Just Following My Front Wheel.

After riding Fatso on almost every ride since his arrival, I had told myself I mustn't neglect the other bikes in my stable, as they are perfectly good bikes and I've had many enjoyable rides on them. So yesterday, with a ride in mind and the Voodoo still being properly peachy after its last marathon cleaning session, I elected to take the still mucky from 2015 Jamis out for a 'make it up as you go along' ride, a 'go wherever I end up going' job.

Strewth. I do run the tyres on the Jamis close to their recommended maximum of 65psi as it only ever goes on the road, but it felt like someone had sneaked into the shed one night and filled the tyres with concrete. It wasn't just the seemingly harsh ride that felt weird either, the Jamis felt long and teeteringly tall too. Fatso really is a comfortable and cosseting beast that makes other bikes feel like unstable scaffolding planks to ride. That however was just the initial impression, as a couple of miles in and all felt as normal once again ( I did unlock the front fork though to soften the ride a bit...).

This section of the old A39 just east of Trispen is still open to all traffic, a bit later it becomes a Bridleway. A cracking morning for a ride, but after riding the fat bike a lot recently, the Jamis, even with its chunky tyres, felt harsh to begin with.

Setting off, as I said earlier, I didn't have a route, or a destination, in mind, unusual for me as someone who usually likes to know what I'm doing. But these 'go where the mood takes you' rides can be very enjoyable too, although the early stages of this ride were a bit of a slog as I'd chosen to head out along the old A39 towards Carland Cross, which involves a lot of up hill wheezing, and the reason I usually come the other way along this stretch. But hey ho, it was a nice, if full finger glove wearingly chilly morning, so just settle in and keep the legs spinning and enjoy the fresh air.

A double Rainbow near Carland Cross.

Reaching Carland Cross leaves only one way to go, unless I fancied dodging the Scanias and Volvo Globetrotters along the A30 (erm... no). So I found myself heading in the general direction of Ladock or Boswiddle, places I visit often on my usual loops. So on arriving at the first junction I turned left instead, and doubled back on myself and dropped down the long hill into Mitchell. Now where? I could hang a left and head off towards Newlyn East, or go half way and hop over the stile and onto Newlyn Downs for some off road action... nah... wrong bike really and it'd be a mudmungous slopfest. Neither of those tickling my fancy, I opted to head out on the Newquay road instead, but only for a short distance as A - it's not a pleasant road to be on and B – it goes to Newquay. Good reasons then to find another road to use, and quickly. So on reaching the mini roundabout just yards out of Mitchell I turned right and headed north eastish up the lanes for a good old mooch, arriving eventually at the rather splendid St Enoder Church, which some Googlery reveals dates back to the 15^th century, which makes it officially, a bit old.

The church at St Enoder is a handsome looking affair, but fitting it all in to an unobstructed photo isn't easy, even with the bare trees of winter. 

I had hoped to get a good photo or two of the church, as in the past I have been thwarted from all angles by trees. This being winter though I stood a better chance, but on getting there I soon found the angle/view I wanted was still obscured too much by a tree, but apart from indulging in a little freelance Lumberjackery, there was not a lot to be done about it, so I settled on an angle that did show the church, or some of it at least, but not to its best advantage in my opinion.

From the church I decided to head in the general direction of home again, pottering through the village of Summercourt and back onto the lanes heading towards Mitchell. Mitchell is very nice, I've nothing against it at all, but rather than visit it again and retrace a chunk of my outward journey, I veered left at a junction and headed for Trendeal instead. From there it was along favourite back lanes past Ladock Woods, then Boswiddle via a dunk in the ford, and home.

 Water running down the hill and over the verge on the Summercourt to Trendeal road.

Gravel has been pushed into the middle of the lane by traffic after being left by water streaming down the hill then turning off into a ditch behind that bollard.

Heading homeward did reveal one of the drawbacks of riding the lanes at this time of year – the strobing effect of the low winter sun behind the trees. It also made me particularly wary whenever a vehicle appeared in the distance behind, having seen the aftermath of a crash caused by heading towards a low sun in the past.

But anyway, the Jamis delivered me safely back home in time for lunch (Chicken Noodle simmer soup, naturally), and I even showed my appreciation by giving it a thorough wash and lube. Can't be bad.

The more detailed map can be found here

A Sunday Group Ride.

