Death & Tassels Tour of Cornwall

And so, once more, some of our motley band found themselves with nothing to do, petrol in the tank, and tyres on their wheels.
The PR Secretary caused a little consternation by arriving EARLY at Medial's house, having been followed down from the hills by Mad Wrasse on a Street Triple, that well-known long distance touring machine... It seemed a shame to turn MW away, so we let him 'tag along' to see what he was made of.
With Master RouteFinder in the convoy, the boys set off South once more, to sample the delights of the Midway Truckstop at Prees, but were led astray by the Raven truckstop next door, and once inside, impressed by the motorcycles on display in the cafe, and  gazing in wonderment at photos on the wall, declared that the Midway had lost the battle, and our new Southern pitstop had been found. Laughing at two lads who had stopped for brekkie on their way to the IoM, on hardcore sportsbikes and barely able to stand because of enormous rucksacks on their backs, our boys were suitably refreshed, and a quick blurt to Tintern Abbey found a converted railway station cafe with the stickiest, heaviest cake on the planet, sampled it, and found that all was well.
It was a mere jaunt across the Severn that then caused the undoing of Master RouteFinder, as he took them on a cross country jaunt toward Cheddar Gorge, through the delightful little carpark that is the town of Yatton. Now Master RF was not to know, but the road through town was closed due to heaven knows what, and so the Obotosobatmasites found themselves on the strangest detour known to man, through a housing estate that appeared for all the world to have every vehicle south of Birmingham trying to make its way through, with little chance of any success at all. He followed this up with a trip to Cheddar Gorge, which provided an awesome road, which unfortunately was being used as another carpark by everyone who had escaped Yatton.
Only one thing for it - 100+ miles of dual carriageway if Launceston was to be achieved before bedtime.
The final insult was the hovel that the PRS had managed to attain for the princely sum of bugger-all. Perhaps as well, when you see the state of it.




Who would bemean themselves to stay in such a place?
So the poor old chaps made their weary way to the curry house.
It turned out that the house was not the only thing that was free. The curry house was, too. Well, free of spices anyway. Never has a rogan josh tasted of so little.
Still, tomorrow was another day...