Dartmoor

Yesterday we went to Dartmoor. Syann was part of a group involved with her CIMBA exhibition at Bovey Tracey. They were walking to a Bronze age Burial site with archeologists and paying guests etc. I took my bicycle and went North. I took the wrong path and carried my bike too far and pushed it the rest of the the first half of the trip. Dodging along the edge of a brook with bike on shoulder and trying not to get deeper than my ankles in the bog. The path slowly climbed away from the stream, I could push more and carry less. Saturday and there were teams of orienteering teenagers with back packs, bedrolls etc. I stopped at two stone circles in good order. I asked young man whether they were prehistoric or erected by the Boy Scouts in 1936. He checked his map, more recent and twice the scale of mine and it was labeled as restored. I stopped for my lunch (pulverised sandwiches mixed with satsumas and chocolate) Took off my sodden cycling shoes and arranged them with their inner soles on a rock with my socks on the carrier where the keen wind could remove some excess moisture. Greeted several parties of orienteerers in their boots and lycra, me feeling a bit old and second class.
Into the woods where there was a track to cycle along. Sunshine as one got out of the trees. A long downhill to the reservoir another stone circle and through the gate to the car park with some of the many mini-busses bringing the students. The reservoir was beautiful with dark peat stained water reflecting the blue sky. The road out led to Chagford, the wrong way, but I rode down it looking for the tracks getting me back to Postbridge and the car. There was no reception so I could not ask Syann to collect me elsewhere. A young farmer came past on his Quadbike with 4 year old daughter on front and 50 sheep following all baa-ing keen on the hopper with feed on the back. Two farms later and the long ascent to the moor began again. Against the wind this time. At last I reached the main road to Postbridge. Traffic pleasantly light, man several years older than me overtakes me on his bike ( skinny tyres and lycra) Thirty Motorcyclists come past. I wonder how much one sees in a large group anyway. Surely if they hired a Coach they could chat to their friends. Mind you we are about to tow our boat up to the western isles of Scotland to sail with thirty other boats in two weeks time. Got back to the car park, texted Syann, bought a tart and sat next to the old stone clapper bridge in the sun and ate it. I walked up the hill south, but having done five hours of (for me) fairly strenuous exercise, I returned to the car where Syann appeared. No I didn’t receive her text. That arrived half an hour later on the way home.