Another week, another six letters from the DWP, wasting time, money and spreading anger, frustration and anxiety. What an incomprehensibly incompetent shower they are sat in their offices. I pity the poor folk in the Job Centres and on the phones who cop all the fall out from the public I really do.
Oh and I've had three missed calls from the DWP as well. I rung back but no one can tell me who the caller was or what they wanted. Talk about anxiety and stress.
But in other news, my back has been very good lately. I wish I knew what I've done to give it a bit more free movement without pain, but just as when I frequently get major agony with it, it's a mystery. (I do know many causes of my back pains, and therefore what to avoid doing, but still get periods of grief for no apparent reason).
So stressed out every time the postman came or the phone rang, I needed to escape and submerse myself in a bit of rural Bimblage.
Tuesday saw sunny intervals interspersed with horizontally flying pellets of hail fired from huge black clouds that roamed about causing trouble wherever they fancied. Thankfully, on my manoeuvres , I was to miss the severe peltings that others took, just receiving a couple of light showers.
That wind though... Cor strewth... It was a a draughty North Westerly and it sliced it's way into any exposed flesh, making me wish once again I'd worn full finger gloves without the big hole on the backs that my fingerless jobbies sport. As well as a cold, wet, nose I had stiff fingers and icy achy shifter thumbs, coupled with a cold patch on the back of each hand as I booted my way out of the village.
With off road pleasures planned, the fatbike was Velo du jour, as they say en France, or 'kin 'ell, I'd better take Fatso if I'm going there' as I said in these parts.
I'm never short of a photo to take when Campions are about.
Unlike some rides, it took me a while to get into the swing of things - find my riding rhythm and also to relax, but after a good old poke around Boswiddle Ford, a place that always manages to settle a frazzled demeanour with the freshing of the tree tops in the wind and the rushing of the water over the drop from one level to the other beneath the road. The local Crows are less relaxed by my presence though, always kicking off when I'm there, but I can live with that, just another reminder of where I am.
See what I mean? Here they are even being used to illustrate the feisty wind that was blowing. That wind could be seen rushing across the scenery as it rippled crops in the fields, but you can't capture that with still photos.
Target for the day was the Bridleway from the hamlet of Trendeal down to the farm lane at Gunnamanning, just outside Ladock. A very pleasant Bridleway this one, offering almost a bit of everything from farm tracks, to open fields (one with a little added tension/excitement thrown in with the possible presence of the resident hairy arsed Bull) and sunken lane type stuff through ragbag woodland.
That's a rowdy looking sky... someone's getting a right dunking lol... oh hayup, it's coming this way... Time to beggar off quick!
Random shots on the lanes to Trendeal.
Whoa... careful now... One day I'll snag the bar end on some unseen bit of plant and get yanked into the bushes pronto. The Bridleway from Trendeal starts off as farm track best ridden in the tyre tracks to avoid all the big stones residing in the middle of the track.
More Campion...
Blimey I need to work on my photo face... I've noticed that when I'm concentrating on something, I stick my bottom lip out in the manner of some truculent teenager. Why I do that I know not.
I fished the 450D and Siggy 10-20 out for this but I'm not happy with the images I get from the combo these days, I think the lens might need a service at some point as it just doesn't seem as good as it once did.
Now this is what I like to see, as behind that green disc lurks a 'Bull in Field' sign. When that disc is absent, you'd best get a shake on crossing the field...
The Bridleway just nicks the edge of Ladock Woods.
From the edge of the woods, the path then follows the edge of a hill top field. This section is very lumpy beneath that grass, but Fatso makes mincemeat of it, rolling over any bumpy bits with aplomb. The first time I rode this path, aboard the old clanger Carrera, I did hit some unseen obstacle that jerked the front wheel to the left and pitched me off the bike to the right. Thankfully I didn't even receive a single bruise. A few cuts and spillage of blood mind you from the flipping brambles that cushioned my fall, but no bruises.
Hmmmm... I can't put my finger on it, but something isn't quite right here...
