And The Award For Being Good Chaps (and Chapesses) Goes To...

Wiggle and DX.

On Saturday my pneumatic inflation equipment suffered a technical failure. My foot pump took a crap that's what happened, and then I managed to break it some more. Go me.

So at just after 4pm on Saturday I went onto the Wiggle site in search of a replacement, and to stock up on one or two consumables.

Having decided on a suitable candidate I placed the order, with the postage free, 3-4 day delivery option.

Yesterday (Sunday) I got an email saying the package was ready for despatch and would be winging its way West with DX in the next couple of days. 

Eight o'clock this morning (Monday) it was on my doorstep. 

Now that is good going. I know I should support my local bike shop, which it must be said, is very good indeed, but for convenience, choice and cost, online is just so hard to beat.

The results of getting frisky with the plastic over the weekend - two tins of a smelly job, a chain oil job and a blow jo  track pump.

The pump I went for should do me I think. It's a Topeak JoeBlow Sport II (fancy name for a pump) and came in at £26.99, so not bad. I also had a look at it on the Topeak web site, and I have never seen so many track pumps in all my life as they have available. How many pumps can any one range of products need? I reckon three - a cheapo job for the hard of wallet, a middle job for those happy to pay a bit more for decent quality, and an expensive model for flash gits with money to fritter. But Topeak have 22... yes that is 22 track pumps listed on their site. Ok, some are merely colour variations of the same model, but even so, there is still a bewildering choice available, all with the sort of names the ad departments of men's shaver companies will be familiar with - Turbo/Sport/Sprint/Race/Max/Boost/Thrust/Plunge/Powerrr/Lunge/Inflatinator/Rarrr...* 

*Ok, the last few I made up, but you get the idea.*

What is it with these names? Will I feel inadequate with my mere JoeBlow Sport II wotsname if my neighbour flaunts his Topeak Valve Shagger Turbo Tube Blaster 5 next time I visit his garage? Is Track Pump Envy a known condition? Hmmmmm...

Topeak say this gauge is inspired by Chronographs, and it certainly wouldn't look out of place on some folk's wrists (the sort of bloke found at the wheel of a Ferrari replica made out of canoe plastic and covering a wheezing old Toyota). I'll only be using the first quarter of it though, not being a roadie. Little yellow diamond currently at 160 psi isn't to warn you of imminent destruction, but a slider to set at the pressure you desire, so you can line the needle up with it. Jolly good.

So anyway, I got the JoeBlow Sport II, which feels very well made, and features a twin head so no mincing about changing the head from Presta to Schrader, and as befitting the names of the pumps, also has a macho, sexy looking gauge, which is important, me being a bloke n' all. Oh and it's yellow. Other than that there isn't a lot to say, the reviews are positive, it was at a decent price, it should do the job.

Also in the box, was the packet of Haribo of course, two cans of the ever fragrant GT 85, as Wiggle are now matching Halford's online price of £2.25 a can, which is good, and a bottle of Wiggle's own brand wet lube. I'm a fan of this oil, as it's cheaper than most of the rivals, keeps the chain clean and seems to work well. Everything runs smoothly and quietly and it seems to resist water well, so just what is needed.

So that's that, not very exciting really, but there we go, it is a Monday after all.

Oh and in case anyone is wondering what that headless torso in my shed is, it's my old motorcycling jacket being used to insulate my pressure washer from the frost. They don't like it up 'em you know.

Grumpy Saturday, Energised Sunday.

Sometimes a bit of mechanical fiddling and fettling is very satisfying – parts are dismantled, cleaned/ greased/replaced, and the whole lot put back together without trauma. A job well done. Sometimes though, the simplest job goes a bit awry and the language becomes rather industrial. The latter was the case on Saturday, as with a freshly washed Fatso sat in my living room, I finally got around to swapping the inner tube in the rear wheel. I've got problems seating the rear tyre properly, with the result being a slightly egg shaped ride. The tubes fitted are 26 x 2.50/2.70, so I decided to bung in one of the spares I carry, which is 26 x 4.0 which might do a better job of filling the tyre's carcass when over inflating to seat the bead.

Fatbike tyres come off and back on again very easily indeed, with no levers required, which is just as well as true to form, I lobbed the tyre on the wrong way round at first (logos go on the drive side of the wheel). I always manage that somehow when fitting tyres that are directional. But anyway, one slapped forehead later and with the new tube in, the tyre refitted, and the bead nicely lubed with soapy water, I returned to the upside down Fatso and replaced the back wheel. I do have a maintenance stand, and jolly good it is too, but I can never, ever, refit a rear wheel with the bike upright. Not me, not ever, no. I don't know why, but I always get in a right tangle, but with the bike upside down it's straight in. Weird.

