Bimbles 2016, Up and Running.

My first post of 2016, and it's a couple of days late, as this is all about what happened last Sunday. Oh well, better late than never as they say on the railways these days.

Late last week, Craig, my next door neighbour and general banter dispenser, rang asking if I fancied a bike ride. He had been looking at the weather forecast and found a window around mid morning on Sunday, that was showing only showers rather than the continuous horizontal lashings of late. Admiring his optimism, but not holding my breath, I agreed to the idea and the date was set for the first ride of 2016.

Saturday night was a bit of a sleepless one for the usual reason – a brain that won't switch off from fretting about stuff. So being awake half the night also made me aware of what was going on outside – weather was what was going on, and lots of it. Lots of rain being thrashed against the windows by lots of feisty gusts of wind. The bike ride was looking dodgy to say the least.

But, come the daylight, there were more sunny spells than rainy ones, but I still donned my wet weather over trousers before setting off. If I'd had a life jacket and Canoe handy I'd have taken that too, so convinced was I of the likelihood of ship wreck or at least a thorough soaking at some point in the proceedings. 

Thankfully, on assembling alongside Craig's van at the appointed hour, I saw he had elected to take his old Giant hybrid, a bike I owned for a while and christened 'Lump' because that's exactly what it is. Craig now owns it again and has had it resprayed satin black, and also added riser bars and a Brooks sit upon. It's still a brutal looking bike though. 

I say thankfully because I was expecting him to take his Bosch powered, electrically assisted mountain bike again, and I can't keep up with him when he's on the rinse and spin setting.

Lump looking evil wicked mean and moody in the car park at Wenfordbridge.

The starting point for the ride was to be Wenfordbridge – terminus of the Camel Trail and old railway line that runs all the way from Padstow (of Rick Stein fame) through Wadebridge (not famous at all) and Bodmin (of St Lawrences hospital fame, locally at least). But, as it turned out, we weren't going to be heading along the trail this particular Sunday, Craig fancied getting onto the nearby Bodmin Moor, so we'd be riding on the roads rather than trails, but that was fine by me.

The inscription around the frame bangs on about how the babble of the River Camel can be heard now the clatter of trains has gone. This was Wenfordbridge, a branch line in the middle of nowhere, not Clapham Junction! On this ride though we weren't following the route on the map, we were going up and off the top of it.

Setting off, a theme for the outward stretch of the ride soon became obvious – hills. Upward ones. Nothing silly steep, just long hills to grind up. Still, something to look forward to on the return trip we agreed.

Leaving Wenfordbridge and...

Straight onto the first climb of many on this ride.

One of the hazards of rural lanes, a country dumpling. Looks like the horse concerned had a good breakfast, which was more than I had.

A quick stop was made in the village of St Breward where the local shop (for local people) was open and Craig stocked up on energy drinks and Snickers bars. Despite all the Christmas decorations around the village, it still seemed a bleak place to live in the weak winter sunshine. You need to be a hardy soul with your hat tied to your head to live in some of the places we were to pass that day for sure. 

The commercial centre of St Breward.

On the wall beside the village shop. A very good idea indeed too.

Heavy looking skies... it's bound to rain, surely.

It may not have been raining at the time, but water was everywhere on and around the lanes. If it wasn't running down or across the roads, it was sitting in mini pop up lakes in the fields and everything was sodden and saturated. Even the sunlight was watery. Pulling up at the kerb on this ride soon became 'coming alongside' with pulling onto the verge 'running aground'.

 Typical conditions for a lot of the ride - narrow and twisting lanes, wet roads, cloudy skies with weak sunshine breaking through.

Also typical was the amount of water encountered, thanks to all the heavy rain of late.

The lanes twisted and turned, and dipped and climbed up onto Bodmin Moor which despite being a pretty windswept and bleak place, seemed to be teeming with folk out for a Sunday drive or walking off their Christmas calories. It was hard to get into a riding rhythm at times as we had to keep pulling over to allow cars to pass, the roads being too narrow to just trust to fine judgement and wing mirror avoidance.

A quick stop on the moor.

A pair of giants on Bodmin Moor.

We eventually came to a crossroads with Camelford sign posted to the left and Davidstow straight ahead. As they're a funny lot in Camelford and likely to want to eat us for dinner or something, we opted to head straight over and onto the exposed hill top road past Crowdy Reservoir and on towards Davidstow.

