Ride report 19th February 2023
It was the perfect plan. Give the Wednesday OGIL rides a miss, and my role as official report scribe can be avoided. However, I had not reckoned with our wily Chairman, who collared me on Sunday and insisted that I write a report for that day instead. Oh well, here goes then.
A veritable multitude of riders assembled at HQ, presumably coaxed out of hibernation by the promise of a still, dry day for a change. Somehow it was decided that the destination for the non-sparky ride was to be Perranporth, the only real discussion being whether we should avoid Truro hill and instead do the climb up the main road out of Penryn to Lower Treluswell (which some mysteriously referred to as Red Diesel, I know not why). No contest really – everybody hates Truro hill.
And so we proceeded in a reasonably orderly fashion, splitting into smaller groups for the dash along Suicide Alley. I questioned why this was necessary, seeing as it is not possible for a car to overtake and give us the requisite safe passing distance without illegally crossing the double white line. It’s all about optics, I’m told. Good job it’s not still dry January. We had a nice little potter up the Carnon valley to Bissoe and thence to Chacewater, where we uncharacteristically took a right to ascend Chacewater hill. There was some grumbling about this, both because of the hill and because it was thought that it would have been quicker to take the main road up from Bissoe to Dangerous Junction. What happened to the delight of meandering along lonely Cornish lanes?? From there we took a left and persevered to pass by Truro International Airport along Quiet Lane (I am sure this is a designation rather than a name, but others were hard to convince of this) to reach Tregavethan.
There we turned left to climb another delightful little bump in the road. After that the route-finding became a little vague, but we did get to the right place (the main road) where we turned right and carried on to Allet where our planned (sic) left turn had one of those lovely red ‘road closed’ signs. Our usual collective eyesight failure resulted in us riding round the sign and continuing on our way, bolstered by the memory of past closed roads that were always in fact passable as pedestrians, or even as cyclists if you didn’t mind being shouted at by irate workmen. But as we approached the junction with the A30 it became apparent that this was a road closure in a class of its own. Our way was barred by a myriad of plastic barriers which were relatively easily circumvented, only to reveal a second line of defence further down the road in the form of full height aluminium mesh fence panels. Our incipient despair at the thought of having to re-trace our steps was dispelled by our Illustrious Leader exercising his leadership skills by discovering that the panels were not securely fastened to each other and could be moved apart to allow the ingress of a bunch of cyclists into the otherwise secure compound.
Thus it was that we found ourselves at the closed section of the A30, and marvelled at the silence, only regretting that we didn’t have time to ride up and down the pristine tarmac in peace. But places to go, things to do…. We pressed on to Perranzabuloe, not even stopping at Callestick Farm for an ice cream. Crossing the main road at the Perranzabuloe crossroads was non-trivial on account of the huge volume of fast-moving traffic (diverted from the A30?), but eventually we all got safely across and pressed on to arrive in Perranporth. There we encountered Ben who had mysteriously disappeared en route (nobody could remember quite where). The Stepping Stones cafe was closed, and the Hub coffee shop was so steamed up it was impossible to see whether there was much in the way of free space. Apparently there was, but not enough for the whole group, so most of us made the supreme sacrifice and adjourned to the Sick Green Parrot, where we marvelled at the cheap beer and endless supply of indifferent coffee. Even Ben was bold enough to brave another incursion into Spoons territory. Unfortunately we had to split up over several tables, not to mention having to deal with a group of Clive Mitchell riders as well (who, to give them credit, were very complimentary of the club Audax).
The route home was mainly along the familiar lanes, although as we left Perranporth a contingent decided for some reason to ride through the park with the boating lake. Was it to observe the model yachts? Or was it to annoy the pedestrians having a stroll on the FOOTpath through the gardens? Only they can say. So out through Perrancoombe and up to the junction with the house that somebody discovered in the undergrowth and seems to be making a rather half-hearted attempt at renovating. From there to Mithian Downs, past the ATV centre (I still don’t believe that has nothing to do with television) to Skinners Bottom (brilliant name!) and Scorrier. Those about to go into auto-pilot mode for the ride home had a rude awakening as we headed down to St Day and Carharrack instead, having to endure heavy traffic again (A30 diverted traffic? That’s my theory about everything at the moment.). There we turned right to gain the top of Lanner Hill and our familiar route home via Stithians and the now favourite Donkey Sanctuary diversion.
A great day out, especially inspecting the heavy earth-moving machinery during our illegal traverse of the A30 road-widening compound, and riding in some half-decent weather. Shame about the coffee. About 76 km for me.
Photo © Amanda Hudson 2023