The Road to Death

Well as trips go it started well, a sleepless night the evening before - caused mainly by my considerable farts.

It didn't help that Beth shot up in the middle of the night, shouted "Dad's on the airbed 1... 2... 3" then went back to sleep.
Barbara decided to sleep downstairs but found out the Parrot snores.

So after about 2 hours sleep we cram the remaining laptops and computer gear in the car with one or two items of clothing and set off for the trip .....
3 mins later we arrive .... at Tesco, quick tyre check and some fuel and we're on the push.

Blue skies and sunshine were the order of the day as we pass the roadworks, Birmingham and even Bristol.
Reaching "Welcome to Devon" it then rained.

We decided not to hit Torquay but have a drive around the coast so we headed for Slapton sands, Dartmouth and around those bits - After freezing at Slapton sands and telling all the war vetereans that £1.80 to park was not the reason they fought in France and Germany we set off for the sunny costa del Challaborough.

Now when your in normal civilisation the Sat nav chooses, Motorways, then A roads etc, when your in Devon it regards all roads as equal.
Not knowing the perils or fate that awaited we eagerly followed the "300 yards and turn right then turn left then left , left again then right" etc.
Leaving Slapton we appeared to be going up someones garden drive but the absence of sheds and garden gnomes plus several on coming high speed Land Rovers led me to believe we were indeed on a road.

A few quick emergency stops and some amazing squeezing of two vehicles through gaps smaller than Viet Cong tunnels and we headed a little further towards our goal.
With just a mile or two to go the Sat Nav declared "Turn Left" - now most people's perception of "turning" and "left" are their vehicle turns into an opening large enough to allow the vehicle to pass without removing the paint from the body of the vehicle or the shite from the bowels of the driver.
Regardless of any expectation the Sat nav insisted on a left turn - now most people including myself may not have noticed the "tidal road" sign but anyway that was the least of our worries.

I turned onto what I strongly believed was a boat slipway, i.e it was small, angled steeply, made of concrete and covered in mud and shit.

We followed a few other helpless deciples to the Lord Sat Nav and proceeded down what I would still describe as a boating lane.
The signs then gave a clue, "Road may flood at high tide" - Hmmm the boat moored on the road seemed to back this up and the smell of Estuary shit.
Fortunately the tide was out (or not quite in) so we picked our way along this 6ft wide road of death, the large wooden markers hammered into the ground gave some clue as to the fun you must have at high tide playing "is this the road?".

We then met the local Royal Mail driver, I knew he was Royal Mail when he swerved violently to avoid hitting the car in front of me but not violently enough to stop himself from chatting on his mobile phone.
Obviously being a stranger to the region i thought it wise to make new friends to I'm sure he appreciated the "Get off the F%^king phone you stupid W%"£er" as I went past.
It's nice sometimes to reach out and touch someone.

We then negotiated what I will call "The hill of death", this was a hill with more bends than a team of crap divers and steeper than the service charges at Gordon Ramseys restaurants.
There should be a wooden hut at the top giving out "You made it alive" badges and giving everyone a free car sticker.
I've never:

a) Driven up such a winding and nerve racking road
b) Met such large vehicles coming the other way
c) Crapped myself so much

We then proceed to go down roads which are narrower than the path between our house and our neighbours, finally we find the sign (well when I say sign it's a large mirror mounted on the side of the road, kept in place by pieces vehicle debris.


We then proceed down a slightly larger road until reaching the final destination which involves going through a village that is only "just" wide enough for one car, then down a road with less passing places than a dodgy funeral parlour.

Finally we arrive at Challaborough - gateway to Burgh Island.....


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