So with the back wheel back in, all that was left was to get busy with my trusty Michelin foot pump. This is where things went wrong. Barely a sparrow's sneeze had entered the tube when the hose on the pump split. No problem as it happens, as I had some brand new fuel hose the exact same size. Repairs will take but a minute. Erm... no. The original hose was clamped to the male connector coming out of the pump with some crimped metal sleeve affair that made removal difficult. In fact, in trying to release the grip of the crimping, the male nipple thing broke off... Oh.... fiddlesticks. All attempts to fit the new tube by clamping onto the remaining stub failed, so the foot pump was out of action and I was wondering if my swear box takes PayPal.

I could just pump the tyre up with the bicycle pump I carry with me of course, but Fatbike tubes take some filling given their large capacity, and I need to over inflate to get the tyre to seat. That would be hard work with a hand pump for sure, so I thought beggar it, it can wait until I get a new pump.

So Fatso was temporarily disabled, but I did put him in the maintenance stand and spent the evening giving him a coat of wax, which isn't a bad way to spend a Saturday evening, certainly better than watching the tripe on the telly.

Saturday night, trying to get to sleep was a beggar, as it is frequently. My mind just would not stop churning and blowing all sorts of random things up out of all proportion. I must've got off to sleep at some point though, as I woke up again... to daylight too... so I checked the time... 10.45?! Woo that's not good! I hate sleeping late these days (unlike when I was a teenager when I developed lie ins into an art form). My head was heavy as I got up, as it always is when I get too much sleep, and coffee was utterly failing to boot me up, as I sat slumped in my chair feeling more than a bit crappy and befuddled.

Outside though, it was obviously a truly beautiful day. Hmmmm... A quick look online for updates at my usual regular biking sites was all it took to get me going – All those photos of people riding and hooning about on bikes - I needed to go for a ride and to mess around taking photos, the two things that give me most pleasure these days, to rid me of my lethargy and frustrations.

With Fatso out of action I was aboard the Voodoo as I headed off along my usual loop, and was soon splashing through the floods on Tregassow Lane. These had receded a fair bit when I rode along here on Thursday, but a Friday full of rain has seen the lane once again resembling a pop up canal, forcing walkers into an adjacent field to get around it. It has come to something when Sunday strollers take to a gloopy field rather than tarmac thanks to bad weather.

 A beautiful day for a bimble about.

Rural textures.

Being outside was every bit as good as the view out of my windows had promised – a warming sun and what wind there was, barely warranted the description. It was coming from the North East though, so the light breeze was a chilly one, but no matter, the air was fresh, the sun was shining, and I had wheels turning beneath me. The fug of a late start was soon being rapidly banished, being replaced with bracing upliftment (I thought I'd just made that word up, but a quick bit of Googlery finds it is a real word oddly enough, as it sounds all wrong).

The sunshine felt positively spring like, but the bare trees still said winter.

On I bimbled, stopping frequently to check out a photo opportunity, or to just listen, or look, at whatever was catching my attention. The ugly hill that used to cause me so much grief in the past – The Col de Tregassow, now holds no fear at all as my fitness has improved, along with my technique for plugging on. I used to look despairingly at the distant summit with my legs ablaze and lungs straining to cope with effort. Now, with improved engine and pistons able to easily make it to the top without bailing out, it just left the mental approach to be sorted. So now instead of looking up at how much bad ass hill I've still got to climb, I just glance up at the start to make sure the road ahead is clear, and then focus on the front tyre, and keeping it turning away from me. In no time at all the hill has been conquered. Slowly maybe, but that'll do for me.

Bicycle Bimbling bliss.

That really though, was the only time I was concentrating on the actual riding, or the bike itself. The rest of the ride I was just enjoying my surroundings, cresting smaller hills without even noticing them, and instead just pottering along listening to the rhythmic swishing of my trousers and the drone of a light aircraft overhead, while gawping at the rural views burnished by the sunshine. On days like this, on roads like this, I feel I could happily ride all day if I was able.

But other matters were unfortunately now pressing, and so I had to return home after a modest few miles, but it will go down as one of the best rides I've had for tranquil refreshment and enjoyment.

Only a brief ride, but they're all good aren't they. Full map HERE

Just A Ride In The Country.

