The best thing on these days away from home is that you can experience some weird and wonderful adventures. And so it was in this trip, over the border on a camp site near Altarnun, on the edge of Bodmin Moor.

With the tent up and bedding and cooking equipment in place, it was time to seek lunch and to visit a local pubs called The Rising Sun. I had already asked directions from the lady managing the site, so when my husband asked whether I knew where to go, I told him confidently that I knew exactly where to go.

Celtic Cross

Turning right out of the site, we made our way up the narrow lane until we reached a T-junction that I had been told about. It was then that my control on the situation went awry. Much had been made in the directions about the path that I could see straight ahead with a Celtic cross set in the bank, with the notice saying ‘Not suitable for large vehicles’ on the other side. As I can’t been listening that carefully, I assumed we should go straight on.

The path’s surface changed from tarmac to something less solid and, in spite of all the dry weather, became muddy. I was getting reproachful looks from both dog and husband, with the occasional comment being made as to whether I was sure this was the way? Even more of a concern was the fact that whenever we did see signs of life, no -one seemed to want to talk to us, so we ploughed on. Eventually the road surface became tarmac once more, which made life easier.

But the worst bit was the flying insects. They really did bite. And there were loads of them. We were walking through clouds of them, feeling more uncomfortable by the minute, waving arms around and slapping away what flies that landed but not before a bite was received. I had never experienced anything like this. You had to wonder where they were coming from.

Finally we reached another T-junction, but which way to go? I had acknowledged, that I might have got it wrong and offered to walk down the road a bit to get my bearings, while they stood in the shade, the sun by now getting quite fierce. Suddenly I thought to myself, I’ll use my mobile. (It was one of those duh moments). Looking up the pub, I soon had a map, made my way back to Alan who politely asked why I hadn’t done that in the first place.

The Road We Should Have Left Alone

One and a half hours after leaving the camp site, we arrived at the pub. Refreshed and fed, we made our way back the way we should have come, which took around ten minutes. We certainly had our exercise that day.

On another day, we took a walk from the site down a small lane which had a ford across the road. Having taken off my sandals to walk across and revel in the cool water, we decided (once my sandals were back on my feet) to walk a little further, knowing that this led to Bodmin Moor.

As we approached a bend, we were confronted by a little lady, who was bent over and using a short piece of branch as a walking stick. She appeared so suddenly, she made us all jump, and I initially thought she was a pisky (a Cornish form of pixie). With her sparkling eyes and happy chatter, we shared a lovely time with her as she took us to see her gardens and talked about her life there.

Adventures are indeed enjoyable, usually after the event.

The Ford

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