Busy Place, the Countryside.

So the unseasonably good weather these last few weeks has come to an end, and the lanes are set to be wet and mucky now until Spring next year. Goodbye dry and dusty, hello wet and squidgy.

I've had a bout of the glums in recent days, the bad old feelings of lifelessness and fatigue taking over again, and all enthusiasm for anything disappeared under my duvet where I spent a lot of time looking for it, but failed dismally to find it. Sunday was a beautiful day with no wind, just warming sunshine and glorious autumnal colours and smells. Even that failed to kick my spirits up the backside and lift the gloom as I closed the curtains again and headed back to bed.

But this is all part of a cycle, ups and downs, like one of those pump tracks or whatever they are where young folk with jeans halfway down their asses get airborne. One minute you're flying and showing your keks, the next you're in the bottom of a pit. Just as the better times come and go, so do the days of feeling kicked and crushed, it's often a case of just giving in, riding them out and the better days will slowly appear once again.

Well yesterday was a better day – I may not have been sliding down the bannister and singing 'the sun has got his hat on' when I woke up to the world, but I was feeling a bit more like it, so I quickly decided a bimble around my usual lanes would be just the ticket.

Grumpy looking skies looked ominous but the only rain that fell was while I was under tree cover once again.

Was I really out of action just a few days, or was it weeks... months even? How could things change so quickly? Firstly it seems there is some building work or other going on to the East of the village here and the result is a steady stream of six and eight wheel tipper trucks roaring along part of my favourite loop, filling the lane with diesel smoke, noise and big lumps of assorted Scania, Daf and Volvo. Oh and mud. Lots of mud, both from their tyres leaving the muddy site, and from them going up the verge and dragging mud back into the road. Deep joy.

Ok then, some on the fly route modification saw me take to Tregassow lane, only to find just as much mud, and a steady stream of farm tractors barrelling along and filling the lane as they go, making getting out of their way a bit of a problem in some places. It wasn't like that last time I went along there.

There's tarmac somewhere under all that slop.

Thankfully though, I soon passed the field they were dragging produce from, and beyond there the lanes were free of heavies, if not gooeyness. The leaves have fallen big time now and where my knobblies last fizzed on dry tarmac, they now splashed through puddles and squelched through decaying foliage. Some of it is flipping slippery too, as we all know wet leaves can be. Going down the steep S bend in Tregassow Lane, which is also blind, I got a ridge running up the middle of my saddle from where my clenched buttocks were snapping at the fabric as I tried to avoid locking wheels and subsequent impromptu break dancing. Falling off on that vertiginous hill would see me bombing down on my backside like a winter Olympics luger who'd forgotten his tea tray. Not a good look I find.

Autumn is starting to reveal the twisting boney skeletons of the local trees.

Safely down and pausing at a bridge to gawp at the waters flowing underneath saw the first of three encounters with chatty folk I was to have on this ride, another unusual occurrence as I often potter about these roads without meeting a single soul. A van pulled up as I was taking a photo and a local chap asked if the water was running very fast or not. From there things moved on and we had a right old natter, and this chap was quite a character too, with a fine sense of humour to match his equally fine beard.

Not so bad here, but these Ash leaves can be as slippery as a well greased Weasel, and test one's sensitive braking abilities to the max on severe downhill sections.

The second encounter came at the top of Tregassow Hill where I met a roadie stood by the roadside and talking on his phone. Wondering if he was ok I stopped to check and found he was just out for a big old ride around with a mate who knew the planned route, but who had dropped him and beggared off into the distance. Some mate. So this chap was ringing this 'mate' to find out where the hell he was and which road to take given the choice of three at this particular junction. So we stood and had a brief chat, stuggling to make ourselves heard over the growling tippers coming past every couple of minutes.

