England - Cornwall

5th May, 70km, Antony - Truro



As with all countries (and "fresh starts") I attempt to begin the final stage of the trip with a degree of discipline. I wake up at six. Once the blur leaves my eyes I roll out of the tent. A few stinging nettles on bare feet accelerate the waking up process. While eating breakfast I check the map and plan a vague route West.

The South-West of England is well known amongst cyclists for its hilly nature. Aside from the spinal main road down the centre all other routes are Lung Busting Leg Burners – makes for great interval training! My route along the South coast from Plymouth to St Austell (via Looe) is a perfect example of such topography.


A cold wind rolls off the Atlantic – bringing with it bucket loads of rain. The moment I stop all heat is sucked from my body. I gather I've adjusted some since the consistent sub-zeros of Turkey and Iran. I take refuge in a traditional red phone box. I use my last sixty pence to make a phonecall to my girlfriend. The call doesn't connect and I loose my money. Sad face. I muster the motivation to face the cold once more. I plug in some Drum and Bass, turn the pedals, and let my mind wander.


Early evening I'm on the outskirts of Truro (the County town of Cornwall). I stop to fill my water bottles and consider whether to camp or try some last minute Couch Surfing in town. As my mind chews the idea I'm approached by John and Judy. We chat briefly about my trip and where I'm heading. They invite me to stay with them for the night. Random Act of Kindness number one – not bad for my second day in a new country.

We feast on carbalicious cycling fodder for dinner. While eating we chat about cycling, Cornwall and everything in-between. They are planning to ride the JogLe (The length of Britain from John o Groats in Scotland to Lands End in England) later this year. I enjoy the first shower in a while and flick through some cycling books before bed.

England

4th May, 35km, Carantec - Roscoff (ferry) Plymouth - Antony

The day starts as usual - porridge followed by coffee and then Richard waits for me to pack up. It's a beautiful morning and neither of us are in any rush. I sense a little procrastination within me. Today I plan to take the ferry back to England - the final nail in the homeward bound coffin.

We spend a few hours exploring the mini peninsular on which we currently reside. There is a tidal causeway and our timing is such that it is just becoming accessible. From the other side we get great views of the surrounding coastline.

The time comes when I can faff no longer and we head to the port at Roscoff. Though not before one last dustbin diving session.

As these things seem to go I arrive just in time for last boarding. With my wallet €73 lighter I am ushered towards the terminal. A quick goodbye to Richard, these things always seem to be rushed, and I'm aboard.

Fairly uninteresting six hours. I'm a little dumbfounded to be surrounded by people speaking in a language I can understand.

Terra firma. England. Home.

I follow several other cyclists off the ferry. We split of fairly quickly. The smell of fish and chips hits me like a freight train and stays with me to the outskirts of Plymouth. I bet that would make good riding food. I take a minute to adjust to riding on the left hand side of the road again. I'm also struck by the number of "young-uns" hanging out - not something I've seen for a long time. Many folks return my smiles and nods. I even get cheered up one particularly steep hill. No sooner am I off the ferry than I'm getting on another one at Torpoint - a short estuary crossing. The staff are very friendly and we quickly get chatting. A guy called Frank Holden (father to Amanda - no joke) leads the way with the questions. "I have to shake the hand of a man that's cycled to Iran and back. Good work". And I have to shake the hand of the farther of Amanda Holden. Equally good work! Frank tips me off about a great camping spot a few miles up the road.

Its almost dark by the time I get there. Up with the tent. Then a moment to reflect on my return to England before sleep. For a long time I have been curious to see if my opinions of my home country will be altered by my post-travel perspective. I guess time will tell - but first impressions are very good.

France - North for England!

2nd May, 52km, Carnac - Plouay


Lazy start. I rearrange the bike. We eat breakfast together. Richard and I leave to explore more old stones.

On the way out of town we stop at Lidl. There is not so much in the way of food but I help myself to a few flowers to “gay-up” the bike.


At midday we point the handlebars north and start turning the pedals. Not our best day. Great stop in Hennebont for an extended and late lunch. The heavens open in the early evening. We ride on through what looks like the beginnings of a mud slide.


The beginnings of a mudslide in Brittany from James Rathbone on Vimeo.



With visibility vastly reduced we duck into a bus stop and wait for the rain to abate. Richard catches on to my “press-ups to keep you warm” routine. The rain doesn't stop but we decide to push on regardless. We barely get up to speed before I spy a generously porched DIY store.


The DIY Store Motel - Brittany from James Rathbone on Vimeo.

3rd May, 118km, Plouay - Carantec


Easy pack up thanks to our lack or camping. On the road very early as we don't plan to be caught snoozing when the store opens - you snooze you loose dudes!

The idea that I could be back in England tomorrow motivates me to push the pedals a little harder than usual. I'm not sure if my arse hurts to the usual degree and I'm blocking it out better – or my saddle is in fact becoming more comfortable.


We find a nice riverside spot for lunch and indulge in all types of luxury bin food. We do not hang around. With distended guts we join the main road North and continue on.

At a local farm I buy a few bottles of famous Brittany cider. We make the effort to find a camping spot worthy of my last night in France. The ride from the trendy town of Morlaix follows an estuary. As it begins to open out towards the sea the land opens up many camping opportunities.