Diary and Photos

I had come to the decision during the previous day's travels, to risk the crossing over the Severn bridge. When I had planned the trip originally I had planned to go over it, then after some thought decided that avoiding the motorway would be the better option, even if it added a lot of mileage on the trip up to Gloucester and back down again. I came to the conclusion that despite the risks, it would be worth reverting to the original idea and just going for it. That way I could save a far chunk of mileage, and even better, a fair chunk of time, giving me an hour or two extra to chill out when I got to my campsite. Only four days behind me, and already I was a wreck from all the hours in the saddle.

Every part of me ached, putting the tent up at the end of the day and taking all the stuff off the bike was hard, and taking it down and reattaching everything in the morning was even more of a chore as I got more exhausted.

First thing it was cold and the sky was ominously grey, looking as though it was ready to piss down on me again:

Early morning in Porlock, just before departure.

I left the campsite and rode through the countryside hoping i'd find somewhere to get something to eat- the day before I had found a roadside burger van on the way to Land's End, and was hoping something similar would turn up again. After a while I saw a sign, and was grateful beyond words when I found it open (all too often I had seen signs directing me to a cafe only on arrival to find it closed, or even looking as though it had been abandoned for years) .

For the first time since setting out I had a proper sit down breakfast and a cup of coffee. Wonderful. The place was called something along the lines of 'The Hilltop cafe' and is on either the A38 in a place called Pawlett, just north of Bridgwater (I think - things were becoming a bit of a continuous blur, and the notes I made in the evening could be wrong... mornings somehow often seemed dislocated from the afternoons, a very peculiar sensation- a brief search on the net, and I think I've got the right place). I highly recommend it if you happen to be around that part of the world. A proper cafe with proper food!

I knew as I rode north that at some point I was going to have to get onto the M5 in order to get onto the M4 to get over the bridge, and I was also eager to avoid ending up in Bristol and its associated traffic chaos. As I was simply using the sat nav as a rolling map rather than showing me a proper route, I saw the M5 appear and joined it just after Weston-super-Mare. Big mistake.

Not having actually seen how it was from Weston to the M4, I was rather surprised when I realised just how many miles I was actually going to have to travel on the motorway. Whilst the Cub was perfectly legal on the motorway for someone with a full license, it was not a wise choice for a road as fast as this. On the flat it was fine, with enough speed to chuff along happily in the inside lane. On some of the long inclines however, it slowed down to almost embarassing speeds, and I fully expected to have a poilce car pull me at any moment and interrogate me about my speed (or lack thereof!).

After what seemed like an interminably long time on the M5, it was onto the M49 for more terror as overtaking lorries made me wobble all over the place as I got caught up in the wake of their turbulence. I'd like to say a particular thankyou to the lorry that undertook me as we went from the M5 to the M49, about six inches from my leg. Thanks for that, I didn't shit myself at all.

Next the M4, and the bridge. Where I live the biggest bridge I encounter with any regularity crosses a small brook about fifteen feet wide, and about a foot deep, so when I come across a suspension bridge like this one, it always impresses me. Another toll booth barrier opened before me for free, and before I knew it I was in Wales. I rode another couple of miles of Motorway with gritted teeth and exited left at the first opportunity, and found my way back onto my original route after a brief foray into an industrial estate that ended in a dead end.

After a morning of reasonably good progress things started to slow again as I encountered more towns and cities- Newport, Cardiff, Bridgend, Port Talbot, then Swansea and Llanelli. After that little lot was Carmarthen and finally Pembroke, a mile or so away from my campsite.

And what a good campsite it was too, as good, if not better than the one the night before, though sadly no pub fifty yards up the road... It was called Windmill Hill Farm, and although I saw no sign of a windmill I wasn't about to complain. It was wonderfully quiet, with the tents in a huge separate field from the caravans and camper vans, and a great shower block. All this and cheap- three and a half quid for a night's pitch!

As it was an early arrival (mid afternoon, a couple of hours and change earlier than I'd been getting to my evening stops), I took my time putting up my tent, and sauntered over to the shower block and really took my time with a long hot shower, washing away some of my aches and pains. I also finally got around to having a shave- my hair and beard stubble were driving me to the point of insanity, they had to go, and I had the time to get rid of them!

Self-portrait, taken at Windmill Hill farm campsite. Note freshly-scraped head.

There were a couple of other tents in the otherwise empty field, and asked one of the occupants if there was anywhere nearby I could get some food. He pointed me in the direction of several likely places, but I chose the Chinese takeaway option, as from his directions it sounded pretty easy to get to, and avoided too much confusion trying to navigate a big chunk of Pembroke's one way system. This particular place I do remember the name of - it was called the Pembroke Carvery, and I bought a huge amount of food and spent a happy hour or so in the porch of my tent stuffing myself silly. All that was missing was a beer or two.

I went to bed early - it was still light I remember - feeling very positive about the next day's ride- the extra bit of R&R had done me good. There would be few large towns, lots of open countryside, and the riding looked as though it would be pleasant. I had an overpriced campsite at the end of it, but that was the price I had to pay for stopping in a touristy area.

Note: Apologies for the dearth of pictures on this one. I took only five or six photos on this particular day- all of which were taken just as I left my site in Porlock, or when I arrived at my destination. I recall telling myself in the evening to remember to stop, even if just for a minute or two to take a quick couple of snaps here and there- sod the time element, I needed a record of all of this. The next day I did so...

Next: Day 6

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