Misty Morning Coffee Ride.

This post is going to be photo heavy as I got just a bit carried away with the beauty of the moment, or moments, as they are spread over a couple of hours. Beauty of the couple of hours just doesn't sound right. Best bet – make your own phrase up and insert it here, as you know what I mean.

Saturday dawned just as the weather forecasters promised – misty but full of the promise of warm sunshine later. Feeling up to a ride, thankfully, I already had the ideal location in mind for a murky start, so the Voodoo was loaded up and off I set as fast as I could manage (not that fast then, being honest), for another coffee ride, this time down by a local river.

Early morning can be a magical time to be out and about, and this particular morning was certainly living up to the billing. The sky was blue and the air fresh as the sun started filling everything it reached with golden light, and within seconds I realised the day was going to be a bit special. Well it would be if I could reach my goal before that sun burned away all the mist, if I didn't then the air would be blue with some rather industrial language, but for the moment, it really was great to be out in the big old world on a bike.

Yeah I know, 5 mph... but this is near the summit of a long hill, and my brakes were rubbing... and... it was a recovery ride... 

Despite my desire to get a shake on, I still had my photographic eye enabled and was soon hitting the anchors, hanging a U-Turn, and messing about trying to get a photo of a cobweb without disturbing the snoozing resident spider by piercing his web with a handlebar end. While I was faffing about with that I heard a very strange noise approaching from the other side of the bushes. A bull snorting away as it came to see what this twerp was doing next to his hedge perhaps. It turned out to be a female jogger though, with what to me seemed a rather unorthodox breathing pattern of a short intake followed by a deep and sudden outward breath/grunt/moan as if she had just been stabbed. She looked alright, seemed to be making good pace and not holding her bloody guts in or anything so I guess it's just her running technique. I couldn't run to my back door so I wouldn't know a good technique from a bad one, it just sounded odd having the still air pierced by such uneven gruntage.

I read a book recently where the author described the low sun shining through gaps in a hedge onto a path as he walked, as being like the hides of a hundred Zebra laid flat. I'm not that lyrical, so I'll just say that riding along the hedge lined lanes on the tops of the hills was like riding along a big bar code, or a Blue Bottle doing a low fly past over a bald blokes comb over. 

A bit further on, where the hedge gets a bit higher, that sun would strobe into my left eye making for a slightly unusual riding posture.

The road was stripey, that's what it was, and all very nice unless the sun was caught at the wrong angle and then it strobed away into my left eye driving me nuts for a short while, so I dipped my head down and slightly to the left, while looking up and slightly to the right, the peak of my baseball cap shielding the worst of it. I probably looked very odd, but who cares, there's no one about at that time in the morning... well apart from grunty joggers and farmers. Lots of farmers. Busy lot they are and I encountered quite a few tractors growling along the roads.

 These things fill the lanes like a Sumo Wrestler fills his swimming trunks. Not much room spare so best to get right out of their way.

Beautiful morning for a ride.

Piling on the coals I soon reached civilisation, or rather the village of Tresillian, but it's close enough. I was getting near my destination now, and thankfully, all was still misty and low on contrast. So misty in fact that my glasses steamed up or got moisture on their outside, I don't know which, but I passed through the village with my head cocked back slightly trying to peer out from under the water globules. I probably looked very odd (haven't I just written that?) like I'd caught my scarf under the back of the saddle or something, but who cares, there's no one about at that time in the mor.... actually there was, but I was past worrying what people thought of me by then, let 'em stare, I don't care (sounds like a line from a Punk song...).

The Wheel Inn in Tresillian dates right back to the 14th Century, which means it is officially classified as 'a bit old.'

Minutes later I was at my target location, beside the Tresillian River, and taking in the peaceful surroundings. Everything was still and quiet, at first. But the more you listen, the more you hear, and nature can be quite noisy, but it's a good noise - one to tune into rather than out of.

Time to sit and watch the sun burn the mist away.

The far bank of the river was only visible as a large grey mass, as the sun here was still largely blocked out, and looking down the river towards Truro revealed just a grey, murky... well... murk. Never mind all that though, I'd just flung myself out of bed, ridden just over five miles up hill and down dale, all without caffeine. That is some commitment right there, I think you'll agree, so I needed my reward and set about brewing a frothymungous Cappuccino. A beautiful and peaceful setting and a tasty, strong, coffee to compensate the effort involved in getting there – perfect.

Not black and white conversions, just shot towards the sun.

As time was going by so the sun was gaining strength, and slowly but surely colouring in the countryside on both sides of the river and revealing all the details previously hidden, until the last hill top emerged from behind the haze. This was what I had hoped to see and didn't want to miss.

Autumn is here, and the leaves are just starting to drop. This one clinging to a semi submerged stone on the river's edge. 

The day had finally got up and running, and everywhere seemed to wake up with it. The path behind me was busy by now with joggers and dog walkers, a chap in a motor boat burbled past, and someone fired up a chain saw on the far bank. Time to move on then. I followed the riverside path down to the Hamlet of St Clement, poked my nose around there for a bit, then headed back the way I'd come.

Above and below - Downtown St Clement.

Heading back. The path is a Bridleway, and being beside the river, flat all the way.

The day had by now gained some proper heat and I was sweating like a glass blower's backside  I was a bit hot going up one of the gruesome hills leading away from Tresillian village. Time to hang the trusty baseball cap on the bar ends and get some cooling air onto my sweaty crust. Try doing that on your drops, or wide as a house 29er bars! Bar ends might be a bit 1990s, but they are still darned practical for hanging your hat on, a much overlooked feature I think.

A thoroughly enjoyable and rewarding ride then, one to look back at when things are less harmonious and draw strength from – there are good experiences to be had, and they will come again.