loquitohermoso

Owning an old van comes with a great degree of guilt, if you don’t use it enough. Primary excuses for the past month have been based around lack of time and weather. But with the latter improving, and an overtime ban at work assisting the former, it was time for an outing.

Thankfully, the ‘excuse’ came due to a fellow Lifeboat crew member setting off on an epic 31-day assault on the South West Coast Path. Needs company, right? I’d calculated that I could likely keep up with the madman for about half a day, or 12ish miles.

First thought was to stay at a pub, but unfortunately this one wasn’t open on Mondays. So, I decided to think outside the box. An increasing number of car parks, the camera controlled scammy ones everyone hates, are actually very handy for discreet van overnighting. Fundamentally, nobody cares if you’re staying in the far end of a Sainsbury’s car park, if you’ve paid up.

So it came to pass that I found myself heading southwards. Van was ticking over nicely, so much so that I got a couple of decent overtakes in. Not a shining endorsement of my skills or the mighty Hymer’s power, just the perils of living in Elderlyville. 40 is safe, even if you do it in every speed limit zone.

A decent enough journey for Hetty’s first outing, though. Even if I did do my usual ‘Google special’ route… “similar ETA” is one of the snakiest phrases in modern life when you’re driving a 10ft wardrobe. Destination for the night was Weymouth. Home for the night, Premier Inn on the seafront.

Not, you understand, actually in the hotel. They have a paid car park, £5 for 24hrs via one of the online sites. Mustn’t grumble. Is this cheeky? I don’t know. I’m not outside with my lawn chairs and parasol, so it probably makes no odds to them.

I headed into town to sample Weymouth’s delights for the evening. It’s an interesting place, a hint of faded glamour but overall a lot going for it in terms of seaside fun. It’s only when you get into the shopping streets that it all becomes a little stabby. I plonked myself in the window of Costa for a while to take it all in. I should say that this was genuinely a very nice experience, with an extremely friendly and accommodating barista who put on a very good show of not minding me rocking up shortly before closing time. Grumpy old man thought- why does really good service like this stick in the mind so much?

Pretty early on, I had come across some new pay-as-you-go e-Bikes. Beryl bikes, no less. Better than Boris, I suppose. I happily tooled around on Beryl, down to the historic harbour and a look at the lifeboats. I did notice that the promenade bans bikes between May and September, which seemed to also make them somewhat pointless.

I then realised that the scammy little blighter between my legs was costing more than a few pence, and I was already up to a fiver on my little sojourn. Sure, a cab would have been cheaper, but it’s not the point I suppose. I deposited Beryl on the seafront and headed to find sustenance. Naturally, as both a cheapskate and a lover of ale, this led me to the hallowed doors of Wetherspoons.

Jesus wept, this was more than usual. A heady blend of daycare centre and/or probation hostel. Wetherspoon writ large. Still, they had Jaipur on tap, which is a lovely drop, so I settled down with my pint and burger. One was definitely enough, prior to the walk back to my hotel, er, van.

The next morning I was up bright and early to meet Rob on the Coast Path, taking the Jurassic Coaster bus towards Swanage. I boarded the top deck, because you have to, right- It’s holidays- alongside a taciturn man, also a walker, who didn’t look in a conversational mood.

Out of season, the Coasters still run, but on a reduced timetable, meaning I had an hour and a half to waste at Lulworth Cove- Also very much out of season. Luckily, the early mist was dispersing and it was a fine day to mooch, taking it all in, including the hardy sea swimmers, the site of a new seaside sauna under instruction and two pencil-necked desk jockeys using scanners for…something…on the beach that I wasn’t brave enough to ask about.

Luckily, an hour later, as predicted by Google, the seaside cafe opened up and I enjoyed an enthusiastically-priced but nonetheless very nice bacon ciabatta roll and coffee. It’s the view that makes it. Don’t get this Stokes ketchup malarkey though.

I felt slightly guilty at this point, getting Rob to meet me on the beach- I hadn’t remembered that the coast path has a very odd route here and you have to climb all the way back out of the cove…sorry. Definitely one of the toughest sections here towards Durdle Door with relentless stone steps, the top never seems to get closer, but the views across the bay are more than worth it.

This was a long schlep, but I couldn’t complain too vociferously, as Rob had covered 15 miles before even meeting me. Before too long, we were striding down the seafront, where I bade farewell since my parking was up at 4pm- quite aside from the small matter of having to drag the van home before work in the morning!

My next van departure came on the following set of rest days- Only 3 this time- necessitating an ambitious approach to sleep deficit. I’d hoped to meet Rob in Dartmouth, but couldn’t afford to take another night shift off. Therefore my cunning idea was to take Hetty to work, finish work at 3am and get as far south as I could- before meeting Rob somewhere near Dartmouth.

