The Penrith Peninsula
by Cass Gilbert
There's a real End of the
World feeling to western Cornwall. Perhaps it's because the country's most westerly
peninsula is home to that Holy Grail of cycling destinations, Land's End. Or
maybe its more likely that with the Mini's needle rarely flickering over 50mph,
it really did seem to take an eternity to get there. In any case, it was dusk
before we parked up beside giant lilies in the picture perfect village of Penbirth,
complete with stone cottages and fishing boats propped up on the runway of the
bay. And it was dark before we'd hiked up a thin, straggly coast path to pitch
the tent in a clearing sprinkled with wild flowers. It was the ideal camping
spot though, perched above the sea, surrounded by great slabs of granite rock
and beneath a sky full of stars, interrupted only by rhythmic sweep of a beam
of light from a nearby lighthouse.
The sun hadn't been up long the next morning before we were awoken by fishermen,
their words carrying in the wind as they chatted far out to sea. Not a bad alarm
clock, all things considered. Seizing the day in all it pristine, bottle-blue
glory, we'd soon extracted our bicycles - contorted into the back seat of the
Mini like Houdinis - and were breakfasting before the small but perfectly formed
bay. Our wake-up callers had just pulled up in their wooden boats and were unloading
bucketloads of silvery mackerel, while seagulls circled overhead ready to gulp
down any leftovers. 'Any for sale?' I ventured. 'You got the money? I got the
mackerel,' came the affable reply. 'And you can bring them over and we'll have
a BBQ at mine after your ride,' added Harry, who lived in the quirkily named
nearby village of Bottoms. How was that for Cornish hospitality!
Tropical flowers and frothy beer
I'm a big fan of sea view rides and the route we'd chosen for the day circled
the peninsula coastline, keeping to small back lanes and quiet B roads. Picking
our way along the narrow lanes towards Sennen Cove, we meandered past hedgerows
packed with aromatic flowers and bright purple foxgloves that reached out like
tentacles. Overgrown pathways lead to old stone cottages and every back garden
seemed to qualify for an entry to the Chelsea Flower Show - a burst of colours,
oversized foliage and palm trees that I'd have expected to find in a tropical
jungle. It was tempting to check out the tourists trap that is Land's End, but
we decided it would be better to save that for a long awaited End to End. Instead,
we spiraled down with a view straight out to the Atlantic towards Whitesand
Bay, a mile wide beach where half a dozen old VW combis had parked up and were
unloading a band of surfers. Back up the hill, the road wound its way through
St Just, once a centre of the tin and copper industry. Time for another detour.
The area abounds with helter-skelter lanes that drop down to the sea and at
Cape Cornwall, low slung stone walls, velvety with moss, pointed us towards
yet another spectacular stretch of miniscule coves.
In fact, the whole peninsula is swept with rugged headlands, fingers of land
silhouetted out to sea. At Pendeen, we admired a whitewashed lighthouse that's
been used to navigate these treacherous waters for over a hundred years, while
waves crashed like beer froth in the clear waters below. Heading north, the
landscape took on a more barren, weather beaten air, pounded with winter trade
winds that whip in across the Atlantic. Overlooked by rocky ridges, the scenery
was more open and the odd shrub had been shaped into elegant sculptures, like
enormous Bonsai trees. The smooth road rolled its way up and down across the
moorland, cutting inland through Zennor, once home to a community of writers
that included DH Lawrence. Pushing on, the miles into St Ives seemed particularly
hilly ones before we plummeted down to Porthmeor Beach, with a salty tang in
the air. I didn't realize beaches like this existed in England - its floury
white sand and turquoise sea seemed lifted straight out of a Greek postcard.
Leaning the bikes against the dark, volcanic rocks, we picnicked on the sand
and waded into the waters in the baking heat.
A slice of culture with your pastie
But St Ives is not just for beach bums. Just along the promenade lies the impressive
Tate Gallery with works from local sculptress Barbara Hepworth. Further round
the headland, windy, cobbled streets - with a distinctly continental flavour
- provided a maze to cycle through. After rubbing shoulders with old, colourful
stone cottages and dangling flower baskets, we tracked down the main drag that
overlooked the harbour. Chockablock with holidaymakers trawling the souvenir
shops, we took the chance to indulge in some Cornish themed cycle fuel - local
ice cream and pasties.
It was late afternoon and all those short, sharp hills were beginning to make
our legs grumble. I'd heard of the small hamlet of Ding Dong, which seemed as
good an excuse as any for one last detour, just to be sure we'd made the most
of this stunning countryside. Working our way south back towards the coast,
we skirted round Penzance, the backdrop of St Michael's Mount shimmering in
the distance. Cornwall abounds with myths and the creation of the mount is one
of them. Legend has it Cormoran once lived there, a giant known for bounding
across the waters every once in a while to terrorise the locals. One night a
young boy by the name of Jack snuck over and dug a deep hole beside where Cormoran
slept. In the morning the sleepy giant stumbled in, and was promptly covered
up with earth - it's said you can still hear the his heartbeat if you put your
head against the rocks there. But this was one detour too many and besides,
we had a dinner to look forward to. Catching the last glassy light over the
sea, we picked up speed for the finishing straight, past a string of sheltered
coves through the villages of Mousehole and Lamora, cupped by rocky headlands
and once sanctuaries for marauding pirates.
It had been a truly epic route with some of the most beautiful riding I'd experienced
in England. We'd seen how Land's End is more than just the beginning or end
of a long ride - there's a whole peninsula jam packed with back roads to enjoy.
After one last ferocious switchback we were back in Bottoms, sipping a glass
of chilled wine, tucking in to a plate of fish caught that morning and feeling
rather pleased with ourselves. All in all, an unfeasibly idyllic end to very
much a classic ride.
Getting
There Both
Penzance and St Ives offer plenty of food options with lots of places
to eat en route, including St Just and Zennor - from ice cream at a beachfront
cafe, hot flaky pasties to the obligatory Cornish cream teas. If you don't
strike it lucky and get invited in for a BBQ, there are always plenty
of fresh fish and chip shops. Www.cornish-links.co.uk is a resource for
local information, including weather and tides. A guide such as the Rough
Guide to England has a dozen pages on the area. |
© Cass Gilbert
Cyling Plus, April 2004