My New Cycle Partner

Day: 4 (Bude to Barnstaple)

Average Speed: 9 mph

Distance Today: 55.5 miles

Distance Cycled Total: 204.4 miles 

Feet climbed: 2408.1 today, 11,920.5 total

Difficulty level: Pretty easy- somewhat challenging start

I have a new cycle partner. 

Actually, it’s a virtual cycle partner. It’s a white dot that appears on my navigation system every morning when I program the day’s route. I am represented by a blue dot. The white dot and the blue dot start at the same time and we “race” to see who can get to the end of the route first. Its layout is slightly less sophisticated than an early Atari video game. When the white dot wins, a short sad digital song plays. When the blue dot wins, a short happy song plays. 

I have not heard the happy song. 

In actuality, the white dot represents the person who originally recorded the route and shared it for others to use. You can literally see where he stopped for coffee breaks, or infer when he needed to take a leak on the side of the road. But when he’s riding, he’s pretty damn fast, and I always hear the sad tones that I lost the day’s challenge somewhere in the middle of my ride. 

I’ll call him Chad. I’m sure that’s not his name. But he seems like a Chad. 

The navigation system (called a Garmin) was a Christmas present from my mom. On past trips, I had relied on a combination of Google Maps (which is very often unreliable for cyclists) and actual maps (which are very often unreliable for someone who has difficulty reading actual maps). 

Today's Elevation Profile

Crappy pic...
but see the blue dot?
Wouldn't you be focused on
the blue dot?

The drawback to using a Garmin is that you can see exactly where you are on the elevation profile of the route, and no climb is a mystery. It’s difficult not to stare down at it constantly during a climb to know how far you are from the top. The element of surprise is lost, and you anticipate the next climb rather than simply enjoying a descent. 

On the other hand, if you stray a mere ten feet off the course due to a wrong turn, the Garmin goes apeshit, letting you know you’re 1) an idiot and 2) about to make a big mistake. 

This feature has saved me multiple times. Although the cycle route I’m taking is clearly marked with signage, the tiny stickers are often easy to miss. 

Take, for instance, the fork in the road pictured below, which I was approaching at about 20 MPH as it was in the middle of a descent. Which way would you go?

Can you find the sign that tells you to go left here?

I chose the right, as that seemed to be the road that I was on. But if you look very, very carefully, on the extreme left side of the picture there is a tiny sticker on a post telling you to go left. Were it not for that Garmin, I woulda continued straight on for miles. Chad gets it correct every time though, damn him. 

I'm just beginning to accept the severity of the hills here as I exit Cornwall in favor of Devon. Not that I'm solidly comfortable with them... that's still some time away... but accepting, sure. It's hard not to when they shoot up beautiful traffic-free country roads and meander pleasantly through the woods. And with the second half of the day following a simple rail trail known as the Tarka Trail, you have little excuse for bitching and moaning about the first half of the day. 

It's an otter.

The Tarka Trail is rife with strange looking monuments, obelisks, and benches with crudely carved wooden figures sitting on them. At one of these, I stopped and joined two other cyclists staring up confusedly. 

"What is that?" I asked. 

"We've just determined it's an otter," one of the cyclists said. "Interesting, isn't it? But it must be since the Tarka Trail is named after a book called Tarka the Otter." 

At this point, another touring cyclist named Elliot joined us. 

Elliot is a wealth of knowledge. Elliot likes to share his knowledge. Elliot is refined. Elliot has toured South America, Europe, and a portion of America. Elliot is obnoxious. 

"Indeed, that is an otter," Elliot offered. 

"As we are on the Tarka Trail, and the author of Tarka the Otter, Henry Williamson, lived in this area of Devon, this trail honors his legacy. You'll see many otter related things in this area and..."

At this point I tuned out, clipping my foot back in the pedal, hoping my body language would let me off the hook and allow me to continue on my way. No such luck. After a ten minute posh history lesson, the other couple called it quits and headed off the opposite direction. 

Elliot was going my way. 

Naturally, this meant we had to cycle together for a distance. 

"That's probably not such a good idea, Jim"
Stuff it, Elliot.

I've said it before, and I'll say it again. With one major exception (if you've read past seasons of this blog, you know to whom I am referring), I hate having a cycle partner. It's too much stress. Keeping pace. Maintaining polite conversation. The absolute last thing I want to do while cycling is talk about cycling, which is all Elliot wanted to do. And while I truly appreciated his company for five or six miles, he's the type of person who warns of the dangers of taking selfies while riding. Too proper for me. 

"Well, I think it's time for me to take a break and have a granola bar," I said at an intersection of the trail near a closed coffee shop. I needed neither. Elliot looked somewhat confused as we recently had a ten minute break discussing otter history. Thankfully, he decided to continue on solo. 

Just as Elliot left, an older cyclist named Peter approached, heading the opposite direction. His face fell as he saw the coffee shop was closed. "I was hoping for something to eat," he said dejectedly. "Is there anything further down the trail?" I gave him the bad news bluntly: Nope. He was shaking and looked as if he were about to keel over. He momentarily tried to decline when he saw me reaching in my bag for some rations to offer. 

"These protein bars taste like garbage, but they get the job done," I assured him. 

He devoured it and instantly came to life. 

View along the Tarka Trail

Peter had not planned well. Peter is out of shape. Peter needed enough sustenance to get him to the nearest pub. Peter did not want to talk about cycling. Peter curses a lot. 

Peter's a guy I might be able to cycle with. 

"Tell Johnny O'Groat I said hi!" Peter called as a send-off, referring to my final destination point. 

Will do, Peter. 

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My own energy started to fade near the end of the ride, where the wooded trail turned into windswept coastline along the River Taw. Having waited until the last second to look for accommodations, I was stuck with two choices when I made it to Barnstaple: Ride three miles further along my route and climb 400 feet to a remote campground, or ride six miles completely out of my way with zero feet of climbing and pubs nearby. 

You can guess which one I chose. 

Besides, I'd like to give Chad a head start tomorrow.  

P.S. 

Somebody get me a pitchfork!