Carrying on saw my choice of lane once again take me away from those blasted tippers and I just had the ever present catastrophic Pheasants for company – bloody things they are, crashing, flapping and screeching about. Oh and Squirrels, lots of Squirrels, all flitting about and launching up trees and so on. Pheasants could learn a lot from Squirrels about making quiet escapes, but they don't take any notice, obviously.

The colours of death and degradation.

Colourful life is still to be found in the hedges and verges, although this Cranesbill Geranium is likely an escapee from a nearby garden.

My third encounter came near home as I gamely made it up yet another unruly hill, and I met three women walking a varied assortment of dogs. I bumped into them at just the point where I usually stop to take in the view through a gateway (not really, it's where I bail out normally and start pushing, but I prefer the former explanation). So another brief chat was had and I made friends with a Pug. Least I think it was a Pug, it could've been a Terrier that chases parked cars, but what struck me more than her 'hit in the face with the flat side of a plank' looks was her name – Marion, apparently. An odd name for a dog really, made me wonder what the other assorted mutts were called, but I didn't get the chance to ask.

Muddy puddles failed to wash the gribble and slop off the bike, so it was out with the pressure washer once home as this is a house bike, and I don't want it dripping wet mud on the carpets.

So that was a brief ride around my local loop and I couldn't believe how busy it was, with mud flinging heavies, chattermongous people and flat faced dogs too. Apparently the trucks could be rampaging along my fave bimbling routes for months to come, which is not good news at all, but hey ho, I'll just have to find other routes around my 'hood.

But it all sort of proves that even though the lanes are supposedly quiet, there is still all sorts going on. This time it was added humans going about their business, but the nature related stuff was in evidence too as the landscape has changed with the falling of the leaves and various beasts beat hasty retreats and so on. Busy place the countryside sometimes.

Bridleway Bashing and Mud Plugging (sort of).

I'm sat here now, while outside it is a bit manky - all grey and drizzly giving way to occasional periods of... grey and rainy. Plus in the night someone came in the front garden and gave the tree a good shaking judging by the fact nearly all the remaining leaves fell off and are now lying strewn across the grass. Or maybe it was the wind. Whatever, as days go today is a bit crap, so I'm glad I went out yesterday, apart from the fact my back is now raging as a result, but still, I picked the right day, obviously.

Heading along the lanes towards Ladock. It was a bright, but cloudy day tricky for getting exposures right then, leading to much tickling of the RAW files to get a half way decent looking photo.

I love Bridleways. If the country lanes can whisk one away to peaceful tranquility across the countryside, bridleways take you and drop you right in it. Or drag you right through it, whichever seems more appropriate at the time. You still get to ride your bike (some of the time) but you lose tarmac and instead gain knobbly gnarly bits often with a dose of bushwhacking, and maybe even a bit of bull running thrown in for good measure.

The only drawback for me, is my aversion to generous levels of mud, and the local bridleways all become off limits over the winter for me, so yesterday I grabbed the chance to go wild one last time this year probably and made for a bridleway I've 'done' a couple of times before.

This partcular bridleway starts about five miles from my door, near the village of Ladock, and delivers one, only a little muddied hopefully, to the hamlet of Trendeal, a distance of perhaps two miles.

I do like this particular path a lot because it has a bit of everything, from semi wild scraggy woodland traversed by the path sunk between earth banks full of critter and hairy beasty holes and ancient dry stone walls, to crossing open farmland (and a Bull's field, but thankfully, once again, he wasn't home or was attending to matters elsewhere in his field, I don't know which).

Plenty of this sort of going to be found on this bridleway.

It also just nicks one corner of a local wood, a wood I frequent on a... frequent basis and so know is open to the public for the purposes of mooching about. I had a dip into the wood where the path passes once before, and thought it would be an ideal spot for a bit of lurking with a mug of coffee. Splendid.

The bridleway passes along the edge of some fields, and the farmer leaves a generously wide section for it. Some would've ploughed to within a few feet of the hedge, being less accommodating.

