Hoi! Cycling Flipping UK... No!

Well as I mentioned in my last post, it was my birthday recently, and my age is really starting to hit home now. In fact, when you start to get old there's no escaping the fact you're getting on a bit and it can all get a bit depressing. Soon I'll have more hair in my ears than on my head, I think twice before buying green Bananas, and a bag for life suddenly doesn't seem a safe investment. Soon no doubt I'll be issued with my tartan shopping trolley with stainless steel front legs for superior ankle ramming, and a pair of those trousers that come up to my arm pits. I expect you get all that kind of thing when you first collect your pension, but thank heavens I won't need the pink or orange hair dye by then though, I'll be bald as a bowling ball by then I expect.

But the reminders are everywhere, and it's a bit of a shock when you realise you are watching the telly programmes and channels that identify you to marketeers as being a coffin dodger, so you get all those wonderful adverts like the Sun Life ads -

Daughter - "Dad, it's June"

Unnamed Dad holding binoculars- "Oh hello June"

June - "Are you off hiking?" 
Hiking? Have a word with yourself love, he's perving at the MILF next door, if he was off hiking he'd be holding boots, or a map you daft old bat... 

June carrying on - "The postman delivered this by mistake"
Hoi! June! Don't you go blaming the younger folk for your joint befuddlements, it was anonymous Dad the silly old bugger getting his house number wrong on the forms, the daft old twerp. He won't see Easter at this rate, he'll forget he's got the gas on and blow the house and his neighbours to kingdom come soon the way he's going on, you'll see. Not long now before he meets Elvis I'm telling you.

Anono Dad - "It's my Sun Life over 50 plan" blah blah...

But wait, I'm being unkind here 'cos what's this I hear in the oh so realistic dialogue, you get a free pen! Whoopee flipping do. What does an old person want with a free bloody pen? They've got drawers full of the things, a bed pan or a nice urn to put their ashes in might be more useful I reckon.

Then there are all those ads for incontinence products -

"My friend Susan is great fun, but she makes me laugh and whoops! There goes my bladder..."
Oh please, do you mind? I'm trying to eat my dinner here, I don't want images of women peeing their pants in my head thank you.
Be careful where you sit round Susan's house that's all I can say.

Suddenly, we seem to be surrounded by the failings of old age and the grizzly and trouser drizzly fate that will soon befall us.

Saga really eat my lunch too, they've obviously bought a list of names and addresses from somewhere complete with birth dates on and now hardly a day goes by without me getting some large print mail shot for old people's cruises down some German river or cheap insurance for the Honda car that has just had its gearbox reversed (why do old people drive at 35 mph in first gear, and 10 mph in fifth or sixth? Is that something else that happens when you collect your first pension - they send someone round to turn your gearbox upside down?).

So it's all a bit depressing really, but look, it's alright, I can still ride a bike and get out and escape all that doom and gloom for a bit and go and enjoy nature at it's best, and fight off the Reaper for a bit longer (unless I expire on some ugly steep hill somewhere) by maintaining a degree of fitness.

So there I was on Tuesday last, just returned home ruddy faced and feeling refreshed after a bike ride in the chilly but sunny countryside, when I spy the Cycling UK magazine 'Cycle' has arrived. Always a pleasant surprise that, as it's a good read and this edition promises some interesting stuff about long distance riding - something that I'd love to do if I was able, but enjoy reading about all the same. So I eagerly unwrapped the magazine and out fell an unmarked envelope... hello, looks like the bung a member of the cabinet might receive, or a drugs payment. Alas there was no sum of used notes inside, just some offer for holidays to Cyprus or somewhere equally hot and tummy troubling.

Then out fell another insert, another offer, this time for the flipping Oldie Magazine! Whaaat the f...  flipping hell?! Even they're at it now! Bog off with your crusty related offers you beggars!

Whoa whoa whoa... What's this? You taking the piss or what?  Don't you lot start as well...

I'll give you Oldie you cheeky buggers, I'll come round your head office and give you a good hiding with a rolled up copy of the Damart catalogue if you carry on like this. Flipping cheek.

