Jim's Holidays

Corona.

Friday late afternoon I get the train to Salisbury and it's pretty quiet. Probably due to the fact that this is about to become the big Corona Virus shut down weekend. Duncan picks me up from the station and cooks a delicious meal.

Saturday we drive west stopping off for a walk around Glastonbury. We navigate the levels, canals and a very muddy hill, due to bull, and down the other side see the stump of the original Glastonbury Thorn planted by Joseph of Aramathea. We then get to the Tor which before drainage of the levels would have been an island at this time of year. We have great views over the levels up to the Mendips, across to Exmoor, Wales and the Pilton festival site which I now know will not happen until 2021. After descending the sacred place we visit the expensive abbey ruins which was the biggest & richest in the country no doubt through the exploitation of the locals. We wander round head and other hippy shops where I pick up a bargain of an original Adge Cutler and the Wuzels album. Well, when in Zummerzet. Leaving Hippiedom we drive through my birthplace of Bridgewater where we shop then onto Watchet to the The House of Rules albeit run by a the very welcoming Jane.

Tor from the Levels

St Brides Well - the original

Tor from the other hill

Trekking up the Tor

The chapel at the top

Church in the abbey grounds - the 7 deadly sins

Abbey ruins

Glastonbury route - 9 miles

Sunday it's raining heavily as forecast. Why do we do our walks in the Spring after a season of wet weather and into the rainiest season? We decide to walk anyway and today it's the Quantocks Northern Route starting at Crowborough. It's nice an varied through lanes and muddy tracks but not too bad. Through fields and sheltering woods. We both discover what's not fully waterproof (nearly everything!) Although hardly long distance views we do see down to the Bristol Channel and across to Minehead. Then it's out onto open heathland with great views across Bridgewater Bay, up the Bristol Channel past Hinkley Point nuclear power station looking so innocent. Wales in shape not form. Then it's down to Holford and the rain has stopped just in time to sit on a bench for lunch. As forecast. After refreshment it's back over heathlands rising for great views north across the levels up to the Mendips and west to Exmoor. By now the sun is out and we walk through woods before descending the steep 1 in 4 road back to Crowborough which would be worthwhile tackling on a bike. Maybe. Then we're back home for local cider and a curry courtesy Duncan. Porridge (series) and well earned sleep.

Crowborough Cross

The northern reaches of the Quantocks back to Minehead

Are you sure this is the path back? Bridgewater Bay

Northern route - 20 miles (including the missing bit)

Monday morning and there's a brilliant blue sky so it's just the day to tackle the Quantocks Southern Route. We park at Broomfield church and after a quick chat with a local who says he shouldn't be walking his dog as he's over 70 (Corona advice) we are up and at it traversing heathland and beech woods. Great views and we can see further than yesterday but hardly crystal clear. Descending from the Quantocks' highest point of Wills Neck (where my parents used to take me before I can remember) we hit country lanes & muddy bridleways. We lunch next to the Trimbell Stone which is a derisory 2 foot tall (Duncan lives near Stonehenge). My sniggering at their monument is punished by the local gods as I nearly sank into oblivion into mud and mire at a cow gate which looked fairly solid. Back along busy lanes and a busy road, well compared to others round here, then over fields to our start with directions from lots of friendly locals. Pub in the evening despite Johnson's advice but the West Somerset Hotel had little chance of breaking the 10 people limit as only us 2 and the barmaid. We later find out that if we'd gone left instead of right we'd have reached a legendary cider pub. And if two days earlier would have found Jon and Scottie there.

Sunshine! Dry paths!

Up onto the heathland...

... through the beech woods...

... past the lonely tree...

