A Lap of the County - Trans Devon

Words Katherine Moore. Photos Sam Voaden

If you could bottle up that energy on the little terrace outside the shop, it’d sell for hundreds. A heady mix of the Friday feeling mixed with nerves and anticipation, the chatter of friends old and new, the eyeing up of bikes and setups and the scoffing of early dinners.

After an arduous winter, a warm spring afternoon on Costa del Barbican couldn’t be more welcomed. I popped open my cold can of lemon Fanta and took up a seat under one of the bright yellow awnings, soon joined by Trystan.

Though we laughed at discovering that we’d both travelled from the same small town, which we’d soon be passing back through on our way to Checkpoint 1, our plans for the weekend couldn’t be more different. That’s part of the real joy in the Trans Devon and Kernow events for me; while Trystan and his fastest companions might be battling it out to finish in a matter of hours, my pal Sam and I were setting out to reach the two checkpoints at opposite ends of the county and back over a few days.

Familiar faces bounced over the cobblestones to join us at sign on; fellow riders from Trans Kernow in 2017, local audaxers and of course, the welcoming smiles of Steve and Hanky – this year sitting out the riding part of the event to greet us at the checkpoints instead.

Where some other cycling events, and particularly races, can host a somewhat hostile atmosphere at the start, this gathering was anything but. Locals and from further afield, experienced and novice, young and old, we exchanged strategies and route notes and quizzed each other over how to avoid the A39 around Lynton. The surprisingly warm weather meant that wardrobe choice was incredibly varied, too, and I was starting to regret the fleece-lined bib tights and long sleeve jersey I swore not to leave the house without.

Into the night

Without too much fuss, Steve had said a few words and we were rolling out on the cobbles, a whole weekend – and 340-odd kilometres – ahead of us. Forty or so riders negotiated the streets of Plymouth en masse, though soon splitting up at traffic lights or taking different route choices to negotiate the urban sprawl on a busy Friday evening.

Caught up in the excitement of it all, we pressed on out of town, loosely following the National Cycle Network Route 2 at pace. We had all weekend to complete the ride, but I was keen to hang out with the other riders as much as possible before we stopped for the night in Exeter, knowing that many had opted to try and ride through the night and were aiming for a more swift completion time.

Sam and I? Well we were just here for a good time, not a fast time. It was a miracle that we were even at the start at all really, considering that Sam’s back had been playing up for weeks and that I’d somehow managed to contract an energy-sapping bout of glandular fever in the week before the event. Each day we’d messaged each other for a SITREP: not wanting to be the one that meant we pulled out, but also not entirely convinced we’d be able to do it either. Both in the same frame of mind, we agreed to give it a shot anyway. If it became too much for either of us, we weren’t so far from home, and our respective partners and families could always bail us out if we really needed it.

It felt like the first evening of summer. That delicious warmth lingering into the late afternoon was bliss, cows turned out into the fields, hedgerows beginning to bloom. Solar powered legs made light work of the hills, soon through Ivybridge, South Brent and Buckfastleigh. We even passed a few riders (usually unheard of for me), though we knew we had a sleep ahead and could probably afford to push it a bit more.

We met a great gang as we approached Bovey Tracey, and ended up riding through Chudleigh and up Haldon Hill while nattering away. The light was thinning and as I checked my phone, I could see messages of encouragement from my family WhatsApp group. I’d never done an event with a tracker before – let alone on home turf – so it was really sweet to see them getting involved and following along, even though we were far from the pointy end of things.

At the top of Haldon we made a pit stop to refill bottles, fit lights and don a hi-vis jacket before the descent into Exeter. I don’t ride much in the dark anymore, and had forgotten how spicy it can make Devon’s twisty, gravelly little back lanes. Onto our last leg of the night, we started the out-and-back to Exmouth for Checkpoint 1. Before we knew it, we were riding in a whole peloton, with riders joining from a more coastal route via Teignmouth. Again, we exchanged plans for the days – or night – ahead, with a few audax hopefuls testing their legs ahead of the 600 kilometre Bryan Chapman Audax across Wales. 

It was a blur of lights and snacks along the Exe Estuary Trail, a few local e-bikers zig-zagging their way home from the pub surprised to see us. We still hadn’t slowed up either; whether that was adrenaline or nervous energy, it was certainly working wonders. 

Seeing the matchy match vans of Steve and Hanky at Exmouth seafront was a delight, some 15 or so riders all congregating to get their brevet cards stamped, take on some food, adjust whatever needed adjusting, and then carry on into the night. We were much sweatier than I’d anticipated, perhaps a combination of the warm evening and effort, so I was mighty glad to be heading to a cosy AirBnB rather than riding through ‘til dawn in cold, sweaty kit.

Heady with endorphins, a replenished social battery and sugar, we spun the return leg to Exeter, conducted a mildly successful petrol station sweep for breakfast and snacks, pedalled along the deserted canal towpath and reached our night’s accommodation, all before midnight.

A New Day

It’s never pleasant waking up to the smell of damp, sweaty cycling kit, but the cosy camp bed made it well worthwhile. I immediately thought of Issy and Will, who had told us they’d be sleeping in a hedge. It may have been balmy in the evening, but now there was a thick mist and temperatures of just three degrees. Perhaps last night it would have been easier to just keep pedalling.