Davidstow featured an RAF base from 1942 until 1954, and following its decommissioning, even staged some Formula One motor racing, but parts of the old airfield are still in use today for light aircraft and microlight hedge hoppers. The road took us along what would've been an old runway or taxi way up to a junction, and there we decided we'd come far enough, and it would be prudent to turn back due to the time and me not having any lights on the bike.

 This is actually a ford, and I usually love bombing through fords like some big kid, but not this one, not on this day anyway. It was running fast and deep, and those fat wheels might be at a disadvantage for slicing through running water. So I bottled it and took the bridge.

We were following part of National Cycle Network's route 3, which is also part of the Velowest routing too (a link up with routes in Europe).

So after a quick snack for Craig, we turned to head back the way we'd come, straight into the wind. By crikey that was eye watering, snot blowing, head buffeting, ear billowingly hard work. Trying to speak was hard enough, actually hearing what the other had said impossible as the wind was like sticking your head in a jet engine... maybe. Perhaps.

All the effort of trying to make headway into the wind also saw me raising quite a sweat inside my many layers of water proofing but I wasn't going to stop and start disrobing – guaranteed to make it rain that would be.

The noise of the wind also made keeping an eye out for cars coming up behind more important, as on the way out we'd hear them well before they got close. Now we quickly discovered we couldn't hear traffic behind at all, even when it was up our chuff. At one point, finding some Sunday driver behind us, we both nipped onto the sodden and bepuddled grass verge to allow the car past. On rejoining tarmac Craig (who had been behind me) told me that I'd just floated over the grass, while he'd nearly gone over the bars as his wheels dug straight in. I love the Fat Bike!

We did swap bikes at one point too. Lump was just as I remembered, long and tall, like riding a five bar gate, and with hairy scary brakes too. The brake blocks were well worn down, and the brake cables in need of adjustment too, so after the hydraulics of the Fatty, the wet, tired and emotional V-Brakes on Lump proved a little bowel loosening at first. I could only just reach the pedals at their six o'clock position too, so getting power down was rather hard. Getting back on Fatty again was like coming home to a comfy chair, a roaring fire and a steaming cup of coffee. Comfortable and reassuring. As for Craig, I think he needs more time with Fatty, preferably off road, as I don't think he was won over, but they are a Marmite bike for sure.

What goes up must come down, and despite the buffety headwind, we enjoyed the long bits of downhill on the return trip. Mind you, given the woeful brakes on Lump, I'm not entirely sure Craig always meant to be going as fast as he was. He did stop and adjust them but it made little difference.

Getting near to Wenfordbridge again, we encountered the only rain of the ride, a brief, and light sprinkle of a shower, that was over in about 30 seconds. Despite all the turbulence, we had been really lucky with the weather on this trip, amazingly so really.

Before going back to the van we stopped on the bridge over the River Camel at Wenfordbridge to look at the swollen river below, and once again were bemused at how much traffic was out and about. Crossing the road here was more difficult than crossing Westminster Bridge in rush hour, or so it seemed.

The bridge that gives Wenfordbridge its name, in a rare moment of no traffic. Plenty of water though. 

The River Camel at Wenfordbridge running fast.

So that was the first ride of 2016, and a great one it was too. I didn't take as many photos as normal, as with company I can't stop as often and dick about setting photos up, but some of the scenery was pretty special, in a rugged and bleak, lots of sheep and moorland kind of way. The bikes stayed pretty clean too, the roads being remarkably clear of all the mud and farm slurry we get on the lanes around home. There was also a distinct lack of wildlife to be seen too. A quick spin around my local lanes always leads to at least a couple of encounters with Pheasants or Squirrels, even Hawks or Buzzards or whatever they are (I can never tell). This trip we just saw lots of Sheep, Horses and cagoule wearing walkers, and no sign of the legendary Beast of Bodmin Moor either (though other folk might've thought they heard its mournful and chilling howl at times, but it was just us grinding and groaning up another hill or into that wind).

We'd ridden a whisker short of twenty miles, at an average of seven mph, and both enjoyed it immensely, although Craig has since reported being absolutely knackered once he'd got home.

One last thing – I tend to switch the GoPro on and off on a ride, as and when I encounter picturesque bits or whatever, and it is set to take a shot every 1.5 seconds. Well I forgot to switch it off on the way back, and had 804 photos to download. They took some looking through to sort out I can tell you, I relived every hundred yards sorting the good from the dull and disastrous.

Again, not a detailed map but I'm working on it. 10 miles each way was the journey, and we went out and back via the same roads.

Anyway, ride number one of 2016 is in the bag!