There were thirteen at Totnes the following week, but only six were to attend the full ride for a variety of reasons. When I’d handed my spare handlebars to Steven (I always carry a full set of spares!) together with a set of Cornwall maps, and all the farewells had been uttered, we set off up that wretched hill for the umpteenth time and took to the lanes at Harberton.

It was another beautiful day, and the country lanes around Beenleigh and Stert were looking their best. We bumped into a friendly face on the way down to Diptford (not literally), a friend of Michael’s call Rob Stanyon: we got an invitation to a cup of tea on the way home, and then met his good lady in the village. Some more attractive and little used (by us) lanes took us down to Bickham Bridge, and then it was a matter of slogging up the hill to California Cross for a bit of main road work to the destination – Silveridge Wood.

There was a clearly marked footpath from the main road down to the wood. At least, it was clearly mar on the map – we went past it at some speed and almost missed it as the sign post had long since been broken off. Either side there were open fields, but peering into the dark depths of the dividing “hedge” one could just make out a hollow cavity running down its length. As this was evidently the only way to our destination from this side of the river Avon, and as it was already well past lunch time, we bravely set off into the jungle, ignoring the nettles, brambles and “triffids” as best we could.

The strong smell of garlic got worse as we trampled down the undergrowth, or should I say as Mark trampled down the undergrowth, as he was up front - a bit unfortunate perhaps on his second ride. Some tried to ride but soon gave up as they came across piles of boulders and tree trunks across the path. Those who were wearing shorts reached the woods somewhat battered and torn, but even those with better protection were hungry. Things hadn’t gone exactly to plan, but we were ready to make the best of it in true CTC fashion and soon found a clearing by the river that was relatively free of unpleasant vegetation.

It occurred to us while we were eating lunch that we were unlikely to be disturbed for quite some time in this remote spot, and this proved to be the case for the next hour or so. Having seen the spooky old railway bridge through the trees we decided to do some exploring, and soon we had scrambled up onto the stony track. We tried to visualise what it must have been like on the old steam trains as we wandered northwards towards Gara – it really is a beautiful area. After a while we turned back to get the bikes, only to find two flat tyres on arrival: obviously there had been brambles lying in the undergrowth on the footpath.

As we were leaving we heard voices in the distance, and when they finally took shape they thanked us for clearing a path for them – what a cheek! We pushed the bikes up onto the bridge with some difficulty and set off along the railway course to Topsham Bridge and civilisation, where I repaired my puncture. What a relief to see tarmac again! From there it was fairly easy going past Preston Farm and Moreleigh Mount. We didn’t have time to return to Stert Mill for that cup of tea, but it’ll wait for another day I’m sure. Funny, but we didn’t try any more tracks or paths on the way home that afternoon!

(Michael Jones)