Tour de West Country: Day One

Penzance to Falmouth via Land’s End and St Ives

From the window of my carriage on the train down to Penzance yesterday, I was the captive observer of a glorious evening. At points, the train seemed to be gliding over the sea, so close were we to the waterline. No wonder they had so much trouble during the floods a couple of years ago. It is a fantastically human conceit to attempt to maintain a narrow steel sliver as the permanent boundary between land and water, and Mother Nature knows fair game when she sees it. Yesterday, though, she was becalmed. The conditions looked perfect for cycling. A slight breeze rippled the water’s surface and the resulting peaks and troughs shimmered with the golden light.

Of course, I knew the scenario was unlikely to be repeated the following morning. Perhaps inspired by the Grand Départ of this year’s Tour de France from underneath Mont Saint-Michel, I had determined that my personal tour would accommodate a small detour at the start of the first day in order to take in our very own St Michael’s Mount. Checking the weather forecast over the preceding week, I had watched the prognosis deteriorate daily, yet it was still a slight disappointment to be met with a wall of mist this morning as I headed out into the day. Against my instinct, I decided to do things properly and left Penzance on the east road towards St Michael’s Mount, rather than immediately hauling myself off towards Land’s End. Despite poor visibility, it was not a bad morning for cycling. Dry roads and the thrill of getting underway buoyed my spirits and I convinced myself that a view of the mount emerging menacingly from the clouds and fog would be pretty cool thankyouverymuch. I think you will agree this photo speaks for itself:

Heading westwards again, I struck back through Penzance and then along the coast road. I realised I hadn’t noticed the tailwind which had helped speed me out on my first leg; now it was buffeting into me and impeding my progess, it was somewhat more difficult to ignore. Visibility improved a little and I could see all the way across the little harbour at the centre of the pretty fishing village of Mousehole. Immediately as I left the village, the first real hill of the trip reared up and hit me like a wall. It felt like I was making no progress, but I gradually inched back into the clammy embrace of my journey’s companion, that thick, impenetrable fog. The road levelled out.

Mostly an annoyance, at times the fret had me frit: my route from here to the Minack theatre had me following some smaller roads and these narrow, winding lanes would leave little margin for error even in perfect conditions. Today, the drastically reduced visibility and oncoming traffic speeds inappropriate for such conditions combined to create a couple of hairy moments. Kubrick observed that the universe is not hostile, merely indifferent; a few of today’s drivers demonstrated that it is possible to simultaneously be both. I hope none of them came upon each other in opposition, for it is much harder to fit a car onto the non-existent verge at the inside of a blind Cornish bend than a bike.

Unscathed, I emerged onto a larger road and turned left to head down to Porthcurno and the Minack theatre. I would have to retrace my steps to get to Land’s End, and knowing you will have to suffer to regain every inch you descend does tend to take some of the fun out of it. Nevertheless, it was worth it. The Minack is quite a marvel, carved out of what feel like sheer cliffs. The setting is spectacular and there is a peace about the place conferred by the waves breaking against the rocks below. I can’t lie and say I would be tempted to attend a performance on a day like today, however.

Something that was notable throughout today’s ride was the flora. I mention it here because the Minack had a small but wonderful garden at the top of the cliff that I very much enjoyed. It adds to the pervasive feeling of otherworldliness that this little spit of land happily plays host to tropical-looking plants that would have no chance of survival elsewhere in Britain. I assume it also means they get some sun sometimes, too.

I had been forewarned, but nothing can really prepare you for how much of a hole Land’s End is. Still, it’s iconic and there is a signpost-cum-photo opportunity as well as the horrible concrete leisure complex. I could make out the signpost, but there was no sign of the cliffs or the vast expanse of ocean beyond. The way the fog clung to everything and seemed to thicken as I gazed out to where the sea should have been, if you told me it was not just Land’s End but World’s End, I might have believed you.

After I left Land’s End, I turned left to follow the coast round to St Ives, rather than taking the A30 back towards Penzance. I played tag with one of those open-topped tourist buses for a number of miles. The bus would regularly stop or take a slight detour down to one of the attractions just off the main road and I would pass it; at the next incline I would hear it rumbling behind me, straining for an opportunity to get past. At one point, I pulled over to let it past, only to see it stop a matter of yards down the road. The road was narrow, but had a good surface and the cycling was enjoyable. I would like to do the whole stretch from Land’s End to St Ives again because, visibility permitting, it has the potential to be a fantastically beautiful ride. The buses appear to be scheduled local authority services (I also passed one going the other way). I don’t know how they can stick to a timetable given the number of times I observed my one having to stop to squeeze past oncoming traffic, but when I come back I will definitely try to avoid a time when it is due to be running.

About ten miles from St Ives, the planets aligned for me: at the same time as the gloom receded, the road strayed nearer to the sea and the hedges gave way to open moorland. This granted me my first panoramic views of the trip. I swear I even saw a patch of blue sky for the briefest of moments. The road undulated but continued to climb overall as we approached St Ives. The last couple of hills before the drop into the town felt particularly steep and were slow going.

In St Ives, I stopped for lunch. A pretty town replete with rapacious seagulls. I felt them eyeing my every move as I sat by the seafront and munched on my chips. Overheard in the chippy were local youths agreeing to meet up at the skatepark. Shouldn’t they all be surfing in this part of the world?

After lunch, I had to head up and over the peninsula from St Ives to my B&B in Falmouth. As I climbed inland, I once again found myself enveloped by fog. This time it wasn’t so dry. I’m no lexicographer, but I believe what I encountered was pretty much the textbook definition of mizzle. The rain was so fine you barely noticed it fall, but I quickly found myself soaked to the bone. The road gradually continued upwards to the highest point of the day, at about 750 feet. It was a far less vicious ascent than those which so sapped my strength during the first half of my ride and the gentler gradient allowed me to get in to a good rhythm. There were a number of places where the characteristically high hedgerows dropped away and it felt like a view might be lurking behind the gloom. After topping out, the usual joy of descending was somewhat diminished by the wet roads and poor visibility. I quickly entered first Penryn and then Falmouth with a sense of achievement after a challenging day in the saddle. As is often the case in these seaside resorts, my B&B was perched at the top of a steep hill. As is also often the case, I had mentally relaxed upon entering my destination and was woefully unprepared for the day’s final challenge, wearily struggling up the incline like it was Mont Ventoux.

If you are interested in the route I took, take a look at the Strava link for my ride between Penzance and St Ives. My GPS doesn’t seem to deal well with my many breaks and it only realised I had left the Minack when I was nearly at Land’s End.

On a similar theme, despite providing me with directions all the way to Falmouth, my GPS seems to have lost all data after my lunch break in St Ives. Below is a link to the route I took. I can’t vouch for the scenery, but I had a great time!

Some approximate numbers according to Strava:

Distance — 70 miles

Ascent — 5000 feet (more than Ben Nevis)

Patches of blue sky — 1

St Michael’s Mounts — 0