Great Torrington (Day 2)

This morning the church bells peeled for half an hour. The sound of them reminded us of many places we've stayed in France. Despite a quiet night, we decided to move Marge to a space at the top of the carpark nearer to the parked cars where she wouldn't be so isolated when we left her to go cycling. Also, because a group of youngsters in cars and on motorbikes arrived near us around ten o' clock last night. Not that they were any problem, just meeting up to chat, leaving around eleven.

 Enjoy the view, Marge. The fields below looked stunning. To the right the two leper strips visible, remnants of seven strip fields from the medieval period. One hundred and fifty years ago in the nearby village of Taddiport there was a leprosy hospital. 

Brompton's at the ready we walked down the path behind the car park, stopping to speak with a lady who informed us it was her eighty first birthday today. We asked if she knew the route down to the Tarka Trail. After some thought she pointed us in the right direction down a steep path towards the river. Soon we had to stop. John's front tyre was flat. Our cycling trip looked in jeopardy of not going ahead. After twice trying to repair the inner tube with patches well past their sell by date success was achieved. We decided to press on to Bideford rather than Barnstaple just in case the repair didn't hold out. 

Following the instructions given we cycled through the derelict site of the old Dairy Crest creamery awaiting development after thirty years of closure, then along a rutted track to the Puffing Billy cafe where there was no sign to tell us which direction we needed to go for Bideford.

Asking some local cyclists, we were soon on our way enjoying cycling off road over a tarmacked surface up and down gradients, through tunnels and over bridges following alongside the river Torridge. Due to our false starts it took us two and a half hours to reach Bideford.

We lunched by the river watching a man paint an ancient and very rusty tug boat. We wondered if he would ever finish this project the task seemed monumental. Nearby we could hear the dulcet tones of a brass band trumpeting, drumming and oompahing popular tunes. We listened a while whilst we ate ice cream. John couldn't bear the sight of the weeds growing in the adjacent Diana Memorial Rose Garden and set to pulling some of them up.

Across the road a beautiful floral display in celebration of the queen's platinum jubilee caught our eye.

Bideford a thriving port in the fifteenth century exporting pottery to Europe and America. The ships returning with tobacco and salt cod is described as one of the prettiest and distinctive towns in north Devon. 

Just before five we returned to Marge having stopped on the return ride to pick wild garlic from the side of the cycleway. We took a different route back into the town walking with our bicycles up a very steep road that seemed to go on for ever. Whilst we have found Devon to be very pretty and scenic, we are starting to hate the hills. Aren't we Marge? Hear you had a bike malfunction today. It's not just me that causes your ills then? No Marge. Tomorrow we're off to Ilfracombe, don't be getting any ideas about playing up please.