Spring Ride to The Sea

Spring Ride to The Sea - Podcast

Somerton - Samford Brett – Watchet - Somerton 148 km

Three-day tour - watch the VLOG

24th – 26th March 2022

Day One - Somerton to Samford Brett 60 km

We set off about ten thirty, our bikes are laden but not with tent or sleeping gear as we are not camping, but glamping, the nights are too cold this time of the year.

The sun is shining, and we are free of all responsibilities, we are only concerned with enjoying the fresh air, new places, and being together on our bikes.

Although the sun is shining, we are wearing our winter layers but in ways they can be removed easily. Cycling shorts with cycle leggings, vest, short top with arm warmers, jacket, and high vis vest. Come on sunshine, heat up the air.

We cycle on familiar Somerset lanes, zipping through Langport before turning off onto new roads. The lanes are not busy and any vehicles we see are courteous. We breath in the scents from spring flowers and tree blossom. It’s so delicate and pretty at this time of the year. The birds are singing, and it is getting warmer.

A stop by some water meadows and a layer is peeled off and tucked under the very useful bungees we have on our bike racks.

We pass a bridge to a private house, what fun to have your own bridge.

More layers of clothing are removed until I am in shorts and t-shirt and loving the feel of the sun’s touch on my skin.

Soon we are on the Bridgewater-Taunton Canal, a narrow towpath and a narrow waterway. A contrast to the canals in France near our home where the canals are much larger to accommodate barges. There is a sweet bridge and narrow boats moored to the side and ducks paddling past. Tranquil.

We spy some picnic benches and stop for our picnic lunch. There is a noticeboard, a small pond and a building that was once a cottage and then became a pillbox. We are lunching next to the defunct Chard canal, which was completed only moments before the railway was built. It was abandoned and fell into disrepair quickly, what a waste. The tunnels still exist but we were not walking and exploring today.

After lunch the canal delights us with calm water and fish and then what looks like a heron statue, except it moves its head ever so slightly.

We stop and take some photos. The heron steps forward, poised on the reedbed. Martin readies his camera to take a video and we wait, and wait. It’s time to move on and Martin put his camera away, of course that is when the Heron strikes, we can see the fish wriggling in the Heron’s gullet as it steps backwards in slow motion across the mud.

We cross a swing bridge, it’s small and shifts as we pass, two men are tidying the verges nearby and they smile in greeting.

We continue cycling towards Taunton, keeping to the edge of the town and riding alongside a busy new road for only a few meters before we turn off down a lane that is closed to cars due to half of it being dug up, but this is no problem for us. Tall trees line the sides and houses are tucked behind waking hedges.

Not long after we are cycling through a quintessential English village with its church and spring flower filled graveyard. It’s lovely to see, so different from the French villages we are accustomed to. They are beautiful to, but different. Here there is a sense of belonging, of coming back to our roots.

We turn towards the Quantock Hills, past fields and fields of tall golden reed (Combed wheat reed) which we presume are used for thatching the many cottages we have passed. It is rather beautiful in the sunshine.

We zoom down into a dip in the road and laugh to see a flood marker at the bottom, we are glad the road is dry today as the marks go above our heads!

The lanes narrow with mud filling the centre, washed from the fields in the recent storms. We don’t see any vehicles, the app Martin uses cycle.travel – finds the quietest of roads. We do, however, run into plenty of insects as mass hatching's are triggered by the warmth of the sunshine, and we are buzzed several times by large bees. We keep our mouths closed and our glasses protect our eyes, but there is the occasional need to spit out an unwelcome morsel.

The hedgerows are full of flowers and the houses are made from a pinky-red stone. We pass several mansions as well as cute, thatched cottages which are painted pink to match the local stone and soil colour. We are smiling and happy.

The lanes are even smaller and little punchy hills punctuate our journey, the Quantocks are near, we can see them.

Martin spies a field with a view of the Quantocks, perfect place for a cup of tea. We set up our chairs and enjoy the views. Skylarks are singing their joyful song and there is a strange click pop sound from behind and above us. The pine tree cones are popping open in the sun’s warmth.

