Feniton > Plymouth 56 miles

Phughewwghahh.  That’s about how Katy and I feel.  I think the last two weeks have been the most physically demanding thing I have ever done.  I’m spent.  Tired. Exhausted.  Fatigue.  Sleepy.  Whatever you want to call it, that’s how we feel.  When I got into the shower on Deck 8, Room 8009 of the Armorique in the Plymouth, UK harbor I braced my legs against the curb of the shower and leaned into the corner, closing my eyes.  The hot water running down my drained body was rejuvenating me, and possibly giving me enough energy to close my eyes and rest.  

When Katy and I set off from the Heathrow airport on the first of the month I had no idea what we were up against.  I’ve never felt so exhausted.  This all culminated in an incredibly difficult last 36 hours and ride through the windy, dreary (but beautiful) Dartmoor National Park.  Let me try to recreate the situation.

When we meandered out of the small town of Feniton this morning yesterday’s long ride was apparent.  Our legs were sore and resisted each turn of the pedals. About an hour later, as we slowly wound through a small village (it always takes a bit to awaken sleeping legs) an old lady in a small red car brushed up beside us, I put out my arm against the car to keep us up, and then crash.  Luckily we were only going 6 mph or so.  But Katy got a decent bruise and another cracked phone screen - apart from that we were fine.  And so we continued.

To get from Feniton to Plymouth (in order to catch our ferry to France) we rode through Dartmoor National Park.  The hills today were relentless.  Climbing slowly, sweat dripping down our face.  Legs just screaming.  In our granny gear, out of the saddle.  I’ve never felt my legs just ache and burn like they did today.  And at the top of each hill, Katy and I would say a silent prayer “please don’t go down, please don’t go down”.  Cause at the end of every down is another up.  And it persisted.  Finally the long slog to the lookout point in the center of the park.  When we reached the top a steady 30mph wind added to the 8-12% grade.  When we briefly stopped to rest I think people in the parked cars started laughing - “who in their right mind would carry that tandem over all these hill”?  30 or so miles through the park - up and down and up and down.  

On the first hill of each day we say to each other - I hope there are only 5 or 6 more of these.  We tend to under guess by about half.  Finally after a couple hours - legs aching, neck sore, hands and toes starting to tingle, wind relentless we stop at a small intersection just west of Princetown - where the B . We consult the map and speculate which route is likely to have the least hills.  We venture a guess.  Just as we are about to proceed a tourist bus comes down the road and we can see the bright smile on the driver and the tour guide at the front of the bus with the microphone.  In desperation, (and humor - cause humor is the best medicine to misery) I stick out my thumb to hitch hike.  The tour guide smiles and offers a look of “I’ve been on this road a thousand times and I know what you’re up against - you are almost there”.  As they pass Katy and I start to laugh.  We think of all the ways we would rather get to Plymouth rather than on our bike over these hills (which by the way - every time we get to the top of a hill and it immediately starts to go down I let out a displeased “oh holy sh@t what the f$ck - why the hell don’t these damn roads stay flat for longer than 30 feet).  We consider walking to Plymouth.  We joke that a donkey would be a good option.  Or maybe just set up camp.  Or if we were to break a law would the police have to drive us the rest of the way.  We have a good laugh, recognize the difficulty of our situation, put a smile on our face, say a few curse words, and then push on. 

As I now sit on the departing ferry, after my dinner and hot shower, I reflect on a conversation Katy and I had at lunch.  She asks me “which of our friends do you think would have turned around by now?” to which I respond “I don’t know why anyone would put up with what we have done the last couple days”.  So she asks - then why are you still here?  Because I am stubborn, I respond.  I don’t know if it is a good trait, or a bad one.  I see it as a combination of Grandpa Dick and Grandma Carol - but when faced with difficulty, I’m too stubborn to give up.  If you’re still here cause you are stubborn, then why am I here? Katy asks aloud - whether to herself or to me I am not sure.  I look at her and give her the expression of “uhhhh, I’m not sure.”  

Katy is the best.  She’s the only one kind enough and tough enough to sit on the back of this bike and follow me all over these damn hills (you are starting to get the gist of how I feel about them).  Sometimes she may just be sitting back there with her feet kicked up enjoying the views - but I love her regardless and am happy to have her along for this (at times difficult) journey.

PS: I thought Scottish was hard to understand - the French on this Ferry sounds like a different language entirely.

PSS:  tomorrow we will only cycle 18 flat miles - with a bakery positioned at every even mile (including mile zero)

A fresh breeze.

Made it. Barely.