That was the theory. In practice, it started raining as we left the car park in Dorchester and kept it up for the next hour. Roads were awash, visibility was poor and crotches were leaking, and the idea of going all the way to Cornwall in this lot was rapidly losing its appeal.
Then a ribbon of duck's-egg blue appeared above the distant moors, and spread and deepened until by the coffee stop on Dartmoor it was a perfect spring day.
There was still snow among the boulders on the high ground, whiter than the fluffy sheep with twisting horns and brown faces. The 40mph limit gave us leisure to gaze at the scenery, while the straight road provided enough visibility to pass slower cars and coaches with ease.
The rain continued on and off, at times sheeting across the road, and there was one deep and muddy flooded bit with a surprise bonus pothole lurking at the end. But we were through the worst and drying out as we left the twisty, tree-lined hills of Devon for the Cornish lanes. And popping up over a crest to see a deep U of blue sea between the cliffs made everything worth it.
We descended to the coast and parked in pretty Tintagel for lunch. Towards the end of the meal cream teas and hot cross buns were discussed, resulting in a stop at Bickleigh Mill on the homeward leg.
(I did have a cross bun, but it was cold. I was tempted to invoke the Trades Description Act and insist they put it in the microwave for a few seconds.)
Soon after this it was off the country lanes and on to A roads for the slog home. We largely kept together for this bit, except when a German people-carrier took a dislike to me and insisted on overtaking, and reconvened at the start point nine hours after leaving it to say our thank yous and goodbyes.
A 275-mile day, and mostly good miles.