Re-visiting previous love-affairs doesn’t usually work. You soon remember why it didn’t work the first time around – and – well after all it didn’t work the first time round. Plus, you’ve both changed, so what you saw in each other the first time round might not be there any more anyway.
So I approached my first English road-trip in – well, decades - with low expectations.
Devon is probably the most favoured county in terms of climate and topography in Britain; South Devon even more so. The South Hams within South Devon contains the most sheltered, fertile and sun-blessed parishes in Devon, protected from the North Winds by the nearby massif of Dartmoor, and occupying almost the most southerly part of the six thousand two hundred and eighty nine islands that occupy the thousand miles North- South stretch that define the United Kingdom. (and a coastline unbelievably of over 11,000 miles – compared to the 12,500 of the United States – so much for ‘Notes from a Small Island’.)
And without doubt the most perfect location in the South Hams is a few miles from the sea on a drowned river valley – Salcombe. And the most perfect, sheltered, sunny and exquisitely juxtaposed site between sea and land near Salcombe is South Sands, a sandy cove just three miles south of the town.
I’ve spent a lot of time in the Caribbean, stayed on Hayman Island on the Great Barrier Reef, and got to know Sydney Harbour well. The Caribbean produces warmer seas and blue sky and seas more often. Sydney Harbour is more grand with its iconic bridge and concert hall, and more sensational with its shark nets and Bondi Beach, but at none of these is the light more dramatic or the setting quite so exquisite as South Sands.
There is something that man loves about where the sea comes into the land, and there are four places on the planet where it happens with even more natural beauty than Sydney Harbour: Salcombe in Devon, Padstow, & Falmouth Harbour in Cornwall and – the second largest natural harbour in the world - Poole Harbour in Dorset. And we visited two of these – Padstow and Salcombe - on our long weekend trip on the Ducati Multistrada. And loved every minute of it.
And we so nearly took the car. The forecast wasn’t good – probably a typical English summer weekend – Four seasons in four days. But we had barely left Hampshire before we were grateful we had (taken the Ducati). It started as it often does at Stonehenge where the A303 mysteriously turns to a two-lane road, which is repeated several times between there and our turn-off at Taunton. These constrictions cause queues (lines to the Yanks!) of standing traffic and we flew past many, many miles of these. At one point we overtook a long line of slow-moving traffic on a two-lane section to discover a JCB trundling along at 20 mph. The road was clear for about 8 miles after him. . . This wasn’t actually why we wanted to go by bike – but it sure was another benefit.
The Rising Sun at West Bagborough has been beautifully renovated to play both roles with aplomb.
After a long walk up the nearby hill and a swift pint outside to watch the sun set, we adjourned to an oak-floored upstairs room with windows open to the distant hills, and had an outstanding dinner of entirely local produce - before collapsing onto a four-poster bed. I thought I’d died and gone to heaven.
Next day we headed around the North Devon coast on the A39 after a detour onto Exmoor. The weather changed immediately and only made the views more breathtaking. Sheets of fine rain clung to the hillsides veiling and un-veiling the view. We never really got wet, but the weather only added to the drama and beauty of the scene. Thence up the rather amazing 25% gradient of Porlock Hill. I laughed at all the warning signs having driven half the roads that exist in the Alps & Pyrenees. But I’ve got to say that it is the steepest road I have ever driven up. It rises 1,300ft in less than two miles.
The little Peugeot in front of us almost stalled coming out of one hairpin and two-up and with luggage,(not much - I had the exhaust-side pannier, 'er outdoors had the big one on the right. . .) and already in first gear, it took huge finesse with the throttle to keep the front wheel on the ground. (‘er outdoors very unreasonably banned two-up wheelies when I had a Triumph Speed Triple. After all – what did she think it was FOR?).
The lie of the land around where Exmoor butts up against the sea is new to me and quite extreme for England. This led to quite a disaster at the next town we rode through – Lynmouth - in 1952. You can read the full story here but suffice to say record-breaking rainfall on Exmoor (3 months’ worth of rain in 24 hrs) exacerbated by a thunderstorm, brought a torrent through the town demolishing 100 buildings, destroying 28 of 31 bridges, sending 38 cars out to sea, and killing 34 people. When you see the way the village sits between the moors and the sea, you can see why.
The A39 is unusual for the West Country. Running along or close the windswept north coast of Devon & Cornwall, it is unusually exposed and therefore open. This gives it great sight-lines and some cracking bends. It also provides regular sea vistas. We enjoyed it so much that – after a little reflection – I have officially awarded it the title of one of ‘Europe’s Best Biking Roads’. Even the traffic wasn’t heavy.
It also took us almost to our next destination of Padstow.
We arrived in the middle of a parade. Again it was relief to be on the bike. We rode past queues of traffic until we reached the back of the parade. For some reason, one of the marshals waived us through as though he though we were part of the processions of floats and antique vehicles. I know Mutley’s looks are – well functional – but, come on – it’s a Ducati? Still we got to the hotel half an hour before we would have done by car – again.
Despite a fairly dire forecast, The day dawned bright and sunny for our last leg to Salcombe and remained that way. We started reasonably early on a Sunday – but I was pleasantly surprised by the quality of the road and the lack of traffic along the A389 to Bodmin. This road and the A38 to Plymouth were way better than I remembered, and the A38 now bypasses Plymouth. It was also nice to get waived through on the Tamar roll-bridge – bikes go free! As they should – everywhere. And so we came to Salcombe – the most favoured spot in the whole of the British Isles.
The weather for the final day also stayed fair despite the forecast, and we had a great ride home for the 200 miles or so to Hampshire. We avoided the dreaded A303 for the return leg, instead opting for the more picturesque A30 that runs across the Blackmoor Vale and along the beautiful down-land scarp of Cranborne Chase. I first rode this road 35 years ago during a heat-wave, and cooled myself in a wonderful old pub with a flagstone floor and full of yokels discussing the harvest. 
I counted down every pub on the A30 and in the end picked the Ship Inn, West Stour near Gillingham as the most likely candidate to be that pub of yore . I really can’t be sure that was it, but it certainly did the job – and the food was also a bit more interesting than the Ploughmans Lunch and pint I had in 1975.
I guess it’s always better when something far exceeds your expectations, and if you’re riding a bike it certainly helps if the weather does that too. But my overwhelming thought on reflecting on the trip was – Why has it taken thirty odd years to do it again? In the meantime I’ve travelled almost all over the globe, but not had a better time. The scenery was world-class, some of the food was world-class, and – I really struggle to say this – but some of the roads were even world class. Thinking of riding your motorcycle to the English West Country? Don’t hesitate.