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.
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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