Well Cycling UK really sucked my Werthers there, but I mustn't let it get to me, as I had just returned from another most enjoyable bike ride, so must stay positive through this doom laden onslaught - I'm not ready for my box just yet. Now, where are my glasses...

Tuesday was a cracking day for a ride, bright and sunny but with a knife like Northerly wind blowing the odd shower about here and there. Thankfully, mostly there.

 For such a cheap and cheerful bike, the Voodoo doesn't ride too badly at all for my needs. It is certainly very smooth, and also quiet in operation, not having a chainsawesque freehub like Fatso for instance. Riding slowly along the lanes all that can be heard is the crackle of tyres on gravel which is rather relaxing I must say.

The paint on the wheels is shockingly bad mind you...

Bright sunshine beaming down on me (the sun always shines on the righteous...) but someone is getting a good soaking, over Ladock way by the look of it.

Fuzzy photo alert - right click it and open in a new tab. Or maybe it's my eyesight that's going... 

Tregassow Lane was all awash in the usual places again, despite some half hearted attempts to ease the flooding by digging out the ditches in some places (the wrong places it would appear). This was taken between the fully flooded sections, but take it from me, it was flooded alright.

Random roadside Autumnessness, and more fuzzy goings on.

King Alfred's Cakes Fungus (also known as Cramp Balls - sounds like something a Roadie might suffer with) on a recently downed branch in Tregassow Lane.

Apparently, so legend has it, King Alfred once hid in the countryside and was asked to remove some cakes from an oven when they were done (just where exactly was he hiding for heaven's sake?). But old Alf fell asleep and the cakes were burned, and these Fungi are said to resemble the consequences of leaving a monarch in charge of your bakery.

These Fungi are inedible (and who'd want to eat one, really, I mean look at it...) but do make really good tinder. They need to be utterly dry (no shit...) but will take a spark from a fire steel quite readily and also will burn steadily but slowly, so ideal for starting camp fires or stoves.

At the far end of Tregassow Lane, atop the hill, stands the remains of a finger post. Navigation for strangers then isn't easy without a sat nav, you need to find a local to ask the way - "Tresillian? He's thattaway my 'ansum, not far, 'bout three blaaasts of a shotgun he is.."

Top end of the lane between Trehane Barton and Riverside.

So far I'd done rather well with the weather, the worst I'd suffered was just an occasional sprinkle of rain carried on the wind. I don't mind sprinkles. Sprinkles are fine.

The same spot, and I must admit to doing a bit of staging for this photo. I cleared a couple of other leaves away from in front of this bright one as it stood out amongst all the reds and browns on the bank like a beacon, and I wanted a clear shot of it.

The lanes were however very wet, very squidgy and very mucky, after some robust showers over the previous 24 hours or more. What a still photo can't capture is the sound of leaves dripping, and water trickling into the storm drains along the road. I saw only one car the whole time I was in these back lanes, so tuning into all the surrounding noises is always easy on these routes.

 Another ride, another Campion shot. But I am a fan of these little flowers, they seem to thrive in all conditions nearly all year round, and make for a nice little bit of colour in the hedges and banks.

A small patch of Gorse showing well too.

The signpost at Riverside that while it has escaped amputation, is still need of a little TLC.

It was just as I was taking this shot that it suddenly started hailing. No gradual smattering followed by incrementally heavier falls, this was a full on dumping of the stuff, bouncing off everything and getting into places no hailstone should ever go. I got on the Voodoo and made my way up the hill towards St Erme where the sunken, tree lined lane would offer more in the way of shelter, but the hail stopped as suddenly as it had started, like someone flipping a switch, and I actually didn't get very wet at all, just one or two bits that had got down my neck.

So that was a very pleasant ride despite the dodgy weather, and this oldie is still doing ok. Not great mind you, my back feels considerably older than the rest of me, and I shuffle about like a right old ruin when off the bike, but when on it, the freedom of movement I get feels very liberating, so knickers to the Grim Reaper chap, I'm not quite ready for my elastic waist trouser fitting and woolly lined slippers just yet.

