Never Ruin a Perfect Day

Day: 3 (Padstow to Bude)

Average Speed: 9 mph

Distance Today: 50 miles

Distance Cycled Total: 148.9 miles 

Feet climbed: 2,559 today, 9,512.4 total

Difficulty level: Relatively easy with one big challenge

Coffee Truck on the Camel Trail

I hesitate to say this so early on- I think I only said it twice across America, and maybe once on my last European trip- but I’m pretty sure that was a perfect day. I suppose it would’ve been more perfect were it not for me sucking wind up the climb that even my modest British guide calls “significant,” but that’s on me. Not on the day. 

Today's Elevation Profile (minus the ten or so miles prior)

I was somewhat disappointed yesterday when I didn’t make the mileage I had originally planned. As it turns out, that ultimately led to a beautiful (and very easy) ride along the famed Camel Trail on a lovely Sunday morning. The sun out, the ride smooth, the trail alive with families and well-behaved dogs at times, then serene and peaceful at others. Fifteen miles of bliss. 

The Camel Trail

The weather seemed to know when I was about to hit my biggest climb of the day too, as the sun graciously ducked behind clouds while I struggled up the wall of a hill into the village of St. Breward.  People love to watch cyclists struggle. It brings them great joy. I don’t mind a bit. In fact, I encourage it by offering this comment: “The Cornish sure do know how to make a proper hill!” Without fail, this elicits belly laughs and prideful boasts. It’s possible that I’ve made this comment about fifty times by now, but the key to eliciting people’s reactions is to always make it sound as if it were an off-the-cuff comment. I learned that from my father when we toured on a tandem bicycle. 

Almost hit these sheep

The highlight of the day was cycling over the Bodmin Moor, which is the closest thing to a mountain here in Cornwall. Teeming with free range farm animals (I almost plowed into a small flock of crossing sheep... that would've been baaaaaa-d) and incredible views, the cycle path lazily climbs to its peak at 980 feet. Traffic is light on the one-lane road, and drivers (as they have been since Day 1) are extremely courteous, cautious, and patient when it comes to cyclists. They do not seem to mind motoring behind your 3 mph pace during a climb, and will not honk even if you are unaware they're behind you. Nearly every one offers a pleasant acknowledgement when it is 100% safe for them to pass. This is not that different in much of America, but where I am from, cars frequently don't budge from their lane as they zoom past. It's refreshing. 

Vaughan Williams

At one point, I stopped for a snack in front of a farmhouse, unaware that its owner was nearby in the garden. I was startled when he called out, and a pair of eyes and a hat peered over a rustic rock wall. 

"You a'right then, are ye?" he asked.

He reminded me of that character Wilson, Tim's neighbor in that 90's sitcom Home Improvement. 

"I'm fine," I replied. "Just having a snack."

"That's a good idea, ain't it."

Vaughan Williams (not Wilson) belongs to one of six families who live on the Bodmin Moor. "You have to be a bit mad to live here, but I like it just fine." He is a charming man who, a decade ago (when he was 63 years old), walked the direct 900-mile route from John O'Groats to Lands End in order to raise money for his son's spinal surgery. He did it in 57 days. 

The tors in the distance... not raining just yet.

"The kind of trip your taking," he said, "...it's not about the actual cycling, it's about the people ya meet, ain't it?" 

 Sure is. 

He offered a brief history of the area, noting the World War II ruins, the wild horses, and a meteorologist's explanation of the rocky crags in the distance: "We have a saying here... if you can see those tors, it's going to rain. If you can't see them, it is raining." 

Minty lamb pie. Delicious.

With brilliant timing, the sun reappeared for the thrilling descents (marked with a few steep climbs lest you enjoy yourself "too much"), which eventually led to the beautiful town of Bude, known for its surf culture. I checked into a hostel, and immediately sought out a pub for a well deserved dinner and a pint. The bartender recommended I order the minty lamb pie. My rule of thumb: no matter how disgusting it sounds, always try what the locals recommend. 

Bude

I had been keeping to myself, casually goofing off on my phone, when I overheard a voice nearby. 

"Mum!" it said, "No one needs to know that!"

My curiosity was piqued. 

"No one needs to know what?" I asked innocently. 

The bawdy woman whom the child was addressing staggered over to my table, leaned down as if to whisper, then shouted "THAT I'M A REDHEAD DOWNSTAIRS!" 

You can guess which one is "Becs."
And no, I did not expect that pose just before her daughter
took the pic.

Oh boy. Her fourteen year old daughter 

was right. No one needed to know that. 

Rebecca (or "Becs") quickly determined I was American, and I became the curiosity of the entire pub. She ran outside to get her friends ("There's a rear exit to this place," a nearby patron said, "I suggest you run now"). They flocked around me with all sorts of questions and crass comments. 

"What's Disney World like?" 

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"You don't call them chips in America do you?" 

"What sound does a goat make? Is it 'baaa' or 'maaa'?" 

Oddly enough, that last question had the entire pub making barnyard sounds for about five minutes. 

I'll skip over the other comments Becs and her cadre made, lest you're eating breakfast while reading this. Suffice it to say, while nursing my second pint, I was offered accommodations for the night several times. 

No thanks, Becs and company. I'm fine with the hostel. 

Wouldn't want to ruin a perfect day. 

P.S. 

Not Quite the "Polite Notice" as Featured Yesterday.