Cycling the coast of Britain, from Bristol to Padstow by bike
(Erm... mostly)
Post Author Hattie
I remember a few years back my mum returning from a Sunday morning bike ride along Southsea Seafront, glowing with inspiration and enthusiasm having met Nick Hand on the Hayling Ferry as he was making his way round the entire coast of Britain.
What a fantastic sounding journey I thought. Little did I know at that point that several years down the line I’d once again be reminded of Nick Hand’s journey whilst reading ‘One man and His Bike’ by Mike Carter on a beach in Thailand, having just completed a 1,500 mile ride across south-east Asia. Hungry for more Christina and I were inspired to start our next journey a little closer to home.
The first section of our latest adventure the ‘Coast of Britain’ started with us setting off from Bristol and heading South West, along the North coast of Somerset, Devon and Cornwall. Mike Carter’s description of the North Devon Coast proved to be spot on - “These are not really hills in the conventional sense: it's as if a giant has cleaved notches in the cliffs with an axe”.
This section of coast is known to be some of the most spectacular scenery wise, but also the most punishing in terms of hills. Before our departure I somehow handily forgot the tales of torturous hills, instead choosing to dream about the seaside, ice creams, and cream teas. It wouldn’t be long before those hills came round to haunt me....
Cycling Bristol to Holford (Day one)
Day one started well with a mostly flat and sunny ride across the Somerset Levels; it was a perfect quiet before the storm type day, and let on nothing of what was ahead.
Oh. Cows!
Much of our ride followed parts of the National Cycle Network, as we headed back inland to Bridgewater, which was not particularly pleasant at rush hour. It didn’t take us long to get back out into the Somerset countryside for the last 15 mile stretch of the day. We were however slightly delayed by an unfortunate encounter with a herd of 200 cows, who were by no means in a hurry, and I’m sure one of them was looking at me funny. Christina thought I was being paranoid.
The final 5 miles was a very gradual incline. With tired legs, I could feel it dragging slightly and so I was pleased to arrive at the campsite, having got a decent 72 miles on the clock.
Arriving at the site we met mum and dad, who were to be joining us for the first two evenings in the campervan, before meeting us back down in Cornwall, where we would all head down to the Lizard for a few more days of relaxing and recovering.
We got the tent up and then had the most delicious meal which Chef Parke (Dad) had helpfully pre-cooked, complete with homemade Garlic and Rosemary Foccacia. It went down an absolute treat. This was washed down with a small glass of bubbly as a toast to the new van, and the start of the new bike adventure.
That night it was blowing a gale, which meant I didn’t get much sleep at all. As I lay awake in the tent I had a sense of foreboding for the day ahead. The hills were going to start the next day and I had a feeling the wind probably wasn’t going to be behind us.
Cycling Holford to Lynmouth (Day two)
We awoke to grey skies and the wind very much still howling. We’d agreed to meet mum and dad at a campsite around 65 miles away near Barnstaple so we’d be ready to see British Cycling legends Cav and Wiggo set off on stage 7 of the Tour of Britain the following morning.
As we set off the grey rain clouds were blown away for the sunshine to make a welcome return. The first 15 miles went smoothly and we soon found ourselves with the sun shining, but with winds still blowing across the seaside town of Minehead. We stopped for a quick cuppa and toasted teacake, overlooking the beautiful British seaside as our bikes kept the arcade machines and Bob the Builder ride company in the store room.
'Porlock Awaits!'
We uploaded a quick pic’ of our bikes against the beautiful Minehead seaside back drop – only to be reminded we needed to be getting on, when a member from Christina’s cycling club commented ‘Porlock awaits!’.
‘Porlock... where have we heard that name before?’ It rang bells, but we couldn’t place it, we knew it was ahead in today’s ride, and judging from Paul’s enthusiasm for the place (with him being a hill climb racer) we knew we had licence to feel uneasy as the wind propelled dancing rubbish along the pavement, and sand and grit into the eyes of pedestrians too close to the beach.
