Cycling through Britain’s wild places: How riders can help save rare species

The full, original version of this article was published in the 26th June 2025 print edition of Cycling Weekly. Subscribe online and get the magazine delivered direct to your door every week.

Few things rival the quiet joy of spinning along a trail in good company, wheels turning and conversation flowing. Our usual topic? Bikes, naturally. I ride a Canyon Grizl 7, fully immersed in my gravel era, and I’m usually joined by local friends who’ve traded skinny tyres for knobby ones, all drawn to the freedom of mixed terrain. Our conversations meander like the trails: summer bikepacking expeditions, the comfort of tubeless tyres, the merits of flared handlebars, and – of course – which cafe to cortado. Rarely does saddle chatter stray into which rare species we might encounter along the way, the local habitats under threat, or how climate change intersects with our rides – or what we, as cyclists, might do about it.

And yet there’s no reason why not. Cyclists are in a unique position to observe and report on the state of nature from the saddle. Accessing natural landscapes, views, mountains and forests, is a primary appeal of the sport. Could we – or should we – dive deeper into the natural connection cycling affords us, and make advocacy for conserving threatened natural habitats part of our pastime?

Combining the two motivations, cycling for conservation as well as fitness, was a key driver as I was researching and writing my new book To Have or To Hold. I rode whenever possible, unless a named storm lay in my path (which became a mysterious theme). In our cycling, we confront a paradox of environmental responsibility: the duty to leave no trace and protect the countryside through which we ride, but we inevitably purchase consumable kit, drive (or even fly) to desirable cycling locations, and to some extent intrude into nature – all the while hoping it stays wild and beautiful.

Britain stands among the most nature-depleted nations on Earth, with one in seven species now facing extinction. Perhaps more alarming, we rank lowest in Europe for our sense of connection to nature. Nature disconnection is not just a cultural concern – it’s a crisis. With the UK government legally bound to meet its environmental promises under the 2015 Paris Climate Agreement, the urgency to reconnect with and protect the natural world has never been greater. But when we’re sending it down a bridleway accompanied by birdsong, sunshine and epic views, we might be missing some of nature’s most urgent stories.

To demonstrate how cycling gives us access to some of Britain’s most precious natural habitats, I want to take you on a 34-mile ride through some of Devon’s best kept secrets. Anyone who does this ride is rewarded by over 3,000ft of climbing, a view of Britain’s youngest castle, ancient woodlands, rushing rivers, quiet bridleways, sleepy villages and rolling mid-Devon lanes. All of these harbour some of the country’s most endangered species. This ride has fast become my favourite route from the doorstep, to do solo or with friends, and can be adapted to suit your needs and ability on the day. A gravel bike is ideal for this varied terrain, but a mountain bike is also an option, although it may feel laborious on the lanes. My husband Jacob needed no persuading to join me on what was a stunning spring day.

Exe marks the spot

Beginning from home, west of the River Exe in Exeter, the early climbs, out of the city and towards Whitestone, came thick and fast. Within a few miles, approaching Heath Cross, we were already at 250m above sea level, with 180° panoramas from the Exe Estuary and the sea, across to Dartmoor National Park. Primroses pocked the hedgerows, chiff chaffs sung on a breeze perfumed with nectar and blossom. The notorious Six Mile Hill spilled us down into Tedburn St Mary. Actually only 1.5 miles in length, this historic 18th-century landmark of the Exeter Turnpike Trust marks where tolls collected fees from weary travellers on their remaining six miles into Devon’s capital.

Ten miles of epic vistas and rolling hills towards Dartmoor were punctuated by stingy climbs and long pacey stretches. Male skylarks rose victoriously above farmland in their iconic song-flight – singing their way into the breeding season hundreds of metres above us. It was a lovely sound but also a stark reminder that UK skylark numbers have declined by 63% since 1967 (RSPB), victims of intensified farming. Though legally protected, they remain under pressure. The Wildlife Trusts urge one simple act to help prevent a silent spring: keep dogs on leads. As cyclists, we can do our part too – by staying on marked paths and avoiding fields where skylarks nest.

