Summer ended pretty sharpish, didn’t it? One day I was sitting on the decking in the evening sunshine enjoying a pre-dinner pastis and a few olives, and the next I was sitting in my kitchen listening to the wind howl while looking up recipes for hearty stews. This country.

My least favourite time of year. The last Grand Tour is over and the long day of summer are gone. I begin to dread the winter ahead, that drags on for too long; too much darkness, cold, wet, wind ahead for too many months. As I write, the first day of Paris-Nice is a full 174 days away. There will no doubt be a few sunny days that coincide with a spot of free time, but for the most part I’m working out how to stay reasonably fit through the winter for a change. I have my Temple touring bike kitted out ready to ride in to work when I can, but I feel sad that my road bike has its winter tyres on already. There will be no more crisp tan lines this year.

Now, it’s just a case of keeping riding distances when the weather allows and trying to stay fit for a couple of audax rides that I have entered later in the year. On Friday, I decided to make the most of a lunchtime finish at work and tried out a few local roads that I’d never ventured along before. It was, I admit, a hastily-planned route and slightly influenced by the #midweekbeer that I habitually have on a Wednesday evening.

I set off at lunchtime from Paignton sea front, along roads I know well through Goodrington, over the top of Churston Ferrers and through the back lanes to Brixham. The sea was a beautiful turquoise and the sky looked like a child had coloured it in. There had been showers but the sun was warm, and every time I came towards the top of a rise I felt the wind strongly in my face. It was definitely early autumn but a good day for cycling. Flags fluttered all around Brixham harbour as I made my way around the port, round the other side and up the short sharp climb to Berry Head. It was glorious.

So far, so familiar. But I was trying to find a way to do a big loop around and take in some new roads, so instead of heading back towards Torquay I swung left in Brixham town centre to head southwards, and upwards, along Milton Street. This would have been enough for novelty, and Milton Street rises up towards Hillhead in a just-challenging-enough sort of a way, but my route planner had other ideas. I instead turned left up a road called Southdown Hill, and this was where the fun pain started.

For a hundred metres it was easy enough, but the road narrowed and it got ridiculous. A classic Devon patched-up surface that probably breaks up every time it rains and gradients up to 20%; in fact an average of 15% over its 500m length. I was not entirely prepared for this, but puffed and weaved and tried to stay in my saddle for as long as I could, and I slowly inched up the hill. It took me six minutes to get up it, and by the end I was attempting to breathe through every available orifice. But I was steady and considering I hadn’t had a proper ride for a few weeks I was pretty happy. and it looked like there was a nice descent coming up.

Well, no. The other side of the hill was down the other sort of Devon lane, the type that is made of mud and gravel, has a plateau of long grass in the middle and has a random assortment of loose bits, holes and puddles either side. I gingerly descended almost as slowly as I’d gone to Southdown, and in fact dismounted for the only time in the whole day.

I was soon back on the road, climbing the last bit of Milton Street and coming back up into the sunshine and wind at Hillhead. It felt wonderful. Soon, I was over the top and rolling down to lovely Stoke Gabriel – although my route didn’t take me down to the waterfront – and back up the other side, over the A385 towards Berry Pomeroy. The hills in this area are short and sharp, and the rough surface can make the going slow and hard work, but it was just a privilege to be out and I was in a mood to enjoy the challenge. Through Berry Pomeroy, I turned left towards the castle, but ignored the satnav’s planned route down to the castle. There is a very steep footpath down into the valley, and I didn’t fancy tackling it in cycling shoes.

By now I was 35km through my route with only 15km to go. I carried on snaking my way through the lanes to Marldon, then swung north on the beautiful valley route through Compton and down towards Kingskerswell. I love that road; it’s a rough surface and is often used as a rat run at school pickup, but there’s a magic about riding slightly downhill through the trees and past the magnificent pub at Bickley Mill, a happy, effortless speed or a gentle roll down the valley.

And then, disaster. I was just coming to the end by the quarries when I saw a large pothole last second, too late to avoid it, and hit it both wheels. I slowly negotiated the S-bend under the railway bridge and surveyed the damage. My back tyre was flat. Come to that, the front one wasn’t looking too great either. I’d punctured both tyres on the same damn pothole.

I pulled over and, somewhat optimistically, pumped both tyres up just in case. I only had one inner tube – who expects two punctures on a 50km ride? – and was hoping in vain that the front one might last long enough to get me home. I test-rode a couple of hundred metres but it was no good. Then, as always seems to happen just as hope is extinguished, it started to rain. I hurriedly changed the rear tyre but rushed the job and bodged it, puncturing the inner tube by getting it caught between the tyre and the rim.

And so a day that promised so much, and started off so wonderfully, ended with a soaking wet walk and the humiliation of a call to my wife to come and collect me. I had time for a pork pie and a bottle of Proper Job while I waited in the Co-op car park. Not quite pastis and olives, but at least the sun came out again.

View my route on Plotaroute: https://www.plotaroute.com/route/3107714