A deliberate mistake and an accidental one here.
The Dartmoor Muni Weekend is over, but I have stayed in Devon as my
girlfriend lives nearby. Yesterday (Tuesday) I went for a ride on my
own in the Okehampton Range.
The north west part of Dartmoor is wilder and more thinly-populated
than the rest of the moor, and a large part of it is set aside for
military training. At the back of the small town of Okehampton is the
imaginatively-named Okehampton Camp, and behind this is Okehampton
Range where, out of season, soldiers merrily fire chunks of our tax
revenue at each other and generally nurture the moorland habitat with
their tank tracks.
For much of the year, the public can go on certain areas of the range
as long as the red flags aren’t flying, and they promise not to
pick up any unexploded munitions.
Plan A was for me to go for a gentle ride, find some suitable rocks and
practise some micro-muni skills like hopping and doing small drops. My
demon normally makes me choose distance over technical difficulty, and
some of the weaknesses in my riding were brought to my attention when I
saw how some of the other riders negotiated difficult rocky areas.
However, it is not long (about 5 seconds) before Plan B kicks in. I
have parked at the side of the road, and I can see three tors
stretching away from me in almost a perfect line, and in increasing
order of size. The furthest one is High Willhays (amusingly pronounced
“High Willies”). High Willhays is the highest point on
Dartmoor, and suddenly I know I have to try to ride to the top of it.
I start at about 390 metres above sea level, and set off down a rough
and stony track. This drops me down to 370 metres (the lowest point of
the ride - in terms of altitude, at least) and a small ford. Early in
the ride, I have no wish to get wet feet, so I cross using the stepping
stones, and remount.
Sharp turn left and up a tarmac road which climbs steeply. Riding
alone, I have no pressure to maintain a high speed, and I revert to my
normal plodding, grunting but determined style. There is a strong wind
following me, and it seems to help. In the space of just under a
kilometre, I have climbed to around 450 metres, and I reward myself
with a stop and a drink...
... from my almost completely empty Camelbak. I should have checked -
I even had a bottle of water in the car. I have set off to ride to
Dartmoor’s highest point with (a) no water and (b) no food - not
so much as a slice of Soreen, thickly spread with butter. I have
visions of myself, pathetically coughing out my last on the upper
slopes of High Willhays, as other climbers ignore my plight and press
on for the summit, leaving me for dead. With luck, I may be able to
crawl heroically down the hill, write a book, and retire on the
proceeds.
Undeterred, I remount and press on. From where I rested, the tarmac
road becomes broken stones and rock, and UPDs come every 50 metres or
so. Pacing myself, I treat every fall as an opportunity to regain my
breath before remounting. In sections varying from 10 metres to a
couple of hundred metres, I gradually make my way to the next flat
section at about 520 metres. The great bulk of West Mill Tor is to my
right and slightly behind me. High Wiilhays towers above me.
To the left is rolling moorland, bleak, and mixing dead brown with lush
green. Cattle and sheep wander freely. There is little sign of human
life - just a parked car, it’s windscreen winking in the sun, a
mile or more away. Occasionally, I see a buzzard, soaring high and
easily on the wind. Magnificent!
Navigation on the moor can be difficult, and over the centuries,
various way markers have been used. These often take the form of
crosses, which combine several functions. They are landmarks for
travellers, signs of Christian faith, and often they are parish
boundary markers. Many have been vandalised, and the few remaining
ones are being preserved by local groups.
Here, on one of the highest parts of the moor, is a small but
impressive example, only a metre or so high, the cross carved roughly
from granite. It has been partly preserved with an unsightly
stabilizing base of pale modern concrete. Nearby a small plaque refers
to St. Mary’s Cross, which, at over 2,030 years old, is one of
the earliest surviving Christian symbols in the British isles.
On with the slog, up the rough and rocky hill, the wind pushing against
my back. I reach a narrow shallow ford. I notice the bed is made of
loose gravel, so I decide to hit it fast, rather than pick my way
across. I am rewarded with a rooster-tail of water up my backside. Is
the word “munema”?
A couple of hundred metres later, and the track turns to the right and
becomes much steeper. Almost certainly, I will not be able to ride all
the way up, but I have a go anyway. Grunting, sweating, panting, and
(it must be said) swearing, I make it 50 metres or so up some of the
toughest climb I have ever done before gratefully falling off. I walk
100 - 200 from here until I reach flatter ground then remount.
Soon the track turns to the right, meaning that I am now facing into
the wind. High up on the moor, the temperatre is lower than in the
valley, and the wind is faster. I grit my teeth and plug on until I
make it to the end of the track. From here, it is grassy and uneven
ground as far as the tor itself. I ride some, walk some, and climb the
last bit, carrying the unicycle. It is so windy, I am worried about
leaning the uni against the trig point at the top. I take great care,
take a photo, then enjoy the view for a few seconds.
It is so windy that the end of my helmet strap is buzzing and stinging
against my face, the loose ends of my Camelbak straps are whipping in
the wind, and my body temperature is starting to fall. I have to lean
into the wind just to stand still.
According to the map, which I checked later, I am at 619 metres.
That’s a climb of about 250 metres from the lowest point of the
ride - but 250 metres of very difficult ground.
Time to retreat, I ride fall and walk back down to the head of the
track, then set off with a vague thought of doing the whole descent in
one, without a UPD. So far so good, even on the steep bit that I had
walked up, then I get cocky, ride over a big rock, do a little drop and
land clumsily, bouncing from the seat, and having to run some 15 metres
down the hill before I can regain my balance.
Back on the uni, I ride more steadily, and make it down to the next
junction in the track, approximately where I had stopped and discovered
that I had no water. I turn right and splash through a shallow ford,
then climb up towards the military gun emplacements.
A small tor, Rowtor, rises to my right, and I decide to ride up to it.
Just before I turn off the track, I see a kestrel hovering, much lower
than usual. It swoops down, appears to change its mind, then flies off
down the slope, giving me a rare chance to see it from above.
I ride most of the way up to Rowtor, walk the last bit, then climb to
the top to survey my route. I can see my car, 90 metres below me, and
a kilometre away. Between me and it lies a slope covered with boulders
and sheep. On the other side of Rowtor is a track that is almost
parallel to the tarmac road, and descends to the ford and stepping
stones. I go for that.
A year or two back, I tried to ride this trac, and my memory was that
it was like a riverbed. Today, it seems dry, but a couple of hundred
metres on, my memories are confirmed as I find clear water flowing down
the track under my wheel. My legs and backside get wet, but I am near
to the end of the ride. Far below the summit, the air is warmer, and
the wind is less aggressive. It is not long before I am at the ford,
and from here it is a simple climb (simple but for the single
inexplicable UPD) back up to the car.
Back at Ruth’s house, I check the map to work out how much
climbing I have done. It is at this stage that I spot my accidental
mistake: there is no trig point at the top of High Willhays. I have
just ridden to and from the summit of Yes Tor (619 metres) rather than
High Willhays, which is less spectacular, about 3/4 kilometre away, and
maybe 5 metres higher.
It’s so nice to still have a challenge in life, don’t you
think?
Ride details, on a 24 x 3 with 165s.
Distance: 6.06 miles (9.75 km)
Max speed: 11.8 mph (19 kmh)
Average speed: 4.6 mph (7.4 kmh)
Riding time, excluding stops: 1:19
There is one deliberate mistake in there. Usual rules.
--
Mikefule
As each man has set up his loom, so will he endure the labour and the
fortune of it
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The Wind in the Willhays (Dartmoor 3) (+ puzzle) 
The Wind in the Willhays (Dartmoor 3) (+ puzzle) 
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