Sunday saw another ride out with my neighbour Craig, this time along the shared cycle/pedestrian path and part of route NCN 3 from Marazion to the harbour at Mousehole. This can be a very pleasant ride indeed, having done it with Craig once before in 2013, as the path runs right alongside the shore of Mounts Bay, through Penzance and on round to Mousehole via Newlyn.

We were going to have company on this ride as well, as Craig had been busy with his phone and rounded up some of his cycling friends. Now this led to some alarm bells ringing for me, as I had visions of roadies in full team kit, Peleton etiquette, and getting dropped amid shouts of 'cadence' and 'push – push' and so on. Craig reassured me though, that these cyclists were like me, people who just enjoy cycling about and the ride would be at a gentle pace, not an aggressive one.

The weather wasn't bad, it certainly could have been worse, but well, it was a bit murky and grey, and on arrival at Marazion, it was rather chilly as we fished the bikes out of Craig's van and met a couple of his friends. Setting off though found that cold wind behind us and soon forgotten.

One fly in our riding ointment came when a sign announced the closure of the path (due to weather damage), but local knowledge from Mike, one of our companions, suggested it was only off limits a short way, and could be regained next to the Long Rock railway depot. This proved to be correct and we were soon rendezvousing with some more riders in the car park adjacent to the depot.

 St Michael's Mount in the grey Murk.

Ride leader Craig on the left in the 'Mountain Rescue orange' oversees the gathering of riders at Long Rock.

I didn't get all the names of these people, but I do know there were two Mikes, an Eileen and Jo on her beloved Tricross. I was also glad to see Craig had been right, these people were not about to set off at a leg killing pace and the only thing happening fast would be the laughs.

Setting off from Long Rock and towards Penzance, which can be seen on the far left. On the right is the Paddington mainline.

All deemed present and correct we headed off, dodging loose dogs and children along the path past Penzance station and onto the road that wends it way along the sea front and through the wharfs and docks. Road traffic was light, but pedestrian traffic heavy as half the town seemed to be out strolling or jogging and making the most of the lull in the weather.

Passing the docks and wharfs of Penzance. The shop on the left sells Pirate ear rings for two dollars a pair. Not bad for a buck an ear...

 Hi Viz yellow is the new black you know...

Lantern Rouge again as the Peleton heads up the hill out of Newlyn towards Mousehole.

On we ambled past the fish market at Newlyn, and up the hill and past the Lifeboat Station. This is a very poignant spot, being the empty home of the Penlee Lifeboat the Solomon Browne that set off on the night of the 19^th December 1981 to go to the aid of the coaster the Union Star which had lost its engine and was being blown onto rocks. But in appalling conditions, the lifeboat and its crew of eight, and all eight people aboard the Union Star were lost. The lifeboat had got four people off the coaster and was returning to get more when radio contact was lost. Nothing more was known until daylight revealed the Union Star wrecked on the rocks and wreckage from the lifeboat floating in the sea. Some of the bodies of those lost were never found.

The replacement Lifeboat is now moored in Newlyn harbour, and the old station is retained, exactly as it was left on that night, empty of its lifeboat, as a memorial.

Passing the Lifeboat station though we were all strung out so we didn't stop, but it was certainly noticed and memories were stirred.

Not long after and we had arrived in the small harbour of Mousehole. A proper Cornish fishing village with a ramshackle collection of hunkered down sturdy cottages and pubs, and home to the crew of the Solomon Browne.

This was the destination, and so a small area overlooking the harbour was swiftly populated with bikes and bodies, as lunch boxes and flasks were cracked open. By now the wind had dropped, and the day was pleasantly warm, very warm in fact for January.

 No power gels and energy drinks here, just jam sandwiches and flasks of tea.

Jo's beloved Spesh Tricross at Mousehole. That's 'Mouzzle' by the way, most definitely not mouse hole!

The return ride to Marazion was via the same route, and also passed without incident, and so a twelve mile round trip had been enjoyed by all and promises made to meet up for another mass outing soon.

Heading back into Penzance on the return journey.

One duff point wasn't discovered until I got home - somehow I contrived to leave the GoPro snapping away every 2 seconds for nearly the entire ride, something I've done before, but this time I had nearly 2,500 photos to download. Oops!

