{"id":62,"date":"2025-10-04T08:14:14","date_gmt":"2025-10-04T08:14:14","guid":{"rendered":"https:\/\/ridesstridesandvibes.co.uk\/?page_id=62"},"modified":"2025-11-09T15:17:51","modified_gmt":"2025-11-09T15:17:51","slug":"victor-the-vito-the-camping-calamity","status":"publish","type":"page","link":"https:\/\/ridesstridesandvibes.co.uk\/?page_id=62","title":{"rendered":"Victor the Vito & the Camping Calamity"},"content":{"rendered":"\n
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Every epic adventure has to start somewhere.<\/strong> Ours began with a Vito van, a budget inflatable double sleeping bag, and a level of camping naivety that can only be described as\u2026 inspirationally clueless.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

We stripped out the back seats, lobbed in the bed, and declared it \u201cready.\u201d No cabinetry. No clever storage hacks. No insulation. Just blind optimism and a tent to chuck all our gear into. The tent, by the way, is our walk-in wardrobe-slash-bar: camping chairs, cooking kit, gin, a few tonics, bubbles (essential), and enough snacks to stock a school tuck shop.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

At St John\u2019s campsite, surrounded by majestic motorhomes, we were directed to a field \u201ca little further on.\u201d There was one lonely tent. We picked a spot by the treeline\u2014perfect for midnight wee calls (great forward planning). It had a view, it had peace, and\u2014unbeknownst to us\u2014it had a sideways slope.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Now, when people say \u201cdon\u2019t park on an angle,\u201d they mean front-to-back. We, being camping prodigies, parked sideways. As night fell, we nestled into our inflatable bed like smug pioneers. Then the slow-motion slide began.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

It started with a lean. Then a shuffle. By midnight, gravity had won. We\u2019d both slid to one side of the van, tangled in bedding like a human burrito. Paula was hanging off the mattress. I was clinging to the edge, desperately trying to reclaim personal space. (Spoiler: personal space is a myth in a Vito van.)<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Highlight of the night? Around 3am, Paula wriggling out of the bedding for a midnight pee. Despite the chaos, we laughed\u2014a lot. Because this is the stuff good stories (and eventual upgrades) are made of.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Long term, we dream of a real campervan. One with a bed that doesn\u2019t deflate. A toilet that doesn\u2019t involve a midnight walk in flop-flips. A shower that doesn\u2019t require a jug and optimism. A van where everything has its place and nothing tries to escape out the sliding door every time you open it.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

But for now? Victor the Vito is our initiation. Our lovable, clunky, slope-challenged mobile home. And we wouldn\u2019t trade those early mishaps for anything\u2014except maybe a flat parking spot. <\/p>\n<\/div>\n\n\n\n

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Burn’t food on its way<\/em><\/strong><\/p>\n<\/div>\n<\/div>\n\n\n\n

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\ud83c\udfc3\u200d\u2642\ufe0f Parkrun at Exmouth: Lycra, Wind & Existential Crisis<\/em><\/h2>\n\n\n\n
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Exmouth Beach<\/strong><\/figcaption><\/figure>\n<\/figure>\n<\/div>\n\n\n\n
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We were ready for the weekend runs\u2014once we found the bag with our gear in. First up: Exmouth Parkrun. Just a 10-minute drive from camp. Billed as a \u201cfast, flat 5K out and back along the esplanade.\u201d Technically true. It\u2019s flat, exposed, breezy, and weirdly full of people who look like they were born in Lycra.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

We joined the lineup feeling brave, energised, and possibly still half-asleep. The course director shouted the usual dos and don\u2019ts. Start in your expected finish zone. Don\u2019t block faster runners. Naturally, some ignored this and stood wherever they fancied. The shout of \u201cGo!\u201d came\u2014and I was immediately stuck behind two ladies who decided to walk. Arghhh.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

I dodged past and made the classic rookie mistake: starting like I was chasing an Olympic medal.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Mile one?<\/strong> Glorious. Effortless. Majestic. I felt like a gazelle. Mile two?<\/strong> Wounded wildebeest. I considered faking a hamstring injury just to lie down.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Paula, meanwhile, was somewhere ahead, moving with the casual confidence of someone who hadn\u2019t just made poor life choices. I glimpsed her ponytail bouncing smugly in the distance while I was overtaken by a child wearing Crocs.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Despite the mid-run existential crisis, I salvaged some dignity with a strong final stretch\u2014clocking my second-best 5K time ever and a surprise 2-mile PB. Proof that chaos, desperation, and the faint smell of bacon can be motivational.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

