Weather wise, Ophelia blew through here without doing much of note, but storm Brian over the weekend just gone was more of the sort of Autumnal hooley we're used to down here - Very wet and stroppy. I had been pondering getting out on the bikes more in bad weather recently, but I took one look out of the window on Saturday morning and thought chuff that for a laugh and headed for the internet instead.
But anyway, let's catch up with the rides and a few photos.
Last Friday, the 20th of October, I decided I'd go and have me some more off road potterings around Newlyn Downs once again.
It was quite chilly as I booted Fatso out of the village and wheezed my way up the hills towards Carland Cross. It was so chilly in fact that I was wondering if I should've worn full finger gloves instead of the usual shorty mitts, but as I'd hoped, both the day and myself warmed up as time went by. It'll be time for the long sleeved underpants soon enough though, I can't believe how fast this year has gone by.
Mitchell used to be on the hellishly busy A30, but is now a quiet backwater lined with clean houses and colourful gardens in place of the grime of years ago.
A glance over the hedge between Mitchell and Newlyn East and the old engine house and stack of East Wheal Rose is clearly visible. This mine was the site of a massive cloud burst and flash flood in July 1846 in which 38 miners were drowned. As a memorial to the miners lost, a pit was dug on the outskirts of Newlyn East which was used for preaching and village events, and is still in use today after being restored. After the disaster, the mine reopened and production continued until final closure in 1886. The engine house and stack are now on the site of the Lappa Valley Railway.
Some giant Daisies by the roadside just out of Mitchell. Unusually clean looking given their proximity to the road, and the recent bad weather, they made an eye catching sight as they basked in the morning sun.
The ride to the Downs was pretty uneventful stuff, which is a good thing really, I don't like too much excitement, and soon enough, I reached the place where I leave the road. I turned up my collar, had a furtive look around to see if anyone was watching, and lifted the bike over the low stile and onto the erm... footpath that leads onto the site. I'm a rebel me. The site itself is designated as public access land, and other than motor vehicles being most unwelcome, there is nothing said about who else is or isn't allowed there, so until someone tells me to beggar off and not come back, I will carry on riding on the site. I don't see what harm it could do anyway, farm vehicles travel around as believe it or not, there are often cows roaming about. What the hell they eat all day is beyond me, it really is. The place, quite literally, is a tip, and a push bike is most unlikely to do any damage.
Oh... erm... Footpath eh? Erm...
Last time out Fatso was struggling for grip as I still had too much air in the tyres. Before this ride then I lowered the pressures (aired down in proper Fatbike parlance...) and harmony was restored. Last week I'd have left smeared tyre tracks in cluggy mud like this as bike and pilot slithered about and spun the back wheel. Now though, we're back to having great grip and traction.
I could say that I got my calculations wrong, and chopped my head off in this photo, but I won't, and instead will pretend that I wanted a close up sort of shot all along...
This site used to be home to the Cargoll mine, but the only harvesting done now is of the wind, it being home to the huge wind turbine, propellory fan things that dominate the skyline at Carland Cross.
The mine was another Lead mine principally, although Copper, Silver and Arsenic were also extracted. Mining below ground ended in 1870 but stock piles were worked for several years beyond that. Today, other than the rather bleak wasteland and mounds of spoil, there is very little to see of what went on here. Just a few capped shafts visible, and some random bits of brickwork, overgrown with Gorse and Heather.
What it offers me though is some easy off road riding with the scope to mix it up a bit if I feel up for some fun. Unlike places like Idless Woods, it isn't teeming with people, and the whole time I was there, I saw only one other human being - a friendly lady out walking her dogs.
Usually when I go to the Downs, I leave at the Western edge via an access road to the turbines and other installations that are fenced off, and pop out onto the main road West of Newlyn East. On this day however, I fancied a bit more of a poke around, and so made my way out by the same way I'd come in, and headed for Newlyn East along the lane.
The Newlyn Downs site is vast, and offers all sorts of riding, from nidgery nadgery over rocks along what appears to be a stream bed, to dicking about on the mounds of spoil and cruising along on the flat. I'd love to be up here at night, in a big thunderstorm, I bet it's very eerie and spooky. Flipping dangerous too I expect!
Wey hey! The bend by the Church in Newlyn East is a beauty for hooning round.
The church of St Newlina in St Newlyn East (I, like many others, drop the 'Saint' nowadays and just call it Newlyn East). At this time of year it's much easier to get a clearer photo of the building.
The Methodists have an altogether much plainer buidling, but outside lurks another rather fine fingerpost.
By now, it was lunchtime, and didn't I know it. Passing near the pub, The Pheasant, I caught a whiff of the kitchens preparing the lunches the pub is well known for, and worse came as I rode past the shop and got a nose full of the smell of hot pasties. This was cruelty, it really was, and I abandoned any plans of bimbling my way home and got my legs working hard. I was hungry, and could smell, and taste, the Minestrone soup I was going to have for lunch.
