

Happiness is cycle touring.

As I had the electric assist, I took the weighty equipment while Teresa took the bulk. This had the added advantage for Teresa that her bike looked like a bike that was be ridden by a double-hard, musclebound bastard, while in actual fact it was being ridden by a lovely, feminine woman of petite nature and an ever smiling face.

Cruising away from home that morning was like being born-again. For me, memories of journeys now long past came to me as though they were yesterday. It was as though my body and mind instantly synchronised into another version of me  It was similar to, but far away from, the version of me that climbed and flew paragliders. The same person undoubtedly, but without the angst and despair that coursed through my veins and mind back then. This was a much gentler and more rounded version of that Graeme, and I felt very glad to be that person as we pulled away from my home.

Miles are like time: some pass quickly while others seem to take an age. some are gentle and soothing and others brutal and testing. When you abandon the need to rush it no longer matters whether you go far or not. We simply rode, sometimes walked, particularly on the ridiculously steep slopes around Chagford, where I might happily take a mountain bike, but my trike struggled for traction on a super-steep road without a surface, full of potholes and piled high with gravel. Quality matters when you construct a route for others. This section of the Dartmoor Way (post Chagford, going clockwise) doesn't have any. I presume it goes this way as it's the only way to avoid the main road, and for that reason only I can forgive the people responsible. Next time though, I will take my chances on the main road.

Even this disruption to the peace couldn't spoil the day though. The sun shone and the road under our wheels slid gently along getting ever-further from home in the easiest way possible. I find this the easiest way to leave my home. Demons still prowl in my mind and I sometimes need to sneak away stealthily. By the time they get what's going on I'm miles away and laughing at them. They have to wait for another chance when I'm not paying attention to get me back. It's a game we have played for many years now and one I have no expectation of coming to an end. It's part of me.

Spot Hercules. Semi-wild camping.

It was good to see other cyclists emerging from their lairs to explore again. A nod here, a hello there and a good chat with a farmer that I consider to be a friend made me feel at ease with being out in the world again. "Does Teresa always smile like that," he asked. Yes, I replied, almost always. Now, the Dartmoor Way has a reputation for being tough. It's a challenge route and not one I would choose to ride any longer. We climbed some impressive hills in beautiful scenery and Devon, at that moment, felt as good a place to be as anywhere in the world. Why the rush to go abroad? I don't understand. Flying is such a hassle and other than those dwelling in major cities, escape from the usual to unknown, for us lucky ones, is often just a few miles away, especially on the lanes most cyclists use.

The purpose of our heading this way was to access the new trail from Mortenhampstead to Bovey Tracey along the old Wray-Valley railway line. All I can say is: 'go and do it.' It's the most beautiful valley with rounded hills and a myriad of green shades in the trees fields and hedges adding to the splendour. Rocks lay as though abandoned in emerald and gold fields, scattered by nature millennia ago. Farmers drive around them to work out of respect for the past. Most of all, there is a silence, a quiet that we all yearn for at a deep level. Heading south is almost entirely downhill too, which is a bonus as you can roll peacefully along with virtually no effort.

Just a few miles after Mortenhampstead, a notice on a tree signified that we have reached our destination. All that remains now is to drag our cycles through the woods on a narrow single-track and through the river, that is thankfully shallow at this time of year, to our overnight stop at a semi-wild campsite. There is a bridge, but it's bult around an existing tree making it all but impossible to get a bike over it, let alone a trike. The owner of the site is hoping Dartmoor National Park will give them permission to place a proper bridge over the river at some point. I hope they succeed.

Semi-wild translates as a field with few amenities other than a tap and long-drop toilet. You still pay for camping, unlike proper wild-camping, but it was only £10 for two of us and has a great ambience. It is a lovely place though, and who can blame them for jumping on the band-wagon of currently-popular tags to peoples adventures like 'wild camping.' Think of it as sleeping in the garden when you were a child and you won't be far wrong, other than the grass not being manicured and the chickens running all over.

The Wray Trail. Just lovely.

Our  evening stroll around the grounds of the campsite revealed countless photo opportunities that we grabbed with both hands. It was pleasant to saunter slowly, feeling the sun and hearing the water babbling inanely along the river banks, gurgling and splashing like a child in a paddling pool. If you tuned in closely you could almost hear it laughing with joy as it made its way towards the ocean and in turn it left us peaceful and relaxed.

Back through the river the next morning we were soon on the move again. The trail from the campsite was angled slightly downwards so you could almost roll down to the beautiful village of Lustleigh. A little further, and over a short hill, we were back on a traffic-free trail all the way into town. I say town, but Bovey Tracey, although much bigger than when I lived there, feels like a village. Don't tell anybody I said that, they don't like it.

Refuelled at the lovely cycle cafe, The Cafe 360, that now resides in Bovey, we set off for Ashburton, a mere 14km away but on the other side of the hills, serious hills. As it happened we rode up steadily and met a recycling wagon that completely blocked the road. It was fabulous, the perfect excuse to take our time and move up slowly. I coughed roughly and the van attendant said, 'I thought cycling was supposed to be good for you?' I replied that I had asthma, the implication being that he should shut-up. In this Covid world, it seems some folk are wary of any cough from anybody, even one near the ground when they were standing and several metres away. 

Eventually the van turned away and we continued, forever uphill. It was a stunning climb and one where we took the opportunity to stop and look at just how stunning the surroundings were. Pulling into a lovely viewing spot, Teresa wanted a drink. I took the bottle, removed the top, handing it to her. A shriek and a gasp told me something was wrong. I had inadvertently handed her the metholated spirit bottle, not the water. I felt instantly terrible at having tried to poison my partner this way and at having been so thoughtless. There followed much gargling, and spitting of water before Teresa felt able to continue. Oops!