Back on the bikes it was up and over North Hill which rises prominently above the town, 900 feet from the sea. This was the first big climb of the day, and a taste of things to come. It’s all in the name really, 'mynydd' in Welsh passed into Old English as 'myned', means hill or mountain!
51 National Cycle Network
After I caught up with Christina, and got my breath back we continued along the road searching for National Cycle Network 51. It was pretty exposed and windy now we were up on the moorland, and NCN 51 was nowhere to be found. We got to the view point at the end of the road where we could go no further.
After consulting a walker and his map we decided the best/only option was to take one of the bridleways that seemed to take us in the right direction. We took a chance and picked the one that looked most well used. Half way down sliding around in the mud we had to dismount from the bikes. It would be great fun if you were on a mountain bike, but we weren’t. A passer-by agreed that this was not the kind of path you wanted to be cycling down.
Great! We’d reached the bottom and joined onto a small road which would take us on to Porlock. What’s that at the bottom? A sign .... a cycle network sign..... for NCN 51. We’d actually been on the right path anyway, although I’m not sure how it ever came to be a cycle path?!
A guy who worked for English Nature shared over confusion on it being a cycle path, and also advised us to head for the toll road in the famous Porlock, with its infamous hill.
Porlock Toll Road
Once we reached Porlock, a very pretty seaside village, we avoided the pedal stoppingly steep 1 in 4 hill and opted for the scenic and ‘easy’ route. The toll road wound slowly up Porlock hill, and we took it even slower still. With Christina a good 50ft ahead at any one time, looking like she wasn’t even trying, and stopping for photos of me labouring up the hill, or a breathtaking coast line – slip streaming was certainly not an option as my fewer miles on the saddle were beginning to show.
I was on granny gears for 4.5 miles through the often sheltered forest, pedalling away with tired glimpses down the valley to Porlock Bay as the road switched back on itself.
It was a beautiful climb, and certainly worth the £1.00 toll half way up. For the last quarter of the climb we emerged from the forgiving shelter of the tall trees, and the wind hit us again as we reached the edges of Exmoor, with the sea dropping down 1500ft below us.
As I approached the top, some time after Christina, it was obvious I was flagging. I had grown tired after our draining circles cycled in attempt to find route 51 earlier in the day – coupled with what seemed to be a never ending toll road into the wind – and so Christina agreed to stop taking photos of me, and even tried her hand at pushing me along whilst we cycled.
It was a less than helpful attempt that resulted in me being launched into the brambles at the roadside.
By this point it was clear we were probably not going to make it to the campsite in time. However, lack of signal meant we couldn’t get through to mum and dad to let them know, and given that we completely rely on phones these days we’d naively failed to make a plan B.
Cycling in Italics
We continued along the undulating road, with the blades of the wind turbines swooshing round so fast they looked as if they might fly off. They might have been generating quite considerable amounts of energy but my energy levels were increasingly depleting.
Christina stopped to take a video of the turbines in motion as a testament to the wind, it was like my Christmases had come at once. The respite was not unwelcome. I strung it out best I could, until we set off again, stopping a couple of undulating miles later at the most spectacular roadside view at the peak of the cliff of Countisbury Hill.
Coach parties pointed in awe at the feral looking, wind battered young girls on bikes, looking exhausted, shovelling remnants of tracker bars into their gullets at the top of the cliff road side.
However we were going fast enough to miss the ‘Cyclists Dismount’ sign as the descent hit 25%.
Having plunged down into Lynmouth the thought of getting back up the other side was filling me with dread, and we were running out of time to make it to the campsite. In fact by this point it was pretty clear that I couldn’t/wouldn’t be able to make it to the campsite. The hills of North Devon’s coast had defeated me. There was only one thing for it – cake! We filled up on hot chocolate and delicious homemade cake.
Escape Plan
Phone batteries were fading, and now being surrounded by steep cliffs rising around us (seemingly growing in height by the second with the pressure of the falling sun) there was no chance of getting any signal. We’d have to find a payphone to try and make contact with mum and dad. We had managed to leave them a text message earlier in the day but since then hadn’t been in contact.