It was while I was piling on the coals that I became aware of an unwelcome noise. In my last blog post I mentioned how there is always something needing doing on your bikes, and so it was about to be proved again. I could plainly hear a sort of clacking/tinkling sound, only when pedaling though, so stopped a couple of times to investigate, without tracking the source down. During one of these stops a Land Rover Discovery stopped beside me and the lady driver asked if all was ok and if I needed any help. The kindness of complete strangers is a theme you'll see in any number of round the world type cycling books, but it's not just the case in far off places, it applies equally well home here too. I thanked her for stopping, and assured her I was fine and carried on tinkling further. With the noise getting ever worse I stopped again and finally found the culprit to be the right pedal. Clearly a bearing was breaking up inside or something, but not to worry, the DMR V8s on Fatso are rebuildable, and have grease ports so maybe, fingers crossed, a bit of TLC would be enough to sort it out. Knowing what it was now, I got pedaling once again and made good time back home, with only a delay crossing the A30 again to contend with.
There's something about the lanes and countryside in Autumn/Winter that I find really appealing. I like the higher contrast and lack of bright colour, and all the wet and muckiness too, despite it making for a mucky bike all the time. I don't know, I struggle to explain it, but there's a sort of authenticity about the countryside at this time of year, it's the real countryside rather than the sun dappled picturesque picture that springs to mind when the English countryside is mentioned.
It probably goes back to living on the edge of the countryside as a kid, and having lots of good memories of Autumn.
It's also nice to get home and into the warm and dry! Nothing beats getting out in the cold and damp, maybe getting a bit wind blown, then getting in where all is still, quiet and comfortable, and having something like toasted crumpets with a strong coffee.
Instead of going straight inside though I thought I'd sort the pedals out straight away, no doubt the left could do with some grease as well, and it's only a five minute job. So I fished out the syringe, the pot of grease and the tiny Allen key needed to access the grease port and set about the right pedal. Only trouble was, the Allen bolt just would not budge. No amount of pleading, threatening or swearing would shift it, so that was that. I did squeeze some grease in the slot around the spindle, and bizarrely, it seemed to quieten things down. Once showered and fed, I got on the net to look at getting a rebuild kit, only to discover it would be cheaper to buy a new pair of the same manufacturer's V6 pedals. Now I like those pedals a lot, more so than the V8s truth be told, so knickers to messing about rebuilding them, I've got some new V6 jobbies on order from Chain Reaction Cycles instead. They're plastic, and you can't strip them for greasing or anything, but have a good sized and shaped platform, with very grippy pins, so my feet feel more secure than on the V8s.
Now, so smoothly was the pedal sounding again, that come Sunday I took Fatso out for another ride, just around my local area this time, to see what havoc Storm Brian had wreaked the day before.
The answer was not much, other than large quantities of water lying about along Tregassow Lane as usual, and a few sticks and twigs in the lanes.
Sunday morning after the Saturday the day before. Or, to put it another way, the day after 'Brian'. Tregassow Lane, as expected, was awash, so it was out with the GoPro and let's get splashing.
Tregassow Lane.
And peering over the bank made for a lot of noise and scurrying about as I startled about half a dozen Pheasants.
The sun was out, but it was still pretty turbulent as the tail end of Storm Brian lingered before easing down just after lunchtime.
This pretty much sums up the ride yesterday - wet and twiggy.
Bodrean Lane lies off Tregassow Lane, but I don't ride along it often as it just leads to the A39 and I've no interest in tangling with that particular road. But it is a pleasant enough lane to mooch along, especially at this time of year.
On the bridge over the stream on Bodrean Lane. I knew there was a photo here somewhere, but wasn't really finding it. Nothing for it then other than to get my feet wet...
So in I waded, armed with the tripod to get some longer exposures. I took a load first with the G1X, then slopped ashore and fetched out the 450D and waded right back in again.
All that effort and soaking wet feet just to get blurry uploads... My boots are waterproof, up to a point. I exceeded that point quite comprehensively, standing in water well above my ankles, and indeed, above the tops of the boots. So the remainder of the ride was a squelchy affair, but once warmed, you don't notice the water in your socks and boots much. Not in warm weather anyway.
Bodrean Lane. The last time I came along here I got into a fight with a sheep, trying to push it back through the fence it had got its head stuck in... I eventually succeeded thankfully, and managed to push the dim witted ruminant's head back through the hole despite it trying to head butt me in the opposite direction.
Sweet Chestnuts making for a crunchy ride at times.
On getting home, I thought it was high time Fatso got a good scrubbing, so I now have a peachy clean bike in my living room again, along with the most pleasant pong of chain lube and GT 85. The Marin is sat next to it, and is slightly mucky, not enough to warrant fishing it out and cleaning it at the same time I did the Fatty mind you, so I think that'll be up for the gig come my next ride, let's get that one properly grubby, then I can get it clean again afterwards!
Right, I'm all behind again, so no map this time, and no time for proffreading, I've got to click publish and get my dinner going... I could eat a horse between two bread vans I'm that hungry...
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