The downside to this particular bridleway though is the amount of pushing I have to do. One of those sunken parts climbs a rocky, stoney hill up to open fields, but it's too much for me to ride up so I bail out and get walking.

The corner of the wood where I planned to brew up a coffee. Taking this, I admired how clean the bike still was...

No worries.

Having done all that, then ridden along the edge of a field, I was ready for a brew, so imagine my dismay to find the previously open entrance to the wood now closed off with barbed wire. Bums! I was really looking forward to that. Carrying gamely on I got to the Bull's field, only to meet a farmer type walking his dogs coming the other way. He assured me the bull was free (it doesn't charge... groan...) and that the path beyond was a little muddy. So, regardless of the bull's apparent lackadaisical attitude I made like Bernard Hinault across his field, only mildy crapping myself as I went, and made it to safety on the other side. Bulls eh? Pfft! They don't scare me. Ahem.

Aw... bums. Bang goes the clean bike.

It was just after my feat of derring do that disaster struck. The 'little muddy' that the farmer described turned out to be a bit of a mud bog and far too squelchy and gooeysome for my liking. But the worst bit was my otherwise pretty clean bike was now going to get thoroughly defiled, as were my boots probably, but I don't care about them. There was no way I could ride through that murky mire, so I took to the edge of the hedge and pushed the bike through the gloop (this time from the right and that just feels so wrong, I always push from the left). I'm glad I did too as the wheels sunk right into the mud and would've made riding across nigh on impossible what with me not having a fat bike (see how I dropped a hint there? I'm slowly making a case for one to myself you see...).

The final stretch of bridleway has had some recent TLC.

Hitting tarmac once again saw the inevitable flailing Catherine Wheel effect as mud got flung everywhere by the Centifrugle... by the Sentryfrugal... by the wheels turning faster and the knobbles flexing, and despite having a crud guard thingy on the front, I collected a lump of mud on my forehead as I rode into it. That's not meant to happen now is it. Still without the guard I suspect I would've been wearing a lot more so I shouldn't complain too much.

Anyway, all that pushing knackered my back, it stiffened up steadily as I winced and grimaced my way home, and now the bike is sat behind me in the living room, blathered in mud, as is the mat beneath it as chunks fall off now and again like snow falling off your roof when the sun comes out, only a bit smellier. I say that, because there is a bit of a smell in the house, the bouquet of the countryside, the aroma of agricultural air. The smell of pee and poo that's what it is. Either I ran through some horse doings, or that mud contained cow emissions, which given the field next to the mud bog was full of mooeys, and thinking back they were giving me a knowing look, (“yeah, crack on mate... heh heh heh...”), I think the latter are to blame. Burgers it is for dinner tonight then.

Heading home. Taking this, I heard something grunty growling its way up the hill beyond and got to the bike just in time as a flipping huge John Deere appeared going like the clappers. 

Despite the lack of coffee, and the souvenirs of aches, a dirty bike and the house now smelling like a farmer's welly, it was a good excursion, as bridleway bashes usually are. Tomorrow I have to go into the big city (well Truro actually, but it is a city, if not exactly huge or busy – you could lob a pasty down the main street and not hit a single thing) and I know where I'd rather be, smelly gloop included.

New Discoveries.

It's always exciting finding somewhere new to ride, even better when it comes as a complete surprise, and on Saturday I found two such places.

Bozzing along in the local woods.

Out for an extended bimble, I had got the Voodoo a little muddied in the local woods. Aww bums. Nothing serious mind you, but it was clean as a new pin when I set off and I like to try and preserve that freshness as long as possible. So feeling able of body still, I thought a run through some local fords would wash away the grolly nicely, plus it'd be somewhere to go and so on, so a plan was quickly hatched to ride up the hill to the village of Shortlanesend, and then down the lanes the other side where I knew there were two or three fords to have a good old splash through.

 There are acres of woods here, and this lot all crowd onto one tiny old stump.

