A Bimble Photoganza.

Holly, one of our local BBC weather girls has been on fire lately with her forecasts, not just getting them reasonably correct, but absolutely spot on. On Monday night I watched as she predicted a cold, but bright and still start for Tuesday, but with cloud forming by mid morning and wind starting to freshen. No mention of rain was made so I thought I would place my trust in Holly and head out for some top pootling.

It had also been a stressy few days, with my divorce being finalised bringing back all sorts of feelings of sorrow while other people were just flat out annoying me at a time when I felt least tolerant of their inability to just deal with trivial stuff themselves. So the weather looked good for a ride and I really, really, needed some peace and solitude, as usual!

So, with the decision made, next up was what bike to take. Well recently there hasn't been a decision to make – its always been Fatso. But looking back through my photos I realised the Voodoo hasn't seen combat since mid November, and that's no good at all, so to the shed I went to dust away the cobwebs and fish the slumbering Bantu out from hibernation.

Firstly, I'd forgotten just how alarmingly goofy that raised stem I'd fitted looks. My word it looks naff, but more importantly, it has made this bike a lot more comfortable to ride, so it's staying. For the time being. Probably.

Dorky stem, and who nicked half the front tyre?

Secondly, is that really the front tyre down there? I've got used to Fatso's plump tread dominating the view over the bars, now all I could see was this thin bit of rubber in the distance down near the road somewhere... most odd looking.

The Voodoo was also looking absolutely peachy and all tickety boo (technical terms in the valeting/detailing industry for being clean and shiny). Did I really want to get this bike all mucky as well when Fatso was already pre – muddied and ready for more? It wasn't too late to change my mind and swap bikes... Nah, I stuck with the Bantu, and got back into the swing of 'narrow' tyred biking again after only a few yards. It certainly felt a little twitchy and odd at first though not having those gert big tyres gluing the bike to the road. The main difference noticed was how quiet the Voodoo is when coasting. The rear hub is nigh on silent compared to the chainsawesque whine of Fatso's rear end. There's no Land Rover style rasp from the tyres on tarmac either.

Strewth, those cone pixies have been busy again.

As promised by Holly, Tuesday started bright and sunny, with no wind, and cold as Penguin poop. On fetching the bike from the shed I had felt the chill air and decided an extra layer beneath my jacket was in order, along with the long finger gloves. Once again I set off feeling lovely and snug and warm in my body, but with a face and ears stinging with the cold. One day I'll discard my dignity and get a Balaclava. Maybe next winter.

Lovely weather in the lanes yesterday morning. It won't be long before the bank on the right is full of Spring colour either.

Setting sail, I had a vague notion of what direction I'd head off in, and from there on in, I'd just go where I fancied, and with the sun out, and the lanes whisper quiet, riding was an absolute pleasure and all the pent up frustrations and sadness started to unravel as I made my way past Lanner Mill and on towards Idless, using the lanes rather than short cutting though the wood, which no doubt, would be terminally mudorrific and no place for such a clean bike. Oh no, that wouldn't do at all.

This bit of lane, alongside the River Allen just outside Idless, is always dank and gloomy.

While just a mile the other side of Idless, things are much brighter (above and below). 

National Cycle Network marker for route 32, at Idless.

I had a good old nose around Idless, checking out the River Allen hoping to find the usual carpet of Snowdrops near an old mill, but it's a little too early perhaps, as only a few were to be seen instead of the mass of white found here usually. From there I climbed the long old hill that eventually pops up onto the main road half way between Truro and the village of Shortlanesend. Not wishing to tangle with the big city I bozzed along the shared path into Shortlanesend, and decided to check out a bridleway I had not yet ridden. What was that about a clean bike again?

Bozzing along the shared pedestrian/cycle path between Truro and Shortlanesend. 

Coming into Shortlanesend is this rather imposing, oppressive even, temporary wall marking the edge of a building site (yet more new houses no doubt). I imagine the wall is to shield the path/housing from dust in summer, but quite why it has to be so over built I don't know. It's almost a structure that many an old East Berliner would be familiar with.

Heading off onto a new to me Bridleway... 

All looking very good so far too...

