As ever, if a photo looks fuzzy, right click on it and open link in a new tab.
It's hotter and drier than Ghandi's flip flops outside as the unusually summery spell continues - the councils have even been gritting the roads to stop tarmac melting and the cows have been giving evaporated milk. It's most unlike the British Summer we've come to know and joke about - three hot days and a thunderstorm, or that period of the year when the rain is warm. This is more like how summers used to feel to me as a kid, or in the case of 1976, a teenager. Let's hope we don't see a repeat of that year, what with all the water shortages and yellow grass everywhere. Instead let's hope we have a repeat of ten years previous to that, 1966, and on the football field rather than in the queues for a standpipe.
I completely lost interest in football a couple of World Cups ago when England just didn't appear interested, the overpaid little darlings seemingly would rather have joined their club team mates on a beach somewhere than playing for their country. The current team and management though do seem to have something about them, while at the same time lacking ego and a sense of entitlement. Fingers crossed they continue to do well then as they are changing my opinion of an England team, and that of a few other casual football followers too.
I may need to get back into football anyway, as my lifelong love, Speedway, is dying a death in this country, at least at the top level. It was the British F1 GP yesterday, and it always amazes me how thousands of people will flock to Silverstone from all over the country just to watch their heroes whizz past along whatever short section of track is visible to them. It must be a real bummer to pay out all that money to go and stand by the trackside somewhere and have all the action take place on an unseen other part of the track.
In Speedway, you get to see the whole track all of the time. You get to see, or did get to see, the top stars in the world plying their trade on a weekly basis, on your doorstep, in return for a few quid. All the fun of high intensity motor sport - the noise, the smell (Castrol R, surely the best smell known to man?) the excitement of four blokes on motorbikes going elbow to elbow sideways through the corners and spraying the crowd with dirt... What's not to like?
Sadly, bigger money on offer in Poland has seen the top stars leave the British scene, and the way the sport is run in this country is bordering on the criminally stupid. The result is ever decreasing crowd numbers and the vicious circle that inevitably follows - weaker teams riding in dilapidated stadiums and so on. One of the teams in the top echelon in this country went pop just last week, leaving a mere seven to fight it out for the play offs.
This winter when the sport's organisers gather to discuss and shape the future of this most exciting of sports, they'd better come up with something drastically good or I'll be done with it. They are killing the sport I love with their head in the sand approach and I'd rather cut all ties with it and remember things as they were than endure the embarrassingly sorry state it has become now.
None of which has anything to do with cycling, but plenty to do with depression! No actually, more like frustration, but still.
Anyway, I have had some rides as usual, so best we get on and take a look at them.
Tuesday, the third of July, I went out on the Voodoo for a gentle mooch around one of my loops. I wasn't really feeling the photographic love, so snaps were in short supply as I lacked inspiration, but it still felt good to turn the legs over and get my fix of fresh air and wheels on tarmac.
All the vibrant colour of Spring has long since given way to an ever yellowing drab green now that we're well into this unusually hot of Summers. Everywhere is starting to look a bit parched, dry and dusty too, which is not how I like my countryside truth be told. I'd hate to live in a hot climate where all the buildings are white washed and everywhere is dry scrub.
Not far from home I came across this sad sight - a female Pheasant lying in the road, hit just seconds before by a car. There was also a very dead male Pheasant a few yards away as well, but I realised this female was still alive as I stooped to take the above shot.
The poor bird wasn't in a panicky, distressed state thankfully, just very dazed and obviously traumatised. I couldn't leave it lying in the sun on the baking hot tarmac, and equally couldn't bring myself to put it out of its misery somehow - wring its neck? No way. Ride over its head? Possible but... just no.
So I lifted it up and placed it in the shady long grass in the hope it was just concussed and may recover. A long shot granted, but there we go.
Unfortunately, it was too long a shot and on passing the spot a couple of days later, the bird is still there, although it had moved and turned around, but had obviously died.
That second ride was indeed a couple of days later, last Thursday as it happens, and another Voodoo borne mooch around another loop.
Once again I was lacking photographic inspiration and enthusiasm, but still got a few shots.
