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A day of indulgence and adventure in Dartmoor

Some days are just built differently. They start with a feast, flirt with danger, indulge in a little history, and end with just the right amount of ale and whisky. This was one of those days.

Fueling Up: The Quintessential English Breakfast

Every great adventure demands a solid foundation, and what better than a home-cooked English breakfast? Eggs, bacon, grilled tomatoes, and toast made from homemade bread—so good it could make a grown man weep. With our bellies full and our spirits high, we were ready for action.

A Flashy Ride Through Twisty Lanes

We swapped cars and jumped into Chris’s red Mercedes B-Class—a shade more flamboyant than your typical German engineering, but then again, this wasn’t just any Mercedes. This was an AMG sport version, a machine built for both performance and panache. Perfect for a 30-mile jaunt through Dartmoor’s winding lanes, where sheep have the right of way and sat-navs have trust issues.

Dartmoor Prison: Gloomy, Grizzly, and Gripping

Our destination? The infamous Dartmoor Prison Museum. The prison itself has now shut its doors, but back in the day, it made the news regularly—especially in the 70s and 80s when I was living in England. What I didn’t know, however, was that this fortress of misery originally housed French prisoners from the Napoleonic Wars and later American captives from the War of Independence. The artefacts were suitably grim, and after a while, we decided that history should be digested with a side of lunch.

A Pint of Nostalgia at Two Bridges Hotel

Where better to lift the mood than the Two Bridges Hotel, a charming 18th-century coaching inn? Here, I reunited with an old friend—Dartmoor Jail Ale. My first real ale pint in years, and let me tell you, absence had only made the heart (and taste buds) grow fonder.

Wistman’s Wood: A Walk into the Mist

Suitably refreshed, we set off on foot across the moors toward Wistman’s Wood. Half an hour later, we arrived at this eerie little woodland, an ancient tangle of twisted oak trees shrouded in legend and, on this particular day, rolling fog. It felt like we had wandered into Tolkien’s imagination—minus the orcs, thankfully.

Back to Brixham: Ale, Rugby, and Thai Delights

Back at the car, we retraced our steps to Brixham, where I indulged in the sacred post-adventure tradition: the nap. Rested and ready, we made our way to the Rugby Club House for a pint, only to find it absolutely packed. Plan B? A short walk to the nearest pub, where I treated myself to two well-earned pints of Tribute real ale.

Walking back up the hill after those was a challenge, but the reward was worth it—Chris had whipped up a Thai-style dinner that was nothing short of spectacular. We cracked open a couple of bottles of red wine, played a dice game (the rules of which remain delightfully hazy), and finished the evening in the only appropriate way: with a whisky nightcap.

After all, with the miles walked, the ales consumed, and the adventures had, sleep was a foregone conclusion.

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