This bridleway skirts around the western edge of the village and is a mile, maybe a mile and a half long, and turned out to be a nice enough bit of off roading. Popular in summer no doubt with dog walkers and garden waste tippers from the adjacent housing estate, yesterday I had it all to myself. At first all was well too, it wasn't too muddy and the going was fine, but looks can be deceptive, and what at first appeared to be some fairly firm mud, proved to be anything but. The front wheel plunged deep into the gooey clag, almost pitching me bum over breakfast, and in best Clarkson style I thought 'Powerrrrr' and heaved on the pedals in a vain attempt to make it through without 'dabbing'. Vain is right, as the back wheel just spun, I ground to a sudden halt, and had to put my foot into the squelching thick mud pudding to save myself from an ungainly and unplanned, but very youtube friendly, dismount. I've ridden through much worse on Fatso without drama, but it's not entirely the fault of the Voodoo and its narrower tyres, as there is a distinct lack of pilot talent playing a part in all my cycling activities, and also I run the tyre pressures biased more towards tarmac riding than glawping mud, but even so, I was soon missing the 'go anywhere while laughing out loud' ability of the fatbike.

Looks though, can be deceptive, and some of the harmless looking mud turned out to be a real show, and bike, stopper.

 It wasn't all sticky mud though, and on the whole, it is a very pleasant bridleway to ride.

Coming down the hill, the bridleway turns left and you are confronted by the gert big leg of an electricity pylon encroaching on the path. 

All this effort in trying to ride through, and usually ending up pushing out of, the mud, meant that I was building up quite a sweat now, as Holly's forecast was proving spot on. The air temperature had warmed considerably as the sunshine was replaced by cloud and a freshening wind.

That wind became one of the signature noises of this ride, not just for it freshing about in the tree tops, but for the chirping skwarrpping noises made by various tree branches rubbing together overhead. Other noises I noticed were the ever present chaotic Pheasants of course, Sheep – both young and old, and water rushing fast down the rivers.

 The ford nearest the camera is only small. Its mate behind though, is a different matter, and running too deep and fast for my liking yesterday.

New Mills ford near Truro.

It was to one such river I headed next, as I thought I might rinse some of the clingy clag off the Voodoo's nether regions in the twin fords at New Mills, but on seeing just how fast the water was flowing across the road, and how deeply, I bottled it and went over the path instead. A quick check on the nearby Land Rover in the hedge near Truro golf course followed, thankfully it is still there, and a turn for home was made. Up the hill from hell away from New Mills I gaspingly went, and once again bozzed along the same shared path back into Shortlanesend. From there I took the quietest lane I know back down to Idless. This lane is a narrow, wooded, river rushing soundtracked treat, and I have never met another vehicle on it, as it doesn't really serve anywhere that an adjacent lane doesn't do better. I say quiet, but nature is far from silent, but that is all you can hear down this lane it seems, there are no man made noises to be heard, other than from me whenever I bimble along, and that is why I love pottering along these lanes so much. No one knows I'm there, there's no phone ringing with scam callers to bother me, no one to judge me and all the thoughts whirling round my head are swiftly straightened out or banished for good. Forget all the happy pills, this is the best treatment I know for anxiety and the glums. 

Despite the bike now being seriously muddied, I once again took the longer road route past Idless Wood instead of short cutting through it, and in fact opted to ride on a bit further still instead of heading directly for home, past St Allen church and along the scrabbly lane to Ventonleague, before popping up on the old A39 and thence back home for a welcome shower and of course, Chicken Noodle soup.

You go into town and pay for donuts from a baker's shop, yet here in Cornwall there are fresh donuts just growing on the verges... Or maybe someone didn't fancy the rest of their breakfast...

I must admit, towards the end of this ride I was struggling more than I'd expect to. My legs were failing rapidly, lacking the power to stick into hills, and aching rather more than I'm used to. Could the Voodoo really be harder work on the road than the Fatty? After all, I've done similar mileages and more on Fatso and not felt that knackered, and the average speed was down a bit too, but I did do a lot of pushing and low speed off road stuff on the bridleway which could account for that.

Regardless, Holly had played a blinder and I thoroughly enjoyed my extended poke about in the fresh air, going nowhere much at all.

As usual, a bigger and more detailed map can be found Here although the Bridleway part is missing as it can't plot a route on them apparently.