Today I woke up after seven reasonable hours of sleep, yet my eyes stung, my legs ached, and my botty felt like I'd been fed rohypnol by a posse of Ghanaians.
I arrived in the breakfast hall precisely 10 minutes early according to the studious trollop at the door, so I planned my route and waited for the full English I'd requested the night before. In fairness it was worth waiting for - superb!
Today I would head due west to Glastonbury, tackling some of Devon's most spiteful climbs en route. After an hour of riding, though, my legs went numb and I was able to appreciate the beauty on which I was surrounded...
Had a chinwag with this local lass...
40 miles later I crossed the border into Somerset. The terrain began to level out and I started to feel a great deal more optimistic about the situation. 2.5 days of grinding up the hills of Cornwall and Devon had been a real baptism of fire and I was glad that they were now behind me.
Glastonbury Tor...
I've been eating a lot. A shit load of food. After breakfast I stocked up on ginger nut crunch cakes, six of the bastards. They were gone by noon. And when I arrived in Glastonbury, via the Quantocks, I made for the nearest pub and went ballistic Two pints of Thatchers, fish and chips, and soup and bread. After all, this had been a 95 mile day - bringing my total for the trip up to 245.