Tour de South 2026
- Jun 2
- 7 min read
It’s been a little while since I put pen to the proverbial paper. The last time I did so was midway through the European leg of our travels last year. The overall aim of those posts was to share the trip with my mum. She had been diagnosed with cancer only a couple of weeks after we started our adventures in April. She urged us to continue our planned trip, so long as we told her all about it. We did just that, and those posts were written for her to share our experiences of taking part in the UCI Gravel Race Series, alpine misadventures, and battling storms across Central Europe vicariously.
We arrived back in England in early September and life just happened—and it happened fast. First of all, Louisa and I got married. Then we put an offer in on a house (three years of living in the van had finally come to a close!), and then, no sooner had we got the keys than Mum passed away the very next day.
It was expected, but that does not take away from how the world felt to me afterwards. No one has yet managed to explain grief fully; it is so very different for everyone affected. For me, after the initial outpouring, I withdrew from the digital realm: the faux enthusiasts taking part in a hobby only because there was an audience telling them how amazing they were; influencers being praised simply for existing (the very embodiment of selling your soul to the devil, if you ask me); and the endless capitalist bollocks telling us, “This thing is great. Buy it. You will now be happy.”
I have always been someone who values real experiences, pursues hobbies and interests because they are part of who I am, and seldom succumbs to the influence of people I don’t actually know or respect. During this time of reflection, I remembered the nucleus of an idea I had years ago: a bike ride that shared my favourite place, a place I just happened to live—the South West of England.
I had put a route together years ago for a couple of Audax friends that took in all that Dorset had to offer, which I affectionately referred to as “Dorset in a Day”. Knowing this was definitely Type 2, approaching Type 3, fun, I reimagined it as a two-day ride. As the idea started to grow and I had more experience behind me, I opted to expand it into the wider areas of Wiltshire and Somerset. It was a cool route. More importantly, it was a route that needed to be put out there. So I did.
Cycling is expensive. Hobbies are constantly being jumped on by big businesses trying to squeeze every last bit of financial freedom we have left, and people who can barely ride but have sway online are literally given a free ride to “document” their experience. Rather than trying to change the way the world is becoming, I decided to try and rekindle something that once was. Dorset in a Day became Tour de South and I put the idea out there. To my immense surprise and utter relief, people responded.
So with that, I made it live, charged only what the event cost to run, and set out a clear vision of what was on offer: something between an Audax and bikepacking. Two 160km days consisting of a challenging route taking in the most beautiful parts of the South West I have explored over the past twelve years, a campout with gear transport, and a minimum expected average speed of 20kph.
Fast forward slightly into the new year and I did a route recce. It underwent a few changes right up until the last minute due to road closures, but this inadvertently made the route even better by pushing me to revisit places I had not ridden in a very long time.
I could only accommodate fifteen to twenty people due to parking and space in the van for gear transport. All of those spaces were booked within a week and the May weekend was fast approaching. It was unfortunate that nearly half of those who signed up pulled out, or disappeared altogether. Although the reasons were, for the most part, entirely genuine, it still felt a little like a kick in the teeth. I had put so much work into research, finding the right campsite, group updates, and all the other logistics that I felt quite deflated in the run-up.
Saturday rolled around and people started showing up. The final group of riders was the best mix of people I could have hoped for, and those feelings of “what’s the point?” completely evaporated.
We set out as a group and, naturally—as I had hoped—the group formed organically on the road. People found riding partners, smaller groups developed, and the group waited at various places so conversations could continue.
Heading north, we passed through both the Stourhead and Longleat estates before turning west through beautifully quaint hamlets and villages. We made a quick stop in Glastonbury to top up water bottles from the various natural springs, grab some food from the supermarket, and essentially clean out the local butcher’s shop of sausages.
We then started heading south towards the coast. The group separated slightly here as there was still the second half of the ride to complete, but we had spent longer in Glastonbury than we had realised. Time was getting on and, as such, the second half of the ride was completed somewhat quicker than the first.
The final 50km of the ride was a little cruel, to be honest. It was very hilly and, down here, they may not be long, but they are steep. Gaining 120 metres up a 20% wall on repeat is far harder than any Alpine ascent I have ever done. To those of you who did this with me, I hope you forgive me—but the views and roads were worth it, right?
We all arrived at camp within about fifteen minutes of each other. Louisa had done logistics on day one and transported all the gear from the start to our camp at Bredy Farm. She joined us for the first 20–30km that morning before peeling off and heading back to the van. She had also secured a fire pit and some alcohol-free beers, which I have to say I seem to have grown very fond of.
I’m going to take a moment to acknowledge Bredy Farm. I remember this place from my teenage years when it was genuinely a farm right out in the sticks, run by an old lady who used to offer me tea. Now it is possibly one of the most complete camping setups I’ve ever seen without feeling like Butlins. It is adults-only, has a pool, a pizzeria, restaurants, bars—you name it.
Benson became very acquainted with an underwater pool cleaner that attached itself to his leg. He claims it was entirely unexpected, but we collectively raise an eyebrow.
Tents were put up, showers were had, dinners were cooked, and the swimming pool was sampled. We all settled around the fire that evening eating mushroo.. I mean marshmallows (sorry, Benson) cooked over the flames. The conversations flowed and ridiculous stories were shared by everyone, ranging from lost hamsters to tiramisu. It really had a vibe, and it was exactly what I had hoped would happen.
The group was mixed and our ages spanned many years, but it became very obvious that we were all equal in the fondness we felt for that moment in time.
The next morning Louisa passed the logistics baton over to me and it was my turn to be swanny. We all set out around 9:30 on Sunday morning. I joined the group up to the Hardy Monument and, before I left them, treated them to a snippet of Rob’s Magical History Tour regarding the plague and Weymouth.
After saying goodbye, I took a longer route back to camp. Having designed the route, I knew what they had in store. They were taking in the incredible Purbeck coast before swinging back through the Blackmore Vale.
I met the group atop Bulbarrow Hill, one of the most beautiful views in Dorset, I reckon. You can see three counties from up there. After topping up water bottles and depleting the last of the Voom bars, I wouldn’t see them again until we arrived back at base at Tokes Farm.
Knowing I didn’t have masses of time, I managed to cook various pizzas and prepare some chicken fajita bowls for their return. I knew people had travelled a fair distance to take part, and two big days leave quite a hole. I couldn’t let them leave hungry.
I have come away feeling immensely happy with what we put together. It may have been small, but the overall vibe and the mission to create a ride for genuine enthusiasts of the sport—regardless of background, FTP output, or what happens to be between their legs—cannot be overstated.
Over the past couple of days I have come up with a variation that I would like to put together, potentially for September, and I also plan on doing this again next year. I do need to put my head down and think of a way to reduce the dropout rate, although I already have a good idea for that. I also think this idea has the potential to do more good than simply providing a ride, but I need to ponder that a little more before I put it out there into the world.
Thank you to everyone who joined the first Tour de South. It really could not have happened without you, nor without the atmosphere, stories, and energy you brought with you. It was lovely to meet such wonderful people and to see what was an idea born from grief become something I can always look back on with such fondness.
If Tour de South sounds like your kind of adventure, head over to the Tour de South page and sign up for updates. There are more miles, campfires, and questionable route choices to come.
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