Cycling the End to End: Cornwall, Devon and Somerset, England

Bicycle touring: Cornwall, Devon, Somerset

May, 2014

The Cruel Cornish Hills

We were not counting on the punishing hills. We should have been more realistic. Our only previous bike tour had been on a rails to trails outing of five or six days where doing thirty to forty miles in a day was not a problem, even for us at 70. Okay, we thought, it will take a little longer. But we can manage. Wrong. Our bikes were more heavily laden, we're now 73, and we think we were lacking a lower gear or two that "real" touring/road bikes have (ours were a compromise purchase of commuting bikes at a reasonable price with elevated handlebars which is much more comfortable for us than the bent over road bike style). Consequently, we couldn't even peddle to the top of many of Cornwall's steep back roads. We'd have to get off and push the last bits. By the time we'd reach our day's destination, we'd be really done in. Then we'd have to get up and do it all again the next day. After only three days, we took a day off. That was in Mortenhampstead. We'd made it all the way through Cornwall, Devon and across Dartmoor. But we were wiped out. Our host in a B and B there (Cookshayes Country Guest House), Barry, was terrific. Sympathetic, supportive, caring. He did our laundry, we enjoyed his fabulous breakfasts, and hiked the moor--that was dumb. We should have just slept. Anyway, there were lovely moments we could reflect about. The gorgeous stone houses and churches, many draped in blooming clematis, just like in the pictures of English cottages. The brilliantly colored rhododendrons blooming in multiple front gardens, just like as though it were nothing special. Lovely tea breaks in cute shops. Gorgeous, hilly fields newly spread with, yikes, smelly manure. Well, that wasn't so nice, actually. Tall hedges/stone walls lining one-lane roads with few cars, and when there was a car, they were so careful of us. BUT, the downsides were heavier. While the UK is working on making more cycle trails, and traffic free routes, at this moment it is still not easy to go long distances without hitting A or B roads for some miles most days. The B roads aren't so bad, but the A roads can be awful. There's no tradition of shoulders on roads in the UK, probably because of rock walls. Ancient stone walls line most of the roads, and to move them and make shoulders would probably raise a howl of protest. So paved roads are two cars wide, in most cases, and that's it. So picture riding along on the edge of your lane, with lots of traffic, including trucks and buses. Cars line up behind you, or else pass inches from your terrified body. It's not fun. Most drivers are courteous and careful, waiting to pass when it's clear. But not all. My neon yellow rain/wind jacket probably saved our lives a time or two. It was eye catching, even on dark days. There are modern roads with shoulders, the M roads, but they are off limits to cyclists, as they should be.

We pursued, on to Bristol from the moor. But on the way, the second day from Bristol, I took a spill. Geo had warned me about trying to cross even a low curb on our rather slick roadie tires. Sure enough, I was trying to leave heavy traffic to do a route check (we had to constantly pay attention to our written directions) and there was just a one inch edge. I didn't have enough of an angle to cross it. My front wheel just hit it and stopped, and the bike keeled over sideways, kaboom. My head hit the ground hard--I was so grateful right away for my helmet. And my whole left side. Wham. Geo pulled me up, and I really thought I was okay. I knew it was as hard a fall as I'd ever experienced, but nothing was broken. Only a scrape on the left side of my knee. It took a couple of days for the bruised ribs to let me know how affected they were. We cycled on to Wells, looked at the cathedral, then Bristol. The next morning I was beginning to feel worse. We decided to stay another night. But that afternoon, we concluded we'd best abort the ride. We were just not making enough progress to get to Scotland in the time we'd allotted, even were I not injured. So we planned to ride 50 miles further on, where we could get a good train connection to Glasgow, in Hereford. Meanwhile I started taking ibuprofen, after reading that pain control was the most important treatment for bruised ribs. But getting out of Bristol proved to be an awful morning. First we crossed the Avon on the wrong bridge, adding ten miles to our ride to Monmouth. Then we had miles of A road with terrible traffic. Stressful. Finally we got into Wales and gorgeous peddling (Tinturn Abbey!) though still hard. By the time we reached Monmouth at 3:00 or so, I was a wreck. I showered and fell into bed, sleeping an hour. 

The most painful time was at night, Moving around in bed was so difficult. More pain meds. I was sorry to have to go another 20 miles the next day, but it was a beautiful, warm, sunny day (we'd had a week of spotty rain, clouds, chilly temps), and no really steep hills, though hills there were. We had booked in to the airbnb home of Kathleen B., a welcoming, generous host who took really good care of us, which helped a lot. The next morning we caught the train, and in 5 hours with only one change we were in Glasgow.

At first we thought I could rest a couple of days and we'd pick up the cycling again. But impediments loomed. The weather was Scottish: cold and wet. The hill profiles and distances were challenging. My injuries were not just healing overnight. So we rented a car. The next phase has become a road trip, with a tiny Fiat. That blog to follow. Meanwhile, I'll tack on some photos, though I did not get many of the early days of cycling.

