Big day…..need fresh legs. I refer you to day 1.
At least the snoring guffbag detracted me from my annoyance at the St Michaels Mount charging policy. Onward, day 2.
We planned an early start, fuelled by Trek bars to get us somewhere for a hot breakfast around 930. Lands End felt like a good spot as a target so we struck out bleary eyed and raggedy tailed. A quick detour to Porthcurno and the theatre then onwards to Lands End. The scenery again not failing to impress as the sweeping bays and Atlantic breeze took our breath away.
We got to Lands End via some lovely roads and got excited for breakfast, a traditional fry up, maybe a decent coffee, that would soon banish the memories of a heavy snoring horrendous night before.
We rode up and were met by the option of a manufactured pasty (meat or cheese) and a cup of machine coffee. Underwhelming didn’t do it. Jules really mixed up the breakfast by treating himself to a prepacked sandwich from the ‘hotel’ restaurant so he could save the treat of a real cornish pasty for later in the trip. We’d pushed pretty hard to get there for breakfast so it couldn’t be overstated how crap the Lands End set up is. Stick a food van there that does decent scran and you’d make a killing and would it really hurt you to have few bike racks? Credit where due, the toilet paper was soft, but that’s about it.
The route then wound through villages and towns, we were on our holidays, they were doing their rounds, before hitting what I’d say is the tin mine trail. With the overcast day and the crumbling ruins as far as the eye can see it was hard not to think of bygone ages where smoke would fill the sky and the mines were in full flight. The tracks were lovely with one or two steep inclines but it was all a bit too easy. Nothing had broken, nobody had really fallen off and bluntly things were on track until….
Jules rear wheel had looked a bit skewwhiff since deciding he was Street Hawk on a speed bump on one of the roads into St Just. As we hit the rubbly descent he pointed out he’d lost a couple of spokes. A quick map check (slow map check) showed there was nothing anywhere that remotely resembled a bike shop no matter how many times we rechecked….again…and again….so we were left with little choice but to ride on, albeit gingerly watching the back of Jules bike limp like an NCP car park attendant when you try to park in an unmarked bay.
Between Rix and Jules we managed to get a booking at a mechanic the following morning. Mart and I contributed nothing because, well, we were alright. Plan made we set off to close the day out gingerly and hoping Jules wheel wouldn’t collapse.
Finishing the majority of the day on pretty smooth trails and roads we got ourselves into Ashton and set up camp for the night. The local pub took great pains in advising me not to walk alone at night down any of the lanes. I was hoping for stories of wolves and moors. I got a story of how all the farmers are from abroad and usually pissed, so will happily mow you down in a tractor. I will say at this point with one exception, the drivers and roads in Cornwall were hugely tolerant of 4 middle aged lumps on bikes clogging up their roads. Thank you!
After sleeping next to a sexually charged car ferry on the first night, we needed some rest so did what was obvious. We decided to go and watch the Anthony Joshua fight in Helston. We got a taxi into town and ensured he was ready to pick us up after.
We ended up in The Bell Inn which pulled off the magnificent approach of letting us get fish and chips and eat it while we nursed a couple of beers. After gorging on the local food we headed to the only place in town showing the boxing. Standing room only. After no sleep and a day of tough riding it was just what we needed….standing in a noisy pub watching Anthony Joshua punch his way to a stunning loss. Still, the taxi was booked so we’d get back at a reasonable time.
We called the taxi man who said he was not too busy and couldn’t possibly pick us up yet so we spent an hour sat gazing at the kebab shop and local revellers whilst we waited for our man to turn up. To add insult to injury he wanted to chat all the way back. He regaled us with stories of how he’d broken someone’s neck in a boxing ring and was now an international pearl dealer with a concrete safe full of cash in his basement. We meekly exited before it turned into a snuff film and hit the sack at around 2am.