We woke up and while packing up, had a surprise visit. Damien—the son of the couple whose cabin we were staying in—stopped by. Over a cup of tea, we caught up from the last time we’d seen him in Colombia.
After he left, we climbed onto the bike and headed north. The skies were cloudy with just a light mist hanging in the air. We decided not to put on the rain gear, figuring the mist would be all we’d see for the day. Luckily, we had rain gear. When we first arrived in the UK, I realized our riding kit had accidentally been taken back to the U.S. After a quick scramble with Amazon, we ordered replacement gear—only to discover we’d ordered the wrong size. Way too tight. Back into the return box it went, and we ordered the next size up. Perfect. We rolled the gear up tightly and stuffed it into the tank panniers.
Our first stop was the town of Cheddar, gateway to the famous Cheddar Gorge. The morning air was chilly, so we stopped in town for a cup of coffee. Cars were parked all along the road against a double yellow line, and I was motioned into a spot between two cars. When we returned to the bike to take a picture, every car was gone except mine. I posted the photo and, of course, caught grief online for parking against the double yellow. Just another sign of the times—people quick to comment before knowing the full story. Social media seems overflowing with that these days.
The little café was called the Mouse Hole. Everywhere we looked, people were out walking wonderfully well-behaved dogs. Several pups lounged happily inside the shop, wanting nothing more than a belly scratch. The cappuccinos were perfect, the scones with clotted cream and jam were delicious, and the staff couldn’t have been more delightful.
After our stop, we rode through Cheddar Gorge. The ride was breathtaking, but far too short. The road twisted between towering rock walls that seemed to rise straight into the sky. Next up was the village of Castle Combe. This village has remained untouched by modern construction since the 1600’s. Just try and wrap your noggin around that.
From there, we pointed the bike toward Ashbourne, deciding to stop partway and keep the day’s ride relaxed.
The next morning we woke to blue skies, dry roads, and cool, comfortable temperatures—perfect riding weather for the journey to Ashbourne. A friend of ours, Tom, had generously offered us his house for a few days while he was away riding in South Africa. His girlfriend, Amy, was in town to let us in. What was supposed to be a one-night stay somehow turned into three.
On our first day there, we decided to leave the bike parked and explore the town on foot. Ashbourne was beautiful, with an old church standing proudly in the center—though that seems true of nearly every town here. England is filled with stunning old churches and cathedrals. The town also had a tunnel several hundred feet long, built more than a century ago. Beginning right in the middle of town, it disappeared beneath businesses and homes before emerging into the countryside and a network of walking paths.
After our walk, we grabbed fish and chips in the town square before heading back to the apartment. That evening, we met up with Amy and several of her friends at a couple of local pubs. We had an absolute blast.
The next day, we rode up into the Peak District. The ride was spectacular—narrow winding roads lined with hedges and old stone walls, low enough to reveal sweeping views of the countryside beyond. Coming around one bend, we spotted The Old Smithy, a small tea room, pub, and restaurant that seemed to be the motorcycle hangout of the area. Naturally, we pulled in for breakfast: a bap and a coffee. (A bap is a breakfast sandwich served on a homemade bun with bacon or egg inside. Absolutely delicious.)
That evening, we met Amy again downtown at a pub called the World of Beer. A few more friends gathered, and it seemed Americans were quite the tourist attraction. Lol. After a couple of drinks, one couple—Laura and Pete, both professional chefs—invited the whole group back to their house for cocktails, a special summer drink, and homemade Chicago-style deep-dish pizza. I swear it was the best pizza I’d ever had in my life.
We drank far too much and eventually stumbled our way down the steps, through town, and back up the steep hill to Tom’s house. It had been one of those unforgettable days where everything just seemed perfect. The only thing that could have made it better would have been Tom being there with us.
The next morning, it was time to move on once again. Thank you, Amy, Tom, Laura and Pete, and Simon and Lisa, for making our stay in Ashbourne so unforgettable.
Cheers,
2WANDRRs
2WANDRRs 
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