Rare blue skies and nary a hint of mist on Dartmoor. This swathe of moorland and tors -exposed granite hilltops - is situated in South West England, and famous for its navigational challenges.

A long way to go if you run out of tea...

The UK is blessed with public access trails that streak across the lands like a network of veins. Our pace was dictated by the gates to be opened and shut as we worked our way through the park. Each had its own character, some borrowing great lumps of Bronze Age granite to prop them up.

Our first night under the stars was spent just out of the settlement of Princetown, home to Her Majesty's infamously bleak Dartmoor Prison, a foreboding granite fortress built to hold prisoners during the Napoleonic War.

My companion for the ride, Chris, strategically bivying by a cow pat, while I kipped out in a Black Diamond tarp.

7.30am. Sweet singletrack down mist-shrouded Cobweb Alley. These precious moments encapsulate the essence of bikepacking.

According to Chris, dry conditions demoted this stepping stone crossing to a mere 'Level 1'. Wet moss and cycling cleats elevate it to a whole different ball game.

The Troll in bikepacking mode. Nothing more than a tarp, sleep mat, sleeping bag, potset, food, snacks and tools... Life simplified. Over the last couple of years, I've come to realise that this is the kind of touring I enjoy the most: the liberation that comes from roaming on a bicycle that's light enough to be hiked when it can't be ridden. With all my possessions, it's rare that I can travel this light - sometimes even four panniers feels like too much clutter. Click on the pic for pop-up annotations of my framebag setup. Of course, you could just stuff everything into a rucksack, but I prefer not to carry too much on my bike. Likewise, panniers are an option, but less fun when mountain biking.

Lots of local produce on offer to tempt us away from the trail. A change from the papayas and mangos of the Equator...

Some trail maintenance needed...

I'd lucked out my first time mountain biking in Dartmoor - conditions were perfect. Come rain, and these grassy chutes are real energy sappers.

Not quite the work of Incas, but impressive walls none the less.

These traditional dry stone boundaries snake their way across the park, keeping livestock where they should be, and are an integral part of the area's cultural heritage.

A beautiful mossy, stony chute in Exmoor National Park. As the least visited national park in the UK, we had most trails to ourselves.

Tarr Steps, a 55ft medieval stone clapper bridge over the River Barle.

Working our way up to Dunkery Beacon, perched at a distinctly un-Andean 414m in altitude. Our route took us through Exford, where we stopped for (fresh) scrambled eggs and (fresh) bacon chez Howard, Nick and their mini farm.

Howard deals in recycled timber. This is his Unimog. A Surly Pugsley would doubtlessly look good leaning up beside it.

The Yellow Box, programmed expertly by Chris, had done a good job of telling us exactly where to go, backed up with old fashioned Ordnance Survey maps. I really need to hone my GPS skills, as there's no doubt that for a ride like this, they really help to keep the flow going.

Almost there... One last climb and a ridge ride lay ahead, before an epic whirligig descent down to the waters of Minehead.

The End, fittingly within eyesight of the fabled Butlins eyesore, one of a chain of British holiday camps founded by a certain Billy Butlin in 1936.

Captain Slow. From here, we rested sore limbs on the steam train back to Taunton, before heading home...