Mountain Bike Rider — March 2018

FEATURE

46 mbrMARCH 2018

byus,andasweemergedontothemoorland
wecouldfeelwhythey’dchosensuchspots
togetoutofthestrengtheningbreeze.Brian
was back.
Theviewsacrossthesea,towardsSouth
Walesononeside,andtherollinghillsof
Exmoorontheother,werebeautiful.Leaving
thecoast,wedescendedthroughwoodlands
which were steeper and drier than those of
thepreviousday.Fallenleavesofeverycolour
blanketedtheground,asweworkedourway
down tight switchbacks. Thick rhododendron
bushes made it feel dark and enclosed, but
beamsofsunlightpiercedthroughtoproduce
poolsofrichgoldenlightandpickoutleaves
fallingsoftlyinthebreeze.Thesightsand
sounds of our surroundings filled our heads,
andwhatevermentalcapacitywasleftwas
directedtoridingabike.Therewasnoroom
leftforanythingelse.Howrefreshing.
Wecrossedprettystreamsandrode
along winding narrow lanes, lined by high
hedgerowsfullofbirds.Throughfordsand
over old packhorse bridges, past thatched
houses with tall chimneys, and beautiful
manicured cottage gardens, before stopping
intearoomsforaproperEnglishcreamtea
withfreshlybakedscones.Jamthencream,or
creamthenjam?Whataluxuryforthattobe
themostdifficultdecisionoftheday.
It waslovelytositinthewarmafternoon
sunandnotfeelrushedorpressuredtobe
doingmoreorgettingimmediatelybackon
the bikes. I had forgotten how much pleasure

canbefoundfromslowingdown,taking

timetoappreciatewhereyouareandwhat

you are doing.

Webeganaslowpushupwards,thistime

throughmoreopenwoodlandofsilverbirch.

This gave way to dark lines of perfect sinuous

singletrack descents, winding through

carpets of vibrant green moss and grass.

Steep sections alternated with easier, flowing

sections, all on loamy ground that made a

hollow, muffled sound as we rode over it. It

waspossibletoloseourselvesinthelandscape,

allowing all our senses to absorb every sound,

sight,smell,untilwehitatechnicalsectionof

trailthatdemandedthatextraattention.

QUANTOCKSOFSOLACE

Afinalclimbtookusintoadeeper,darker

forest.Sodarkthatnobirdssang;silent

save for the rustle of branches high above

asthewindblewthroughthem.Itwas

likeafairytaleforest,sostillandenclosed.

Centuries-old stone walls lined the sides of the

tracks, covered with thick, lush green moss

and new trees growing from the old walls.

Trails dropped into the woods everywhere,

someclearlyriddenalot,someovergrown

with bracken and brambles. The ones we did

find descended on more fabulous rich loamy

singletrack. Dark, but with surprise open

sectionswheretreeshadbeenfelledandonly

bracken lined the sides of the trail.

It felt like we were miles from anywhere,

deep in these enchanted woods, when

Sweet-rolling trails and

nature’sconfetti are a

marriage made in heaven

Mineheaddeserves to

be on everyone’s bucket

and spade list

Overgrowntrails

have gone to

bracken ruin