I think I had pretty successfully convinced Christina it wouldn’t be ‘failing’ or ‘giving up’ to get a rescue lift to the campsite, or failing that set up camp here... but all that was in vain if I couldn’t get hold of Mum and Dad, as they were expecting us 20 miles down (or more likely – up and down, up and down, up and down...) the road.
We wondered out of the cafe deep in thought of how we were going to move forward... and then, as if by magic, and almost in slow motion, there was a ‘beep beep!’ as the van pulled up into the car park to rescue us.
Hurray!!! My face lit up with delight. (Christina’s with an ounce of suspicion, but mostly relief for her shell of a girlfriend – desperate for a good meal, shower and bed).
If they’d passed two minutes before we would have been stuffing our faces with cake. It was impeccable timing. We got into the van, I warmed up whilst Dad and Christina got the bikes on the rack and we all drove up and over many more hills to the campsite. I must say given the noises the van was making struggling up the hills, I was glad to be sat down and eating chocolate biscuits in the back rather than panting up the hills.
Christina spent the journey scheming on how she was going to get me back here next spring to complete this section of our trip.
The campsite was great. Really family friendly, busy and great facilities. We were fed with more delicious ‘Poppin special’ courtesy of Chef Parke, and an early night was had by all. Suffice to say, I slept like a baby.
Cycling Braunton to Bude and the Tour of Britain in Barnstable (Day Three)
After a good night’s sleep with the sun shining, the wind had died down and it was Stage 7 of the Tour of Britain, things were looking a little brighter.We set off for the few miles along the blissfully flat Tarka trail to Barnstaple. We arrived in plenty of time to eye up the bikes, take in the crowds and get a good spot on the bridge to watch the riders set off for the day.
Tarka Trail and Atlantic Highway
After being shown how it’s done, it was time for us to continue with our own personal Tour of Britain(s coast). Today there would be no rescue vehicle! The first 15 miles continued along the Tarka Trail towards Bideford, which follows the old railway path meaning it’s lovely and flat!
From there we continued west towards Hartland, before running out of land and heading south. We spent much of the day weaving on and off the A39. It wasn’t the quietest of roads, but also really wasn’t too bad for an A road and we were never too far from the coast, with views out over the widening Bristol Channel dipping in and out of view. The channel had been getting more and more wild looking as we headed South West, and seeing Lundy, the 3 mile long Island lying boldly yet peacefully in the channel like some kind of sleeping dragon, told us that we were now entering new territory. We’d no longer be accompanied by the Bristol Channel, which all sounds a little close to home, but we would now be tracing the coastline of the Atlantic Ocean, which sounds far more dramatic!
Realising that the previous day we probably hadn’t eaten enough to fuel us up those hills (a little bit of training on my part probably wouldn’t have gone a miss either!) we stopped for an enormous pub lunch. So enormous however we were not sure if it was a help or a hindrance when attacking our first hill. It was worth it though. Although I won’t say we didn’t get some funny looks in the very ‘local’ seeming, remote hill top and log fire warmed, quiet country pub.
Welcome to Kernow!
Soon after, we crossed the border into Cornwall. It’s strange how crossing a border really is just another mile but can seem so significant on a bike ride. ‘Welcome to Kernow!’
We continued along the Atlantic Highway heading South towards Bude for the rest of the afternoon. There was an absolutely fantastic descent that seemed to go on forever to get into Bude’s village centre. It was great fun and a good end to the days cycling. We pitched up the little tent and reflected on our day of cycling.
There were to be no home cooked delights from my parents this evening, as they had other plans, so we set off in search of food in the village. The pub was rammed but we found a small corner to squeeze ourselves in and enjoyed the second pub meal of the day. It was not a disappointment, and was an excellent map checking opportunity.
It was at this point I came clean about the fact that I had not entirely gotten around to mapping out the last day of cycling, as such. But on the plus side I had a good idea of a few options from looking at the map.
I think the hearty meal helped soften the blow as we tried to work out the mileage of the wiggly roads by eye, which seemed somewhat ridiculous when we had a £300 gps cycle unit to hand (that ironically seemed to be of even less help than the paper map, without a computer to plot the route).
