Hoi! Cycling Flipping UK... No!

Well as I mentioned in my last post, it was my birthday recently, and my age is really starting to hit home now. In fact, when you start to get old there's no escaping the fact you're getting on a bit and it can all get a bit depressing. Soon I'll have more hair in my ears than on my head, I think twice before buying green Bananas, and a bag for life suddenly doesn't seem a safe investment. Soon no doubt I'll be issued with my tartan shopping trolley with stainless steel front legs for superior ankle ramming, and a pair of those trousers that come up to my arm pits. I expect you get all that kind of thing when you first collect your pension, but thank heavens I won't need the pink or orange hair dye by then though, I'll be bald as a bowling ball by then I expect.

But the reminders are everywhere, and it's a bit of a shock when you realise you are watching the telly programmes and channels that identify you to marketeers as being a coffin dodger, so you get all those wonderful adverts like the Sun Life ads -

Daughter - "Dad, it's June"

Unnamed Dad holding binoculars- "Oh hello June"

June - "Are you off hiking?" 
Hiking? Have a word with yourself love, he's perving at the MILF next door, if he was off hiking he'd be holding boots, or a map you daft old bat... 

June carrying on - "The postman delivered this by mistake"
Hoi! June! Don't you go blaming the younger folk for your joint befuddlements, it was anonymous Dad the silly old bugger getting his house number wrong on the forms, the daft old twerp. He won't see Easter at this rate, he'll forget he's got the gas on and blow the house and his neighbours to kingdom come soon the way he's going on, you'll see. Not long now before he meets Elvis I'm telling you.

Anono Dad - "It's my Sun Life over 50 plan" blah blah...

But wait, I'm being unkind here 'cos what's this I hear in the oh so realistic dialogue, you get a free pen! Whoopee flipping do. What does an old person want with a free bloody pen? They've got drawers full of the things, a bed pan or a nice urn to put their ashes in might be more useful I reckon.

Then there are all those ads for incontinence products -

"My friend Susan is great fun, but she makes me laugh and whoops! There goes my bladder..."
Oh please, do you mind? I'm trying to eat my dinner here, I don't want images of women peeing their pants in my head thank you.
Be careful where you sit round Susan's house that's all I can say.

Suddenly, we seem to be surrounded by the failings of old age and the grizzly and trouser drizzly fate that will soon befall us.

Saga really eat my lunch too, they've obviously bought a list of names and addresses from somewhere complete with birth dates on and now hardly a day goes by without me getting some large print mail shot for old people's cruises down some German river or cheap insurance for the Honda car that has just had its gearbox reversed (why do old people drive at 35 mph in first gear, and 10 mph in fifth or sixth? Is that something else that happens when you collect your first pension - they send someone round to turn your gearbox upside down?).

So it's all a bit depressing really, but look, it's alright, I can still ride a bike and get out and escape all that doom and gloom for a bit and go and enjoy nature at it's best, and fight off the Reaper for a bit longer (unless I expire on some ugly steep hill somewhere) by maintaining a degree of fitness.

So there I was on Tuesday last, just returned home ruddy faced and feeling refreshed after a bike ride in the chilly but sunny countryside, when I spy the Cycling UK magazine 'Cycle' has arrived. Always a pleasant surprise that, as it's a good read and this edition promises some interesting stuff about long distance riding - something that I'd love to do if I was able, but enjoy reading about all the same. So I eagerly unwrapped the magazine and out fell an unmarked envelope... hello, looks like the bung a member of the cabinet might receive, or a drugs payment. Alas there was no sum of used notes inside, just some offer for holidays to Cyprus or somewhere equally hot and tummy troubling.

Then out fell another insert, another offer, this time for the flipping Oldie Magazine! Whaaat the f...  flipping hell?! Even they're at it now! Bog off with your crusty related offers you beggars!

Whoa whoa whoa... What's this? You taking the piss or what?  Don't you lot start as well...

I'll give you Oldie you cheeky buggers, I'll come round your head office and give you a good hiding with a rolled up copy of the Damart catalogue if you carry on like this. Flipping cheek.

