Another brutal headwind and a dodgy Garmin - or maybe the dodgy cyclist who inputted the route - meant we arrive late to our digs in Looe but it was worth the wait. Cosy…..
And what a view…..
Time then to refuel. Sample some of what Rick Stein has made Cornwall famous for. A cream tea? A freshly caught lobster? A mackerel or two? Not for the Jolly Boys. Oh no. Two days of brutal cycling, empty bellies and broken legs means only one thing. A taxi to the local Indian! After all, there’s nothing a Bhuna and a few pints of Kingfisher can’t fix. Its beginning to feel like a WRC weekend away. Refuelled and rested, we headed to Exeter. More rolling hills to Torpoint for a meet with the world’s most officious community warden who told us off for cycling in a restricted area. Sent packing by the Beast of course. Another ferry, this time to Plymouth and then a laborious struggle up busy roads to Yelverton where the really hard work began. Up and over Dartmoor, a wild, inhospitable place which is probably why they decided to put a prison up here…..
Grim. And full of some of the country’s most notorious criminals. All of whom the Jolly Boys would have welcomed into their families rather than face the next 20 miles. Even the descents are misérable because you know what’s coming next. Eventually though, the Garmin signals our ‘last’ climb of the day. He’s a bloody liar. There’s more - and Tank Commander Hinde will never forgive me. Then, finally, a brisk drop into Exeter and to our quirky hotel….
More tomorrow….