So imagine how pleased I was when shopping for some brake cleaner recently to find that the good folk at Amazon have started to make all this a bit easier for the prospective shopper:
I didn't buy the brake cleaner from Amazon though, I got a can from Evans instead as they are a Ginger Positive retailer (I am a member of the Ginger Nation, or at least was, my bonce is a bit Shredded Wheat in colour these days). Oh and they were knocking the cans out at £2.49 in their clearance sale and to hell with whether a product is Unisex, for left handers (as I also am) or for Gender Blenders, if it's cheap, I'm all over it like a tramp on an unattended pasty.
But, despite my confusion, I am a man of the noughties, and not afraid to display my feminine side, as can be seen by the old rattlemonger Carrera:
Yup, the old warrior bears the mark of the female. Bought as as a donor bike on which to hang some better parts from another bike that had suffered a terminal frame fracture, I didn't even notice it was a woman's velocipede I was wrangling. To be honest, I don't know the difference, as the Subway models all have a crossbar and so on. Maybe the women's bikes have smaller frame sizes though, as despite being a 'large', the old wreck was always a bit on the small side for me.
I don't just ride a girl's bike though, being single again, I also identify as Buysexual.
If I want sex I have to buy it.
Meanwhile, if anyone is wondering what gender they should ride like, have a gander at this video: Ride Like A Girl.
It's only a few minutes long, but Lee Craigie speaks very wise words indeed. Well worth a watch and listen. (I'm flipping jealous of the way she effortlessly picks up her bike and swings it about a bit though... wish mine were that light).
Right, enough of all that, let's have some photos from Sunday's Bimble.
It's daft to think that at the turn of the year I'd never ridden the roads around Lamorran, but yesterday I set off on my fourth sortie round those parts, and all this despite my first ride around there ending in pain wracked disaster as I ricked my back a good'un.
I had in mind to make good time early on, and keep pedaling rather than stopping at every gate and fence post for a photo, but that ambition came to a swift end less than a mile out from home as I found some fly tipping worthy of a photograph. Unfortunately crap like this is becoming as much a part of the countryside these days as funny smells and gert big hairy arsed animals.
Crap in the lanes and a crappy upload to match. Both make me angry, but the fly tippers far more so.
As usual, a right click and open in new tab on any fuzzy photos will see them sorted.
The forecast was for a bright day, but what I got was overcast and drizzly at times, but hey ho.
More fuzziness... Grrrr...
This is Ladock and the bridge over the Tresillian River. Those weeds growing against the parapets might not look much at first glance, but...
... there is plenty of colour to be found in them.
The bridge carrying the mainline over the Ladock to Probus road. This section of the lane is always dark and damp, being heavily wooded and with a stream nearby to add a bit of humidity to the air.
The bridge identification sign for the engineering folk. MLN is the Paddington to Penzance mainline via Bristol, and the bridge is 294 miles and 32.5 chains from Paddington.
The weather forecast promised a bright day, but with an excitable wind to ruffle my riding, gusts of around 30-35 mph apparently, but I'm a Bimbler, and whilst I hate plugging into a stiff wind as much as the next rider, there are no Strava KOMs or Wattage Bazookas at stake, so cogging it down and chooching a bit slower is the order of the day. In fact, heading right into the wind, as I did at times, was quite pleasurable and invigorating as I drifted along feeling the wind rushing up and down the contours and swashing the tree tops noisily above me. It's pretty cool watching the wind too, as it speeds across fields, rippling the crops as it goes, a bit like watching the waves rolling up to a beach, but without the surfers, or the sewage.
I give up... flipping fuzzy photos are doing my nut in...
Copydex and Bostik getting some exercise in downtown Probus.
No such luck for this chap, and the first of two dead things that caught my eye on this ride.
A lot of this ride involves fairly ordinary lanes like this, but no matter, I would ride them all day if I could.
Oh hayup, the sun has come out, must be summer today then!
Looking back towards Probus which, apart from the pointy bit of the church, is lost in the hazey bokeh back there.
The lane leading from Lamorran to St Michael Penkevil hugs the Lamorran River briefly, but it's difficult to photograph given the steep sided and heavily wooded banks, but you do get the odd glimpse of something through the trees here and there.
Random flower growing in the hedge.
The countryside seems to have really exploded recently and some fresh growth is still going on.
Obviously I was taking a few photos here and there, but on this occasion, the focus was more on the ride and my surroundings. Compared to my last ride round these roads, it was very quiet and peaceful. On that occasion I found myself swimming against the flow of traffic heading to the Tregothnan Estate open day, after inadvertently (that's my story and I'm sticking to it...) finding myself going the wrong way along the temporary one way system. Yesterday though it was just me on the roads and a few coffin dodgers in their Sunday best pointing their Toyotas home from church.