Well Cycling UK really sucked my Werthers there, but I mustn't let it get to me, as I had just returned from another most enjoyable bike ride, so must stay positive through this doom laden onslaught - I'm not ready for my box just yet. Now, where are my glasses...

Tuesday was a cracking day for a ride, bright and sunny but with a knife like Northerly wind blowing the odd shower about here and there. Thankfully, mostly there.

 For such a cheap and cheerful bike, the Voodoo doesn't ride too badly at all for my needs. It is certainly very smooth, and also quiet in operation, not having a chainsawesque freehub like Fatso for instance. Riding slowly along the lanes all that can be heard is the crackle of tyres on gravel which is rather relaxing I must say.

The paint on the wheels is shockingly bad mind you...

Bright sunshine beaming down on me (the sun always shines on the righteous...) but someone is getting a good soaking, over Ladock way by the look of it.

Fuzzy photo alert - right click it and open in a new tab. Or maybe it's my eyesight that's going... 

Tregassow Lane was all awash in the usual places again, despite some half hearted attempts to ease the flooding by digging out the ditches in some places (the wrong places it would appear). This was taken between the fully flooded sections, but take it from me, it was flooded alright.

Random roadside Autumnessness, and more fuzzy goings on.

King Alfred's Cakes Fungus (also known as Cramp Balls - sounds like something a Roadie might suffer with) on a recently downed branch in Tregassow Lane.

Apparently, so legend has it, King Alfred once hid in the countryside and was asked to remove some cakes from an oven when they were done (just where exactly was he hiding for heaven's sake?). But old Alf fell asleep and the cakes were burned, and these Fungi are said to resemble the consequences of leaving a monarch in charge of your bakery.

These Fungi are inedible (and who'd want to eat one, really, I mean look at it...) but do make really good tinder. They need to be utterly dry (no shit...) but will take a spark from a fire steel quite readily and also will burn steadily but slowly, so ideal for starting camp fires or stoves.

At the far end of Tregassow Lane, atop the hill, stands the remains of a finger post. Navigation for strangers then isn't easy without a sat nav, you need to find a local to ask the way - "Tresillian? He's thattaway my 'ansum, not far, 'bout three blaaasts of a shotgun he is.."

Top end of the lane between Trehane Barton and Riverside.

So far I'd done rather well with the weather, the worst I'd suffered was just an occasional sprinkle of rain carried on the wind. I don't mind sprinkles. Sprinkles are fine.

The same spot, and I must admit to doing a bit of staging for this photo. I cleared a couple of other leaves away from in front of this bright one as it stood out amongst all the reds and browns on the bank like a beacon, and I wanted a clear shot of it.

The lanes were however very wet, very squidgy and very mucky, after some robust showers over the previous 24 hours or more. What a still photo can't capture is the sound of leaves dripping, and water trickling into the storm drains along the road. I saw only one car the whole time I was in these back lanes, so tuning into all the surrounding noises is always easy on these routes.

 Another ride, another Campion shot. But I am a fan of these little flowers, they seem to thrive in all conditions nearly all year round, and make for a nice little bit of colour in the hedges and banks.

A small patch of Gorse showing well too.

The signpost at Riverside that while it has escaped amputation, is still need of a little TLC.

It was just as I was taking this shot that it suddenly started hailing. No gradual smattering followed by incrementally heavier falls, this was a full on dumping of the stuff, bouncing off everything and getting into places no hailstone should ever go. I got on the Voodoo and made my way up the hill towards St Erme where the sunken, tree lined lane would offer more in the way of shelter, but the hail stopped as suddenly as it had started, like someone flipping a switch, and I actually didn't get very wet at all, just one or two bits that had got down my neck.

So that was a very pleasant ride despite the dodgy weather, and this oldie is still doing ok. Not great mind you, my back feels considerably older than the rest of me, and I shuffle about like a right old ruin when off the bike, but when on it, the freedom of movement I get feels very liberating, so knickers to the Grim Reaper chap, I'm not quite ready for my elastic waist trouser fitting and woolly lined slippers just yet.

Crappy mappage of the Bimblings. Tregassow Lane is points one and two, and Riverside at point three. Full mapping lurks Here

Now, has anyone seen my glasses?

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