Death and the Autumn Equinox.

Today is the Autumn Equinox, when the length of daylight and nightime are equal, and from now on, it all goes downhill. But Autumn isn't all that bad really, in fact, I like it a lot. Autumn has an atmosphere and smell all of its own and the lanes somehow seem more peaceful and still as the year starts winding down, unless it's blowing a proper hooley of course, then things are bit more energetic, but still.

After a couple of days of not feeling so clever, a ride today was just what was needed. Setting out, I often find the rhythm for that particular ride within a few hundred yards, and today was a proper bimbling day – it was going to be a ride spent mostly in the lower gears and in single figure speeds, and when it comes to enjoying the back lanes, well that's no bad thing at all. You ride the lanes to escape the rat race, so why go hooning along them in a blur of piston like knees and pulling anguished faces? 

Forget training and KOMs on Strava and all that sort of nonsense for a change, pick a low speed or gear and stick to it, and sit back and enjoy the simple pleasures of riding slowly, that's what I say! (it's also a good excuse for not being very fast anyway, but we won't mention that here...)

The lanes this morning were utterly peaceful, just a few birds and the crackle of my tyres on the gritty tarmac to listen to – mostly. There were a few farm tractors out and about as usual, and the ever present Crows kicking off as I disturbed their peace, but days like today remind me how lucky I am to live in the countryside and not have to battle the traffic and white noise of towns to reach it.

It was also a bit of a wildlife themed ride, as first up I disturbed some sort of bird of prey or other. I looked up as I was passing a gap in the high hedge where a farm gate is set back from the road, just in time to see it take off, bank to the right, and soar low to the ground down the field and away. Whatever it was, Kestrel, Buzzard or Hawk (I'm not up on my birds as you can tell) it made a graceful spectacle flying so effortlessly and silently away.

The ford at Boswiddle has only just reached the road, but will soon enough be much deeper and faster moving.

Boswiddle Ford is where I always upset the local Crows. They always start squawking and screeching as I approach the top of the steep hill which leads down to a small river, and continue their barracking the whole time I'm there. It's a spot I usually stop for a while, as it's a peaceful place (Crows apart) and the sound of the running water is rather relaxing. The water had just broken over the top of the bridge and started a narrow flow across the road – slightly surprising given the rain we've had recently, I expected to give the bike a bit of a clean ploughing through the water there. Give it a few weeks though and it will be running fast and deep again.

Another place I'll stop and take in the view when passing.

Leaving the ford, and the unruly Crows behind, I came across the sad sight of a recently killed Badger - wildlife encounter number two. Encounter number three came a little later on in the form of a young Pheasant, I imagine the victim of a traffic collision, but in this case, still alive, just. I did consider breaking its neck but thought I'd only make a mess of it and inflict more stress and pain on the poor beast, so left it to its fate. It may recover, or it may fall prey to one of the local cats, but that's life, and death, and the way of things I suppose.

Some Badgers are illegally killed then dumped on a road to look like they've been hit by a car. Possibly what happened here.

One very poorly Pheasant, but what to do with it? I chickened out and left it be.

Mind you, I nearly bagged a Pheasant or two of my own just a few yards further on. They are criminally stupid and chaotic creatures at the best of times, and it seems utterly cruel shooting such dumb critters and hardly worthy of praise or merit – I've nearly collected at least a dozen or so just by cycling about the lanes and startling the darn things. Blasting them to oblivion with a shotgun is just stacking the odds too far in the shooter's favour I reckon. Go blast something smaller and faster ya big bullies! 

Anyway, there I was pottering slowly up a hill when several junior Pheasants ran out of the hedge and up the road ahead of me. All but one finally remembered they have wings and the power of flight and took off, while the other dimwitted bird just ran up the road, looking behind now and then as it went, until finally it turned left into a gateway and disappeared.

 But that wasn't the end of the Pheasantry as the last wildlife encounter of the day involved a much bigger example, and I reckon as they grow older and bigger, so their brains grow smaller. This one went true to Pheasant form. I didn't know the dumb blighter was there, I could've passed it by and wouldn't have been any the wiser. But Pheasants don't really do stealth, or hiding, they do panic and chaos and they do it to a very high level indeed. There was a sudden screech and out from the hedge right beside me on the left burst a bigg'un. Good job my bowels were in good and strong order today, let's put it that way, 'cos I only had one bicycle clip with me and it didn't half make me jump. This one didn't leg it up the road though, oh no, it flew right across my handlebars so close I could've slapped it on the backside, and then crashed and kerthwacked into the hedge on the other side of the road. Never mind dicing with fast moving buses and taxis in towns, we country bikers have blundering brainless birdlife to contend with, and at least four wheelers are predictable. One day I'm going to come home, slightly dizzy, and wearing a dead or stunned Pheasant like a fat feathery hat, it's as certain as Christmas.

Foresters have been busy in the Duchy of Cornwall woods near Trendeal.

The rest of the ride was thankfully uneventful and very enjoyable, and I did break my self imposed speed limit by having a fair old tear up down the hill on a paved bridleway that used to be part of a main road. I'm only human and we all like a bit of speed now and then after all, and I topped out at a blistering 30.8 mph. Chris Froome's team place at Sky might be safe for a while yet, but when he goes out bozzing along on his bike he's not doing it on 26 inch wheels and fat knobblies is he. Blasting slow witted fat birds with shotguns or racing round France on lightweight super bicycles... some folk clearly have it too easy...

More Duchy land, more logs freshly cut.

So Autumn is well and truly here, and the nights are getting longer than the days, but it's winter that really gets me down. Autumn isn't bad at all, the smell of rotting leaves mingles with the smoke from chimneys as fires are lit for the first time in months, mists hang low and the countryside is an atmospheric and tranquil place to be. I'm quite looking forward to it.