The woods are just starting to show Autumnal colours in the tree tops...

...But still appear dark and sinister in the denser parts at ground level. (I scare easily).

Heading down the hill from the village I was fair flying along when I saw a green sign on the right pointing out a bridleway. This was news to me, not noticed that before, so I duly had a quick nosey up it to check it out. It looks promising but I thought I'd check it out on the maps at home first, so back on to the lane I went, only to be distracted by another sign, on the left this time, pointing to a Nature reserve. Well this was news to me as well, not noticed that before either, so I duly had a nosey up to the entrance of that too, to check it out. Now I've never actually been in a Nature Reserve before, but I have seen them on the telly, and know they are full of Giraffes, Zebras and Lions n' stuff, so I thought I'd go in further and have a look. You don't see animals like that often, not in Shortlanesend anyway.

 So far so good... nothing hairy and hungry to be seen yet...

I was all alone in there, no other people around, and as the sign at the entrance made no mention of not cycling, I stayed on board the bike and rode in, just in case I needed to pedal furiously away from a marauding Cheetah or something. Well most of the path is a boardwalk which is pretty good to ride on, and whilst it was very quiet and peaceful in there, the only wildlife I encountered was a friendly Robin that wanted to check the Voodoo out. Bit of a swizz I thought, I can see them at home, but maybe the big beasts had got the weekend off or something.

It's not all boarded out, but still makes for easy and pleasant riding or walking.

The only wildlife to be seen was this cute little chap. 

Being serious though, I had no idea there was a Nature Reserve there and will make it a regular place to visit I think, as despite the lack of hairy arsed critters and beasts, it was a very tranquil and enjoyable place to poke around.

So after that little diversion, I carried on and dunked the wheels in a couple of smaller fords before hitting the big one at New Mills. Always good for a pair of wet feet on a bike that beggar is, and the plan worked well, as most of the mud was washed off the bike. The only drawback to this part of the plan was having to climb the hill back up and away from the ford, and that hill is a properly ugly affair. That's the only bad thing about cycling in Cornwall, the geology is definitely on the lumpy side and some of the lanes feature some serious hillage.

Giving it some welly through the last, and widest/deepest ford to clean some mud off the bike. It worked a treat, but I also got wet feet, which rhymes. I'm a poet and didn't know it.

Heading homewards from Shortlanesend I took a different route to the way I'd come previously, down a truly deserted lane. This lane passes through some woods, and there is another bridleway hidden away in the middle of them to explore at some point too. I did have a mooch along it but by now my back was starting to give me grief so I thought it prudent to keep heading homeward. I did stop and listen for a while though, to the sound of falling leaves. That, and the occasional bird, was the only noise I could hear – magical!

All in all then, a very enjoyable ride around, and some new bridleway exploring to be done, very soon, hopefully.

Heading back towards home, I had these lanes all to myself.

Still miffed I didn't see any Lions n' Tigers n' stuff though...

The Lure of the Lanes.

Not much to say, so just a small handful of photos, all taken on a brief ride yesterday, and sort of illustrating the attraction of the lanes.

The traffic free roads, the views, the peace, the quiet, the space, the seclusion, the time to think.

The Sin Bin - Getting The Hump.

Oh my dear life, what do we have here?

It's an Aero Hump pocket/patch that's what, not as you might expect, a rescheduled April Fool.

Reckon this thing will see you going faster? Don't mind people pointing and shouting 'The bells! The bells!' at you? Well you have two ways of getting your aero hump lump. One way is to send off for the not at all duff looking kit of a piece of material and a lump of foam to insert, and then get busy with the needle and thread yourself. The other option is to send off your fave riding shirt (best wash it first) and the good folk behind this device will sew it on for you. But wait, there's more... this is not just an aero aid, oh no! It is also a handy pocket for... carrying stuff. Spare rain coats, water bottles, tools etc can all be carried in the aero hump bump lump apparently, but not your dignity, unfortunately, you'll be leaving that at home. 

