Marking Time

Day: 5 (Barnstaple to Dulverton)

Average Speed: 8 mph

Distance Today: 39.5 miles

Distance Cycled Total: 243.9 miles 

Feet climbed: 2942.9 today, 14,863 total

Difficulty level: Challenging beginning- smooth ending

Downtown Barnstaple

Had I not accidentally left my helmet in the Barnstaple cycle shop, I never would’ve met Mark Cole. 

I had gone back to get it after leaving it on the counter during my purchase of a granola bar.  While I was there, I casually asked if anyone knew where to find the entrance to Cycle Route 3. I could’ve found it myself within five minutes or so, but I figured I could shave off a few seconds by initially heading in the correct direction. 

Mark, a regular customer at the shop, conferred with the staff. 

“That’s down Bear Road a bit, isn’t it?” he said. “I’m heading that way. Why don’t you follow me?”

I hesitated for a moment. Mark had all the markings of a serious cyclist. Trim. Fit. Tough skin. Snazzy outfit. Well-defined calves. And (no joke) a green saddle. 

Mark Cole

He also had exactly two items in the back pockets of his cycling jersey: A banana and an air pump. When you see cyclists carrying a banana and an air pump in their jersey pockets, you know they’re the real deal. In contrast, mine are full of granola bar wrappers, old receipts, some American change, and a few stray Gummi Bears. 

I warned him I’d be a bit slow, gesturing not to my beer gut, but rather to the luggage on the back of my bike. He paid no mind. 

It didn’t much matter anyway. He was only going to show me where the entrance was to my route. It couldn’t be more than a block or two away, right?

What followed was a nearly 20 mile test of endurance. 

I started losing sight of Mark during the mild climb up Bear Road, and I’d pretty much

Chasing Mark

assumed he’d forgotten I was following. At the time, I was thankful for that. There was no way I was going to keep up with this guy, and I didn’t want to hold him back. We were in two very different leagues, and he knew it.

However, Mark was waiting at the top of the hill, with a warm and patient smile as I slugged my way up the last couple hundred feet. 

He started to give me directions so I could continue on my own, referencing my guidebook and explaining alternative better routes. I nodded with half-understanding, which he seemed to sense. 

“Right then, follow me,” he said, and took off. 

I called out the warning again that I’d be holding him back. 

“Take your time. No worries. I had a big ride on Sunday and could use something relaxing.” In no way did this come across as condescending or sarcastic. He is a genuinely congenial person. 

Just yesterday, I mentioned how much I dislike having a cycle partner. This, however, was different. Mark turned into my tour guide… and my personal trainer, taking me just out of my comfort zone. I pushed through all the spots where I normally would've stopped for a breather so as to embarrass myself as little as possible.

When the road flattened out, we talked about things mostly unrelated to cycling. Mark is a recently retired primary school teacher. He’s not a big fan of the current trends in English and American politics. He belongs to a cycling group called the Hell-Cat Mud Wrestlers, which is as intimidating as it sounds. 

He could not have been more patient or amicable as I huffed and puffed up climb after climb. 

“I’m pretending not to show how out of breath I am,” I managed at one point. 

Today's route. You can clearly see the the difference
in difficulty between the two halves. 

Mark laughed politely. The subtext: You’re not hiding it very well. 

There were a few more points where I thought Mark and I would part ways, but he had other plans. “I’ll see you up the next little bit,” he said at least four or five times. The subtext: Someone’s gotta get your fat American ass in gear. Might as well be me. 

This meant we were climbing to the top of Exmoor, which, at over 1500 feet, is the highest climb I’ve had thus far. Also, with about 800 feet of ascent in just over two miles, it is the steepest. 

Halfway up, Mark (who does not sweat as far as I can tell) took a video of me as I reached a brief plateau. I hope to get my hands on that video someday, but it can’t be pretty. This picture just about sums up our contrasting moods:

Mark, fresh as a daisy, on the left.
Me, ready to vomit, on the right.

The steepest bit was yet to come, and I jokingly said “I’ll see you in forty-five minutes or so” without realizing how accurate that timeframe would turn out to be. 

View on the way up to Exmoor

As we headed off to the peak, Mark easily surged ahead, and a convertible with a few attractive girls came from the other direction, carefully navigating the one-lane road. “Are you trying to catch up to him?” a passenger asked. 

I quickly nodded to the rear of my bicycle. “That bastard is making me carry all of his stuff,” I said, quickly saving my last shred of integrity. It got the laugh I was hoping for. 

I couldn’t outpace the biting flies up the 16%-17% grade for the next mile, and I have the welts to prove it. 

The top of Exmoor

Eventually though, I made it. Mark was circling around near the top, whistling a happy tune. 

“Sorry if I took you so far out of your way today,” I said, as we admired the view from the top of Exmoor.  

“Not at all,” he replied. “If anything, you gave me some purpose today. I was just going to putter around with no direction. The pleasure was mine.”

We shook hands, the sweat still dripping from my brow.

“You made my day,” I said. And I meant it. 

Picturesque Dulverton

With that, he took off for his hometown of Bideford, and I was left with a gentle ride to the picturesque town of Dulverton. 

Without Mark, I went back to my lazy pace, allowing myself frequent stops and chats with passing tour cyclists, like the wonderful Dutch couple Alice and Erich, who are just days away from finishing my route in the opposite direction. 

In fact, the second half of the ride took me just as long as the first, which makes no sense at all. Were Mark still leading, I probably would’ve had it completed in under an hour. 

THIS BEER SPONSORED BY FELLOW TOURING CYCLIST

ERIK DOUDS!

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He’s the type of guy we all need. A strong leader. A welcoming personality. But one who will show you that you have what it takes to do better. 

And, by God, you should try to do better. 

Distance-wise, it was a short ride today, but the local Exmoor ale still felt deserved. 

Looks like a long ride tomorrow. 

Hopefully I can tap my inner Mark. 

Air pump will stay on my bike's frame. But I'm gonna throw a banana in my back pocket.

P.S. 

I may have lost one sock while doing a load of laundry,

but somehow I gained a pair of Granny Panties. 

Winning.