Graham Reed, Julie and myself set off for Callington via Horrabridge, Peter Tavy, Mary Tavy, Holyeat, Lamerton and Gunnislake. We had an afternoon break for lunch at the pub in Lamerton, where we had been two weeks previously.
In Gunnislake we had to decide what the best route would be to get to Callington. Graham Reed suggested turning right past the station and going through Cotehele. It would have been a pleasant route, especially with all the Spring flowers nodding their sunny assent on lawns and in hedges or silently gathered in demure clusters in damp and shady hedgerows (what would cycling be without poetry?), but we stayed high and made for Harrowbarrow, thus avoiding a long ascent up to our turning at the end of the village. The route from Harrowbarrow is fairly familiar and involves a left turn just before what once was an old warehouse. The distance and one hill after another had taken its toll on my poor legs, so I said we were fairly close to the main road back to Plymouth and for Julie and Graham to make their way back at their own speed.
I did say turn right at the bottom of the hill at Ashton, but when I got there Julie and Graham had turned in the opposite direction to get back to the main road and Graham said he knew a different way. Leaving them to their own devices, I headed up to the main road by the usual route, wondering how much in front of me they were. I had a short rest before crossing the Tamar Bridge and was very surprised when Julie and Graham rolled up behind me. Graham was at a loss to explain how his master plan had gone awry.
As Robert Burns has it in his poem To a Mouse, 1786:
But, Mousie, thou art no thy lane [you aren't alone]
In proving foresight may be vain:
The best laid schemes o' mice an' men
Gang aft a-gley, [often go awry]
An' lea'e us nought but grief an' pain,
For promised joy.
51 miles on the clock. Arrived home 6.15 pm. Dartington (more flowers!) next week.