Back in the Saddle Again

Day: 1 (Lands End to Truro)

Average Speed: 8 m/hr (yeesh!)

Distance Today: 11 miles to starting point + 1 mile of looking for starting point + 48 miles main ride + 3.5 miles to campsite = 63.5 miles

Distance Cycled Total: 63.5 miles

Feet climbed today: 3918.4

Difficulty level: Moderately difficult

The famous sign at Lands End, which is hard to take pictures of since there's a guy
who wants money from you for a proper picture. 

They're everywhere.

England! The land where telephone booths are still a thing! The land where if you take two completely unrelated nouns and separate them with an ampersand, you have a pub name! (I call dibs on “The Milk & Crayon.” I think that’s a lovely name.) The land where you need to make reservations for your bicycle if you plan to take it on a train. 

Oops. 

And here I was patting myself on the back for the more-thorough-than-usual planning I’d done ever since I decided to do this trip a week or two ago. 

Turns out there are exactly four “parking spots” for bicycles on most trains… and on the trains going to Lands End (my starting point… and everyone else’s), they fill up quick. I found comfort in another cyclist named Jane, who was also unaware of the reservation policy. Ignorance loves company. We found an open spot next to one other bike and crammed all three together in the tiny bicycle closet, tying them snugly with my cheap lock. It was a beautiful bicycle orgy. We celebrated our masterpiece with a high five, an awkward half-hug, and took our seats. Then the German guy who’d actually reserved the spot boarded.

He was pissed. I’ll call him Fritz. I’m sure that’s not his name, but it should be. He seemed like a Fritz. 

“Vat? Vat iss dis?!” Fritz threw up his hands in exaggerated exasperation. I sat in my train seat and weighed my options: pretend both bikes belonged to Jane, who clearly should’ve made a reservation. Or talk to him myself. I sighed and chose the latter.

“Hey… so, my friend and I didn’t realize we had to reserve a spot for bikes so we managed to-“ I started. 

“I make reservation! This cannot be! Iss not proper!” He gesticulated dramatically, and his eyes darted around, looking for a conductor to serve as judge in the new Fritz v. Quinlan complaint. Surely, there was a precedent in his favor.

St. Michael's Mount in Penzance... a giant castle on an island.

“I totally understand, but perhaps we can…”

“Nein!” Fritz began to tear the beautiful orgy apart. “I mean… I… I bike across zee United States last year! 4,000 miles! 60 days!” He said that with the same tone that one would say “You’re a complete asshole!” Only with those words instead. Strange, right? I played into the humblebrag and congratulated him on his accomplishment. He softened up a little, stored his bike, and left me standing there to figure out the rest on my own. Somehow, I did. 

45 minutes later, it was announced our train was broken, and we had to switch to another. 

Reservations no longer mattered.  Take that, Fritz. 

I arrived in Penzance about five hours later (the lack of singing pirates was immediately conspicuous). After checking in to my hostel, I headed off to do some laundry. I asked a fellow… erm… launderer... if she could recommend a good pub for the evening. 

“The Lamp & Whistle is lovely, or you could try The Coach & Horses. Whatever you do, stay out of One & All next door. It’s where the unsavory types like to go, if you know what I mean.”

The "unsavories" of Penzance: Jerry, Steve, Me, and Kev 

I knew what she meant, so I took her advice and headed to One & All. The unsavories are my type of people. That’s where the night began, and that’s where it pretty much ended. I instantly met Kev and Steve, who made sure my pint was never empty. Turns out Kev toured for seven years on a bicycle with a bongo drum and juggling equipment on his back, making a few quick bucks in one European town square before moving on to the next. Jerry joined in later, and I told them of my plan to start my first day by cycling eleven miles “backwards” to my starting point only to pass through Penzance again on the way to Truro. This made sense to no one. 

Kev had a better solution. “Why not just stay in Penzance again tomorrow then? Do a shot at every pub you pass on the way here from Lands End, and then you’ll be ready for a proper Friday night at One & All!”

Found the entrance!

Probably shoulda taken that advice. Instead, I got my ass kicked on Day 1, courtesy of the hills of Cornwall. 

The route I’m choosing to go starts at the very southern tip of England (Lands End) to the very northern tip of Scotland (John O’Groats). But I’m taking the 1200 mile scenic route suggested by Sustrans rather than the 900 mile “get it done” route.

The Narrow Roads of Mousehole

Sure, I puttered around for a confusing mile or two looking for the secret entrance to my special route while others sped off down the main road, but it was worth it. Indeed my route was scenic today: local flora and quaint well-kept cottages line the lightly travelled pathways, views were breathtaking, and the small towns were mostly devoid of tourists. Traffic was sparse, and the roads were narrow to the point that if a vehicle was coming my way, one of us often needed to back up until there wass an area to safely pull-off. 

This type of surface will slow you down.

But that came with a price: many roads are poorly maintained, and the route frequently turned into footpaths. In 50 miles, I cycled through grass, sand, dirt, mud, gravel, and rocky paths adorned with mountains of horse crap. These are the types of roads where no one cares how steep they are, since they need not accommodate Mack trucks. Every hill that I hit (and I hit a lot), was a wall. 

Initially, I scoffed at my guidebook’s recommended 46 miles for the first day. 46 miles is nothing. But I figured with the diversion of starting the day with an extra 11 miles, 57 miles would be an acceptable goal. In fact I was so confident that I’d be at my destination with a pina colada in hand by 5 PM that I had no problem stopping to help a fellow American teacher from Missouri assemble her bike for 45 minutes or so while at Lands End. 

And I would’ve stayed longer, but Fritz suddenly appeared again. 

“You both cycle for MS charity?” Turns out the Missouri teacher was part of the MS benefit tour. It’s an organized, vehicle supported tour with many participants. I didn’t mention that I selfishly cycle for beer. 

I reminded Fritz that we had already met, but he clearly didn’t recognize me (and clearly didn’t give a shit). He had more important things to discuss. 

“I cycle across America for MS last year! 4,000 miles! Sixty days!”

Yes, Fritz, you told me this yesterday. And I’m still wondering what took you so long. 

Typical scenery throughout the day. 

Ironically, if it weren’t for Fritz, today would’ve taken even longer since I would’ve hung around a bit more. As it was, I didn’t hit the day’s destination town of Truro until 7:30. And when I saw that the campsite I planned on staying at was another 3.5 miles further, I had to stop and let that sink in. 3.5 miles is nothing normally. However, I had a feeling that it would be like the rest of the day’s ride, with a big ass steep horse-shit-coated hill in the way. And I was correct- a nasty 400 foot climb to end the day. 

My tent never looked that great
to begin with.

But I made it. And I was eager to set up my tent with fingers crossed that my cat hadn’t peed on it in the last two years while it sat in the closet. Of course, about a minute in to the setup, a tent pole snapped in half. 

Damn. 

Believe it or not there are some things that duct tape just can’t fix. Tent pole under high tension falls in that category. 

Paul, who is more competent than I, rigs up my tent while
I take pictures.

Luckily Paul, my neighbor for the night, helped me rig it together to get one last use out of it. “Bob’s your uncle!” was his victory shout when we got it to its current (sad) state. It was almost worth it just to hear that phrase spoken so genuinely.

I’m tired. I’m sore. But I’m smiling. And I’m happy. 

And I’m Safe & Sound. 

Great name for a pub. Dibs on that. 

Cheers. 

P.S. 

Apparently, Stephen King has decided to write road signs now.