We finished in one piece (Paula suspiciously un-sweaty) and rewarded ourselves the only way you should after a semi-voluntary cardio sufferfest: a cooked breakfast and a cuppa in Budleigh Salterton. No medals. No fanfare. Just bacon, eggs, and the taste of survival.<\/p>\n<\/div>\n<\/div>\n\n\n\n

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home<\/a><\/div>\n\n\n\n
London 2026<\/a><\/div>\n\n\n\n
Bicton<\/a><\/div>\n<\/div>\n\n\n\n
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\ud83d\udebf Showers, Jurassic Park & Slope-Free Sleep<\/h2>\n\n\n\n
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Back at camp, I parked Victor on a slope-free patch (progress!). The shower was glorious\u2014hot water pouring over weary limbs, cracks in the door offering a valley view if you squinted just right. Until the knock came: someone else needed the shower. Classic.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

That evening, we headed into Exeter for a proper date night: Jurassic Park in 3D<\/strong>. Dinosaurs flying at our faces, popcorn flying into our mouths, and soft drinks doing their best to rehydrate our cardio-crushed souls. It was cinematic escapism at its finest\u2014though I did flinch harder at the T-Rex than I did at the slopey van mattress.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

After the film, we grabbed a pub meal, toasted our survival, and headed back to camp. We packed everything into the tent for a quick morning escape and settled down early. This time, no sliding. Just a half-deflated bed and a sore back. My weight gave Paula more air on her side, so she slept like royalty. I woke up shaped like a question mark.<\/p>\n<\/div><\/div>\n<\/div>\n<\/div>\n\n\n\n

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\ud83c\udfc3\u200d\u2640\ufe0f The Bicton 10K: Hills, Humiliation & Ice Cream<\/h2>\n\n\n\n

Next up: Bicton 10K. Billed as \u201cundulating,\u201d which in runner-speak means \u201cthere will be pain.\u201d A charming countryside course with just enough trail and tarmac to confuse your legs and betray your footwear choices.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

I arrived optimistic\u2014until 30 seconds in when my lower back staged a full-blown rebellion. Paula vanished into the distance like a gazelle with a grudge. I hobbled along like a pensioner chasing a runaway shopping trolley.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

The hills? I walked more than I care to admit. Told fellow runners I was \u201csaving energy strategically.\u201d Every uphill felt like Everest in wet socks. But the downhills? Oh, the downhills. I shone like a caffeine-fuelled mountain goat\u2014sprinting past everyone who\u2019d overtaken me, only to be re-overtaken once the trail pointed skyward again.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

By the finish line, I\u2019d burned 10K\u2019s worth of calories, dignity, and lumbar support. We got complimentary ice cream\u2014I wasn\u2019t sure whether to eat it or smear it on my lower back.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

We shuffled across the car park like retired gladiators. Paula looked fresh and smug. I looked like I\u2019d wrestled a bison. The campervan never looked so glorious.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

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Bicton College where Paula studied Veterinary<\/strong><\/figcaption><\/figure>\n<\/figure>\n\n\n\n
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But we finished<\/strong> <\/figcaption><\/figure>\n<\/figure>\n<\/div>\n\n\n\n
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Paula loving the hills<\/strong><\/figcaption><\/figure>\n<\/figure>\n<\/div>\n\n\n\n
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Me? not so loving it <\/strong><\/figcaption><\/figure>\n<\/figure>\n<\/div>\n<\/div>\n\n\n\n
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\ud83d\udc1f Recovery, Reflection & Fish Finger Sandwiches<\/h2>\n\n\n\n

With adrenaline fading, the real reward began: a gentle drive back to Bude. No zippy overtaking. Just windows down, legs elevated, and the smell of sweat slowly replaced by the aroma of victory\u2026 and Deep Heat.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

We stopped for the holy trinity of recovery:<\/p>\n\n\n\n