Riverside Latte.

It has been a while since I last had a 'coffee ride.' The onset of winter has played a part in that to an extent, there seems less to enjoy when all around is dull, or sopping wet and tree bustingly windy. In summer, when the forecast promises a good day, it's easier to heave myself out of bed and get straight on the bike without boiling the kettle and switching on the computer first, and head off somewhere to really savour the first coffee of the day somewhere rather more invigorating than my cluttery front room.

But the forecast for yesterday looked promising and of course, I was hankering for somewhere to go on Fatty. Waking up early, while it was still dark, and feeling very heavy of head, meant I didn't sally forth immediately, but did allow myself to be distracted by the lure of the internet and the 'quick look to see what's going on', but I also did manage some discipline for once and didn't surf for long, and I soon set sail for my favourite brewing up spot, beside the tidal Tresillian River about 5 miles away.

 Cheapo handlebar bag contains the Mini Trangia stove, mug and other bits and bobs for brewing up. Kettle goes in my rucksack though.

Obligatory sunlight and shade bridge shot below the Paddington to Penzance main line.

For only the second time this winter the air was slightly chilly, while this time last year I was well into winter glove and woolly hat territory. Tarmac is not a fat bike's preferred habitat, but Fatty is still fun to ride on any surface it seems, and once again I was enjoying the solid feeling ride as I bombed down the hill out of the village, the fat tyres skimming over the broken road surface and isolating me from the hammer drilling I usually get going quickly down there. Instead you get the bumps muffled – you still feel them, but far, far, softer. I shudder to think what riding a road bike on some of the lanes I inhabit would be like, so take my hat off to the folk I see doing just that.

Those fat tyres might hinder initial acceleration, but once going their weight and 29er matching overall size means they carry a lot of momentum, and barreling along on the flat main road through the strung out Tresillian village I held a higher cruising speed than I usually do on my other 26” wheeled bikes in return for less frantic pedaling. I thought Fatty on tarmac would give me a good workout everywhere, not quite so it seems.

I expected the riverside path to be a little wet and muddy, but was surprised to find it was really mudorrific in places, but what the hell, the bike was already mucky before I set off... Chaaaarge! Bombing along the rough path was immense fun, ploughing through the mud and puddles, absorbing the holes and bumps that jar my other bikes, even with their bouncy forks. Mud was flying everywhere, and the bike, and I, were getting utterly blathered, but boy was it fun. I passed a chap coming the other way on a full susser - going like hell he was, and he had a big grin on his mud splattered face too. Seems we were both enjoying the simple pleasure of bombing through the muck and puddles, and why not?

Great fun, and judging by the tracks, and another cyclist I encountered, I wasn't the only one enjoying the conditions.

For my morning caffeine intake I decided to head for my favourite spot along here, just off the main track and down onto a sort of beach almost, beside the water's edge. Well, yesterday, at that time, it was beside the mud's edge as the tide was well out. But I was soon parked up and with the stove doing its thing. Beverage for the day was a sachet of milky Latte, one from a box of 12 picked up from Poundland, and really rather splendid it was too, very tasty.

 On leaving, I rode Fatty into the mud over where those piles of sea weed are, without any drama at all. These things really do cope well with all sorts of conditions.

Ah... a steaming mug of tasty coffee in pleasant and quiet  surroundings - indulgent bliss.

Apart from a few birds making some noise (I've no idea what they were, I'm not up on my birds at all, I'm alright with Swans though, but that's about it... ) and the odd dog walker passing on the path behind, all was peaceful, which is what it's all about. Time to just sit and savour the moment.

Eventually though, I decided to ride on, and rather bravely (or maybe that should be foolishly because there was plenty of scope for minor disaster) I rode into the wet mud to really give Fatty a test. Not too far out into the mud mind you, that'd be silly, but I went where I probably couldn't walk without sinking up to my ankles at least. It was a breeze... there was a fair bit of wheel spin but as long as I kept pedaling at a steady pace, so Fatty kept driving forwards through the sucking, squelching, gloop. The traction from those tyres and their disliking for sinking into soft stuff is deeply impressive.

Fatty tyre tracks and some sea weed. Not the really gooeysome mud I later rode into though.

Back on the path and I went the full length to the small village of St Clement, before turning round and heading back the way I'd come, passing more and more dog and offspring walkers along the way (“Look at the size of that” and “Did you see those wheels...”) as by now it was late morning and more folk were out and about. 

GoPro on a selfie stick held above my head makes for a better, if slightly distorted, view. Tresemple Pond on the left, the tidal Tresillian River on the right.

Heading back the way I'd come out of St Clement. 

 With a fat bike you soon find that mud gets onto all sorts of odd places. It has splattered the uppermost surfaces of the frame and even got onto the computer. A Crudcatcher guard on the down tube is the next addition I think.

Back past Tesemple Pond, a spot where earlier in the year I spent a short while watching some Kingfishers going about their business. (A bird watcher told me they were Kingfishers anyway...)

Another bozz along the road through Tresillian was enjoyed before hitting the back lanes again and the task of winching my way up some real bad ass hills. That's the drawback of this little journey, heading home means climbing some rather steep bits, but still, no heroics, just get into the granny gear early and take my time. Sure enough, the hills that I used to walk up were ridden with relative ease and only mild gasping and panting.

Back on tarmac with one very mucky Fatty.

But, as I rode on, the sky started to appear rather moody looking ahead. Hmmmm... No worries I thought, it'll only be a shower probably, if anything. It battered it down. Only for about 15 minutes, but I got a proper soaking as the wind also got up and drove the rain into my face, (and left ear... Argghhh I hate that!) stinging as it hit, then dribbling into places I'd really rather stayed dry.

 That sky looked filled with foreboding and I was heading towards it up the lane on the right.

 Nah, it'll be alright...

Ok, I'm getting really wet now... I'm starting to feel damp soaking into my... oh that's not nice...

So it was a very wet, muddy and generally bedraggled me that arrived home, but before I enjoyed the delight of a hot shower, I decided to give Fatty his first, but much needed, wash.

All in all though, the rain failed to dampen my spirits and I thoroughly enjoyed the ride, which also happened to be my 99^th of this year. I can't let 2016 arrive one short of the ton, so with a few days yet, no doubt I'll be out again soon enough.