Final day on the bikes cycling Bude to Padstow (Day Four)
The next day Dad and the van weren’t on hand to whip up some eggs for breakfast, and it was a Sunday morning meaning it was likely few places were going to be open along our route, if any, for breakfast. So in the absence of choice we raided the campsite shop and emptied the contents of three mini cereal boxes into a saucepan and wolfed them down. Snap crackle and pop. I then had two more. Christina ate half a pack of maryland cookies with her peppermint tea, that she was intent on making, to make use of the camping stove she was very insistent on bringing (something about resistance training), and then we set off. Hungry work this cycling malarkey.
I think this was perhaps my favourite day of our first leg of round the coast, with the trauma of our second day (and the head wind from hell) seeming not quite so raw. The sun was shining yet again, which was mostly unheard of this summer. I think I had also just about warmed up, and was getting into the hills. This meant that instead of panting my way up the hills, grimacing and staring at my front wheel and the few inches of tarmac in front of me, in fear for looking any further and seeing how long the hill would go on for, I could actually look around a bit and see the incredible coastline we were cycling around. Note to self: do some training next time so that every day is like this!!!
The fresh morning sea air woke us up a treat as we rolled down into the sweeping Widemouth Bay. We were once again reminded that the coast is a rather windy place.
30% Climbs (get off and push)
We continued along Marine Drive, which wound its way up the other side of Widemouth Bay. Before long we hit a 30% climb (and possibly one of the steepest climbs of the entire coast). I got a little way up, but then could no longer turn the pedals so had to get off and push. Even Christina had to get off a little further up so it must have been steep. I’m not sure whether pushing up was any easier, but at least we were making some slow progress. I think my pedals would have stopped and I would have toppled over if I’d tried to continue on the bike.
The day continued with the steep and winding roads taking us from the tops of the cliffs, and then plunging down to sea level, before crawling up the other side again. I’ve always loved Cornwall, having been visiting a few times a year since I was about 5, and somehow even though these hills were ridiculously punishing I had a strange affinity for them. This was probably just the lack of oxygen to the brain sending me a bit doolally.
The descent down in to Boscastle was fantastic, although the winding nature didn’t really allow us to get up any speed. And the whole time I did of course wonder how I was going to get up the other side. It must have been the lucozade and banana break at the bottom which made it actually a lot easier than I thought it was going to be.
Pasty Please
We continued on and could see Tintagel castle on the headland in the distance. A Cornish pasty stop at Tintagel filled us up, ready for more ridiculously steep hills, all of which were cycled and not pushed.
For much of the afternoon we had some additional company on the road whenever we stopped. Bees! Christina was wearing her bright yellow Hampshire Road Club jersey which they seemed to be very attracted to. The afternoon’s cycle was a delight, cycling quiet roads, in and out of small villages, which were sounding more and more Cornish, every one of them seeming to start with ‘Tre’.
We once again came down to sea level to find the small passenger ferry at Rock. We got there just in time for the crossing, and they squeezed us and the bikes on the boat for the 10 minute journey across to Padstow.
It was here that we finished the first leg of our Coast of Britain adventure. There was a real summer holiday feel in the air, and we were looking forward to a few more days to eat ice cream and pasties whilst relaxing on the Lizard.
Here’s what I’ve learnt from this first section of our coastal tour;- Listen to people when they warn you it’s going to be hilly
- Do a bit of training so those hills don’t defeat me and I can enjoy the view on the way up
- Eat more pasties and cream teas
- But most importantly ... We have an incredible coastline on this beautiful and quirky little island and we can’t wait to see more of it!
We’ll be back to tackle Lynmouth to Braunton in the Spring! After that it will be plain sailing. Best thing about starting with the most challenging section of coast: it can only get easier!
Note from Christina:
Hattie. FYI, it won’t get easier for another couple of hundred miles... just so you know... (and then of course don’t forget Scotland)!
Luckily I can introduce you to my new turbo trainer when it arrives later this week and you should be ready for Lynmouth by Easter no problem : )
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