This started well- Zero traffic and a pleasant chug down the motorway, aside from a few annoying hypermilers doing 58.5mph in front of me. I was, however, then done over by Google Maps. Again. Top tip, ignore the bloody little green leaf. It only brings heartache in a 10ft tall van. Why I thought it was a better idea to follow this than the lovely black lorry route from the A38 towards Kingsbridge I’ll never know.

Utter country lane terror, coinciding with my body really being very keen to sleep- but I was in it now, couldn’t stop, and the time on the ETA just wasn’t ticking down quick enough.

Trying to do meaningful things after night shifts is always a bit of a toss up… on one hand I don’t want to waste rest days and on the other hand I really do need to sleep a little more however I’m not a man who learns from mistakes, therefore here we were on the scary little Devon lane.

Eventually the miles and the minutes ticked down and I gratefully rolled into Kingsbridge. I thought I’d just go to the car park anyway just to see where it was and then try and park up nearby. By this point it was 5.30am, so there was no point paying £15 for a whole night.

As it happened, this was a very happy accident, with an unrestricted parking space right on the car park access road. That’ll do. I won’t say that I slept particularly well due to an early-morning stream of traffic, and that weird state of being too exhausted to actually sleep… 90 minutes in the bank, then up for breakfast, eyeing up the 9am bus towards Dartmouth.

My short walk to the Kingsbridge “bus station” confirmed that this was a reasonably pleasant town, albeit well-stocked with some very odd characters. I had to rub my eyes more than once as the bus to “Inner Hope” rolled in. Everyone needs inner hope.

Through the virtue of live tracking, I could keep an eye on Rob’s progress from Dartmouth, I was going to meet him somewhere along the way at the coast. Plan A of Torcross village was abandoned, since we were out of the magical season none of the caffs were open, and there was no way I was waiting outside for a couple of hours. So, against better judgement I stayed on the bus for a few more miles up to Strete Gate, where Google assured me a little coffee hut might serve me a restorative libation.

Job jobbed, with a lovely fresh coffee and my lovingly prepared overnight oats. This was not going to be an energetic day. The white horses in the sea passively observed from within the warm bus were a telling clue of the utter hooley that was blowing. A good couple of miles and we reached Torcross village then took to the cliffs. There’s something magically elemental about walking beside a roaring sea, with nips of sea spray to ward off even a night shift fog.

This really is one of my favourite sections of coast path, and a magical day to do it on- Bright sunshine turning the sea a deep jade and showing every inch of the jagged, rocky coastline…which is fine from a distance. This was also one of the toughest sections of the SWCP I’d done, with a gentle rolling section to lull you into false security before the incessant rocky climbs and descents around Start Point and beyond. That next corner the one you’re aiming for, until you round it and see the headland you needed to get to.

I couldn’t complain too vociferously though, since Rob was already 10 miles deep when I started off. I do think we both realised we’d bitten off a bit much though as yet another corner revealed itself on the final stages to East Portlemouth. Would we reach the quay before the last ferry? It was pretty close in the end, and the alternative was a…very…long…way.

But, the ferry was caught, and Salcombe was reached… 18 miles under the belt. I gratefully caught the bus back to Kingsbridge for an early night in the van. I didn’t move it off the road, because by now it was deserted, and bird in the hand, right? This would have to be a stealth mode camp though- Skylights only, other than a surreptitious and faintly hazardous jump out into the road to turn the gas on.

That night I slept more akin to low-GCS unconsciousness rather than anything else. I always sleep better in the van anyway and after walking for 18 miles I definitely sleep better. I only wish that I’ve made my 8 o’clock bedtime even earlier as my alarm crept into my dreams very slowly… earplugs see, and I awoke to cold darkness.

Every fibre of my being really didn’t fancy donning walking shoes again, however a promise is a promise, so I snarfed some breakfast and headed to the bus station for the first bus to Salcombe. Amusingly, it turned out, with the same occupants as the bus back last night.

Briefly lost in the snickets of this lovely town at daybreak, I saw that the army of trades were already arriving back to paint, fix and fettle everything prior to the Easter onslaught rendering the streets impassable with human traffic.

We discussed the need for breakfast, and to invest in a good feed. I was wholeheartedly behind this, although since we were still out of season nobody would cater to these whims. A posh hotel on the edge of town offered food all day, so I decided to brave it. The lady on reception looked bewildered but not grumpy about our arrival, and immediately said “I’ll ask Chef” as if these two scruffy blokes on the doorstep needed explaining.

