The last week or so has flown by, and all of a sudden the Paris trip is upon us. In three weeks we’ll be exiting the French capital en route to Nice, and today was my last opportunity to train. Next week is the last one before half term – always a busy one – and half term itself is devoted to family camping, which rightly limits time on the bike. And when we get back I’ll have just three days to go before the grand départ, as I have taken to calling it.
Everyone is telling me not to be anxious, that everything will be fine, but I’m a fretter. I thinker with the bike, tinker with my gear, tinker with the routes. It’s like I have to be doing something all the time. People telling me not to worry makes me anxious that I’m worrying too much. I just can’t help it.
My plan today was to finish work after morning meeting and take the train up to Dawlish for a good long test ride. My gear was already packed, as it has been for a while, so I could get used to the weight and handling. From Dawlish my route took me up the river Exe to Exeter and then on to Bampton, Wivliscombe and Wellington, skirting the edge of Exmoor and clipping Somerset, before turning south back to the start. 150km was enough of a test and I knew a solid day out would do my confidence a world of good.
It proved to be a solid day out. The Exe Estuary trail is always good value for effort and even loaded down I sped along. I crossed Exeter and headed north. A north-easterly wind kept me honest and the going was pretty tough at times. By the time I was into the lee side of Exmoor, the climbing had begun.
The section from Bampton through to Wellington was glorious. By this point, the main road had split with traffic headed for Minehead now on another road. There was still the odd HGV but it was much more pleasant to gently rise on wide roads with less traffic. Villages sped by and I stopped in Wivliscombe to pick up snacks. By the time I got to halfway, the route had turned and the headwind became a crosswind, then gently at my tail.
I found te section from Wellington to Broadclyst the hardest. The road was busy once again and so patchy, with some sections good and some almost unridable. There were some fine-looking pubs, too: at Culmstock I passed the glorious Culm Valley Inn, and looked wistfully sideways at its beer garden overlooking the river. I didn’t have time to stop.
After a particularly awful bit of road just past Cullompton, the road improved at Broadclyst and I was soon in Exeter. The Prospect Inn was a control and I thought I’d better have a pint just in case I lost the GPS. I sat in the sun and chatted to a a Swedish tour guide who was sneezing every time she had a mouthful of her drink. ‘What a terrible day to find out you’re allergic to Pimms’ I laughed. She was a tour guide with a coach load of Swedish tourists, and I suggested that she should try the Rigglestone on their Dartmoor day. Hope she doesn’t sneeze up their beer!
I’d have talked for longer but I was cutting it fine for my train. At the Prospect Elaine had sent me the train times. ‘I don’t want to stop for a relaxed pint and miss a train, or worse neck one and then be standing around waiting for one.’ I could just about make the 2013 with the wind behind me and I went for it. I’ve never ridden that trail faster. Then through Cockwood, past the Warren, took Mountain Pleasant Inn Hill like a Pogacar attack. Four minutes to do two kilometres. I went through Dawlish like a demon and got to the station before the train arrived. Now I just had to get over the bridge.
The guard on the northbound train spotted me, smiled and pointed to her train. ‘No, ôther side’ I grinned back, just as my train pulled in. Getting up the stairs was easy. Getting down with a heavy bike less so. But the doors were still open.
‘WAIT!!’ I yelled, ‘HOLD THE DOORS!’ The passengers getting off either had headphone in or ignored me. I shouted again and reached the bottom step. The doors were still open! And as I got halfway across the platform they closed. I doubled up over my bike in exhaustion and annoyance. I’d missed it by five seconds. I didn’t think that was possible.
Getting the bike back over the bridge was beyond me, so I stood in the cold for 52 minutes before the next train arrived, and regretted not stopping for a longer pint.