... and up onto Wills Neck the highest point of the Quantocks

Typical Somerset signage - always 9 miles from Bridgewater

Exmoor pony and pond

The diminutive Triscombe Stone - trying to make it look bigger

Lambs overlooking Bridgewater

Southern route - 17 miles

Both routes in geographic context

Tuesday we decide on a shorter walk, the last two days being about 20 miles each, and drive to Porlock. Today we're ascending a wooded combe with gentle stream in full flow up to the start of Exmoor and down over the moor to the coast. We walk along a shingle beach getting windblown by the sea breeze and the police helicopters that are searching for a missing woman. I thought the two coppers approaching us were going to arrest me for chucking an apple core into the hedge or that a Corona Curfew had been mandated but unfortunately asked us about a more serious business. We return to Porlock along the South West Coast Path which here is nearly as muddy as it was on the southern coast from two years ago. We decide against the curry house and as we aren't aware of the cider pub stay in with rough cider from a bottle and Guiness from cans as it's St Paddies day. All needed to alleviate the fierce chilli Duncan's made.

Out of the combe onto Exmoor

Across Porlock Bay

Exmoor

The sea reclaims the land

Shingle strand towards Porlock Weir

Strand towards Bossington Hill

Porlock's decapitated church tower and ageing yew

Porlock walk - 10 miles

Wednesday we have a wander round Watchet finding the cider pub we missed by turning right instead of left but too early to indulge. After walking the harbour wall we head back to our respective homes stopping off in Wincanton for chips and then I'm on a deserted train speeding back to London.

Watchet harbour & marina

Cycling to Waterloo for the 7.30 train I stop off at the Extinction Rebellion camp before meeting the boys (Simon, Pete, Chris) all present and correct at the station and we board the train to Portsmouth with less stress than last year’s chaos. Easy trip and once on the boat we have a couple of beers before turning in to our pleasantly surprising pleasant cabin. Woken at about 5.30 French time to be told that we are delayed by an hour and we can all go back to sleep. Nice.

Friday is our first real day and we head for what looks like a pleasant ride through a nature reserve before going over a local bridge over the estuary and then head north west to Hornfleur. Turns out to be a massive oil refinery industrial estate with a some scrub land before hitting an extremely busy and steep Pont de Normandie. Glad to get on the back road to Hornfleur where we stop for breakfast in the pleasant seaside port town. We cycle along the coast road stopping for a swim at the meridian line (we passed it somewhere - apparently goes through Peacehaven too which we cycled through on our last trip) and refreshed we press on as the day hots up. It starts to get hilly as we head inland toward Caen and we stop off at the famous Pegasus Bridge which was taken by British paratroops and gliders at the very start of D Day. We just get the train at Caen where Simon persuades the ticket inspector to waive the penalty fare cos we don’t have tickets. French trains are well set up for bikes and relaxing. Speeding through the countryside part of me wishes that we were doing this on bikes but I guess we are living in a democracy. Seemingly. After shopping and lugging all that stuff up the steep viaduct route out of Coutances my legs are telling me that the train was a good idea. Simon has a new back road route avoiding the long fast switchback and just as my legs are instructing my mouth to ask him why we don’t go the direct route we see a sign for Contrieres 1km. Shut up legs! After that staple cyclists meal of pasta we sup beers and wine in the evening sun. Watch le Tour and then go for a local walk to bother the horses. Back home we start a whiskey tasting session starting with some I bought from the Welsh Penderyn distillery which we visited on a previous trip and I brought some in a plastic shower gel bottle and ending far too late on Simon’s Bells and possibly Irish single malt but maybe it’s Bells in the bottle too. Or something like that. All got a bit confused. 62 miles.