The waiter definitely was not on board, however a brief glance at the table confirmed there was an actual menu, and a few moments later we were presented with Eggs Royale, including a free coffee. Even at their somewhat enthusiastic pricing (+service) you can’t grumble at that. Magnificent start to the day. I did feel briefly guilty whilst draping the pristine linen napkin on rather less pristine walking shorts though. I paid the snooty waiter with a smile, and we hit the trail.

This started in a civilised manner through the nice National Trust gardens and with some actual paved road, before, inexorably, the rock began again and up the cliffs we went.

The walking today wasn’t really too bad with some ups, some downs and lots of really nice rolling grassy bits. The devil as ever was the wind. No rhyme, no reason, no apparent direction- Just some moments basking in the bright sun, and then next being blown sideways- Sometimes towards the cliff, sometimes away, a small frisson of excitement in every gust, of which there were a few.

My goal for the day was Hope Cove…buses out this way are a bit patchier, and if I had gone much further on, then I’d have a very long walk inland to the main road to get back. Once you get past Bigbury, there’s not much.

Hope Cove was a delightful little place to finish up though, one of those places that become a family’s yearly pilgrimage. Not much, just a couple of pubs, a small harbour and an independent lifeboat- One that looked extremely busy by the numbers on their shout board. You could be anywhere here, the Amalfi coast, Greece, simply stunning. I bid farewell to Rob and wandered around until the 12.45 arrived.

It seemed like a fitting end to the journey and this was the easiest bus in any case.. I was delighted to see that this was the Inner Hope service. Arriving back into Kingsbridge in the sun for a pleasant mooch. it’s a pleasant mooching kind of town really and most of the town folks seem decent enough . 

Devon, or in particular the posh bits, can be quite an odd place. You can have some nice interactions but the vast majority seem to be somewhat negative with people like looking down their nose at you or just being plain… rude. I’ve never understood snobbishness like this, just seems an odd way to live your life. A life of expectations and front.

I enjoyed a lovely coffee served by an incredible luminous Swedish woman* and wandered back to the van which thankfully still haven’t been set on fire. I was pushing my luck now with this parking spot, so it was time to go.

*[when I say ‘luminous’ I don’t mean this in a derogatory or remotely creepy way, just that kind of fresh-faced uniquely Nordic beauty that stops you in your tracks and you can’t quite believe that you are communicating with this person]

My next stop on the road was Totnes for no other reason that it was on the route back to the A38- And not the scary lane. As I pulled in, I realised that I had visited here before but since it was such a nice place it was worth another visit. Enjoyed a pleasant riverside walk and managed to check out the motorhome parking right on the river which looked incredible for a future visit although now it is slightly pricey at 15 quid per night. Here again, I experienced the yin and Yang of Devon residents with some very grumpy interactions and some quite nice ones as well and also lots of dogs talked to.

I resolved to visit again, stay on the river and also to visit the otter sanctuary. Steve the Otter has a lot to answer for.

My next destination was a pub in Widecombe-in-the-Moor on Dartmoor. Unthinkingly I allowed Google Maps to plot a route. Yep, again I had the cute green leaf symbol, which indicates that you’ll theoretically save 5% diesel, however lose most of the corners of your 10ft van. Unfortunately, once you’ve realised a road is a very bad idea you kind of have to plough on anyway…experiencing some of the most rabid and aggressive rural drivers I think I’ve ever come across, and I’m a Somerset lad.

I realised I was a bit of a mobile roadblock on this dodgy road and tried on several occasions to pull in and let a Discovery pass me, although he didn’t get the hint- Eventually he did, but turned right around in his seat as if he wanted to fight me for my rude courtesy. Scary country here. Eventually however, I reached the lovely wide B road I definitely should have taken in the first place and pulled into the pub car park. Here I realised with joy that my TV aerial had been knocked off, again. It’s my canary in the coalmine of low trees. In a futile nod to safety, I stuffed my non-functional mobile in my pocket to give some insurance against doing a Rod Hull on the rickety roof ladder.

The pub was a decent enough sketch, ruled with a rod of iron by a landlady. Some of the reviews spoke negatively of this, but actually I loved it. Tough rural folk, you know where you stand. She sat me in the local’s bar, presumably out of sympathy, and I listened with interest to their tales of prolapsed lambs as I tucked into my meat pie.

You shouldn’t ever pre-judge though… a posh artist lad from the campsite came in and started telling them about his exhibitions. Just when I thought he was definitely going to be hog-tied with baler twine and dragged to the village cross an enthusiastic discussion began about Picasso’s influence and other such arty stuff that went right over my head.

The next morning I rolled down the somewhat friendlier, but not entirely benign, B-road to Bovey Tracey, and thence home. This had been a successful outing, and the step count was up.