Seeing the windswept moorland of the National Park on the horizon, I thought of the bilberry bumblebee, Britain’s ‘mountain bee’. Thickly furred for warmth, they pollinate a medley of upland flowers. But habitat change and warming springs have driven this high-altitude bee into steep decline. Now nationally scarce, it struggles with low heat tolerance – troubling news given that this spring’s mean temperature of 9.5°C was 1.4°C above the norm, making it the warmest on record. The bumblebee’s presence on Dartmoor is precious. Its future deeply uncertain.

Leaving Cheriton Bishop marked the beginning of the first off-road section, a verdant singletrack through mixed woodland, flanked by braided tributaries of the rivers Creedy, Yeo and Teign. The trees were budding, energy humming with the arrival of spring, the track flowing and forgiving. A gravel state of mind. The air was cool and fresh. We were entering Atlantic salmon territory.

The River Teign, winding through the spectacular gorge, is a vital spawning ground for this vanishing species. Numbers are at record lows, driven by rising water temperatures, invasive species, and the bleak truth that no river in England or Northern Ireland is considered healthy. After years at sea, adult salmon return, guided by Earth’s magnetic field to the very waters where they were born.

“Atlantic salmon were once abundant and one of our most important keystone species, bringing nutrients from the ocean and keeping the forests of Dartmoor healthy,” said Sam Manning, project officer for Southwest Rainforest, part of the Woodland Trust. The salmon’s life cycle links land and sea, each stage returning nutrients to the river, forest, and ocean. Trees near streams with salmon carcasses grow stronger, enriched by nearly 80% more nitrogen. As we cycled deeper inland, it was easy to forget the sea, some 30 miles away in Teignmouth, and the river’s thread to it. Atlantic salmon decline speaks to a deeper disconnection: between land and ocean, between people and the ecosystems that bind them.

The Teign's rainforests

I couldn’t wait to reach Hunter’s Path, a breathtaking singletrack perched high above the River Teign and gorge. Castle Drogo, Britain’s youngest castle, stayed hidden as we climbed from the base. Bike and rider earn the view: a granite fortress commanding the eastern rim at 300m above sea level. Built for businessman Julius Drewe between 1911 and 1930, it’s the last castle ever built in England, now cared for by the National Trust and one of its most popular sites.

Line choice is key here. I wanted to look everywhere, be everywhere, constantly distracted by the distant moors, buzzards on the thermals – and trying to ignore the 200m sheer drop on my right. The Teign rushed like distant surf far below, hidden by the green fuzz of the 825-acre Fingle Woods. Under the canopy lie species that indicate temperate rainforest habitat: ancient, rare deciduous woodland of gnarled oaks, birch, ash, hazel home to unique assemblages of mosses, ferns, liverworts and lichens. Temperate rainforests once carpeted nearly 20% of the British Isles. Today, that figure is less than 1%, severing crucial ties relied upon by species on the brink.

“Salmon populations in Devon are on the edge of collapse, particularly in the Teign,” Manning continued, “but the Woodland Trust is working to re-naturalise and restore our temperate rainforests and rivers, including at Fingle Woods, which will help improve salmon habitat and conditions in the river so that they can one day thrive again.” As cyclists, we can raise the profile of these vital restoration efforts that protect the trails we love by riding responsibly and supporting the work of environmental charities such as the Woodland Trust.

Three thousand years ago, these woods bustled with timber production, tree felling, and hunting. The once-rich deciduous forest was stripped nearly bare, overtaken by dense, light-hungry conifers. But now, thanks to the National Trust and Woodland Trust, the forest is returning to its former glory. On a bike, you are the audience in this verdant theatre, gliding past sweeping vistas like Hunters Tor and Sharp Tor. Hunters Path is gravel-bike bliss – smooth, flowing single-track with the occasional rocky garden that descends through woodland with some fun switchbacks down to Fingle Bridge.

