Day 11 - Corsham to Wellington - 68 miles

In a moment of madness yesterday I decided I would participate in my Wednesday morning gym class and say hello to the regulars before setting off for the relatively short sixty-two miles to Taunton. It was a last throw of the dice in a three day stint of meeting friends and colleagues during this ride. But while it was nice to have caught up with a whole series of people over that time and to also have spent a night at home, it is good to once again be focused on the immediacy of my ride and not on some near term homely distraction; on each occasion I was a little more seduced by the world of normality and a little less fixed on the challenge before me. 

I am now in Wellington about six miles past my initial objective of Taunton. There has been little today that stood out. The first few miles to Bradford on Avon were familiar cycling territory on relatively quiet Wiltshire lanes, the roads onwards to Glastonbury and through sections of the Somerset Levels were longer and straighter, green and relatively featureless, and known to me from visits to friends in the area. The final third of my day to Taunton was on a busier road past a series of small towns and continued through the cultivated flat of the Levels. Just as the road promised to get too busy I broke off into country lanes, joined the Bridgwater and Taunton canal and followed a bumpy five miles along the tow path to the city centre. Discomfort aside, it was the most pleasurable part of the day with its peace and complete isolation from the traffic of the previous few hours.

Towards Glastonbury 

Glastonbury Tor

Bridgwater and Taunton Canal

At Taunton I took stock. It was not too late and I was not too tired. It would make sense to get a few more miles done, to eat into tomorrow’s long and hard day; it would probably be the day that decided whether I arrive in Land’s End in two more days or three. Seven miles on I arrived at Wellington and my pub accommodation. I am settled in and have shared words in the bar with a local farmer and a master carpenter who, among other things, repairs the inner supporting structure of old church spires. From what I heard of other conversations around me it was a local pub full of real people who do real things. But the local cider is getting the better of me and despite the excellent music on the juke box I can hear my bed calling.