26 March 1997

I set out around 11, a bit uneasy about the strong winds, and managed to get Katie safely up the slope, apparently watched with trepidation by Lorraine. I parked the bike, said farewell to Lorraine and sprog, and went to fill up - after first letting a milk wagon through lanes that were too narrow to let even a bike past! After that, I went and picked up the nearby M5.

That stretch of about 45 miles was tough. The winds were very strong and I was being blown around like nobody'’s business. Katie and I were fighting all the time and were frequently blown sideways. I was rather phased when I got to Exeter service station. I bought some (stale and expensive) sandwiches, wrote two postcards and, after obtaining a vague sort of weather forecast from the tourist info guy, I went on my way. The guy said that there had been a wreck on the coast of Cornwall, but that the weather always came East, so I would miss it. While I was in Cornwall, the wreck made the local news every day as local residents made off with its cargo: an echo of the past Wrecker days.

I came across a hazard not mentioned in my bike training... The petrol station was just being sluiced down with water and detergent. I filled up and carefully drove out - that stuff was slippery. But it got onto my boots which kept sliding off the brake pedal so I had to stop and wipe them off!

The signposting outside the station was lousy so I took a wrong turn, but was able to loop back easily. Then, I travelled South to Exeter and headed West, where it was much less windy. At first, I thought the road was going to lead me right into Exeter city centre: uh-oh! But it just skirted the eastern side and soon became a calm route out West. I continued to Crediton where I picked up the A3072 and it began to drizzle. This road was slow, frequently narrowed and quite twisty; the new rain made it slippery.

I began to have suspicions when I checked the map after Cadbury; I couldn'’t even find the place on my O.S. map. I got to Bickleigh and was even more confused; however, two B.T. guys I hailed helped me out, one of whom was most admiring of Katie and how far I'd travelled - a good ego boost! They showed me that I'’d fallen off my map, fetched theirs, and I realised that I should have picked up the A3072, a split road, in entirely the other direction, at Copplestone! So, I back-tracked, and those 16 miles cost me an hour. At least the countryside was pretty!

Navigating Crediton was pretty much guesswork as the various junctions weren'’t all signposted, but I learnt to look further ahead on my map in future. My direction was signposted to Barnstaple, not Okehampton as expected, and Barnstaple was miles away. Oh well.

After this small adventure, and squishing a panic attack (being lost nearly 300 miles from home is scary) I found the correct section of the A3072 and the drizzle ceased, allowing me to drive faster along this straighter route. I filled up again around Jacobstowe in an oddly located service station where the guy filled up for me. It'’s just that it was all on a steep slope, so I really had to lean hard to get Katie back upright! Forgetting the ignition didn’'t help, either... small wonder I couldn'’t start the bike!

Sheepwash

Sheepwash was pretty, and there were even sheep in the fields. I saw daffodils growing on the banks of the narrow lane, and the village itself was round a square with thatched cottages. But I couldn'’t stay long; I was already later than planned and had worried parents to meet. I had a chat with a cyclist who asked me if I were a local, as he wanted to warn a local about a problem he’d encountered, and if I were on tour. He had once lived in Cornwall, but it was too pricey. People seemed intrigued by the solo female traveller on the shiny (well, muddy) bike and I rather liked the attention!

I was rather proud to have got this far: I'd been very dubious about Sheepwash which, from the map, had looked frighteningly narrow and steep.

Soggy Cornwall

To add insult to injury, it seemed that Camelford had vanished from the roadsigns! But moments after my roadside stomping fit, I saw it was three miles to Camelford, checked my mileometer to measure this, and recognised the town as I entered. I parked up there and went to ask directions in the Spar. Even so, I had difficulty spotting my turnoff. I remembered my way to the caravan site, at least, and after parking at the top this damp and knackered biker soon found Dad waiting for me. So, I went to let Mum know I was safe, then brought Katie right down to the bottom of the car park, where it seemed sheltered, and that was the start of the holiday.

I rode 148 miles that day, but it took me some seven and a half hours again.