Newly bloomed gorse lit the trail like golden fairy lights, its coconut scent on the breeze. In places like Chudleigh Knighton Nature Reserve on Dartmoor’s southeastern edge, these heathlands are carefully managed for one of Britain’s rarest insects, the narrow-headed ant. These wood ants strengthen ecosystems by cycling nutrients and supporting a web of heathland life from aphids and birds, to microscopic parasites. Yet they survive in just one English stronghold, protected by Devon Wildlife Trust. Elsewhere, only in the Scottish Highlands do a few scattered colonies remain, threatened by land use change and urbanisation.

Gone cuckoo

The picturesque Fingle Inn was a hive of walkers enjoying a riverside pit-stop. The Teign hurried below the 17th-century stone bridge as we crossed and headed downstream towards Clifford Bridge. Now at river level, the sights and scents changed in the dappled light. Wild garlic, ramson, was everywhere. I nibbled some leaves and foraged others, stowing them in my frame bag. You know it’s spring when ramson pesto dollops weeknight dinners.

The next few miles – beyond Clifford Bridge and into Dunsford Woods Nature Reserve – were fast and thrilling. The river raced beside us like a ribbon while, above, the tree canopy shimmered. Glades opened to reveal constellations of bluebells, wood anemones and wild daffodils, explored by luminous Brimstone butterflies. Even a pearl-bordered fritillary – one of Britain’s most threatened species – appeared for a beat, its orange wings flickering like a flame as it darted across the trail.

One of cycling’s quiet triumphs is its relative discreetness. Leaving Dunsford village, we hit the day’s more relentless climbs on silent, forgotten lanes. All we could hear was birdsong and our breathing: chiff chaff, starling, blackbird, great tit. At one point, a bumblebee led the way up a sharp ascent, briefly outpacing us as we rose from the saddle on the paddles, hearts pounding. I listened for a cuckoo, not long back from overwintering in central Africa. For me, this call carries a sting of nostalgia, knowing that cuckoo numbers have fallen by 70% in the last 20 years.

As cyclists, we’re granted a rare privilege: to witness nature in its quiet retreats and courageous recoveries. With every mindful ride, however near or far, we’re not just passing through these landscapes; we’re deepening our role as nature’s advocates. There’s something profound in the rhythm of the ride and the simplicity of riding from the doorstep – how time in the saddle opens us up, draws out a deeper connection not only with the natural world, but with each other. What I hold on to is this fierce belief: nature can recover, but only if we grant it the space and respect it needs.

Nature notes

Atlantic salmon cannot survive in 90% of England’s rivers, owing to habitat fragmentation (2024 Atlantic Salmon Stock Assessment).

Bumblebees fell to their lowest numbers in 2024 since UK records began (Bumblebee Conservation Trust). The high spring rainfall during their most delicate life cycle stage when they emerge from hibernation is thought to be the cause.

Lungwort lichen is a unique species formed by the symbiosis of a fungus and two species of algae. They only grow in ancient-woodland hundreds of years old.

Narrow-headed ants have a symbiotic relationship with aphids. In return for sweet honeydew produced by the aphids, the aphids receive protection from predators.

Ancient woodland now just covers 2.4% of the UK (Woodland Trust). Around 40% of what remains has been felled and replaced with non-native conifers. The Woodland Trust is currently restoring nearly 40,000 hectares of woodland across the UK.

Freshwater health determines how well we can respond to climate change and protect communities and other species from flood and drought. Yet sewage is discharged daily into rivers across the UK and Ireland (The Rivers Trust).

Immerse yourself. Learn to love nature more deeply by identifying your local bird and plant species using helpful apps such as Merlin Bird ID and PlantNet.