Oh and I didn't get dropped... although I came close a couple of times mind you...

Link to the full map is here

The Nineteen Nineties Called, They Want Their Bar Ends Back...

Bar ends. At one time every mountain bike worth its knobblies sported a pair of bar ends, they were one of the 'must have' accessories to fit to your bike as soon as you got it out of the shop. Now though, they seem rare on newish bikes out in the wild, and if you do some Googlery you will find they are terminally out of fashion  - mountain bikes version of the Mullet no less. Not only that, but they look a bit odd with riser bars, look entirely wrong with wide bars, hook up on every passing branch, and fetch you an unfortunate one in the family jewels should you crash. That's what a quick mooch around the forums will tell you anyway. But who cares what fashion or forumeers say, especially when it comes to something functional rather than aesthetic.

I've got bar ends on all my bikes, but due to bank balance traumas, I didn't fit them to Fatso immediately, and boy did I miss them when climbing hills. I had also decided that money spent on mudguards was a higher priority, given how enthusiastically fat bike tyres lob mud around. But now at last happy hill climbing is restored, as I got some bar ends for Fatso this week, and knickers to the fashionistas!

But I don't get why bar ends are out of favour anyway.Turning my wrists ninety degrees when climbing or just ploughing along on the flat, feels right somehow, and of course you can pull back slightly on the bar ends and really put your back into powering forwards when climbing too. They offer an alternative hand position, and when bozzing along on the flat or dropping like a bomb down hill, you can tuck your elbows in – more aero!

Lastly, where else can you hang your hat or helmet when climbing a long piece of bad ass geography on a hot day? Eh? Case proven I think!

Bar ends provide a handy place to hang your hat whilst riding, or your shopping perhaps.

New bar ends installed on Fatso, and already mucky and slightly scuffed. These come without bar plugs, so I had to re - use the much sullied On One jobbies.

Anyway, I had decided that I needed to ride my other bikes and leave Fatso behind more, but well, having fitted the bar ends, well they needed proper road testing, didn't they...

The weather forecast for Thursday night and into Friday morning looked promising. Heavy overnight rain and battersome wind giving way around 10am to clear skies and bright sunshine, with the winds easing through the day. So I made the necessary plans to get out come Friday morning and get my knees in the breeze.

It's seemingly not often I say this, but by golly Holly (one of our local weather girls) got it spot on! Half past nine all was wet, windy, and full of weather wretchedness. By ten o'clock though, blue skies were to be seen out one side of the house, and the sun was breaking through – Bimbles are go!

Out and about in the countryside there was a definite feeling of 'just after what went before', as all around everything seemed to be brightening and warming up, while water could be seen trickling down hills, heard gurgling into drains and culverts, and felt dripping off trees. As usual, the rain left its mark in Tregassow Lane, in the form of a pop up lake or two, but I haven't seen these two stretches that frequently flood, so long or deep in water before. I've taken endless splashy photos in these wet patches in the past, so didn't bother this time, and Fatso and I just waded through, with the water level reaching just above the lowest height of the pedals. Even riding slowly, a fat bike makes quite some bow wave, so the surf was definitely up as I rode through.

The only thing to be heard on this part of Tregassow Lane was drips from the trees landing in the bushes, and water gurgling and trickling down the hill.

The wind was still blustery and fresh, but was at least a friendly blow – a westerly wind, and therefore warmish, unlike the away team winds that blow from the north or east – flipping cold beggars they are, I don't like them at all!

There was no destination in mind for this ride, it was to be a rumble around whatever loop I felt like as the ride progressed, along lanes into which I think I've probably worn a groove. Lanes I've ridden countless times before, but still provide ample peace and quiet, and just the pleasure of being out on a bike in the countryside.

Fatso bothering a fence post by what I know as Four Turnings Junction.

I did encounter one potential spot of bother though. Heading towards the hamlet of Boswiddle I found the lane completely filled with parked drop sides, and the noise of some busy work going on somewhere in amongst them. I was beginning to regret that extra mince pie I had at Christmas as I squeezed past the first truck and emerged to surprise the chaps patching the road surface behind it. A good bunch they were though, and after some brief banter one of them decided to save me squeezing past the second truck and backed it up for me, much to my relief, as the roadside bushes had proved quite strong and springy when trying to barge past the first wagon.