The blurb claims it'll make so much difference blah, but, speaking from my vast inexperience of such matters, I don't think it'll reduce aero drag at all. If anything, it looks like it'll add to it. The outer material for the hump appears to be the same as shirts are made from, and which the air has to pass over, but you've just increased the surface area of it. Not by a lot, granted, but increased it is, and the weave/texture of the fabric isn't smooth and shiny, like if it were made of solid plastic for example. You'd think the hump would have to be matched to individual helmet shapes too, but I don't really know. What of the air passing around the pilot's lower head/chin/neck? Instead of meeting at the nape of the neck and passing over the spine, air will now meet a flat surface. No, I'm sorry, but I shan't be investing.

Motorcycle racers have similar humps on their leathers, but they generally go about their business at insane velocities where aerodynamics can make a huge difference when allied to the shape of the helmet/fairing/tail piece of the bike, but at the speeds a racing bike can achieve, even down some vertiginous mountain road, I'm not so sure.

I don't know, maybe I'm being a bit unkind, and maybe it really does offer an advantage, but I can't help thinking this is one of the dafter things I've seen lately. 

Anyway, should you actually be looking for a bit of extra speed and think the aero hump is just the thing to see you dropping your Sunday afternoon riding posse, then you can find it here Get the hump

But for me, it's going in my Sin Bin.

Warm Sunshine and Peaceful Lanes.

Today was one of those utterly superb days to be riding the lanes. There was a fresh north easterly blowing, usually a very cold wind direction that, but the sun was warm and anyway, the lanes offer plenty of shelter if you pick the right ones. Even so, I still fished out the buff that was given away with a motorcycle magazine many years ago and has proved a toasty addition on many an occasion. I can put up with a lot of things, but a cold and draughty neck is not one of them.

I feel at my happiest escaping into these sorts of surroundings these days. On a day like today, there's no better place to be.

I also fished out the Jamis for some big wheel action. I don't ride it half as much as I should, but that means when I do climb back on it, I appreciate what it has to offer all the more, mainly speed! I'm no speedhound, I'm a bimbler, but the Jamis fair flies in comparison to the two 26 inch wheeled bikes. I also like its stability and the way it leans on those smooth and fat tyres. None of that lean a bit, lean a bit more... Whoa...shi... that I get with the more knobbly shod mountain bikes.

When I blow the highlights in a photo, I really blow them...

What started out as just a routine trip around one of my usual loops ended up being a bit of a longer ride as I was just enjoying being out, absorbing the countryside and feeling wheels turning beneath me. The only time I noticed the wind was when it was whooshing through the tree tops or blowing dead leaves about on the tarmac, and that is fine by me. 

The reds and oranges of Autumn have yet to fully kick in round these parts, but there is still the odd flash of vibrant colour to enjoy.

I passed two fully lycra clad roadies while out as well, a few miles apart. The first was an old bloke (well, older than me, and by some margin too... I doubt he sees a doctor when he's ill, more like an archaeologist.) I've passed before, and true to the stereo type, he never nods or says hello. Fair play to him though to still be out at whatever age he's at, he looks as old as the hills.

The second came towards me while I was plodding up a hill in the cover of a tree tunnel, and with the shade from the trees and me wearing cool dude mirror shades, it was all a bit dark under there. But I could see a big white grin break out and a cheery hellooooooo... as a young female flew past going like the clappers. It's not roadies that are the problem, it's male roadies in my  (limited) experience. All the females smile, wave, nod or shout hello as they pass, most of the blokes just look like they're trying to ignore me, the snooty beggars. Sad gits, we blokes some times!

A cracking ride then, and the forecast promises more of the same weather to come, so hopefully it won't be the only bike time I get this week.

Bridleway Bimbling.

