Distance: 51.4 miles

Time: 5:33

Elevation: 5244 feet

By the time I’d packed up camp this morning, my start wasn’t much earlier, and still to have breakfast, I made for the Norway Inn, waiting impatiently for my fry up to arrive. Now 10:40, I found myself on the busy A39, holding up a truck, before a cycle lane appeared just before the lengthy hill to Devoran. Thankfully, I was exiting here to rejoin the route and swept along some country lanes to King Harry Ferry, a chain ferry across the Carrick Roads.

Climbing steeply away from the slipway, I momentarily reached some higher ground, before the road plummeted again, a pattern that would continue for most of the ride. Much like yesterday, the roads were narrow, and lined with high hedges on either side, I considered the wisdom of choosing an ‘optimal’ route solely on the criteria of minimising traffic, and distance. I had other variables to throw into the mix, like avoiding going over every hilltop, and ensuring that there was occasionally something other than a hedge to look at.

I was thankful for the lack of traffic, though, and as I slogged up the first few climbs there was no one to be seen. Eventually, my luck ran out, and it became a regular occurrence that, no sooner had I started up a climb, a car would come over the brow of the hill, tuck into the verge somewhere near the top, and I’d have to spin up the hill as fast as I could to get past.

On the last few miles into St Austell, the route branched off onto a cycle path of loose gravel and stones, and instantly I regretted following it. I bailed out half a mile later, for the good of my tyres, but, it was too late, and shortly afterwards, my front wheel started to go squidgy. I hauled the bike off the road, through a patch of nettles, and set to work changing the inner tube, resolving to avoid any off road detours in future.

Eventually, I reached St Austell, but not spotting anywhere for lunch, I continued to St Blazey, popping into a shop for provisions. One more climb saw me reach the short Ferry crossing between Fowey and Bodinnick, but the climbing didn’t stop there, and where the hills had been 100 metres high before they now pushed 200.

Passing 43 miles for the day, the relentless climbing caught up with me, and after a tricky 17% descent, the road climbed steeply back up the other side, and I was defeated. 3 times I got off and walked, not ideal on a narrow country lane, but there was nothing else for it.

The miles passed ever more slowly, and I realised that I wouldn’t even make the first of my potential campsites by their check in time of 6pm. One by one, I interrogated Google Maps for alternatives, and one by one, the options disappeared. Passing through Liskeard, I strapped a fish supper to the back of my bike, and set off in the hope that the kind people of Fursdon Farm would forgive my late arrival. At just after 7, I was standing by the campsite entrance when the owners drove in. Head on in they said, and would you like a coffee?