I had a busy day ahead of me. Not only was I intent on finishing off this SSW line (a hangover from yesterday’s spontaneous replanning exercise); but I then wanted to visit the location of some childhood memories, before cycling a fair distance to find the nearest train station to relocate to Cornwall. Why? To pick up the remnants of the very first – stormy weather interrupted – SW Cardinal Spin from back in early June. And after that, for good measure, I needed to make a little progress on that journey to leave me something comfortably achievable the day after. Complicated? Perhaps, but distinctly possible – and enjoyable – with the right attitude.
I sorted all the necessary reservations the day before, so my main job now was to cycle. And what a glorious day – and a beautiful part of the world – in which to do it! I spent the morning winding along tiny rural lanes through high, abundant West Country hedges, emerging here and there in small market towns like Chard and Axminster. It was a signed cycle route all the way, which was handy, but even on separate cycle paths the sections that ran along rare stretches of busy main road were a reminder of how not to cycle through these parts. It seems almost everyone is crammed onto the same few main roads, and as a cyclist, it is a horrible prospect. But mostly it was a pure delight.
As I got close to the sea, I was in familiar territory. This area of East Devon was the location of several happy family summer holidays when I was growing up, usually in the first week of September. We stayed in the charming village of Branscombe on a small farm in a hidden valley, about a mile from the sea. The breakfasts and dinners were amazing, with milk and clotted cream straight from the farm. It was a proper Devon experience and I have many great memories. We would visit the local beaches, towns and villages, and even the evening carnivals that processed through the streets of the local towns at this time of year. One of the places we did this was the pretty little town of Colyton, where I now arrived. It is a couple of miles inland in the valley of the River Coly, and is about as perfect a small town as I can think of. It is really only village sized, with a warren of small, quiet streets, a small square with enticing shops, and a beautiful church in the middle that has an unusual octagonal lantern atop the square lower portion of its tower. To complete the scene, it is connected by a small, antique electric tram service that runs along the valley to the coast at Seaton. I think I could be happy here.
I followed the route of the tram, which passes through a wetland nature reserve, to its fancy modern terminus in Seaton. I wondered how such a small concern could have such a space age station, but I then saw that it stood next door to a large Tesco, and guessed that perhaps this was part of the deal to get it built. There was also a large new attraction for 2024, called Jurassic Discovery, with an immersive exhibition where you can walk among animatronic dinosaurs. That’s owned by the tramway, too. Exciting times ahead for Seaton. If I just had more time…
But today was a day for being outdoors. I took the road up and around the cliffs that dives down a couple of miles later into the delightful coastal village of Beer, my SSW endpoint. It was the perfect place. The long, pretty main street descends between flower displays placed in stone troughs over a flowing stream until it reaches a steep ramp that leads down through a gap in the chalk cliffs onto a wide shingle beach. This is still very much an active fishing community and there are a series of winches at the top of the beach that connect via cables to the fishing boats, arranged a little further out on a rise in the shingle that I guessed might represent high tide. Alongside the cables, very helpfully, were long mats that you could walk your way along – perfect if, like me, you are wearing cycling shoes. These mats lead out to colourful striped deck chairs arranged in neat rows, looking out to sea. Behind, under the cliffs, are brightly painted beach huts. On a day like this, warm and sunny with the bluest of skies, it was a very jolly spectacle. I celebrated with an ice cream, served with a huge dollop of clotted cream (this being Devon), and felt about as good as you can at the end of a bike adventure.
Except it was only lunchtime and I had plenty more cycling to do. Branscombe lies three miles along the coast from Beer, so I obviously had to visit. The roads are tiny and run between high hedges, but the traffic is very light and there are regular passing places. Branscombe claims to be the longest village in England, and it could accurately be described as linear. It contains an ample collection of old, thatched houses and a couple of very tempting pubs, as well as a working forge. It is much as I remember it, including the seemingly impossible narrow turning to the farm between two houses, and the ancient, castellated stone church.
But I had a train to catch and that required an hour of cycling inland to Honiton, so I left my memories behind and pushed on to restart my unfinished business. So far so good. Next stop Cornwall.
