An early start brought mirror‑calm water and long, glowing reflections from St Michael’s Mount. We counted benches like milestones, paused for warmth behind a windbreak, and watched cyclists drift by, content to measure success in smiles, not kilometres, before rolling happily homeward.
Between cheerful swimmers and the castle headland, a sunlit bench made the whole route feel effortless. The slope barely registered; the view did all the lifting. We shared cake, adjusted gloves, and promised to return when autumn paints the water deeper blue.
A heron froze beside the reeds while distant surf thundered beyond the dunes. Rolling was silky, unhurried; each lock offered a seat and story. We left with calm shoulders and sandy tyres, grateful for level miles stitched perfectly to the sea.