We relax, content to be in nature. It would be easy to stay in this corner of a field, but we have a different destination in mind and so we pack up our drink making kit and chairs and set off once more.

The lane leads us into a wooded valley where huge swathes of trees lie uprooted in snaggly piles. They must have fallen when the last storm blew through. The forces of nature are strong.

We continue around corners and up punchy hills with their short sharp descents until we arrive at a meadow valley with a stream meandering through the different shades of spring green, and we spy Llamas!

I love cycling.

After an hour on these lanes, we realise we’ve not seen one other vehicle or person. England may have a high population but there are still quiet, remote spaces where cyclists and walkers can enjoy the peace.

We zip down into another cute village, across a main road, down a gravel track and there is the cutest caravan we have ever seen. Her name is Hazel, and she is our home for the next two nights. Beautifully set up with a separate kitchen and bathroom block.

My legs and bottom know we’ve cycled 60 km today, but I have no complaints.

We are tired but in a good way. Time for tuna pasta and a good night’s sleep.

Day Two Sampford Brett – Watchet (the long way) – Sampford Brett 32 km

It is sparkling with a light frost when we wake complaining of cold feet, but a small heater soon makes the caravan cosy and we both agree socks will be worn tonight.

The sun warms the air enough so we can sit outside and enjoy a long double breakfast of porridge, followed by scrambled eggs, toast, tomatoes, and mushrooms, oh yum. We laze, chat and read until about eleven fifteen before setting off with unladen bikes the hilly way to Watchet. Watchet was about a five-minute car drive away!

And yes, this is the hilly way, after a couple of minutes of setting out we are panting up a steep hill, just manageable with unladen bikes. The lanes are tiny, the sun is shining, the sky is blue, birds are singing, butterflies are flitting across the flowers, there are few cars, and we are loving it.

There are hills in the distance, rolling away from us but a haze prevents the views from being as far reaching as we think they are, but it is still beautiful. The sun is warm but there is a small cooling breeze which we are thankful for at the top of the climbs as sweat threatens.

One of the many short, leg aching, hills beats us, there is no way we can keep turning the pedals not even in our lowest gear. It must be at least a twenty percent hill. But we don’t care, pushing our bikes past pretty spring flowers that grow on the edges of the lanes is not a problem.

In the village of Withycombe there is a ford, Martin cycles through it twice, for fun and for a video to be taken. I try the tiny bridge and a villager smiles at our fun and laughter and wishes us a good journey.

On and on, up and down, around tight bends, between hedges and red mud banks covered in moss and primroses, to the top of a hill where we thought we would see the sea, it is near, but the haze blurs the view.

We are now amongst houses, and I can smell the sea but it’s not until we are right beside it that it shows us its calm waters. It is flat and a pale bluey-grey, gently lapping waves caress the shore as the bay curves away from us. We have found Blue Anchor Bay and a flat straight road, for a while until we reach the final hill before Watchet, which is good because we are hungry and can almost smell those fish and chips we have promised ourselves. Our breakfast burnt up on those short but steep climbs.

Around one more bend and there is the sign. Welcome to Watchet. At last, thank goodness my stomach says.

Our cycle tours are about more about the journey rather than the destination, but this changes when we are hungry.

We cycle to the harbour. The tide is out, and boats loll in the thick mud, but it is a cute place, and many people sit and walk in this quiet town. We’d explore more but we are hungry.

We pass one fish and chip shop, but it is closed and for sale. The café on the quay only does sandwiches, but we crave more, and we know where the other fish and chip shop is so we hurry through, past the railway station and up into the quiet streets and we find the shop only to discover it shut ten minutes ago.

How sad we are, and a little grumpy, the cycle hunger blues are upon us.

We raid the local co-op. There is not a huge choice for vegetarians, but we buy an assortment of crisps, drink, fruit, yogurt, hard boiled eggs, hummus, a couple of wraps, and some chocolate – I told you we were hungry.

Our food stashed in our bags we set off for the beach. There is a steep slope down and the metal railings have warped inwards so we have to lift our bikes the last part and down onto the stony beach. The tide is out, and the beach stretches forever in front of us. We sit and munch, saving some food for later before exploring.

