The cost of stupidity

I made a bad decision to start with. I opted for the Cycle Travel app route, when I should have used the non-busy and straight main road. It would have saved me half an hour, and a good bit of climbing.

Never mind. Once I’m on the top it’s wonderful. The open Devon roads are heaven. The closed roads – by which I mean those very narrow ones which are like tunnels through the woodland – are less fun. These always seem to be in worse condition, and it’s too dark down here to see where the potholes are, so poor Libre is getting a battering.

The in-between roads, the high-hedged, grit- and grass centred ones: well, I’m getting used to them.

After 10 miles the GPS packs up. It simply didn’t download any more of the route. I don’t know why. Anyway, ten miles further on, at Chulmleigh, over coffee and frangipani, I can re-programme it, and after a couple of false starts set off in the right direction.

A local tells me there’s a Saxon stone over the church door, so I’d better take a look at that first. I don’t think there is actually a Saxon stone, but the screen is rather spectacular, and the thin pillars holding up the nave are terrifyingly splayed outwards. The quote from Revelation – “Behold, I am making everything new” – beside some rather forlorn looking construction works might be more in hope than anything else.

It was one of those silly little dogs that pretends a great confidence when it’s safely behind a fence, so I’m not too bothered. Which is probably why I don’t see its unchained and unfenced pal across the road until it nearly has my leg off. I’m too busy kicking and shouting to think to sound my horn, which would probably have scared it off. All I can think is how amazing it is that I haven’t been attacked by a dog until day 33.

Lunch in Brampton, where the Spar is selling pasties at half price because it’s after 2pm, and bananas at half price because they’re nearly ready to eat. Sitting in the shade in the churchyard I’m wondering why these magnificent old yews are encased up to head height in granite and concrete.

And then the last push. It should be 20 miles to the Corner House in Taunton. When I’ve done about 15 of those, a sign points to “Taunton 10 miles”. Four miles later, there’s another: “Taunton 10 miles”. The same after another mile, uphill.

Then suddenly the GPS says we’re arriving. But the Corner House does not look convincing like a hotel. Because it isn’t. I programmed the GPS with the wrong Corner House, Taunton. I want the Corner House Hotel, Taunton, which is – you guessed it – 10 miles away.

So now here I am, arriving at 7pm, 74 miles, and 5,700 ft of climbing, after I left the Bickford Arms early this morning in the expectation – which was fully realised – of the day’s temperature peaking at 26C. The cost of stupidity, eh?