Bridleways really aren’t supposed to be this good. This corner has the perfect radius to hold my speed for the next; the trail is defined by a stream below me to one side, and a steep-sided bank to the other. There are roots and rocks under my tyres and a canopy of leaves overhead. In front, the disappearing wheel of our guide Dan, dropping his shoulder into the next corner at what must be 30kph. We’re building speed round every corner, pushing into the little rises and natural lips, using the contours perfectly, until there’s nowhere to go but across the stream. We stop, panting at a gate, bulging eyes, speechless, and then laugh out loud. This is Hawkcombe Bridleway in Exmoor, once crowned by this very magazine as Britain’s Best Singletrack.
Anywhere else in the UK this is not your usual bridleway. But in Exmoor these rights of way are as abundant as the mossy trees that