We can’t reach the edge of the sea, sucking mud flats stop us so we turn back and enjoy the treasures of shiny stones, fossils, interesting wood being slowly swallowed in clay, and tiny pieces of smoothed glass. This treasure beach keeps up occupied for about two hours until we feel a change in the sun’s strength. We have a pocket full of treasure and will come back here to explore more another time. We set off back to our caravan. It’s only eight km up a longish, but not too steep hill, although my legs are telling me I am lying.

Back at Hazel we have a drink and eat out chocolate as a reward for a good exercise day out. Our faces feel slightly tight as if they have caught the sun, wind, and sea air a little, but they are not red.

After a hot meal we snuggle, with our socks on, into bed and sleep well.

Day Three – Sampford Brett – Somerton 60 km

Our feet are toasty warm but the frost sparkles again on the grass outside. We have baked beans, eggs, mushrooms, and toast before packing up our bikes and cleaning Hazel.

Martin apologises when we realise that first steep hill I struggled up yesterday is the first hill of today with a laden bike. But I know how long it is and I prepare my lungs, choose my lowest gear, and plod up and up all the way to the top. I am elated. I have achieved what I thought yesterday was impossible.

Then it’s off along the lanes again until we hear the whistle of a steam train. We can see the rail track up a hill in front of us so stop and wait, and wait. The hoots are getting closer and then we see the steam. The train stops with a great puff and toot. It’s the first steam train of the year on this line. We grin and enjoy the noise and history as it starts up and puffs away. We cycle around the corner into the village of Stogumber- what a delightful name, and up past a railway station. Yep, if we’d continued to here, we could have seen the train come into the station! Ha. Never mind, it was enjoyable anyway.

On wards and several upwards and we reached a tiny, pretty village of Crowcombe where I pop into the local shop to buy some goodies for lunch.

We leave this village and start plodding up towards the top of the Quantock Common, the hill beats us, and we walk the one kilometre, pushing our heavy bikes up an increasingly steep road. Its hard work and slow and we are very happy to reach the top where we see that it is a twenty-five percent hill we had climbed, no wonder we had to push.

There is a fierce wind at the top trying to return us to the village, but we don’t care, we made it to the common and there is a stark open beauty to this scenery. We pass sheep huddling under wind shaped trees and turn into a carpark. We set up our chairs and persuade the jet boil to boil while one of the chairs blows away and my bike flops to the side in the wind. We laugh and look at what should be a wonderful view, but that pesky haze remains. Its beautiful though and I take some photos of a multi trunked holly tree. Stunning.

The water finally boils, and we are about to enjoy our drink when a young enthusiastic dog bounds across. I manage to grab the drinks and hold them high while the young beast leaps at Martin with tail wagging until the owner grabs the dog’s lead, apologises, and commences her walk. We sit and enjoy a much-deserved cappuccino and a mars bar. Restoring our energy levels.

The wind is chilly so on go a few layers for we know there is a downhill to the flatland to come and it is always colder cycling downhill.

I name the gnarled, twisted, wind-stunted woods we wind our way through, ‘witchy woods.’ It feels right. There is a hint of leaf buds on the branches but that’s all. It is mystic and beautiful in its promise of green.

Soon we are back on the levels and cycling through villages until we reach the canal path in Bridgewater. The bridges are small and low, and we duck as we pass beneath them. I hold my breath as Martin takes a video and I wait for the splash, but there isn’t one, he is safely through and the video is well worth the risk.

There are lots of narrow boats with plants, bicycles, and life crowding their decks. People are fishing, pole-boarding, picnicking, dipping toes in the water and laughter and happiness fills the air.

We find a sheltered spot by an old building and have our lunch. I try peanut butter with my apple – something we saw on a cycle tour video the night before -and its tasty. It’s hot out of the wind and we are tempted to rest a while, but we know if we stay too long it will be hard to get going again.

We turn off the canal and cycle alongside the river Parrett which is much lower than we expected, much lower than when we passed it on our outward journey only a couple of days ago. We suppose they are pumping water from the river to keep the level of the canal deep enough for passage. We have passed several small pumping stations.