DAY TWO: Cornish Hills and Cornish Wi-Fi

Carnon Downs to Warleggan – 40 Miles

I woke up to the sound of owls, one to the left, one to the right, one in the middle. Their conversation was steady and monotonous, the left one asking ‘Teeew Wooo’, the right one answering ‘Wooo’, and the middle one butting in with a ‘Woowooo’, as if to add a sage observation on what his two companions had just said. The rhythm was steady and the pattern continued unchanged for a long time. It was like listening to the night breathing. Then suddenly the left one said something quite different, like ‘Wooo Teewit Teee Wooo Wooo’, and silence fell for a moment. It was a lovely way to wake up.

Our breakfast was a mess of powdered milk, chopped banana, Oat-so-Simple and hot water, which tasted better than it sounds. More importantly, it gave us each a little fuel to navigate the pub-less, cafe-less desert that is central Cornwall (or at least the central Cornwall that we happened to pass through).

Jools picked up his spare bike battery from the doyenne Sue, and strapped it to the back of his eBike. He maintains a careful battery regime, plugging in each night to make sure that he has enough juice for the following day. And he uses the battery power on his bike sparingly, considerately, making it seem like he doesn’t much advantage at all.

We spent weeks taking the mickey about the audacity of Jools’s electric bike, imagining him in the role of cart horse and all purpose support vehicle, going on ahead with all our gear to set up camp and greet us with cold beer and cooked dinner. In the event, Jools has morphed into the chief scout of the convoy, going on ahead to reccie good picnic sites, or the state of bridleways and tracks, or to find out if a pub is still open. A very useful, even indispensable role.

As soon as we left Come to Good Farm, we encountered our first (expletive deleted) hill. One of the famous hills of Cornwall and Devon that LEJOGers gripe about endlessly in internet chat rooms and forums, or speak of in hushed tones of awe. The hills come at you in waves, like an attacking army of Orcs and Uruks, and all you can do is attack back, rallying every gram of muscle and puff in your body to get yourself up to the summit where you have to pause, guzzling water and wiping the sweat from your brow.

A fine example presented itself after we crossed the Carrick Roads near Feock, aboard the King Harry Ferry, which is attached to both banks by a chain to stop it drifting too far with the tides. The climb was relentless and exhausting, and it left us, or me at least, gasping at the top. Tim, being at least 35 years younger than the rest of us, is turning into an aggressive and agile hill climber. On almost every hill climb, there was a point when I heard a fainting panting and clank of bike gears behind me to my right, and moments later, Tim would appear, overtaking me on the inside, heads down, like a warrior. It was impressive, a bit depressing to be so easily left behind.

Our route took us on the cycle track that follows the river up into St Austell, past London Apprentice, through beautiful woodlands full of families and couples enjoying the sun and the shade. The climb up to St Austell itself is steep, and we needed a sandwich and a coffee. But all the best cafés were back down the hill, in the town centre. We’d become so hill averse that we decided to stay on the level and head eastwards, where we came across the St Austell Leisure centre. The coffee was weak, the food all sugary and I tried to send my first post using the wifi but it failed to upload. Frustration.

Eastwards, our path skirted the northern perimeter of Eden Project and we stopped to look down at the bulbous white domes far below, squatting in the surrounding landscape like an Earth Station founded by aliens. A few miles further we came across an immense viaduct towering high over the woods, with a river running underneath it. It was hot and we were desperate for a swim. Phil winced when he immersed his bare feet, Tim shuddered when we poured water of his head, neck, back. All around us the dappled forest stood coolly by.

We climbed and glided, climbed and glided, slowly higher and higher until Bodmin was visible in the distance and the moors spread wide around us. Jools rang our campsite to find out if there was a pub nearby where we could get a meal and a drink. The answer was no, not for cyclists at least. And are you the cyclists we were expecting tomorrow, Jenny, the woman who ran the campsite, asked Jools. Yes, Jools replied, looking at me with chuckling eyes. This was the second time I’d got the date of a booking completely mixed up in my head. Such senile slips became known as ‘morganisation’ by the team.

But no problem, there was room for us and she could rustle up some pizzas and drinks. I didn’t know, when I booked the campsite back in March, that it was one of the highest Cornwall, up a series of small roads, past the ominously named village of Warleggan, and onto the high moor with stunning views of the surrounding uplands. When we arrived, Jenny asked when we would like the pizzas. In half an hour, I suggested, just to allow us enough time to set up our camp and have a shower. Er, there are no showers, she said, don’t you remember me telling you that. But there’s a river at the bottom of the camping field. The path leading to it is a bit muddy. Sounds wonderful.

Jenny’s husband Richard drove our baggage down to the field in the buggy, past the Alpacas, and the two horses (one of whom bore an uncanny resemblance to the 70s prog blues guitarist Johnny Winter). We set up camp and built a fire. I had a wash under the stand pipe in the corner of the field. I was cold and we were all exhausted, but the pizzas arrived along with the beer on the quad bike and we ate and drunk under cold stars, warming ourselves by the fire Tim said good night and burrowed himself into his tent. Within a minute he was snoring loudly.

In the middle of the night, there were some strange, alarming noises that came from the field above us. They sounded like a horse crying for help. Phil contemplated getting up to see what was happening. I was asleep and didn’t hear a thing.

Andy Morgan