Near St Allen there is the ruin of an old single car garage beside the road, oddly in the middle of nowhere - no accompanying house nearby to which it might belong. Very strange. But it is slowly being claimed by nature and in a few years will be all but invisible I imagine, completely hidden under greenery.
Oh I'm struggling for photos alright... Nothing much to see here.
Like the Daisies back up the page, there is some colour to be found in the hedges, and in this case it's Hedge Bindweed. An attractive looking flower for sure, but a real pest I gather, being very invasive and smothering everything else it encounters. Still, it keeps that Bee busy...
Possibly Marjoram.
Well I do know what this is - a bag of Wellies.
A strange thing to find hanging on a fence, presumably someone found them in the road and hung them up for recently Wellieless to find.
Saturday found me with one of those rare occasions when I have much more free movement in my back. I've no idea what happens to induce this, but by crikey when the stiffness and pain disappears for a while, I don't half feel better. I'm still limited with how far I can turn my head, either sideways or to look up, but what movement I do have is far more loose and pain free.
This then saw me make a change of plan. I had thought I'd mount the Marin and go for a ride into Truro, probably around the old Newham Branch and back through Idless Woods. But with this sudden freedom of movement I decided to take Fatso to a favourite off road playground of mine - Newlyn Downs.
Once again, with the weather set to be hot and sunny, an early start was desirable, and so off I rumbled at about 6 am into another fresh and utterly still morning.
Looking East towards Fraddon and Gossmoor from the road near Carland Cross.
Random view from a gate on the road between Mitchell and St Newlyn East.
Another view from another gate on the same road, but this time with the sun behind me, and looking towards a bank of low mist just drifting across East Wheal Rose mine.
Making progress in the early morning, even for weak legged old me, was easy enough, although the day was already warming up by the time I reached Newlyn Downs where I leave the road to go and play around on the old spoil heaps and tracks and paths.
Newlyn Downs is Public Access land, and the site of the old Cargoll lead and zinc mine. It's a pretty barren looking area, a bit like the surface of the moon in places, and very scrubby in others. It is also home to a number of Adders, the Carland Cross Windfarm and a number of mine shafts, not all of which may be capped... The first and last of that little list of three make for good reasons to stick to the main tracks and open land, especially at this time of year with regard to the Adders.
More mist drifting across the turbines of the Carland Cross Windfarm.
Newlyn Downs is a Site of Special Scientific Interest, partly due to there being some rare breed of Heather growing here. A large area of the site is covered in Heather and Gorse, while the rest is barren looking mining spoil.
I didn't have the big Manfrotto Magic Arm with me, but instead did have a smaller version of the same thing, so went with using that to get some low down shots, although this smaller arm doesn't clamp tight as well, so tends to flop about over bumps more.
The already bright sunshine and low speed meant though there was little chance of getting motion blur in the shots.
I stick to the main tracks in the greener area, not wishing to suddenly disappear down a freshly opened up mine shaft.
Once out onto open wasteland though I will go off piste and have some fun.
Feeling much fitter of spine, I made the most of things and played around (albeit still very gently) on some of the smaller spoil heaps and mounds.
It was still only about 08.30 ish, but the sun was already getting fierce and toasting the back of my neck and face, so it was time to head back to the road and wend my way home.
Corner hoon by St Newlyn East church.
Fatbikes are still fun on tarmac, but especially so when ear'oling round tight bends.
That was about that. I rode home without taking any more photos, and even managed to nip across the A30 without any bother at all, which is highly unusual for that time of day on a Summer Saturday.
The good thing about all this weather is not having to wash the bikes down all the time, as they only get a little dusty. Usually after a visit to Newlyn Downs both bike and body are besplattered with mud and crud, but not this time, just a quick wipe of the chain to get any gritty dust off and all is tickety boo. Result!
Map of the ride, the full interactive version can be found HERE
Newlyn Downs is that area West of Carland Cross and marked by points 7, 8 & 9, but all is far, far clearer on the full version of the map.
Right, fingers crossed for an England win in a day or two, but in the meantime, Happy cycling!
Oh and I'm not going to proof read this just yet, but instead will just click publish, so it might be full of heinous spelling mistakes and terrible typos, for which I apologise.
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