ONCE UPON A TIME IN THE WEST
Grinding wearily towards the crest of Eagle’s Nest on Cornwall’s north coast, I empathised with the poet John Betjeman, who described his treasured memories of the county as “once tasted, never done”.
Certainly the climb felt like it might never be done. And my legs were not going to forget it for some time either – at least until they were both resolutely the other side of a decent feed in Wetherspoons, preferably complete with a large vessel of cold beer.
We had, it turned out, timed our ride to handily coincide with one of the hottest days of the year, and the sun was relentless.
Of course, Betjeman wasn’t talking about riding bikes. He was waxing lyrical about the pure, rugged beauty of Britain’s most south-westerly county. And while the view ahead chiefly comprised a dry strip of pale grey asphalt disappearing over a summit (free of potholes too, the Surrey boy in me mused in awe), the view over my shoulder was something completely different.
Emerald fields stretched down and away in