Saturday we’re up bright and early, well, Simon is and moaning that we’re missing the best part of the day. By that he means the bit which is pissing down with rain so luckily we have a later start than agreed, according to Simon, during the whiskey drinking session last night. Soon enough the sun comes out and will stay out for the remainder of the trip. We visit a local market town for fresh provisions and then a big car boot in the countryside. I don’t buy anything but the cider went down a treat and very reasonably priced. We eschew a river dip for the live le Tour coverage where the French are dominating and did G lose it today? To the café for home brewed beer and then back for my legendary risotto. Next it’s the local festival where there is a band playing called Long’ Avenue. We’re not expecting much and when we arrive they are playing to the usual array of slightly tipsy parents with hyper kids who are jigging about, nearly, to some awful Abba track I forget which. They are two oldish guys on guitar and bass, two younger guys with trendy haircuts on keys and drums and two women, one middle aged blond one younger who rather insultingly is referred to at the end as their Tina Turner so you can guess she’s not white Gallic. Anyways a lot of music flows over the crowd before that slightly prejudiced reference is made. So we’re all set for a crappy covers band but as I sip my cider I do remark that they seem to have a slightly techno take on the Abba classic. The set is an odd mix of rock and pop songs sung in English, some recognisable that they sing in French and some we don’t recognise that sound like French chanteuse songs (not that I’m an expert) which may be their originals. They are damn fine musicians the bassist particularly impressing me. The drummer can sing well and treats us to a bit of French rap. They do get our feet moving and the rest of the crowd is getting warmed up what with the beer and cider flowing fairly freely. The Spice Girl’s Wannabe goes down extremely well especially with the ladies. Even I enjoyed their take on it. Towards the end they get serious ripping through a Run DMC cover (again, forget which) and then a great version of Floyd’s Another Brick in the Wall. We pause to watch the surprisingly impressive fireworks display which goes on for ages and much have used up all of Simon’s local taxes and then some (he was out trying to calm the horses) and after the last big bang the band are back on. We’re treated to a rocking ending with AC/DC’s Back in Black (I think, they all sound the same) and then that punk classic Anti Social with the whole band and audience chanting along to the chorus of I’m An-Ti So-Cial I’m An-Ti So-Cial. Fantastic. And more than a little weird. I can’t remember for the life of me who sings that all I know is some old punk band and I have it in my collection. Back in the UK Olly says it’s Skrewdriver and he’s right. My secret pleasure as some of that band went on to be far right thugs but their first album wasn’t at all and still a classic. Odd how this band decide to cover that song given their diverse line-up. After the excitement of the band we are treated to an 80s electronic pop disco complete with smoke machine which has us four dancing and four French (I assume) youngish boys and girls. The elderly woman who has sat in a camping chair at the front of the crowd not moving for the entire set, and the fireworks, has left which is a relief as I wondered if she was still alive. Obviously likes punk rock but not 80s disco. We exit sharply once Come on Eileen comes on, ironically. Back home we continue drinking and chatting and go to bed far too late. 36 miles.

Sunny lazy Sunday. Cycling down to the beach for a swim and coffee, tootle back through the quiet lanes and lunch at the home brew bar restaurant. Back to watch le Tour for a chilled out afternoon. Nice walk in the evening before an early night. 19 miles.

Monday we’re up early to tidy up and off by 9.30 and it’s lovely and sunny but damn hot. We start of by hitting all the hills we can find between home and east of Coutances before hitting the shady cycle track and quiet roads to the coast. Here we stop for a swim and a very nice old lady asks if we want fresh cold water despite me wearing a heart rate monitor bra and Simon wearing bib shorts. Maybe she likes the kinky look. We then meander inland again finding all the steep hills we can before screaming down towards Cherbourg port. A quick beer served by the same Irish woman as a year ago and we’re onto the ferry. My feet ache as do Simon's. Feet complaining in sympathy? We have known each other too long! The journey is quick and on time speeding by with us teaching a French girl living in England the art of sarcasm. Short wait at the train station giving Simon enough time to buy beers and soon we’re speeding home heatedly discussing receipts and unreceipted expense claims. Waterloo we part from Pete, drop Chris off in Brixton and Simon and I part just south. Arrive home knackered but plied with wine and chat to Debbie, Olly and Hazel. Sleep well. 84 miles.

Epilogue. Tuesday I cycle to work and back in the blazing sun as it’s warming up nicely, or not. Legs feel fine. Weariness due to intense heat. Wednesday I’m up in Birmingham for a conference at Edgbaston Cricket Ground. Beforehand I sit by the pond in Cannon Hill Park thinking back to when I used to sit here trying to make conversation with my troubled French school friend. A lifetime has passed since then. Part of the deal is that we watch Birmingham Bears thrash Derbyshire Someotherstupidname in the evening 20/20 match. Blast is appropriate for this evening. Unlike today's test match.

Photos. First the important ones...