Crappy mappage of the Bimblings. Tregassow Lane is points one and two, and Riverside at point three. Full mapping lurks Here

Now, has anyone seen my glasses?

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Getting Things Together Again.

Thankfully, the recent depressive episode didn't develop into a full blown anxiety/despair riddled affair as can happen, instead I just had a complete lack of oomph in me for anything. I was a shell of a human being really - brain on stand by (nothing new there to be fair...) and a strong desire to just sleep. Everything requires disproportionate levels of effort, if I can be bothered to even attempt something in the first place. It's what I imagine a severe hang over must feel like, but without the partying the night before. Often this comes a precursor to worse feelings of panic and dismay and so on, but this time, I started to pick up again before things descended any further.

So I'm not going to dwell on it all, as that's the best way I've found to cope - ride it out and once I start feeling perkier, forget all about it and think forwards, don't keep going over it all in my head.

My thanks though for the kind comments - much appreciated. I'm not into attention seeking and all that self pity carry on so don't go looking for sympathy or anything, just telling things as they are, but the comments are still appreciated believe me.

So anyway, I've got my biking/snapping/immersing myself in all things smelly and countrified mojo back and have bagged a few rides.

There's a saying in cycling* "If in doubt, get the Fatbike out" (* I may have just made that up) and if any bike is going to put a smile back on my face it's going to be Fatso. My other bikes all deliver great cycling experiences, but the Fatty is the only one that feels more than just a collection of metal and rubber bits bunged together, it has character - somewhere between that of a naive bounding puppy and a rampaging Rhino. It's why it's the only bike with a name - Fatso. None of the other bikes seem to encourage nick naming.

So I'd decided to go and check out my local woods again, as it felt like a while since I'd had any sorties in them and I wanted to see what was happening - any trees freshly downed or dead bodies to discover, you know the kind of thing.
I also wanted to make the most of any Autumnal colour as some rather turbulent weather was being forecast for later on which would surely bring down most, if not all, the remaining leaves.

The Autumnal colours were indeed looking pretty splendid on the hill down to Lanner Mill on the way to the woods. Some people get treated to massive displays of vibrant yellows, reds and oranges, but we have a lot of evergreens round my way so we don't get vast acres of glorious colour, just little pockets really. This view here did look pretty good, but this shot was also tightly framed to get the best of the colour - either side things were a bit duller.

Once into the woods themselves there were more pockets of bright foliage to go at, so I made the most of them.

During my lay off, I'd also gained another year on my tally, turning 56, something I never thought I'd be. Growing up, like many other young'uns, I thought 35 was old, and I'd rather kill myself than be 50 say. Now I'm here I know I'm supposed to be killing someone but can't remember who... Strange old world.

But enough silliness, at this age riding fitness disappears faster than a bride's nightie, and boy was I feeling it climbing the hill up the edge of the woods to the topmost path. It is a steep old climb mind you, but one I can ride up fairly routinely, but on this day legs were burning, lungs were bursting, and my face grimacing like a championship winning Gurner. It was no good, I had to bail out and push, something I hate doing as it doesn't do my back any good, but I was also starting to really feel the lurve again and was enjoying the fresh air and the expectations of good things to come, so I pressed on - if it hurts it hurts, try and ignore it as best I can, no turning back now.

Damn. Things were going well here so far with the photos, I had high hopes for this post, but here's a fuzzy one to knacker that confidence.

Down in Australia somewhere, there's a bloke saying "Hey Sheila, can you hear bloody dripping love?" In my imagination, it's this puddle here leaking onto the Southern Hemisphere, it's that flipping deep. I did try and ride through it once - that didn't go well at all. The front wheel plummeted in far deeper than I anticipated and came to a very abrupt halt. I had to dab my left foot down quick to avoid being ship wrecked and my foot and half my shin disappeared into the gloop. Suddenly I knew how Wun Wet Shoo, the one legged Chinese window cleaner in the village feels, as I tried to hop about in the sucking mud and extricate the bike as well, all without putting my right foot in the mire as well. It wasn't to be though and both feet got an inevitable swamping.