Hitting the top of the hill and turning the right hand bend near St Michael Penkivel (kevil and kivel - one is the parish, the other the village. Or maybe someone just couldn't remember how it's meant to be spelt) saw that wind up my chuff and the Jamis and I were positively flyin' along the lane and down the long drop into Tresillian. Any bicyclist will tell you how quiet everything goes when you turn the wind behind you, and I was treated to one of the great pleasures of riding - the hiss of tyres on tarmac and the rhythmic whirring of a well oiled chain as the road disappears beneath the wheels with effortless ease. Since fitting the rack and panniers I am also treated to a bit of constant but not irritating squeaking as the panniers move against the rack, which reminds me of the squeaking seats in the ancient coach that took me and my short trousered colleagues to primary school back in the 1960s.
Top of the hill between Merther Lane and St Michael Penkivel sees this rather splendid view open up. That's the Tresillian River and just visible on the left is the mouth of the Truro River which joins it.
The rather splendid looking old school building at Merther Lane, now used as a village hall.
Merther Lane folk have to get up early to catch the post, especially on Saturdays.
Moderately decorative railings adorn the walls, but the gate in must've been replaced at some point as it's very plain and boring, not matching the railings at all. A very poor show that.
If the traffic doesn't get me, the hill up out of Tresillian might one day. No wonder the village cemetery is at the bottom of it, and they probably keep a hole or two dug spare to cater for the unwary cyclist or walker that ventures up that road. Like most of the hills in the lanes round here, it's only a short slope, but by crikey it's beastly steep and on all but one occasion has sucked all the power out of my meagre legs and seen me pushing to the summit. Even pushing is a pain for me though, as I have to keep the bike, and therefore my arms, in close to me to avoid straining my upper back. No holding the bars and pushing hard for me, I have to hold the steerer tube with my right hand which is not very efficient, and means I keep finding the left pedal with my right heel. So that hill and I aren't the best of friends, but still, it has to be done, and once my lungs had recovered and my eyes stopped bulging it was a short bimble home, although I do take a longer way round my home village than is strictly necessary, but that is just to avoid another long slog up a hill.
On the lane between Tresillian and Trispen/St Erme. I had a quick stop here, not to take this photo, but instead to plunder some bounty...
So there I was, mooching along and pondering the day's ride when I saw something in the road ahead... ah ha! I thought, more stuff to blag, a discarded bungee cord. Then as I got close and prepared to stop, I saw it wasn't a bungee but a snake... Snake? Yikes... SNAKE!!! Wibble, gibber, squeal... (I don't like snakes...) but having stopped panicking long enough to let me tentatively take a bit of a closer look, I discovered that A - it was dead, and B - it was a harmless Grass Snake, so C - I hadn't needed the second bike clip I'd put on my left trouser leg after all.
By now I was feeling quite the brave adventurer and got in close with the camera but if this thing had twitched its tail I'd have been off faster than a bride's nightie. Snakes and Spiders - just no.
Having stopped for the hooperchooped snake, I then noticed lots of these rather attractive flowers in the banks on both sides of the lane. Thanks to a friendly chap on Flickr from 'up country' (well south Devon) I now know these are Pencilled Geraniums and have jumped the hedge from the garden of the large guest house nearby.
To get in close I had to fish out my trusty old Canon G7, which is an antique these days, being 9 years old now, but it does something my G1-X won't do, and that is get in close. The Macro on the G1-X is a load of tripe, with a minimum focusing distance measured in many Great British feet, hence why I carry the old, and inferior in every other way, G7 about with me. It took some patience to get a photo at all though as the wind was blowing right up this lane and these flowers (this is a nicely isolated example, there were loads more around but not as large or neatly formed as this particular one) were getting a right flapping about.
This is the bounty I alluded to above - an Ash log that was just lying beside the road. Despite appearances, it went in the right pannier with space to spare, but by crikey it didn't half add some weight. The uphill bits made my face fold up with effort, but the plummets down the other side were superb! So why bring an old log home? Well it'll make a sort of crappy feature beneath a bush in my garden. I'd like to have a 'wild' garden to attract wildlife and so on, but being in a renter, I have to keep things looking neat and tidyish. But I can bring in a few bits of the countryside to rot down and also lend a slightly rural, woodland look to the back garden. I've brought home various bits of bark and wedge shaped bits cut to start a tree felling, Pine Cones and random rocks and pebbles, all to add a little something to the garden. Quite what that something is I don't know, but still...
The usual crappy map of the route, but the better version can be found Here
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