I enjoy exploring local Bridleways, like many other cyclists, you get to go off road, legally, and into parts of the countryside comparatively few other folk get to see, or know about. There is a great sense of anticipation, and excitement even, when riding a Bridleway for the first time. In fact, will I be able to ride it or will I have to push is the first question that goes through my head, often they are either too overgrown to bust through in the saddle, or are too rough on the ground for safe pottering. A lot of these Bridleways feature grassy bases, which hides all manner of stones, lumps and bumps of the sort that can deflect my front wheel in an instant and lob me into the flora – brambles usually. With my dodgy back, falling off is best avoided as much as possible. Some of these rights of way I've checked out have been impossible even to enter on foot, so overgrown are they.

The main disappointment now though is that I have explored all the easily accessible local Bridleways, so I now know what to expect, and where they go and so forth. But, I still give them a go, and yesterday (Thursday) was to be one such occasion.

The Bridleway in question is only a short one at just over a mile I reckon, but a nice enough ride. Reaching it involves the back lanes, of course, and one real lung buster of a hill. This one is bang out of order, being both long and steep, but, as I blogged only a couple of days ago, my fitness and hill climbing prowess is improving. The hill is there to be conquered. Not yesterday it wasn't. I was on the heavy old rattlemonger Carrera, one pannier loaded with camera guff, the other with the stove and coffee making kit, and my legs just weren't up for the fight. Oh well, one day I'll beat the beggar.

The weather that was forecast, and the weather itself, promised very different things.

The old wreck doesn't look too bad from some angles.

It was a funny old day really. The forecast online promised white clouds and sunshine, the day itself promised mist, much greyness and a good soaking in one of the hefty showers that had battered my windows earlier. The skies were pretty threatening, the air humid for the time of year, and the valleys still showing heavy mist like bonfire smoke as I pottered along, but it was also one of those very still and quiet days. Everything seemed to be muted, or maybe my ears just need syringing again, but it was certainly very peaceful out and about in my 'hood, and most enjoyable for it.

There was a muted air in the lanes, with only birdsong and the dripping from overladen leaves breaking the silence.

The Bridleway itself climbs up a short hill and then runs along the top towards the village of Probus, and offers some great rural views down the valley to Tresillian. I had planned on setting up the stove and brewing up a coffee at the top of the hill, but firstly it was a tad muddy at the intended point, and left me with nowhere to sit. My back wasn't feeling up to standing around for half an hour, not after pushing the old wreck up that stubborn hill, so I rode on and never did stop for a brew.

The Bridleway climbs up out of the valley below, and then runs along the hilltop.

 The pay off for a bit of hill climbing - great rural views. The village of Tresillian in the distance.

Ok, I got a bit shutter happy here, I just got carried away when the sun came out.

The good thing was I avoided getting a soaking. The sun did appear a couple of times, and while the skies often looked ready to burst at any moment, the most I got was a little damp for a few minutes in some light drizzle, which was a bit of a result.

 As the Bridleway reaches its end, it passes through a farmyard.

 It is a public right of way, but I still feel a bit self conscious riding through here.

Beautiful old barn/Dovecote on the right, ugly as sin more modern building to the left. 

All of which is a lot of boring waffle really, but I had an enjoyable ride (that unruly hill notwithstanding) while the old Carerra took one for the team and got properly muddy, leaving it looking even more unsightly than usual. The Voodoo is still luxuriating in the dry and warmth of my living room, clean as a new pin, and the Jamis doesn't see the properly muddy stuff anyway. They'll get their turn, but for the moment, it's the old crapheap that gets all the action, and filth, going.

 Heading home and the road entering Ladock village boasted a man on a roof. Every day is a slow news day in the villages, you take whatever excitement is going and run with it...

Hanging a right onto what was once a busy main road through Ladock.

Even 'Wonky Dog Farm' was still and quiet as I passed through. I am normally greeted by a three legged dog having a good old bark here.