After taking on the Trans Kernow in 2017 and royalling messing up, thinking that we’d be able to ride the 360 kilometre of stabby Cornish hills in a one-r, I was keen to take a more chilled approach this time. Turns out riding not just through one night, but two, is really hard work. Sam sold it to me as three big day rides of around 100 kilometres with proper sleeps in between, which we knew we could do. What we hadn’t factored in was the wiggling to get to Checkpoint 2 at Lynton without riding along the hectic, and forbidden, A39. Saturday turned out to be a 144 kilometre day with some hefty climbing up onto Exmoor and along the unforgiving coastline.

Just as Mid Devon always is, our first two hours of the day were tough. When you’re constantly heading up steep climbs followed by equally steep and quite sketchy descents, it’s hard to gain a sense of rhythm. We checked the tracking app to discover that most other riders had opted for the less direct, but much more gentle Exe Valley road to head north. Probably fine in the dead of night, but I wouldn’t fancy it on a Saturday morning.

By the time we rolled into the Log Cabin Diner on the North Devon Link Road for second breakfast, an oasis in the middle of the very sparsely populated Mid Devon, Nathan had already finished the whole ride, and was back in Plymouth. We could barely believe it. Fuelled up by pancakes and ice-cream at 9am, we headed on through the last lanes before Exmoor. The climb from the village of Molland onto the moor was spectacular, quite gentle and quiet before headinf out onto a vast open moorland. Our sundances had been heard, and we were riding in shorts and a short sleeved jersey for the first time this year, heading straight under the singing skylarks towards distant gatherings of semi-wild ponies.

After some sublime views towards the North Devon coastline, we dropped down off the moor and skirted around the major roads, taking the steep descents and inclines through Parracombe and passing Tom and co coming the opposite way. A proper sit down on comfy cafe cushions and a good meal was hotly anticipated in Lynton, but not before swinging by the car park to see the Steve and Hanky double act again. We ticked off another checkpoint as they offered some golden cafe recommendations. I get the impression they’d had plenty of time there seeing all the riders through to sample at least a few of them.

We racked up our bikes with Ryan, and his two pals and enjoyed a hearty Mexican lunch at Charlie Fridays. Not what we’d anticipated finding in Lynton, but the vegetables were hugely appreciated. These guys were on our wavelength too, finishing for the day a little before us in Barnstaple and then riding the final leg on the Sunday to make a weekend of it.

For anyone who’s visited those parts before, the Valley of the Rocks are not to be missed, so we had decided to add on a bit of a loop along the coast to visit them rather than head back the way we’d come. The sliver of tarmac winds down the coast between towering outcrops of grey, the deep blue sea to the right between steep grassy banks. It was busy in the mid-afternoon, but I was certainly glad to have seen it in the daylight, rather than the darkness of night.

Our ‘ride’ along the North Devon coast continued through pretty Martinhoe and crossing the impossibly steep Heddon Valley. A game of Would You Rather was deployed on the push-up on the other side of the valley to take our minds off the task. Sausages for fingers, or sausages for toes? The reward was (perhaps narrowly) worth it, with a deserted coastal road looking back along the cliffs and green pasture. Content with our loop of the North Devon coast, we turned back inland, sights now set on the next meal, with a trip to the chippy in Barnstaple lined up to incentivise the legs.

Looking over the River Taw from the bench on the green, we munched down salty chips like there was no tomorrow, happily knowing that there was only a flat pedal along the Tarka Trail to our rental cottage for the night. More word games and laughter ensued to occupy our tired minds as we spun out the last few miles of the day beside the water in the softening early evening light.

Homeward Bound

The final day of a trip can often feel like an anti-climax. On the one hand you’re keen to complete the challenge, but on the other you don’t want the fun to end. Not to mention returning to the rhythm of daily life and the tax of adulting.

We started our Sunday morning weary, but with a premature sense of achievement that we’d managed it, as today’s journey would be a mere 84 kilometres, with a significant chunk of easy riding on the Plym Valley Trail at the end back to Plymouth.

Like the day before, endless hills through Mid Devon kept us on our toes, as did the darkening raincloud that loomed beside us. Not one, not two, but three stops for Sam’s tubeless issues meant that it was slow progress to begin with, and the rainclouds caught up with us for a short, but somewhat refreshing downpour. It’s not a tour without a bit of rain though, is it?

We’d quickly dried out by the time we met the edge of Dartmoor, familiar hills looming ahead of us as we rolled into Lydford, bumping into my pal Christina who was out on a MTB overnighter, and following the main road past Brentor Church on the hill. The heavens opened once again on the fast descent into Tavistock, so we sought refuge in The Pasty House for a hot cuppa and some lunch while the worst of the weather passed through. Showing no signs of easing up, we set off again for the final leg in the warm rain.

The undulating Drakes Trail led us to Yelverton, which featured a few sections of old tramway and mud past the Belties for some road bike spice. It may not be the most inspiring route, but the easy paved Plym Valley Trail was gratefully welcomed for our return to Plymouth, with a short detour near Clearbrook yielding expansive views back towards the moorland tors.

Nearly back to civilisation, we fantasised about our celebratory meal. Thing was, we were both pretty sick of eating, and our finish line tinnies were already allocated to the support crew; Sam’s for his father in law for letting us park the van nearby, and mine for my partner John, aka mechanic. Rolling back to Rockets and Rascals in the mid-afternoon, there was only one thing for it; a round of peanut butter and chocolate smoothies. And let me tell you, they really hit the spot.