3 March. Off to see The Lizard
I am not superstitious but I never like to see single magpies when I am setting off on a journey. It unsettles me and maybe that is how the 'bad things' works.... when you convince yourself that badness awaits, it probably does. Self fulfilling prophecy. Today is not going well so far. I have forgotten my helmet. I am wearing the wrong glasses and I cannot easily see the Wahoo or indeed where I am going. The bike is making noises; clicks and groans, and the brakes won't settle. I don't feel right today. It is the first long ride since December because of illness and holidays and 'stuff', mainly stuff, and tomorrow I have to have my gall bladder removed and I have just found out that it will be four weeks before I can cycle again. Today is the only day I can do a 50k+ ride in all of March but luckily the wind has dropped to gale force and the sky is a particularly cool blue. Too cool really and I am am not wearing the right clothes. Everything feels wrong.
I am trying to get a rhythm but the lack of cycling is showing and the thighs are hurting and the calves have joined in. Maybe a day at the climbing wall yesterday was a poor decision - shoulders and forearms are sore too.
I have a plan though. Start at Stithians lake and avoid the long drag out of Truro and that gets me a 45 mile route to the Lizard Point and back via the creeks and inlets of the Helford River and estuary. I have been planning this route for a long time but I wish I had looked at it last night and maybe would have been prepared for the amount of up and down. I can't tell you much about the first five miles as I have my head down, fighting the headwind and hills. I have heard cyclists discussing whether headwinds are worse than hills - come to Cornwall and you can have both.
The lane narrows between tall granite walls. I can see a white Range Rover approaching but I will enter the narrow section first so its my right of way. If I was feeling less grumpy I would have stopped but I didn't. And neither did the Range Rover. How could it stay so white on these dirty lanes? And why was it accelerating towards me. I mouth words like 'slow down'. It passes a few inches from my right knee as my left knees brushes the heather growing out of the wall. I am too shocked to stop. I get a glimpse of her face as she passes, determined, straight ahead gaze, hands firmly on the wheel. I had a text from my niece in London saying supermarket shelves are emptying - perhaps this lady has 'corona-panic'. It is highly infectious. She is rushing to get the last tin of beans.
Rolling on, heart still racing, running over what I should have said to the Range Rover driver and for the first time today I can see that the sky is looking good. After days of rain and low grey cloud there is a view. I stop to admire it and get my head together. I am supposed to be enjoying this. It isn't a race. Slow down Crowboy and look at the countryside.
The lanes descend from here, a long downhill to the creekside village of Gweek and I recover my breath. Some sections are steep, broken tarmac and long potholes after the winter rains, thin skeins of gravel ready to catch the unwary and if anyone could be described as unwary, it is me. 'Concentrate' I mutter and I do until another thought enters my head and I daydream again. I used to have this problem driving too. I think it was why I failed my test so often.
Gweek is one of my favourite places. I like the way the small stream valley I have been following suddenly becomes an estuary, lined with boatyards, full of over wintering yachts. The tide is out and all along the river edge, sagging off green and seaweed covered mooring ropes are old wooden yachts, waiting for the tide to return and bring them up and level again. It is best to keep wooden boats in the water all winter or the wood dries out, cracks open and the boat will sink when it is launched in the spring. Some of the boats have been there for years, slowly rotting.
The lane heads uphill now, quite steeply, and I have a dustbin lorry following me up the hill. It makes me cycle faster, too fast. My breath gets shorter and I frantically pull at my zip to get some cooling air on my chest. I cannot stop as the lane is too narrow for the lorry to pass. Eventually there is enough space to get past and with a long blow on the horn it passes me, showering me in a fine spray of road mud and puddles. I have to stop, chest heaving.
Wahoo says go left. I look at the slope with dismay and sure enough it turns out to be 20%. It takes me onto a high lane that follows the estuary, dropping down to cross side creeks and then pulling uphill again. It is wooded and pretty and the views between the trees across the water and the hills beyond are enchanting but I wish it was flatter.