So I didn't ride through the puddle in the photo above, I took the path round the edge which is out of sight, but don't tell anyone will you...

Now this is one hell of a change of mind on behalf of the branch of this tree don't you think?

"I'm off this way << see, here I go... oh and up this way a bit... tum de tum de tum... oh hang on... just a minute. I think I need to go this way >> yeah that's it, I'm going this way >> now.. doh, silly me eh... what am I like..." 

How many anti depressants did I take this morning? I've got talking trees in my blog now...

More fuzziness by the look of things too.

Random puddle shot.

Nostril cam view and bang goes the clean bike.

Fatbikes are huge fun pretty much anywhere, but I defy anyone to not grin like an idiot when riding one through (the shallower) muddy puddles - mud and water flying everywhere appeals to the inner nine year old like little else, it is simply great fun, and if you get your speed right, no problem with traction as the bike will just keep driving forwards rather than spinning. Go in too fast though and the big tyres won't bite into the water/mud, but instead skate about on the surface, making for some buttock clenching wandering of the wheels as you appear to be going in several directions at once. 

No problem.

The top path emerges briefly from under tree cover and the elderly mountain biker emerges blinking into the daylight... (or would if it wasn't for the glasses).

 Now I've been to Newquay, so I've seen some pretty ugly sights believe me, but these relatives of the Puffball Fungus really take the biscuit. They are about the size of a tennis ball, have the texture of latex, and as can be seen, are the colour of cheesy vomit and are covered in warty scaly things. Yuckoriffic!

It's not just the outer skin that threatens to bring up your lunch though, inside is a dense brown (looks black in the photo, but t'is turdy brown alright) powder - the spores, waiting to caught by the wind, or better still puffed out when a careless bicyclist half runs over one with a fat front wheel, making for a big brown cloud of dry powder being puffed into the air. These things are utterly repulsive, you certainly wouldn't want one in your salad that's for sure. But for all that, they are also fascinating, each new one I came across demanding close (but careful... you never know, they might bite or give you a nasty suck or something) examination. Burst ones really take the ugliness to another level too, looking like giant exploded zits, only devoid of powder rather than pus. If I find some more I'll control my retching function and get a photo of a burst one - I just couldn't bring myself to take one on this occasion. 

Enough ugliness... time to redress the balance and have some Autumnal beauty.

Having reached the far end of the wood, it was time to head back so I took the lowest path as it's flat and I'd had enough hilly bits for my morning. 

So only a shortish ride then, under seven miles, but it really did me a world of good to be out and about again. I wasn't fully back to normal, but I had taken a huge step forwards, feeling more invigorated once again. It was also my one hundredth ride of the year, which for me isn't too bad going. 

Buoyed up by the success of the above ride, and not wanting to lose momentum, last Sunday saw me heading out once again, into rather splendid calm and occasionally sunny weather.

There was not a breath of wind blowing, but the skies were mostly grey. However every now and again, the sun would come out and set everything aglow, although it doesn't look particularly spectacular in this photo, as I had to tone things down a bit. The photo that came out of the camera genuinely looked unnaturally over saturated, so I had to rein it in a bit or face accusations of being too frisky with the saturation slider in post processing. 

As can be seen, once again Fatso got the gig, but those aren't tan wall tyres, those are cluggy tyres, a souvenir of those previous woodland manoeuvres.

 Now here's a good way to clean those tyres off - a visit to Boswiddle Ford.

I've taken so many photos here I struggle for a new angle while I try to convey why I like this spot so much, so hauled Fatso out of the water and onto the little bridge on the footpath that dodges round the side of the road.

Pedal up - pedal down, pedal up - pedal down, pedal up and... coast. Lanes like these are too good to be hurried through.