Another fine day yesterday, and with mind and body (mostly) behaving themselves, another ride was in the offing. Just a poke of my nose around one of my regular loops, but it still turned out to be a very enjoyable ride.

Tregassow Lane is still flooded, despite a recent improvement in the weather. Not much chance of things improving just yet either, as it is once again belting down outside and has been most of the day.

The countryside felt particularly welcoming as I pottered about – the sun was warm, there was little to no wind, and the bird life was making its presence felt with lots of chirping, singing and chatting. It was all very pleasant indeed and one of those times when I kept stopping just to look around, listen and drink in the peace and rural calm.

This is what it's all about - sunshine, quiet lanes and rural views.

Hmmmm... Bike's a bit mucky...

I did stray off  my well beaten loop briefly for a quick mooch up Bodrean Lane. This is mostly lightly wooded up one side, and open fields on the other, and being flat, always makes for a pleasant ride. The trouble is it ends on the busy and narrow A39, so I go up, just to turn around and come back, but still. Everything seemed to flow nicely on the bike as well, with the aching legs of the last few rides apparently gone making for some easy cruising as Fatso and I bopped along having settled into a nice easy going rhythm, and just enjoying being out in the fresh air.

Just riding along...

It wasn't all joy though, as I caught sight of a furry lump lying on top of a hedge which turned out to be a freshly dead Badger. This didn't look the result of a hit from a vehicle, and people do kill Badgers and dump them to look like road kills, so I don't know what happened, but it was a sad sight.

I was particularly glad though to see not just the early Daffs flowering on the verges, but also Primroses starting to appear as well, adding colour to the drab green of the winter roadside. Not long now, thankfully, before the verges are a riot of colour and the jacket can be left at home as the days warm up – I can hardly wait!

When you see a tractor armed with a bale spike approaching, you make sure you get well out of its way...

The skies looked grumpy and threatening, but failed to drop any rain, for a change.

Once home again, it was time to give Fatso a good wash. I've always liked to keep whatever vehicles I've owned clean and tidy, but at this time of year it can be frustrating cleaning a bike properly, only to go out next ride and blather it in muck again. But also I was fed up of the grubby Fatso sullying my living room, so it had to be done, and after a goodly bit of scrub a dub dub, I once again have a clean and shiny bike to admire, and I may even give it a coat of wax too, just by way of a treat!

As can be seen, this was just a smallish ride, clocking just a whisker over 8 miles, but very beneficial all the same.

Bigger mappery can be found HERE

Another Visit To Newlyn Downs.

It was a crackingly crisp and sunny morning yesterday as I pointed Fatso's considerable front tyre in a northerly direction, intent on having some off road fun. Clear blue skies and bright sunshine were very welcome after the rain and wind that has been the default weather of the winter so far, even if strobing in my right eye was a bit of a nuisance riding along the tree lined part of the old A39.

 On the Bridleway that is the old A39 approaching Carland Cross. The new A39 is just over the fence, while my destination is just beyond the wind turbine just visible in the white of the cloud in the background. Getting there though means riding a fair bit further than a crow could fly it.

The Bridleway narrows slightly towards the end, but is still wide enough to allow farm vehicle access, hence the tyre tracks.

Destination for the day's manoeuvres was to be Newlyn Downs, a Site of Special Scientific Interest covering some 286 acres in total, and also the site of the old Cargoll lead, copper and silver mine. It is also the site of Carland Cross wind farm, and a good place for a bit of off road bicyclised bimbling, although the legality of that is a little open to question. Newlyn Downs is open access land, but all sorts of farm vehicles access it, they even hold Motor Cross events on it, so I'll plead ignorance and continue my potterings until someone in authority tells me to sling my hook. So far, everyone I've met, including the farmer's wife tending the cattle that roam the place, have been fine with me being there.

But I wasn't there yet anyway, as getting there by road means taking the long way round. Carland Cross is but a shotgun blast or two from my home, and the Downs just over the hill top, so not actually far, but there is no longer public access from my side of the A30, so I go all the way up to Carland Cross, then head back away from it again, then down into Mitchell before heading along the St Newlyn East road to access the Downs from the other side. Phew. But still, it's a pleasant enough ride on a nice morning, and all good exercise.

The Eastern end of Mitchell.