After the field comes a drop down a sunken lane, the last section of the Bridleway.
There are actually the remains of some ruined old building to the right and behind Fatso there - a cottage more likely than an old shed or barn by the look of them, but they are very overgrown and impossible to photograph satisfactorily.
Crossing the Tresillian River on the Gunnamanning lane near Ladock.
Still some Daffs to be found in the fields, although they look a bit past it to be honest. Poundland wind turbine in the background - I hate these two pronged jobbies, they just ain't right.
Initial concerns over the razor wind and Uziesque drive by shooting hail showers evaporated once I'd warmed up and when the sun made its regular appearances, it was a gorgeous day out, and I even enjoyed the lung busting slogs up the hills on the lanes back from Ladock as I pottered home in a far better mood than when I left.
Crappy map. A better jobbie can be found Here.
Thursday saw more of the same needed, and without planning done and the previous night's dinner sat in my stomach, or worse, in my bowel, I couldn't go far, I didn't want to make the evening news for all the wrong reasons "Mystery still surrounds an incident in a country lane in Cornwall this evening after locals reported hearing a noise like a punctured Zeppelin landing in a mud lagoon and seeing a manic cyclist doing 40 mph towards the village of Trispen, with mad bulging eyes and one hand clasped over his bottom..." Thursday's ride was sponsored by Immodium then, and I'd just have to put up with the stomach cramps as best I could.
The Tregassow Loop it would be then.
Bozzing along in the sunshine and the hassles and troubles bothering me soon fall away.
Cracking riding weather.
Yeah yeah... another Campion photo... I know... but I like 'em so I keep shootin' 'em.
Unlike the early stages of Tuesday's outing, I immediately fell into the swing of things as I punted Fatso once again down the road, and I felt the joy that comes with knowing the ride is going to be a good one. Potentially volatile and volcanic backsides were soon put out of my mind as the warm sun and legs getting rapidly riding fit these days worked their magic, and Fatso's tyres were soon fizzing along at a sprightly (for me...) clip.
Such was my enjoyment that right on the spur of the moment I enthusiastically hung a right just past the bridge over Trevella Stream and headed off along the footpath that ultimately leads down into Tresillian (via a change to Bridleway status along the way). A bit too ambitious to go that far on this occasion, but when solitude needs to be felt, this path is a good place to head - it gives the feeling of being miles from anywhere and anyone in spades.
Dodging some Country Dumplings while admiring the Bluebells along the tops of the Cornish hedges that have come out down Tregassow Lane.
Going bush on the Tregassow footpath.
The path initially parallels Trevella Stream before winding up the side of the adjacent hill.
The path then levels out and provides a bit of brush busting before heading back down towards the stream.
The path crosses Trevella Stream here, it's just out of shot at the bottom of the photo, but it's little more than an animated puddle at this point. This also appears to be where the footpath becomes Bridleway as the path continues up behind me to Tresillian. This was as far as I would come this time though.
Heading back and it's all a bit idyllic.
As I wasn't going to follow the path all the way round it was back the way I'd come and onto Tregassow Lane once more, and thence around the rest of the loop I know so well.
Lots of activity in the fields now, but I've no idea what they're planting. I'll find out soon enough no doubt when whatever it is sprouts.
I got home feeling very relaxed and invigorated, only to have the phone ring three times in quick succession while I was fishing myself out of the shower, twice from the DWP (no message) and one withheld number (scammer no doubt). My swear box took some hammering as all the good work of the morning's ride was undone in very short order. The flipping phone nearly took a high altitude/high velocity trip down the garden too - it is so tempting to just tell friends and family to just email me, and to unplug the land line and be done with it. Actually, I don't need to do that... I can just turn the ringer off and then I can still make calls out when I need to bother folk... Ha! Let's see you ring now you bleddy annoying b*st*rd!
The footpath is sort of the prong hanging below number 2 there. Better map Here.
Right, must click publish, proof reading this guff will have to wait...
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