It's not all good though, and just a bit further on from the above fly past photo, I came across this sad sight. Judging by that wound I'd say this was the result of foul play rather than a traffic accident. Whatever, a sad end for a magnificent but much maligned animal.

Talking of Badgers, I haven't seen 'Flash', the Badger I'd been getting visits from, for many, many weeks now, so I think he (or she) might've met a similar fate. Food I've left out has gone untouched and I've now given up hope of seeing him or her again. A real shame as it is a real treat to encounter Badgers at such close quarters as I experienced with Flash.

Target for the day's ride was this Bridleway. By the way, I've no idea where Bessigga is - it's not on the maps, there are no houses or farms along the route until you reach the other end, but that is at Gunnamanning, so Bessigga is a mystery to me. 

Now Idless Woods are nothing compared to the mud found on this first section of the Bridleway. But it was also no surprise as it is always a quagmire here, even in Summer. Unlike woodland gloop though, this mud stinks - it was properly humming. A mixture of stagnant ditch water and cow poo and pee I expect, maybe the contents of that suspicious looking drum...

I tried to ride along here too - this was taken about mid way through the mire, but I made a hash of things, got a bit out of shape and came to a halt, and just couldn't get started again without the back wheel spinning, so once again a bail out was in order and some pushing ensued. Thankfully there is solid ground to be trodden on in the undergrowth on the left. But notice however there is a bike track through the slop, so someone it appears rode through it alright. I must up my mud plugging game, clearly.

Talking of mud plugging, just after I'd remounted Fatso I encountered a woman leading a young girl mounted on a Shetland Pony, or maybe it was an economy size horse I don't know. The girl warned me that there was mud further along the Bridleway, but despite my best persuasive tactics, she wouldn't swap her micro horse for Fatso, as horses, even iddy biddy ones, are great at getting through mud. Her horse was a good size for me too - not hard to get aboard, and it wouldn't hurt so much if I crashed it. Big, full size horses scare me, but her mini nag was cute as hell. As it turned out, the mud she was referring to wasn't half as bad as the slop I'd already come through, which was good, and she also assured me that the bull that lives in the field the Bridleway crosses wasn't home. Still it was a Sunday so his day off no doubt.

I was enjoying the ride so much though, I didn't take many photos along the way, but it's a ride I've done before, and will no doubt do again many times, so it doesn't matter.

 Wall is the corner edge of a higher up field, while the other side of that fence is Ladock Woods, but I was going through that gate.

Last part of the Bridleway and real signs that this was once a busy thoroughfare. There are Cornish Hedges on both sides of the path down through here, and the track would've linked Ladock to Trendeal and further on, Summercourt and Mitchell.

Weather update: He've come in proper grizzly drizzly, he's proper manky out.

Well this wasn't in the script, I must've missed the memo or something. Or maybe it was just the Met office getting it a bit wrong again. Whatever, not far from home and a thick drizzle set in - what a lot of folk down here call 'a bit coastal', as you often get drizzle/mizzle blowing in off the sea when everywhere else is bathed in sunshine. The camera couldn't capture the rain properly, but gert clouds of it were drifting across the road on the freshly risen breeze, giving my lower half a real soaking. My trousers must've soaked up a gallon each side by the time I made it home.

Despite arriving home wetter than a fish's swimming costume, I just couldn't bring myself to take Fatso back into my living room in the state it was in. The bike (despite appearances in the photos) was blathered, so before I could jump in the shower, it was time for some scrubbing of the bike, so Fatso got a full wash down and re-lube. I know some folk bleat on about how mountain bikes should always be dirty and I have got some gentle stick from a few riders for the cleanliness of my bikes, but I just hate riding a bike when it's all crusty, gritty and graunchy, never mind having to sit and look at the thing incontinently pooping clods of mud on my living room floor.

So with Fatso having earned a pass from combat duties due to it being clean as a new pin again, it was to the voodoo I turned for my next ride (the Marin is also peachy clean, and I like it to stay that way - I know, terribly sad and all that, but much as I like riding it, I also hate it getting filthy and all dinged up. Maybe though I'll get it out for a ride, as having written this, I've just looked it over, and I really want to take it for a ride...).

