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.