 Hmmmm... Looks a bit tight, but doable...

 Yup, it's snug alright. Now what was that about bar ends catching in bushes and trees?

Emerging from up the side of the truck and generator trailer I found the source of all the noise - Some jolly chaps patching the road.

I turned left in Boswiddle and ground my way up the steep hill out of the hamlet, glad I'd finally fitted some bar ends as they really do make climbing easier, and this hill is just the starter on this particular lane, the warm up act if you like, the main course of a properly steep and long beggar lies a mile or two further on.

Before climbing the second hill though, I always stop at a small bridge over a stream in the valley bottom, as it is one of 'those' places that are just so nice to linger at for a while. Like Boswiddle Ford in the opposite direction, I don't think I've ever ridden through without stopping and having a wander about, a sit or a lean, a look around and a listen, even a coffee on occasion. It's not much of a spot to look at I suppose, but it's one of those places that feels right to me, somewhere I just like to be.

I always stop here for a good lurk. Plenty of evidence to suggest this stream was running a lot higher recently.

After that, it was all pretty straightforward. The long slog up the following hill was achieved quite comfortably, courtesy not just of the bar ends, but also of Fatso's low 2 x 10 gearing, and once Carland Cross had been reached, it just left a good old bozz along the old A39 main road – now a bridleway, then up one last short hill and home for a bowl of bubbling and glugging Chicken Noodle soup.

 The 'old' A39, now a Bridleway, runs alongside the new stretch of road (over the hedge on the right) down the hill from Carland Cross. 

There is nearly always a single piece of litter here, usually a beer or soft drinks can, but on this day, a Costa cup. Makes me wonder if it's the same person always passing on the way home or stopping for a break or something.

I might have ridden this route many, many, times before, but I still enjoyed every minute of it once again yesterday, which is what it's all about, and proves that you don't have to go somewhere new every time to gain satisfaction from a ride.

Tregassow Lane is roughly from point one to point two on this map, and Four Turnings is by point 3. The above photo on the old A39 is by point 8.
The full size map is hopefully Here

A Chilly Stove Fail and Some Roadie Chasing.

My bed was lovely, warm and cosy yesterday morning, all the more so for knowing that it was pretty chilly outside. The coldest it has been so far this winter in fact. But, having seen the forecast the night before stating we were in for a sunny, and most importantly, windless day, I had plans to go for a ride. Cosseting though my bed was, there was to be no extended loitering, and so I dragged myself out and into my usual cycling clothes, although this time with the addition of a pair of Long Johns... Embarrassing to admit to wearing, but lovely and warm, just don't get taken to hospital and no one will ever know...

I also added the handlebar bag containing the stove to Fatty, as I thought I might enjoy some warming coffee while out and about.

The target for today was only a modest one – another look at the Watts Nature Reserve just below the village of Shortlanesend. I only discovered this little off road delight back in September, but thought I'd pay another visit to see how things were after all the rain we've had.

Setting off soon reminded me of the delights of riding in chilly weather – a cold face and my ears... oh my word my ears were protesting very aggressively at their lack of protection. But the weather would be warming steadily as the day progressed so I carried on while trying to ignore the pain either side of my head.

The best route takes me past the entrance to Idless Woods, and indeed, I could lop a big chunk off the journey by going through the wood to Idless rather than taking the long way round by road. But, fun though Fatty is in the mud, cleaning him after isn't, and I fancied sticking to tarmac on this ride for most of the trip, although that can be pretty gloopy too.

Tortured ears apart, the riding was very enjoyable, as the weak but bright winter sun cast long shadows across the roads from the hedges and trees, and all was peaceful and quiet. Well until going up the hill out of Idless it was peaceful and quiet anyway. At the top of the hill is a riding stables and this being Saturday morning, a lot of parents were ferrying their offspring to the stables and whole new opportunities for breaking wrists and collarbones. That's assuming they actually reached the stables safely in the first place, the driving along the narrow lane and through several blind bends left a lot to be desired by nearly all the drivers I encountered. Defensive driving seems to be a lost skill for so many these days, having presumably been made irrelevant in driver's minds by all the safety gadgets loaded onto cars now. Time was when a blind bend on a singletrack road would be approached with a deal of caution and a warning blast on the horn, but now it seems most folk just drive through the bends, throttle open all the way and far too fast to stop if they meet someone else doing the same thing coming the other way.