A ride around the lanes, starting with Tregassow Lane, of course! 

Once again the weather was dry, with rain in the forecast for much later on, but there was a gusty wind blowing - the remnants of a stroppy, noisy, rough night before. The lanes can be so invigorating in conditions like those - lots of litter swirling about on the ground, while above, the trees clatter,  grind and creak about. Such days can be so refreshing and stimulating when out on a bicycle, or on foot of course. I used to enjoy days like this on a motorbike as well, though you do lose the soundtrack of course.

Just bimbling along...

I've said before how I prefer the trees at this time of year to when in Summer. I find them far more impressive shorn of their leaves and on display in all their Gothicy, craggy, gnarly, twisted glory.

 Part of the appeal is the way lines of trees all stand in parallel, shaped by the wind and sun. You can of course use them as a navigation aid, as in the case above, South West (the prevailing wind direction in this country) is off to the left, which is nice to know. Not quite sure how useful it is to know that mind, I prefer a good map myself, but there we go. 

Meanwhile, this lot atop the hill at Lanner Mill are just a spectacular jumble.

Still at the top of the hill, some Pink Campion. For such small and fragile looking flowers, they aren't half hardy beggars, hard as nails, although to be fair, they do seem to favour well sheltered spots like this one.

One last ride to report on now, you'll be glad to know, and that was yesterday. 
Now I had fancied a ride down to the river at Tresillian for a coffee on my stove, but on going out of the door I discovered the wind was cold and cuttingly sharp. Before I'd reached the end of my road (a mere hundred yards) I'd already thought 'sod Tresillian for a laugh, I need shelter', and planned a return to Idless Woods once more, although once again I was on the Voodoo, and the woods these days are usually Fatso territory.

This wasn't actually a good move. I don't know how I rode the Voodoo as my main off road bike for so long as I got a bit of a kicking even at my modest speeds as I slid and spun my way along the bottom path through the woods once again. The Voodoo of course has boingy forks, while Fatso just relies on plump tyres for suspension, but by crikey the Fatbike doesn't half give a smoother ride on the rough. The Voodoo transmitted every bump up my arms and backside (I do lean more forwards onto the bars than on the Fatbike though which won't help) and the whole ride just felt more precarious than the rock solid, flatten everything in its path, Fatty.

A bright and occasionally sunny day, but by crikey there was a chilling wind blowing, so I was glad to reach the woods and shelter.

No... don't mind me, I don't mind standing in the stream up to my ankles waiting to take a photo while you throw treats for the dogs, you just carry on...

Actually, that's harsh, as I didn't mind at all, and the woman is a dog minder who I've met quite a few times in the woods. The photo, when I took it, was crap anyway...

This was a better angle, and it's come out fuzzy on here. Whoopy flipping doo!

Time for a fly past...

or two...

Remember that scene in Fawlty Towers when Basil attacks his car with a tree branch? I'm starting to know how he felt, but for me it's flipping fuzzy photos. Maybe it's just on my pc, but it is really burning my bacon.

A sunny woods, and given a tickle in Nik software (classic camera number six plus a bit of my own tweaking).

Random Christmassy tree shot.

Random shot near St Allen church.

Now here was an odd one - a pair of Pumpkins lying in the ditch, fresh from the supermarket too. How did they end up there exactly? The mind boggles, but anyway, there they were. Now normally I'm a beggar for a good bit of roadside treasure, ready to whisk anything remotely useful home, but I just don't like Pumpkin at all, which is a right shame, as it seemed a bit of a waste to just leave them there, maybe though someone else will have salvaged them.

So there we are, all up to date and now pretty much back to normal mood wise and so on. It has been really great to get out and ride once again, and I hate to think where I'd be if I wasn't able to ride or get into the countryside any more.

Right, this has been a long one and I'm that hungry I could eat a farmer's arse - through his trousers, so I'm off for some much needed scoff.

Happy cycling!

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