Right, an easy day for a change. A planned 40 miles or thereabouts on much more gentle terrain. The weather forecast was quite good too - not too warm, but reasonably dry at least. And no more killer hills if I could possibly avoid it.

I set the alarm for 7.30, but ignored it, as I'd be seeing everyone before I left anyway. So I got up quite slowly, gradually prepared my things, and had breakfast. Jenny had washed some of my clothes the night before, which were nice and dry for me now. I had also hung my tent out to dry. I had to wait till Alastair came back from taking Alex to school down in Tiverton anyway. Then I rigged up Mercury and popped over to the surgery to say goodbye. Chris came out to wave me off, as did a couple of his assistants. What a rousing send-off - I hadn't got one at Land's End, but this was a good substitute. So I finally got going at around 10.30. Not to worry, as I wasn't planning on going far.

The road started out with a gentle climb out of Bampton, and proceeded to undulate pleasantly all the way to Wiveliscombe. I saw Evita, my tame heron (well, she actually lives in Regent's Park, but she is quite tame anyway, and I always wave to her when I pass by), standing by the banks of a stream. It was nice of her to come along and keep an eye on me on this journey. After Wiveliscombe the road descended beautifully into Taunton Deane. I had planned to pop into Taunton on a nostalgia trip, as my grandparents used to live there and I hadn't been there since 1981. However, heavy traffic around the town put me off, so I decided to push on to Bridgwater for lunch. Once again I tried to find my way between Taunton and Bridgwater along wee lanes, and as usual I ended up getting somewhat lost. Furthermore, the lanes skirted the edge of the Quantock Hills, and therefore undulated quite sharply. By contrast, the adjacent A38 was relatively flat, being on the edge of the Somerset Levels. So I abandoned the lanes in favour of speedy progress. The onset of a light drizzle certainly swayed me in this decision.

Despite having been to St John Street Cycles before, I did a circuit of Bridgwater before finding the place again. I persuaded the chaps to do a quick repair job on Mercury, replacing the broken mudguard clamp, relubing the rear mech to stop it squeaking (the GT85 had been washed out again by now) and replacing the cassette with a Shimano Megarange one with a 34t sprocket. I wouldn't be able to use the biggest sprocket on the biggest chainring, as the chain was too short, and to lengthen the chain would have caused problems on the smaller sprockets, but that didn't matter, as I never use that combination anyway. Well, not intentionally. One of the guys in the shop said I could do with a lesson in packing, judging by the luggage I had with me. No doubt he was right. Maybe I should take him up on the offer before my next big trip! I also met a bunch of masochists in the shop. They were doing the double End to End, Land's End to John O'Groats and back again. They showed me their route. It went along the top of Scotland and down the West coast again. I admired them for their determination. They were youth hostelling, and raising money for the YHA. I had a brief chat with one of them, called Richard. Apparently they were from Taunton, so they decided to do it that way round, partly so as not to be tempted to abandon as they passed home on the way back up! They, too, had popped in to sort out some teething problems.

I had been looking forward to lunch at the Cycle Inn, which was next door to the shop. Unfortunately it had closed down. Well, they only served herbivorous food there anyway! Most cafés were also closing as it was rather late for lunch, but I found a pleasant little place in the end. While in there I studied the map. It really did not make sense to head for the campsite I had earmarked, 6 miles to the North West of Bridgwater - I would be heading in the wrong direction (just for a change). So Glastonbury beckoned instead. A nice, flat 15 miles or so. I like Glastonbury. Despite being hijacked by the New Age movement, it is a very pleasant town, and its links with the past do lend it a certain aura. They'll make a hippy of me yet!

Off I went, up the A39 out of Bridgwater. The plan was to head onto the minor roads parallel to the A39 after Woolavington, along the levels. I missed my turning, and rode most of the way to Street along the A39, a vile busy road, along an undulating ridge, which is too narrow for the traffic it carries (alternatively, British drivers have no idea how to adapt their speed and driving style to the conditions; they see a trunk road and therefore drive fast). I had several vehicles pass too close for comfort. I also pulled into lay-bys when possible in order to permit trucks to pass me. Occasionally they actually thanked me for it.

So I got to see the Somerset levels - from above. It was the first major trunk road I had encountered that followed the high ground rather than available levels. I guess the levels must have been too marshy in times past to be suitable for road building, and the route along the ridge just stuck. In the end I left the A39 in favour of the signposted Sustrans route (Route 3) along the lanes from Ashcott. The route was circuitous, but quiet and flat, and afforded great views of the Isle of Avalon as I approached it. Some wit at Sustrans had decided to build a new path as a shortcut between two lanes. Very droll. The designer was obviously drunk at the time. The path slalomed through a field of reeds, so much so that I'm not sure how much distance the shortcut actually saved.

In the end I got to the campsite, the Isle of Avalon Caravan Park. Quite pleasant and luxurious, but also quite expensive for a campsite. And it was almost deserted. I had a vast field in which to choose a camping spot. The only drawback was a lack of locking facilities for Mercury. I just had to try to hide him and hope for the best. I pitched my tent, locked Mercury and pegged his tent on top of him, then went to make some dinner. I found a couple of instant pasta and sauce sachets in the shop on site, which would have to do. Naturally I made too much, but one sachet would not have been enough. It was edible, but I can't say much more in its favour. I was able to do some washing, but the spin dryer only took old 50p coins, which could be obtained at the shop - which was closed by this point. Then I made some phone calls before heading into town. Apparently my friend Jen was in Tintagel on Sunday. I left on Saturday. It would have been funny had I run into her there…

I have come to the conclusion that Glastonbury is not very pedestrian-friendly. I followed the pedestrian signs to the town centre in order to get to the Tor, which turned out to be the most circuitous route possible. I don't mind cars being given the run-around, but to do this to pedestrians is not fair or reasonable. I climbed the Tor in time to take in the view prior to watching the sunset over the Mendip Hills. The view is magnificent - Wells is about 5 miles away, and in the fading light the great white mass of its cathedral stood out from the town. To the West, Hinkley Point power station is another prominent though altogether less inspiring feature. The peaceful atmosphere created by the setting sun was in stark contrast to the blustery wind which threatened to blow me right off the Tor. After sunset I headed back into town to find a pub, some lukewarm ale, and a table in order to carry on writing up my diary. Then to bed.