This weekend, we were staying down with friends who moved down to Martinstown, Dorset. Although they're only just south of Dorchester they are living in a really lovely part of England which seems relatively unspoilt. When they were looking for somewhere to live down there, I recommended they look in that area based on the walking I had done around there a few years ago. Anyway, I managed to get out for a quick spin today, over the hills to the coast at Abbotsbury.
The ride over from Winterbourne Steepleton to Portesham was a bit of a slog into a stiff breeze but at the crossroads at the top, I was rewarded with a fantastic panarama to the coast. Dorset has some very bizarre landscapes with isolated hillocks, ancient barrows and fortifications jammed in and around the rolling downland. I wonder if the people who lie beneath the piles of stones appreciated the view as much as I did.
The descent into Portesham is not to be undertaken lightly and without good brakes. I was feeling decidedly dodgy on account of having one too many the night before and negotating a series of 90 degree bends proved tricky, especially as I wanted to make the most of the viewpoint.
Through Portesham, I followed the coast road along to Abbotsbury and found the delightful Old Schoolhouse Tea Rooms. I had promised myself a pot of tea but a slice of hot Dorset Apple Cake with clotted cream seemed too good to pass up. There was plenty to see and much mooching to be had in Abbotsbury, including a visit to an artist who now inhabits an old church.
The return leg was up the back lane (Hands Lane) which climbs steadily to Hardy's Monument. With a gutful of cake and tea, I found myself compelled to pause for air thought more than once - especially at the bits where the map shows double chevrons.
The view from the monument was glorious. Vast anvil shaped clouds seemed to be battering unlucky souls everywhere, except for where I was. To the west, I'm sure I could make out the coast line of Devon out to Start Point and to the east, the Needles of the Isle of Wight.
All that was left was the eye watering downhill stretch to Martinstown from the Dorset 3D and within the blink of an eye, I'd be back in time for lunch. I passed the Brewers Arms, scene of last night's over indulgence and felt that with only two cars in the car park on a Sunday lunchtime, the friendly, hard working landlord and his wife may be living on borrowed time. I must remember to pop back and do my bit to keep the beer flowing.
H