Anyway, driving standards evaluated and suitably critiqued I reached Shortlanesend which is easier to say than it is to type as I get my e's and n's all in pickle.

A quick swerve across the main road and I was freewheeling down the long hill out of the village and past the recently finished estate of new build houses. Pink! Some of the typically boxy new build looking houses are flipping pink! Others are a sort of peachy colour. What an eye sore they all are on the otherwise green hillside.

Hmmmm... it might've been a lovely day for riding, but it was also turning into a day ripe for ranting as various things failed to meet with my approval. But never mind, as I was soon at the Nature Reserve where tranquility was assured and a hot coffee beckoned.

Ah, a photo at last...

 The entrance to the Watts Nature Reserve, easily missed unless you know it's there.

Right... let's see... nature reserve... River Kenwyn... Vulgar Primroses... Marshy bits... dripping wet bits... Good! Nothing about bikes being prohibited... crack on then!

The information boards outside and also dotted around the reserve promise all sorts of interesting beasts and critters, as well as various trees, bushes and other green things to look out for. But, even with helpful prompts, my tree spotting skills are non existent and there were no signs of life to be seen.

I actually got off and walked along the boarded sections as it is a tad embarrassing having your own personal thunder storm following you around, although Fatty makes less noise than the Voodoo did round here.

Off the boardwalk section, crossing a small bridge, and looking rather nervous for some reason.

The paths around the reserve are about half boarded and half natural, but thankfully the latter proved to be largely devoid of sloppy mud, so Fatty stayed fairly clean. After a lap of the reserve, and some run pasts for the camera, I found a nice spot to sit and have a coffee, right beside a babbling stream. Unfortunately this is where things went wrong. The Trangia is Swedish, and if anyone knows a thing or two about cold, it's the Swedes, so I was rather dismayed to find that the stove stubbornly refused to light. It was cold by our standards, but nothing drastic, at a guess four or five degrees, but the Trangia just wasn't having it. I have read they can be fickle in really cold weather, but surely not a problem in our 'a bit chilly' temperatures. I tried every trick in the book, although I did stop short of putting the burner down my trousers to warm it up. So a gas stove is in my cross hairs for my next shot of retail therapy I think.

Despite all the rain we've had recently, the reserve was refreshingly free of mud.

 When I potter along, I really potter... 

Grrrr... 

So, denied my intended Caramel Latte, I set off once more and started the bimble along the lanes towards home, including a goodly cruise along the shared path beside the main Truro to Perranporth road back to Shortlanesend. Back there (I'm not typing it again) I took a different lane back to Idless, and another real treat of a ride. This lane really is a proper back lane that appears to have been built purely to serve one farm. The upshot is it is utterly devoid of traffic, and wonderfully peaceful as it descends through a scraggy wood back to Idless.

The only feature along this stretch of lane was this wheel trim in a small tree. Was it put there or did it land there having flown off? 

From Idless I retraced my outward route back until the junction above Lanner Mill where I opted to go left and past St Allen Church, and back into my home port of Trispen via Truthan. It was going along the latter sections that I spied a fellow bi-wheeler ahead. I didn't really give him or her another thought until I caught another glimpse of them a little further on, and I had gained on them considerably.

What is it about bicycles that brings out the competitive streak in folk? I am the most uncompetitive person on the planet, not to mention also probably one of the least fit and able on a bike, but I still threw another log or two on the fire and got the hammer down – I was going to catch this fellow cyclist! I think he or she was a roadie, flying away from me on the flats while down in a crouch, but on the up hill bits I was reeling them in quite rapidly while they sat very upright, presumably on the tops of the bars rather than even the hoods, and grinding out a higher gear range than I have at my disposal. I don't think whoever it was was in hammer mode like I was, I think they were just cruising, but still - I had to catch and pass them... imagine the shame of the keen roadie being caught and passed by an old giffer on a fat bike of all things! But, sadly, it didn't happen. He or she turned right where I intended to turn also, which meant the chase was still on, but before I could make the turn I had to wait for a tractor to pass that had come up behind me, which set me back, irretrievably so as it turned out, as I couldn't get close enough again before reaching my turning for home.

Hayup... Target acquired, Phasers set to stun, the chase is on!

