Day two started with breakfast in the Travelodge and was never going to be as exciting as day one. We made our way back to Truro where I had stopped the night before. Truro is an interesting spot, the weather was bright, unlike me, because it took me about half an hour and a couple of attempts to find my way out of the town. This was partly due to the fact that the route had changed to route 32 and I was gaily bowling along the wrong cycle route.

The route out of Truro was on yet another peaceful country lane. These are virtually traffic free which is understandable because they are one car wide with high earth walls clad in all sorts of trees, bushes, nettles, briars and wild flowers. I had blissfully ignored the guide book's references to multiple climbs and multiple Cornish valleys but was soon confronted with the reality of that information as the route went up and down constantly. Each torturous ascent was followed by an exhilarating descent but one took a lot longer than the other and my normal pedestrian 10 mph average dropped to about 8 mph.

The Sustrans signs were again proving elusive and I missed one hidden in a tree (not the fault of Sustrans) that pointed up what looked like someone’s driveway. I found it only after having struggled my way up another hill and then retracing my route and exposing the sign with my secateurs – an essential bit of cycling gear.

The plan was to meet for lunch in Padstow but by the time I had found my way round the outskirts of Newquay with my dodgy route finding added to my generally slow progress, it was looking like it would be dinner. The weather was also taking a turn for the worse with an overcast sky and occasional showers. I eventually made it to Padstow at about 2.15. Padstow is a shock to the system of a solitary cyclist because it is awash with people cruising the narrow streets looking for Rick Stein. I was walking along, pushing my bike forlornly in the rain when Helen popped out of a café right in front of me. We found one of the famous man’s eateries, which was warm and dry and had a really nice lunch of spinach soup with poached egg and shaved parmesan followed by hake, asparagus and minted potatoes. Just what you need before an afternoon of cycling in the rain. No sign of the master chef to be found.

By the time we left the restaurant, the rain was falling with a vengeance but ironically the ride from Padstow to Bodmin was the most enjoyable part of the day. It follows what is known as The Camel Trail – no camels to be found because it is named after the river Camel which it follows on the track of a former railway line which is nicely paved and very flat. The trail meanders along a tree lined route with one interruption when you cycle along the main street of a town called Wadebridge. I haven’t seen a lot of other cyclists on my way but the Camel Trail was an exception to this with hordes of families out on bikes, despite the rain, which they had hired from Padstow or Wadebridge.

I got to Bodmin in double quick time and found that the Cornish traffic meant that Helen had only just arrived in the car and was sheltering in the tea shop of the local jail – which is now a tourist attraction instead of an HMP.

Day two was 48 miles and more importantly, involved 3,000 feet of ascent – a Cornish Munro on a bike.