Photos: Top, George near Mortenhampstead.    A misty morning in Cornwall.  Middle, a nice B and B north of Exeter.  Below, the start at Lands End, and Barry's super "full English breakfast"--enough to cycle on all day.

A Repositioning Cruise across the Atlantic

Words from a Winch Wench

April 26, 2014 on board Adventure of the Seas

We know we are in a remote part of the Atlantic Ocean when our room TV tells us there is no satellite signal and thus no TV, and no news.  No more reminders of the lost 10th graders from South Korea.  No more worries about Russia, Ukraine, and what to do.  What we can see is the view off the bow from a live mini-cam, or the information about our position, speed (17 knots) and distance traveled so far: 1700 nautical miles or so.  Or pay per view movies and such.  Not that we mind our lack of television.  There is much to do on board, as our cruise director constantly reminds us--on the intercom and at various venues.  This morning I can choose among a belly dance class, ice skating, working out in the gym, or water aerobics in the pool--not to mention doing the daily sudoku or reading my library book.  And those are just the things that interest me.  There are also trivia groups, bingo, napkin folding, Spanish language, and a seminar on sparkling wines.  Later, this afternoon, a group of women meets for our second rehearsal for a flashmob dance routine to "Killer."  I'm doing that too, if I can manage to learn the steps.  Life on a cruise ship has not been about shuffleboard and deck chairs for a long time.

Cruising is a difficult travel subject to discuss.  I am sitting on our tiny balcony looking at large swells coming at us in a sea that is the deepest and most glorious shade of blue I have ever seen.  Having this experience is to be treasured and savored, in my opinion, because we are traveling upon a part of our planet that makes up most of our surface, yet how few of us get to spend any time getting to know it with any intimacy?  Travel of any sort if to be valued, and sea travel is of enormous value to one's perspective on our earthly home.  Yet, there are all the negatives.  Cruise ships use huge amounts of fuel to move passengers for no very good reason from continent to continent--in this case North America to Europe--or simply port to port.  Our chief engineer talks about thousands of kilograms of fuel.  In answer to a question about gas mileage, he says we get about 1.5 feet per gallon!  Not that we use gasoline--rather a crude oil called "cabbage."  I'm sure that's what he said.

And, it's all just old people overeating.  Well, it's true that 65% of the 2800 or so folks on board are over 55, and in fact, 300 of them are over 75.  And it's hard not to overeat, what with the spread put before us three times a day.   But there are a few younger folks too.  We met some Canadians in their 50s, we guessed, whose motto is "Eat dessert first."  Take that cruise while you are alive and kicking.  Don't wait until you maybe can't manage it for one reason or another.   Like Mary Poppins urges, let's go fly a kite.  We got to see Saving Mr. Banks in the ship's theater, followed by an outdoor screening of Mary Poppins, which I had never seen, and which BEGAN at 10:30 at night, and lasted well over two hours.  I was pretty worn down by that evening.

Cruising can be affordable, but it requires a certain amount of dedication.  We suspect the staterooms are priced very reasonably because the company is convinced that once aboard you will indulge in the many sometimes pricey offerings available.  A glass of wine is $8.  Off ship tours are $30 to $200 a person.  Buy diamonds.  Designer clothes.  French wines.  Or gamble in the casino, pay for spa treatments, visit the fitness specialists for individual programs.  There's not much you can't buy.  Frugality is a challenge, but it can be done.  Though we did buy a $100 each excursion.  That's when I got to be a winch wench.  We were visiting the island of San Martin in the Caribbean, port of Phillipsburg.  On offer was a sail aboard an Americas' Cup racing boat.  Three of them actually, which would be racing, with cruise ship passengers as crew.  Stars and Stripes, which was America's entry in 1987 and won, I think; Canada II, and Northwind, also Canadian.  To me it seemed like an experience I was never likely to be able to have unless I did it now, so I talked George into it, and he was game, given that his seasick pills seemed to be working just fine.  We were assigned tasks, based on our willingness to be "active."  I was nervous about this, of course, but I was glad I spoke up for active, because one of the women who declined to be active was given the job of watching for icebergs.  How demeaning is that?  Another was the bar tender, which basically meant making sure people had enough water.  I and another woman became winch wenches.  Well, that's a little demeaning too, but the job was challenging.  In the stern, we sat with a rope wrapped about a post (I'm sure it's called something nautical), and it had elaborate hardware and we had to do winding and unwinding in a specific way whenever the captain barked orders at us.  It was so unnerving we had a hard time paying much attention to the boat's progress in the race.  (Hence I'm not even sure who won, but it wasn't us.)  There was the command to "ease," meaning let out some rope, but in a certain sequence we were to ease until he told us to stop.  Let out a LOT of rope, in other words.  I hope it wasn't because my companion wench and I were a little slow to ease that our boat came in third, but it wasn't about winning, anyway, in my opinion.  It was a beautiful, sunny, breezy hour on the water, and I would have loved a whole day of it.  George was a mainsail grinder, and he and another man worked a winding device that let the mainsail in or out as we tacked.  Our captain was cool, even with such a novice crew.  He was on his fourth sail race of the day with these land lubbers.