Mitchell is a fine example of a village rejuvenated by the re-routing of a main road, in this case the very busy A30. At one time villagers could barely stick their heads out of the upstairs windows for fear of losing them on a passing Scania's wing mirror, and all the houses were covered in traffic grime from the constant heavy flow of traffic through the village. Now though, all is quiet, flowers grow in beds, window boxes and on the verges, and the houses and pub look clean and tidy rather than sooty and wet weather spray splattered.

A short ride along the swooping lane later found me following the footpath ahem... following the muddy path out from under tree cover and onto the Downs. The whole area is made up of the ancient paths and giant spoil heaps of the old mining site, and now dominated by the seemingly random sprinkling of rather large wind turbines about the area. In places the land is permanently water logged and marshy, while various streams run red from the iron deposits in the soil. There are also quite a few capped mine shafts to be found, but even so, however cold you may be, this is not a place to stamp your feet. Cornish folk learned long ago to rub their hands together to keep warm in old mining areas, such is the honeycomb of unmapped tunnels beneath the surface, and the frequency of collapses.

Crack on! If it wasn't for all the mudguards on Fatso, I'd have ended up wearing most of this slop.

Unlike some old mining sites, there are unfortunately no ruins of old engine houses or ancillary buildings to be found, just a few circles of low and crumbling brickwork where there were once shafts or chimneys. The Cargoll Mine produced lead, copper and silver and below ground workings ceased in 1870, although existing stock piles and burrows continued to be worked for a few years after.

One of the few remnants of the mine infrastructure to be seen.

Other signs of the history of the site are the shaft cappings to be found in various places.

 Some of the single track is fast going...

Some of it slow, steep and stony.

 Despite there being two pipes to assist water beneath the track, the river here has washed away the surface since my last visit and attempts to repair it, probably by the local farmer, need further work.

 At one point, a misty rain fell despite the sun shining brightly, and everything went a weird colour briefly.

The turbines dominate the landscape here, and on breezy days make quite a noise too, but yesterday they weren't generating enough power to heat a teaspoon of water. More odd lighting as the sun went in and out and light rain fell.

Now the site offers narrow stony single tracks through shoulder high Gorse bushes and vast open spaces that could pass for the surface of some strange planet in an episode of Doctor Who. Nice on a sunny day, pretty bleak and hostile at other times. I've been here several times before and haven't yet explored half the site, but it's always good to leave something for a later visit...

After a good old potter about and the taking of a few 'selfies', I decided to head home via St Newlyn East rather than back the way I'd come. This is a pleasant little village, dominated in the centre by the church, and only slightly sullied by boxy and bland new build houses. The village also lies about four miles from Newquay, which is about as close to Newquay as I like to get, my jabs not being up to date n' all, so care must be taken to avoid taking the wrong road and ending up in the dratted place by accident. That wouldn't do at all. 

 One side of a long removed bridge that carried the Truro and Newquay Railway. Opened in 1905, the line even once boasted a through service to London, but closed in 1963.

 Just beside the remains of the bridge stands this cracking old shed.

 Fancyish looking facade no doubt instills pride in the band as members arrive for practice rather than just having a door into the plain building it actually is behind.

St Newlyn East Church, getting on for lunchtime too.

Whilst I was knocking about in the village, I thought I'd go and have another look at the Preaching Pit that is a bit of a well kept secret unless you do your homework before visiting. Passing by on the road all the traveller would see is a fancy iron gate in a big hedge, but inside is a terraced circular pit and platform where preachers once did their stuff.

The pit was originally a stone quarry that fell into disuse during the 1840s. It had also been the scene of cock fighting and wrestling, and preachers had used it as it offered shelter from the elements in bad weather.

One of a few Preaching Pits to be found round these parts.

In 1846 though, the nearby East Wheal Rose mine suffered a disaster when during a heavy thunderstorm, the mine flooded, killing 39 miners. It was decided to convert the old quarry into a proper preaching pit as a memorial to those who died, and the pit was properly terraced, and in 1852, a tea hut built beside the entrance. The site was restored in 2003 and is in use for various village functions once again.

From there, it was a pleasant potter along the lanes, a quick dodge across the A30, more lanes and home for a late lunch. A very pleasant morning's ride then – I just need to give Fatso a good wash now as he is rather blathered again, but there we go, all part of the fun I suppose.

Now this here map won't let me fill in all the riding around on the Downs I did, but the entrance is roughly at point number six on the map, with the site lying in the centre of the triangle formed by my ride and the A30. 

The full sized map is Here but the mileage shown is short, again thanks to not recognising the off roady bits. I actually clocked 17 miles for the whole ride.

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.