Dartmoor. Time to relax and enjoy the 'back in time' scenery.

Eventually the world tipped the opposite way and we descended, not in a maniacal flurry of crazy speeds. No, it was way too narrow for any heroics like that. We descended as we climbed, slowly and mindfully, taking the time to look around at the pine-fresh woodland that surrounded us. Arriving in Ashburton was a rude awakening. People busied around in their vehicles without a thought for those who were not driving. Business as usual then? Parking at the roadside we noticed the queues outside most shops. Only two people were being allowed in at that time. We chose the shortest queue, rather than the cheapest shop, and then took our wares to a picnic table that Teresa's eagle-eye had spotted We took the time to chill and eat and soak up the friendly atmosphere of his bustling town while laughing at the fact I had labelled today 'the easy day,' when it had proven anything but.

Our second campsite, a few miles from Ashburton, was an old fashioned one: basically a large field with a loo block, but lovely and open with views to the moor that we would cross the next day. There was lots of space and shortly after arriving, so did the entertainment in the form of a couple who had brought along their Yurt to camp in. But first, they had to build it.

We had hours of fun watching (about five hours), and sometimes helping. Why bring a yurt? Who knows, but the man was very intense and had made a beautiful job of crafting this one himself, something to be admired I reckon. Eventually we ran out of sniggering, childhood, jokes concerning Vegans, hippies, and the mans inability to just get on with the job without contemplating every move for twenty minutes first. So, we went to bed in the knowledge that as tomorrow dawned he would back out trying to complete the interior of the yurt, adding the inevitable log-burner, rugs and prayer flags. Each to their own. At least they got the roof and sides on just before dark. 

Next morning we were away relatively early. Well, early enough that nobody else was properly up yet. The forecast was for something approaching 30 degrees centigrade and that isn't the best temperature to cycle up and over Dartmoor's mighty flanks. It felt good to ride in relative cool, the morning air bringing me back to life once more. Few flies buzzed around, I guess they were still sleeping too. The climb up to the moor is a steady one for the most part with some steeper, strenuous parts thrown in for discomfort.  

Ponies. It would be rude not to I feel.

There were still plenty of cars on this route, including the people who were camping next to us earlier on (no, not the yurt dwellers). We crawled up slowly until we hit the open moor. Wow, what a treat that is. Every time I'm here, but especially when I've pedalled here it feels very special. The motor on my trike whirred quietly as it assisted my climb up o the moor and on arrival Teresa didn't appear? I walked down the hill to ind her struggling with a jammed chain and a badly cut finger. I had adjusted the derailleur prior to leaving to stop this happening. The only reason I could think for it to happen was that the screw stop had vibrated undone.

We soon had the chain back on and the screw adjusted again and I set about cleaning up Teresa's damaged finger. Clean and plastered, not that sort of plastered, we set of again. The moor is a place of wonder. It exudes an ancient atmosphere that, along with the oddly-shaped tors and granite boulders, makes you feel you have stepped back in time. In poor weather it can be other-worldly. Today though it was shiny and bright with ponies chomping at the vegetation and sheep trying to out-stare us, as sheep do. We tip toed our way quietly across the open moor, gorging on its delights until we fell off the other side.

We could have stayed all day, just looking, but with a way to go we set off, passing Hound Tor and then rolling almost all the way to Chagford where we were hit by a sudden hunger that all cyclists know. Having gobbled down a pasty each we set off, destination the ridge high above where Castle Drogo lurks. Prior to leaving Chagford, who should suddenly appear at the roadside but our Bikeability instructing colleague Margitta. A long chat and reassurance that the next hill was really okay, was very pleasant, if a little misleading. 

Margitta is much younger and fitter than I am. The hill would have been okay but for the endless stream of traffic using it to get up to Castle Drogo. Neither traffic coming up the hill, nor traffic coming down the hill wanted to give way and the constant stop-start nature of the pedalling was horrible to say the least. Sadly, those who come here on holiday have no idea how to drive on lanes. They seem hyper- aware of not scratching their cars, rather than not hitting a cyclist, and they drive too fast. It took an age and a great deal of effort/patience to escape this, but escape we did, flopping down on a campsite called Barley Meadow at the top of the hill we just climbed for the night. 

Teresa looking happy just prior to drinking the Meths!!! Eeek.

It was pleasant enough a site, very clean and organised. The majority of campers were using large white lumps of plastic to sleep in, in the form of caravans and motor homes. I always feel that this leaves campsites feeling a little like giant car parks, but the upside is that the owners get to make far more money from these people with their demands for space, electricity and other facilities than they could ever make from those of us under canvas/ polyester! They also have a much longer season now on account of motor homes and caravans having their own heating systems. The only downside for us was the fact that it cost £18 for a wee tent and a bit of grass may not much by today's standards but more than it perhaps should be given how little we demand.

All we had to do now was pedal home. We knew that heading north would put us at odds with the landscape. All the ridges run east to west around here, so we would travel up and down like a yo-yo until we started heading west along one such ridge westwards. It was such a pleasant route and, of course, we were in no hurry at all. One hill stood out as unreasonable. I'll let you find that one for yourselves, it would be a shame to spoil the surprise.

And that as they say was that. The motor had been superb. I now knew its limits and that the battery would last ages longer than I thought, mostly because I don't use it that much. Further experiments would teach me how to really get the most from the motor, but that is for another time.

This ride was an absolute pleasure. We both grinned like Cheshire cats on arrival at my home. Those few, precious days may be all we get from this year in cycle-camping terms but they were golden. The sun shone, the peace reigned over us and tranquility was restored, at least for a while. Who needs Magaluf when you have all this history, variety and excellent cycling at your finger tips? Not us.

Until next time......................... 

The author.