Once on the Lizard I have my wish. The Lizard peninsula is flat topped except where rivers have carved steep ravines down to the small fishing villages. I can see for miles across the gorse and heather moors to the space age bowls of Goonhilly. They are tracking the satellites that are currently tracking me. The contrast is stark between the ancient rocks of the Lizard and the largely medieval farmscape with the high tech dreams Cornwall has of making this the UK space hub. It is flat though and the wind is behind me and again I feel that I can enjoy this ride.
The remaining five miles to Lizard village pass quickly and then I can see a ribbon of sea beyond the fields, with ships passing. The lighthouse is closed today. It offers visitors a chance to blow the foghorn. That must be popular with residents in the village. For a moment here I am the most southerly cyclist in Britain. Apart from anyone on Scilly or the Channel Islands.
An alternative to LEJOG. The most southerly point to the most northerly? I think it's Cape Wrath. Fewer crowds, different roads. No one is here today. I saw a pasty shop in the village and I cycle back there. I am not supposed to have fat whilst waiting for the gall bladder to be removed but I am hungry and the biscuits I have packed will not compete with a proper pasty, warm and fresh.
'It's the most southerly pasty shop in Cornwall', I am told by the lady inside.
'You mean Britain?'. Always the geography teacher.
No' she scoffs, 'there ain't no pasties worth having beyond the Tamar'.
Now back north, but against the wind, on the same roads I breezed along in the opposite direction just a half hour ago. I try to stay on the big ring but my speed drops from 20mph to 14mph. A diversion offers itself from this exposed and straight road and I dive down into the seaside village of Mullion, quiet still until Easter, shops closed, streets empty. It is uphill again after a helter skelter descent to the beach. A quick pause to photograph the waves. Really it is a pause to get ready for the hairpins I can see up the steep hill above. It is as steep as it looks and I stop at the top to get my breathing under control again.
Wahoo takes me away from the main road now and along a broken lane that dips and rises as it follows the coast. My teeth chatter with the vibration from the road. I have to brake cautiously going downhill as I cannot see what is around the bend and the middle of the road has a bank of sand and gravel a foot high, potholes have joined forces and now offer a continuous ditch through the asphalt.. As for the uphill, suffice to say that I have to stop when Wahoo says it is 22%.
Now it is past Culdrose Naval Air Station as I join the main road again. Helicopters doing circuits. I guess new pilots being trained. I would hate to have to land one of those on a moving ship at night. Faster here and a cycle track alongside the road.
Through Helston, trying to get used to traffic and suddenly I am out of Helston and on another country lane, hedge trimmed, granite walls, views across fields to old engine houses and in the distance the shimmering band of sea, Mounts Bay. I am really enjoying this ride now despite aching thighs. The pasty has kicked in and fresh energy takes me along a rising road, nothing too steep, just height gained slowly with no downhills. Up onto the moors of West Penwith, the gorse bursting out into yellow flowers, waving in the wind.
It has been a long time since I did a ride this long and I am more tired than usual. It makes me appreciate how important it is to get those winter miles in regularly, rather than sporadically. Since the 1 Jan I have done only only half the miles I managed in December. And now I have to wait for four weeks to begin the training again. Still spring is here in Cornwall although it is still cold. Maybe no more storms? I will just have to begin again in April. At this point in my musings I see two magpies watching me from the hedge, heads cocked, their unfathomable eyes gazing first from one side and then the other. Two magpies. Thats better.
The end comes quickly and the Stithians lake shines in the weak sunshine as I descend towards it. I lean the bike against the van and watch the clouds. The wind has dropped for the first time in weeks. I can feel optimism bubbling through. Time to head home for that hot shower.
(walking it would have been fine though apparently). The guy lightened up when I admitted I was just being nosy and told me all about the scheduled work.
for that last pass.
