No moor hills please

Having decided to stick to around 20 miles a day for the moment we took the NCN 27 north from Plymouth across the edge of Dartmoor. We arrived yesterday evening at the Tavistock Bunkhouse, newly opened in January in time for the spring and summer outdoor sport seasons (with enough time to sort out teething problems). It's run by the friendly staff from the Union Inn next door - specifically Fran, or 'Big FJ' as he's known, who keeps the beer and banter flowing in equal measure. It's a clean and functional place to stay but I did bristle at the idea of shower tokens limiting how long you can wash for. We christened the bunkhouse bikeshed by giving our bikes a much needed clean and oil, somewhat redundantly as it turned out as today's journey was just as muddy.

After a proper English breakfast we continued along the NCN 27, a well signposted and well-kept cycle path used regularly for the Devon coast-to-coast cycling challenge. It was busy with cyclists and walkers today. Thankfully there were few hills, although there was a scramble through a quarry at one point which was decidedly un-cycle friendly. The few hills we did have to walk up made me think of what a Sisyphean task this journey is at the moment - rolling bikes up one hill just to go up another one that is, to all intents and purposes, identical.

Along the way we passed people foxhunting on horseback, conspicuous in bright red jackets on the scrubby dark moorland. As we cycled towards them they stood stock-still and seemed to be staring right at us, looking like a strangely artificial tableau - alert but inactive. But at the reedy sound of a horn in the distance, hounds started to whine, the horses pricked up their ears and the riders seemed to come alive. I suppose that, like us, they were waiting for the signal from an animal to spring into action. Any chance of filming them quickly vanished as they smoothly outpaced our bikes on the bumpy ground.

I can hardly complain about the riders and their jackets, however, as I stick out like a sore thumb. With my bright yellow cycling jacket and orange hair I look like a mobile daffodil. Wilting in the spring heat and smelling of chocolate digestives, I've started attracting attention from curious bees. 

The second half of the route today took us along the Granite Way from Lydford to Okehampton, passing over the Meldon viaduct which crosses the stunning gorge below (the photos really don't do it justice). This is also the end of the line for the old Okehampton railway which starts up again in a few weeks time. For tourist venues like this the start of the season depends considerably on when Easter falls and therefore when families will start to visit.

Passing more postcard villages, I couldn't help noticing how many homes have twee names like Spring House, Sunny View or Mushroom Mill. These sit perfectly on a day like today, with a clear blue sky, but how about the rest of the year? Are they a reminder of the joy of spring? Or a slap in the face in the middle of winter? I wonder how many are holiday homes, forgotten in December in London when 'Sunny View' is just a bad joke.
 
I'm now safely ensconced in a B&B in Okehampton, planning another route across the moors and cursing the contour lines which seem to show no easy way out.