All in all though it was a good ride, and the enjoyable parts far outweighed the dodgy driving, the ugly new housing, the unwilling stove and the great roadie chase down failure.

These sort of roads and tracks are not at all what a fat bike is meant for, but I still find it a perfectly good bike to ride in such conditions, not being half as draggy as some folk claim, and I'm not bothered by a kilo or two of extra weight at all. I do love the comfort afforded by this bike though – the bars and seating position are just so for me, allowing me to feel I'm sitting in the bike rather than perched on top, and I love the solid, planted, and invincible feel of the ride.

I don't need a fat bike at all, not like some folk in really cold places do, but it is still a heck of a lot of fun, which is what I do need from my riding. I need to ride the other bikes too though, and think I will bar myself from taking Fatty out again for a while just so they don't take root or seize up or something!

Crappy small scale map, but this link may work better Clicky and cross your fingers...

Or it may not work at all as it may require me to be logged in for some reason to see it. People need to share things beyond Faceache and Twitter you beggars!

Woodland Mud Plugging.

The weather forecast ahead of yesterday once again looked promising – sunny and with little wind. A welcome reprieve then from the daily battering we've been subjected to lately.

So, feeling up to having a ride, the only question was where to go? It's been a while since I've been into Idless Woods, my nearest bike friendly woodland, but also the boggiest at this time of year, depending on which path you take. But mud is all part of the fun isn't it? Well previous experience with my conventional mountain bikes has seen mixed results. Usually a lot of spinning back wheel and coming to a halt in a most unfortunate place, and having to dab a foot down into some burping, slurping, seemingly bottomless mud lagoon. I usually end up walking the bike through these muddy bits, while keeping my feet on the well trodden path to the side. I actually don't like going around mud holes, even on foot, as it makes the scar bigger, but I'm not treading anywhere walkers haven't already trodden, so I'm not creating any fresh damage as it were. But, it'd be interesting to see how Fatty coped on some of my favourite summertime paths that I usually swerve at this time of year.

As is often the case, the day dawned not quite how the forecast said it would. There were a few hefty showers while I was slowly booting myself up with coffee, and the weather radar on the internet showed a line of showers due to pass through within the next hour or so. I could sit by the PC or something and wait for them to pass, or man up and get on with it. I knew that an hour by the PC would finish up being more like three hours, so made the decision to get on out there.

Not only that, but I had a new jacket arrive in the week, an Altura Nevis 2 in whore's drawers red, so any rain that fell would be a good test to see how that fares.

My old yellow jacket is a cheapo jobbie, blagged for twenty quid, and has done me well to be fair. It only leaks on the elbows and shoulders, but is warm and windproof, obviously. But it is also a tad on the large size for me, being, well, a large size. Long enough in the arm, a bit too long in the body, but it makes me look like a Sumo at times. Being bright yellow it also blows the highlights out in photos something rotten, so when I saw the Altura jobbie in Medium for a bargain £32, down from £55 (the label on it when it arrived said £49) I thought it worth a dip.

Given the likelihood of precipitation, I once again donned my black overtrousers, so with them and my new red jacket, all I needed was a Bearskin hat and I'd have looked like I was on my way to Troop The Colour or stomp about outside Buckingham Palace.

Of course, clear days at this time of year also means lower temperatures, and outside it was about 5 degrees Centigrade, so a little chilly, another test of the new jacket as without that generous layer of air around my body, it may not be as warm.

Fatty is one heck of a fun bike to ride! Once again I had a grin like a Cadillac's grille on my face as I sped down the road from home, tyres rasping like a Land Rover and soaking up the broken road surface to give a smooth and controlled plummet down the hill. I was reminded however of Fatty's reluctance to corner on arriving at the right hander at the bottom of the hill, and needing to practically hang off the side to get the bike to turn. (ok, slight exaggeration there, but compared to my other bikes, it understeers - a phenomi... a phenoma... something you wouldn't think could ever be used to describe a bicycle's handling characteristics).

