The Hurn Lane Leg of our Road Trip.

Waking to rain on a day when you have to pack up is never a good start. Fortunately, we took the canopy down the night before, so at least we didn’t have to transport it soaking wet.

Not only was it wet, it was cold too. It was that proper wet rain, the kind that somehow manages to soak you right through, no matter how waterproof you think you are. We needed to get back into the rhythm of packing away, as everything seemed to take twice as long today.
Soon enough, we were hooked up to the car, with Oscar settled comfortably well before departure time.

The roads were awful, wet, windy and incredibly busy.

Arriving not long after 1pm, setting up in the wind and rain proved to be just as unpleasant as packing away in it. Stop number two on our road trip was Hurn Lane Caravan and Motorhome Club Site, which would be our home for the next few nights.

Being on the coast, the wind was wild, we put the canopy up when we arrived, and it lasted exactly one night. By the following morning, we were taking it back down. It had slapped and banged against the caravan all night and even managed to keep Oscar awake. If you’ve ever met a cat who can sleep through almost anything, you’ll appreciate just how noisy it must have been.

A walk from the site down to the beach was bracing, to say the least. Miles of golden sand stretched out before us and we had it entirely to ourselves, then again, who else is mad enough to be on a beach in a gale-force wind?

Our second night, thankfully canopy-free, was much more settled. Still windy but manageable the following day, we decided to ride down to Weston-super-Mare. It’s probably been about fifteen years since we were last there, so it was nice to revisit. Taking the off-road route into Weston, peppered with gates, was certainly more interesting than road riding, although negotiating those gates with a tandem was a bit like attempting an obstacle course designed by someone with a grudge against cyclists.
Down on the seafront, the sun was out, although the wind kept the temperature down. We rode from one end of the promenade to the other, Steve weaving in and out of people who seemed completely oblivious to the fact that bikes were also using this shared space. While he concentrated on avoiding collisions, I was free to enjoy the view.

The tide was out and the sea was only just visible in the distance. Families were out in force, children fuelled almost entirely by candy floss and what appeared to be every E-number known to mankind.

We found a bench sheltered from the wind and spent a while simply watching the world go by. I was slightly taken aback by the number of weed-smoking, lager-drinking parents openly swearing at full volume. At one point, we rode through a suspiciously fragrant cloud and emerged on the other side feeling ever so slightly giddy. Fortunately, there are always quieter corners where you can escape those particular holidaymakers.

Passing a car park sign, we noticed it cost £8.50 to park for three hours, and that’s on the beach! There’s no road surface to maintain and very little upkeep, yet they still charge the earth, the seagulls must be on an excellent pension scheme.
Away from the crowds, we spotted a chippy. A bag of chips, wrapped in paper, eaten while gazing out at a very distant sea with seagulls circling overhead… what could be better?

Back at the van, the wind had dropped a little. We popped Oscar into his pen and took shelter beside the caravan with a cuppa, a book and, quite possibly, a little snooze.

That evening, it became obvious that despite the wind fooling us into thinking it wasn’t that hot, we’d still managed to catch the sun.

Next morning Steve managed to tick off one of his cycling goals by hauling his bike up Cheddar Gorge, our goals are not always aligned, I soaked up some sunshine instead.

This stop has been more about sea air, resting and doing some washing. We’ve been away for a week now and are starting to run out of clothes. Apparently, “just turn your pants inside out” isn’t an acceptable long-term laundry strategy.

We’ve also been lucky enough to spend some quality time with our old site managers from our second year working for the Club. Catch-ups like this are lovely and sometimes have me hankering back to life on site. Then I take off my rose-coloured glasses and remember the reality, scrubbing toilets and chemical disposal points, worrying about whether the grass needs cutting, wondering why pitch 22 still hasn’t departed, and politely reminding people that “dogs must be kept on leads” isn’t merely a suggestion.

We made the right decision three years ago, of that, I’m sure.