Another tough day, this time starting at the hotel’s front door in Lyme Regis and going straight up for miles, the worst climb of the route. Hill after hill followed until it started to level out and became lumpy rather than hilly in north Devon. I wound up on some highways, which was terrifying, but maybe that’s inevitable sometimes navigating from one small road to another. I’m lit up like a Christmas tree (three lights in back and one in front) and was wearing neon yellow; if someone hits me I figure it is because they want to, not because they didn’t see me. (Yes, I’m trying to be funny. No, that’s not very funny.) There was also a beautiful stretch for miles along a canal.
I’ve been impressed with how considerate the drivers have been. (To be fair, the bar is pretty low when you compare Britain to the USA.) It feels like people think of roads as mixed-use unlike in America where a bicycle is some outrage-inducing intruder on the automobile’s domain. I think some in the US also see a bicycle as a political statement. I don’t think that’s true here but maybe some of you will have thoughts on that. I don’t know, maybe it is.
I’ve spent a lot of time on small farm roads and everyone is driving with care because you never know if some huge truck (sorry, lorry) is around the next corner. I think this forces people to be more caring in a way; you can’t be a selfish driver when doing so may get you killed.
I’m also surprised by how quickly nature takes over from human. Just minutes outside a town it can feel as you’ve left civilization behind. Man feels like a guest here who has carved out some space. In the US and especially the Northeast corridor (the area that stretches south of Boston to New York, Philadelphia, and Washington) where spend most of my time, nature feels hemmed inside precious pockets. For sure, there are remote places in the USA – parts of Maine, Vermont, Montana, the Florida Everglades. But the wild parts don’t coexist with humans as much as they are separate from it.
Yes, I walked this bit
In addition to the highways, the GPS sent me for miles into some truly gnarly single-track through an overgrown forest where I didn’t see any signs of other humans for almost an hour. If something happened I was totally on my own. This was frightening but also sort of exciting. How often do we find ourselves that isolated in 2025? I was rewarded mid-way with an abandoned bridge so heart-achingly beautiful my jaw dropped open. It felt like a setting from some Miyazaki film; I half expected forest spirits to emerge from the woods.
Tonight I’m in the medieval town of Dunster near Minehead famous for its castle and yarn production. I’m still feeling surprisingly fresh, which is encouraging, although for sure I’m a bit sore. Tomorrow is shorter, and goes up and up until it goes down and down. That’s the way I like it.
If you would like to support my ride and the Ashburton Chamber Music Festival, no donation is too small.
Tomorrow – Barnstaple!
David Yang, Artistic Director, Ashburton Chamber Music Festival
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