It's only a short ride to the woods, although it had now started raining steadily, so only a few minutes later I was pounding up the first off road hill of the day. I've never yet made it up this hill. It's steep, long, stoney, and has a water drainage channel meandering up the middle. Usually some loss of control threatens to unseat me, like hitting a stone and turning the front wheel in, or a loss of traction. Yesterday I still didn't make it to the top, but I got a lot further than ever before, and only bailed out where I did because I ran out of legs. This hill does drain well too, being on the edge of the tree line and open, so it wasn't particularly slippery. I bailed out on the next uphill section too when even the fat back tyre lost traction on the deep carpet of leaves and the spin was enough to halt me. The tyres were over inflated, still being set fairly hard (about 20psi) from last week's ride on the lanes. But, it was only on the really steep and slippery section of path directly under the trees that loss of forward drive was a problem.

The topmost path in Idless Woods. All that could be heard at this moment was the gentle pitter patter of raindrops in the trees. But this ride wasn't to be about absorbing nature's therapeutic properties, it soon became about enjoying the ride. Slipping and sliding about has never been so much fun.

Once at the very top of the hill, the path turns left and along the hill top until dropping later towards the main entrance. Along this top level though, it is also pretty wet and muddy. This was a hoot to ride, even at my slow pace. Those puddles I usually walk around I rode straight into with no worries at all about grinding to a halt through lack of drive. Yes the back wheel would spin but it was still driving forwards. Not always in a straight line, granted! As the back wheel spun, so at times we ended up pointing in seemingly two directions at once but it was nothing less than utter grinning fun.

A quick stop mid-puddle for a photo in the rain.

The rain had stopped again by now, and the sun had even come out! This was turning out to be another very enjoyable ride. Normally when I'm in the woods, I like to soak up the peace and quiet, stop and look around, and just take some time to 'centre myself' as they say these days. The woods are my favourite place to flee to in order to get some sanctuary from all the other crap going on, and I count myself very lucky to have two large woods to visit pretty close to home.

But yesterday, fun took over from relaxation and contemplation, and I was more concerned with seeing how Fatty coped with various sections and individual hazards – I was just enjoying the ride.

I've said it before, but if Fatty is anything to go by, these donut wheeled bikes really do make up for any lack of skills in the rider. They just keep moving forwards through pretty deep mud and roll over or through things that would usually throw me with my lack of confidence and skill into the scenery.

There was however one fly in my fun ointment, and that was my back. I did something along the way to set it off, what exactly I don't know, but this happens sometimes. I set off feeling ok spine wise, but something brings on the pain and stiffness and yesterday I was becoming aware of the fire spreading up my spine and across my shoulder blades. A couple of times I moved a little suddenly and pain shot up my back and left a lesser pain to ease through to and radiate around my Sternum. I don't understand how it all works, I just know it's painful and uncomfortable, and I needed to get home. Oh bums.

Having to head home earlier than planned.

So I had to pedal steadily and gently homeward, (the hill up from near the entrance I use to the wood had to be walked up, very slowly indeed) only stopping to take a photo and to arch my back to try and alleviate the pain. When my back plays up I must look a proper sight, as I get bent over more and can't move so freely. So with everything being a painful struggle, I peer out from under my eyebrows, head bowed, and with pain spread large across my face, and I must look very old indeed. As old probably as I feel on such occasions.

One last photo in the woods while trying to shift some back pain. Walking on the mud without slipping was considerably harder than riding on it!

Had my crap back not stuck a spanner in the works, I would've had a much longer ride, as enjoying it as I was, I was planning to head out of the main entrance to the wood and go on somewhere else.

But there we go, it's happened before and will happen again, so I just have to make the most of those occasions when everything does go to plan.

The day was turning out to be perfect for a ride, but I was heading home. But at least I got some good riding in. Better that than none at all.

As for Fatty, well the more I ride this bike the more I love it! I still want to take the others out mind you, but Fatty is a huge amount of fun and is also very different to ride.

The new jacket also did well. It didn't have to ward off a lot of rain as I was under trees for a lot of it, but ward it off it did. Doubtless there will be bigger tests of it's water repellent qualities. It doesn't cover my trusty bum bag though and that might be a problem, as the bag isn't water proof at all, and my main camera lives in it, but that no doubt can easily be sorted with plastic bags or something.

Not as far as it looks, this ride was a whisker over 5 miles. 

Round thing in the woods just below the figure 4 is an Iron Age fort.

I've no idea what the red square is other than it's where I rejoined the route I took on the ride out and started retracing my steps back home.

Meanwhile, the weather is set to get colder this coming week – let's hope we get snow and I'm fit to go for a ride in it if it does!