19-21 April 2024: Meandering over Exmoor – one man and his bike

Author: Mr A

Location: Exmoor National Park, Somerset and north Devon, UK

As Catherine was away, I headed for the hills in the company of Brutus. No jumping to conclusions please, he’s my (admittedly very handsome) electric bike. Loaded up with camping gear he was looking especially beefy.

We live a short (30km) ride from Exmoor National Park, and this trip to explore it a little of it on the bike had been postponed numerous times, thanks to the wettest 18 months here in the UK since records began! But, with the glass half full, as I set off everywhere was a bright shimmering green, and the forecast was no rain for the weekend. It started raining shortly after I set off, just to poke the finger, but after that there was only the strong, bitingly cold headwind to contend with.

I nearly turned around when the rain started, but couldn’t face all that wasted time sorting and packing gear for nothing. So pressed on, with a free and easy approach to using the batteries (yes..plural, he’s packing double), knowing there were cafes ahead for recharging the bike, and me.

We live very close to one of the National Cycle (NC) routes that, in more prosperous times, were designated and mapped across the country. “Active transport” as our government call it. The government is so supportive of us hitting our climate goals…they just halved the budget for cycling, walking tracks. Excellent (sarcasm, for our US readers).

The network we do have largely follows the real rural back roads, of which we have plenty. One of the long distance cycle routes, NC3, runs very close to our house, and winds its way on almost exclusively single track roads up to the gateway town for Exmoor; Dulverton.

There’s only one cafe in town and I made my usual offer to “pay for power” along with my food. No one has ever taken me up on it, until now. I found £4 had been added to the bill, with no discussion of amount. Quite cheeky I thought. Anyway, off I pottered after a breakfast fit for “used to be a champion, now just an old man on a bike”, and stuck Brutus into turbo for the infamous steep climb up onto the moors. I have no shame about using the “I’m no hero” lowest gear as well. I didn’t weigh my camping gear, but there would have to be 15-20 kg with clothes, food and water. Brutus’s fighting weight with the dual batteries…32 kg. He’s no flyweight.

The scenery got spectacular very quickly once I was up out on the tops, still on NC3. It’s called the Ridge Road, and guess what, that’s right, plenty of fine views across Somerset and north Devon. Undulating but manageable, I later found out that I had climbed over a 1,000 metres before reaching camp a couple of hours later. “But you have an electric bike”, I hear you scoff. But it isn’t a moped, I retort somewhat defensively. You do have to actually provide some of the energy. I looked at the stats later and it would seem to lug a 33 kilo bike with around 15-20 kg of gear, food and water a kilometer up, the bike was providing two thirds of the effort, and me the other third. That third felt hard.

But a pub beckoned, funny how do they that right, it’s like a homing beacon, one I have thankfully been able to activate successfully on multiple occasions since making the move back here from Australia. Home for the night was to be the pub garden in my little Norman No Mates tent. Fine by me. Now the pub is worth a bit of attention in case you are passing that way. It’s called the Politmore Arms, not to be confused with the Politmore Inn, which I nearly ended up at by mistake, after several confusing phone calls trying to discuss their camping field.

The Arms was an absolute score on the quirky and friendly front. It had no phone, no mains power, no card machine, so all cash. Pretty much off grid. But by early evening it was packed. I’m guessing around a 100 customers, a pizza oven brought by one of the regulars, and a band. I got free use of the garden and the toilets. Cracking deal. If you find yourself riding, driving, walking over that way, please call in. You will find yourself, as I vaguely remember doing, gazing up at one of the darkest skies in England. Dartmoor is actually a “Dark Sky reserve”, with almost no light pollution, just stunning.

The next day dawned very cold (note: after 25 years living in Australia I call any temperature measured in centigrade that doesn’t have two numbers in it …flippin’ brass monkeys!). It was an early off to get some blood pumping and warm up. Destination for the night a campsite (with showers!) just outside the little village of Porlock near the stunning coast. The ride there was, I would say, about the best day ride I have ever had. A glorious blue sky, the gorse in full bloom, and hardly a car in sight. I stopped for breakfast in a little village, Withypool, with a picture postcard bridge and sparkling river. Oh, and of course a decent tea room. I have a homing beacon for those as well.

The next and only other village that day, was Exford, I was on a mission so rode straight through muttering to myself “Look away from the tea shop”. By mid afternoon I was glad to be hitting the campsite (…mmm, hot showers).

Tent all set up, I headed out on the, bike for a short downhill run to Porlock Weir, an old fishing port, hence the downhill bit. A beer, and back to my bed for another cold (single figures, yes) night.

Brutus was up for an early start, so all packed up I pushed the ‘on’ button…and waited…not like him to be tardy…nothing. Absolutely dead. After some fiddling around I worked out the larger of his two batteries had what the manual called in German “Zee bad message” – the flashing lights of doom. Poor lad. Now it’s Sunday morning, early, but just in case I sent a text to the bike shop mechanic I bought it from (EDEMO) and got a message stright back! Amazing people there. They talked me through a couple of checks and it was no go. So unloaded my gear, stored by the kind campsite folks, and rode the slightly more spritely fellah towards home on the little battery. I needed a recharge though, lunch beckoned in another little fishing village called Watchet.

Now, I thought it was unusually busy, after noticing several signs informing that there was “No walk ins”. What was going on in usually sleepy Watchet? You could guess all day long and without using a search engine never be right.

A duck race. Yellow plastic ducks…down the river that runs through the town. Bless Somerset. We’ve seen a few weird and wonderful races in the Outback, usually involving unsuspecting live animals, but plastic ducks, priceless.

So that was the trip, hope you enjoyed the armchair ride with Brutus and I. Only read on if gear is your thing. Er, not that sort of gear….camping/touring equipment. Otherwise, thank you for joining me in spirit on my wander round Exmoor.

The gear locker…

Firstly, the bags. I do love a good bag. And Ortleib is my weapon of choice. Last year I decided to upsize to the “plus” back rollers, to accomodate the camping gear. Thanks to Steve Tucker (fellow Riese & Müller owner) at SJS Cycles in Bridgewater. They have an incredible range of accessories.

Sleep system was my still unused in anger Terra Nova AS (all seasons) shelter. Weighs in at a touch over 1.7kg, so not exactly minimalist, but I had seen what Exmoor could suddenly produce weather wise (washed out in my old MSR Hubba Hubba) and felt this was a tent that could deal with almost anything, other than snow loading.

So you’d think I would have been smarter with the sleeping bag…but no. I took my new Enlightened Equipment quilt, rated down to zero degrees C. Well whoever gave it that rating was built very differently to me. Nowhere near warm enough, and that item will be consigned to summer (we will get one right?). The Thermarest down head pillow was on its first outing and loved it. Mattress was the Big Agnes Rapide Insulated (R value 4). It just wasn’t radiating enough heat for me, but very comfy. With a different bag it would have been fine.

Cooking system was the trusty MSR Windburner, essentially just for boiling water, then an X plate and mug etc. Nothing complicated in my culinary repertoire.

Not much else of interest, other than lots of warm clothes and waterproofs. And a trowel…just in case…never leave home without your trowel.