Setting up in stifling heat gets you just as wet as setting up in the rain.
First impressions of this site are really good. We receive a lovely welcome from the warden who, it turns out, apparently lived just a few doors away from us, albeit 40 years ago.
The site has a gate at the bottom that opens onto the most beautiful lake, complete with its own gaggle of Canadian geese. We wander through and into the small village, past the pub and up onto the bridge. Just as the sun starts to set, there’s a calmness about this area that I really like.
Back at the van, I make my own ploughman’s, complete with pork pie and a saving of around £40. Chewing through the crunchy crust, we discuss what to do after we’ve eaten.
“Let’s get the bike out,” he proclaims.
“It’s only 20 miles,” he mumbles.
Let’s save on parking and ride to the Tarr Steps.
Off we go, keeping an eye on the clouds as they threaten rain. Little did I know that was going to be the least of my problems.
The ride there is hilly, but nothing we can’t handle. Just as spots of rain begin to fall, we arrive at an inn very close to our destination. In we go, marvelling at how lovely it is inside. We order one of their speciality cream teas and wait for the shower to pass over.
Just a few steps away from the inn are the Tarr Steps, and we are lucky enough to have them all to ourselves. Pushing the bikes across the ancient stones, we take one last look back before climbing back into the saddle.
It’s all uphill.
Within a few metres, a sign cheerfully announces a 20% gradient. The battery powered motor on the Tandem can normally eat up 20% with our assistance, but we definitely heard the motor shout “You are having a laugh” when it saw that the gradient carried on for about half a mile, our legs power on until we can go no further. We’re almost pedalling at a standstill and, with nothing left in the tank, we’re going to have to push.
A Transit van slowly passes us, wheels skidding on the tarmac and engine revving like the clappers. We just hope he manages to get up the hill because the last thing we want to do is push a van up what feels like a near-vertical climb.
Fortunately for Steve, it didn’t rain, but that hill was followed by another, and then another. The air on the back of the bike was quite blue. Let’s just say the local wildlife may have learned a few new words that afternoon.
Rain in the evening saw Oscar wanting to go out whilst simultaneously not wanting to get wet. We rearranged the canopy and dragged his pen into the empty space beneath it. Once we’d popped him in, he almost smiled at us in appreciation, as if to say, “We need one of these shelters at home!”
Upon arriving at Exebridge Lakeside, we discovered there was folk there whom we knew. We met them a good few years ago but hadn’t seen them for quite some time, Gary and Ann. It was so lovely to see them again. We caught up, and it was as though no time had passed at all.
A day out with them took us around all the little nooks and crannies of the area, weaving between Devon and Somerset. Cliff-top beach views, harbours, villages, wild ponies and deer, and lunch in the prettiest tea room – not a bad way to spend a day.
A drive out over the moors saw The Caratacus Stone flag up on the map as a point of interest. Taking a quick right turn, we were upon it before we knew it. Said to be the oldest known inscribed stone in England, dating back to around AD 600, it is certainly impressive. Unfortunately, a song from my childhood sprang into my head, maybe from Play School or Play Away, I wanted to add a link but could only find one by Rolf Harris that would work and that seemed inappropriate so Google it and thank me for the ear worm later. Impressive as it was, though, the stone didn’t hold my attention for long.
Off in the distance, I spied Exmoor ponies. Lots of them. A great herd of them. Back in the car we jumped and, after a few hundred metres, pulled into a lay-by to admire their beauty. Brave as I am, I left the car door open and kept a safe distance—horses are big bruisers, and I wasn’t about to get too close. They were very obliging, however, and are obviously trained in the latest Instagram poses, as I managed to get some cracking shots.
With far too much excitement for one day, we headed back through Withypool and happened upon a tearoom complete with an old-fashioned petrol pump outside, proudly advertising cream teas. Of course, I caved and ordered one each. It would have been rude not to.
Thus concluded another exhausting day of sightseeing, ancient history, wild ponies, and cream teas. I’m not sure how much more adventure a person can reasonably be expected to endure, plus I’m still singing along to King Caratacus in my head.
Our homemade contraptions for Oscar seem to be doing the job. His pen, constructed entirely from shoe-storage cubes and an alarming number of cable ties, is perfect. He particularly enjoys his quiet evenings in there, watching the site slow down for the night.
The Perspex panel we fashioned across the bottom of the door so he could see out whilst the flyscreen was closed hasn’t fared too badly either. Once secured in place, he can watch the world go by without escaping, and we can enjoy some fresh air in the van. Everyone wins.
Our time at Exebridge comes to an end, and we pack up knowing it’s a site we’d happily return to, despite those blooming big hills.
Time for the next chapter and the next stop on our trip.
On to site number four
inpursuitofadream.com 
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