Last night we were up late again.  This time it was a 50s and 60s rock and roll party--held on a dance floor of wood covering the ice of the skating rink.  Yesterday's ice show was remarkable.  There were young professional skaters from Russian, Canada, the US and Ukraine.  We had rink side seats, which was neat.  No charge.

May 2--day 13 of the cruise

We've covered 3800 nautical miles--slightly longer than land miles--and have moved our clocks and watches ahead five times in seven days.  It is a bit difficult.  Each morning there are fewer people at breakfast early.  I'm only guessing because we are not there either.  The lunch crowd at 3pm is huge.  Our bodies are struggling to catch up.  Still, it is better than doing it all at once, as is required when you fly.  We'll arrive in England adjusted to English time.  The seas have been amazingly calm.  We've had no rough weather at all.  We've lost our Caribbean temperatures, of course.  It was still fairly balmy in the Azores, our last stop, but now, two days north from there, it is in the 50s outside.  Europe in spring.  Also gloomily cloudy.  Today the regulars usually sunning themselves at the pools are all tucked in the library and other indoor spots with their books.  Only the hot tubs are popular.  And lots of people are remembering the gym is there.

The Azores are a Portuguese autonomous region of nine islands (900 miles from Portugal), but most of the population is probably on San Miguel with a tidy and historic port at the small city of Ponta Delgado.  There is an area of old homes and shops on narrow cobbled streets--the buildings hung with wrought iron balconies, tile touches, cut lava stone trim and pastel colored stucco.  One was being restored, and you could see the primitive building material of the original walls: mud, volcanic rocks, pebbles.  Many are for sale and would require loving restoration.  But it seems to be happening.  With our friends we hired a taxi to take us to see one of the sites--a view down into an extinct (they must hope) volcano with two large connected lakes and a town in the tree lined caldera, and then a walk in the crater among the inhabitants, who didn't seem nervous.  The last eruption was 1440.  The island is teeming with cows, and our taxi driver explained that the island exports milk to Portugal.  Azorean milk, he said, is the best.  He claimed the cows were stress free, but I think they also get a lot to eat.  There is no grass like this west of Vermont.  There were dozens of cows per five acre pasture.  It must grow faster than they can eat it.

Sigrid and I walked to the presidential palace and grounds up on a hill in town.  We bought senior tickets for one Euro each and walked all around the building looking at the gardens.  Apparently they don't worry about terrorists here.  The climate is mild enough for towering Norfolk Island Pines.  And we saw a hibiscus TREE that was ten feet tall in a park nearby.  They grow pineapples to export, as well as tobacco and tea.  Until 1981 Sperm Whales were harvested.  We estimated that gasoline cost $16 a gallon.  Happily the island is only 60 kilometers long and varies between 8 and 15 wide.

George and I ride the stationary bicycles in the gym every day.  We know we have to if we expect to ride any distance at all on the End to End route in the UK.  We're even worried about making the 40 miles we're committed to on our first riding day, as we've booked a B and B in a town 40 miles north of Penzance.  It's hilly, and we've only toured once with luggage--four full panniers each--and that was on a rails to trails route in Missouri.  Basically flat.  Then we look worriedly at the forecasts on the TV--which is up and running again.  Most of Europe is in the midst of cold, stormy weather.  And we've no doubt added to our challenge by gaining weight on the ship.  

A few words about Mercedes Lafuente.  She's our cruise director, from Argentina, and a hard working woman.  She's in charge of the ship's entertainment, which goes on most of the day and night.  She's good humored, lively, six feet tall, attractive and formidable.  We all got a little tired of her telling us to "put our hands together" to welcome this or that magician or ventriloquist or the ship's terrific orchestra, and reminding us of all the wonderful things there are to do each day--she appears at as many as she can manage, and conducts a good number of events from bingo to evening parties.   But I think Royal Caribbean must treasure her, for she is hugely energetic, enthusiastic and successful.  She had half the 1300 British cruisers out one night for a sing along sort of event in the promenade--a kind of Main Street in the middle of the ship--and they were a happy bunch, singing along with a tape of 30 or 40 years of popular tunes--about half of which were also sung in the US. One day she gave a lecture on Evita Peron.  This is a multifaceted woman.

On May 4 we docked at Southampton at about 5 in the morning.  It has been the calmest of crossings.  We've had no rough weather, and just a day or two when the water sloshed around in the pools much at all.  We hardly noticed we were at sea unless we got out on the decks and felt the wind.  George and I and our friends Sigrid and John got off the ship about 8 in the morning and took a bus to the train station.  They were off to Manchester and Ireland, and we went south to Penzance--taking three different trains to do it.  English trains seem to be as punctual as those in Switzerland.  We had four minutes to make one connection and it went off without a hitch.  Today is the 5th; we are in cloudy Cornwall, ready to collect our bikes and begin the next phase of our journey.

The photos are a shot off our balcony on the exceptionally blue water day, and a view of the front of a sister ship much like Adventure of the Seas, parked next to us in San Juan, PR.