Bridleway Bimbling.

As ever, any blurry looking photos, just right click and open in a new tab.

Muddy trousers, muddy boots, muddy tyres - I've been having some fun.

Before all that though, some news both good and bad.

Issue 20 of Boneshaker Magazine is out, and it's always a good day when the latest issue plops through my letterbox. Pricey, yes, but these sort of magazines are keepers, not read once and chuck in the recycling jobbies, these have more substance about them. Quality is the word here, the paper used, the design, the writing and reading, and the illustrations are all of the good stuff.

I'm a bit of a latecomer to Boneshaker, having only got the last four issues before this one, and a compilation book, but I've thoroughly enjoyed reading them all, and then reading them all over again.

Sadly though, we get to the bad news, this issue, issue 20, is the last one, and now Boneshaker will join The Ride Journal in my list of much missed publications. 

Both Boneshaker and The Ride were sort of 'hobby' magazines, put together by people with a 'proper' job to go to and for whom producing the magazines was where their spare time disappeared. Labours of love rather than a paying nine to five. So a shame to see them both cease publication, but better to go out on top though, when the quality of output is still high, than carry on in a half hearted manner, or sell out to some big publishing company or other.

Tyres are a funny thing. Not so long ago I swapped the tyres front and back on Fatso, to even out the wear a little bit and I've been having trouble ever since. I've read a lot of reports of Fatbike tyres self steering, and was glad that on Fatso this wasn't an issue on or off road. Bike and I just rumbled over anything as you'd expect really - no dramas. But since swapping the tyres round, the front end has been squirming and wriggling about on tarmac a fair old bit. This has baffled me, as the tyres aren't front or rear specific, you can bung 'em on either end, and both are fitted the correct way round for forward motion. I've dicked about with the pressures a bit to no avail, so it must just be having a slightly more worn tyre on the front, but not worn by much more it has to be said. 

Most odd, and setting off on a cold Saturday morning I wasn't best pleased to find the front end still writhing about after another change of tyre pressure. Oh well, this is the way things are going to be from now on I suppose, should've just left well alone.

Feeling a bit fitter physically than of late, I had decided on a bit of off road adventure was in order for my Saturday, and was bound for a favourite Bridleway that I've only previously ridden in the middle of Summer.

Dropping down the hill to Lanner Mill, which rhymes.

My cheeks and nose were as rosy as the red of my jacket given the rather bracing temperature on Saturday. T'was cold as a Penguin's Plums out, and before setting off I had not only donned Long Johns, but also silk inner gloves beneath my winter gloves - a relic from my motorcycling days. A little feel is lost in return for a bit of extra warmth, but I can put up with that. As it was, my Pasty Grabbers got flipping cold messing about with the tripod and camera setting this shot up, so I was glad to get the gloves back on, even if I couldn't feel the remote shutter release button with my thumb. 

Despite the chilly air, it was actually very pleasant out, not sunny but I don't mind that in Winter, and with very little wind - thankfully. 

The countryside was alive with the distant sounds of gunfire though, as various shoots were busy blowing slow moving birds to smithereens, and also a couple of smells. It may be winter but there was still an Autumnal pong in the air, a very pleasant whiff it must be said, but it was frequently joined a rather flatulent smelling odour emanating from the fields as crops of Cabbages are being harvested all around. 

Winter trees near Lanner Barton.

A random fly past shot out 'in the countryside' (a euphemism for I don't know exactly where this is as it's in the middle of nowhere).

I set up the DSLR on the tripod and made my way up the hill on the left of the shot and round the bend, ready to ride past the camera. I was just climbing on when three roadies came round the corner towards me wondering loudly what that camera was doing stood in the field. If I'd have known they were coming I'd have snapped them, as they'd have made a better photo here than the one I took of myself.

It is quite amazing just what can grow on the top of a granite bridge parapet.

After the bridge shot above, I mooched along the anonymous lane, heading towards Allet, and was rewarded at one point beneath some trees by the sight of a Fox crossing the road just in front of me. I love encounters like that, little moments of magic, whether the beast in question is a Mouse, a Fox, a Deer or Hare, or some airborne Raptor or another, these brief glimpses of wild life are always a bit special to experience.

Allet reached, I then turned onto the main road from Truro to the A30 and/or Perranporth, and despite having little more than a mile to ride, I still had a couple of high speed close passes, despite the road being of a decent width. Some drivers seem to be in their own little steel bubble with no fear or appreciation of consequences or repercussions. When I'm Prime Minister my first job will be to ban all in car safety aids, make all cars noisy, cold and draughty, and have wobbly steering and tyres fitted by law. Fill the insides with metal rather than soft touch plastics, and drivers might then drive a little more carefully.

In making cars ever safer, the manufacturers are actually making them more dangerous for everyone else using the roads. This though is nothing new, it goes back at least to the early days of Volvo promoting their ground breaking safety features and tank like builds, and the term 'Volvo Driver' becoming a byword for any conversation about bad drivers. The more vulnerable someone feels, the safer they will behave both towards themselves, and others.

Another step might be to make close passing vehicles fair game for any hammer wielding cyclist - make large hammers standard fit on every bicycle sold - panel bashing for the use of, and the riders not just immune from prosecution, but positively encouraged, rewarded perhaps, for giving any reckless driver's car a good bashing. That'd sort 'em.

Ah... I drifted off into the realms of fantasy there for a moment... back to the ride...

Now beat me on the backside with a rolled up copy of The Rough-stuff Journal, but knocking along the lane I took from the main road I caught a glimpse of my favourite colour of post mounted arrow guarding a path I'd somehow overlooked when scouring maps, both paper and online. Here was a very tempting looking Bridleway that I didn't even know existed! I must've ridden past it twice before too, so how I've managed to miss it thus far I don't know. 

Looking on the mappage once home, this Bridleway looks a stonkingly good one to ride - right up my street as it were, so rest assured I'll be back pretty soon to check it out. 

Down the hill from Tregavethan Manor, the road passes over the River Kenwyn, which pops up out of the ground not far from here, and runs right down through Truro and into the river there.

The (flipping fuzzy) view looking upstream. I had gone paddling again to get these photos, stood with water almost up to my ankles and with the camera on the tripod to allow slower shutter speeds. Waterproof boots are so liberating - no way would I venture into the water in the boots I wore in the past.

Another shot from in the River Kenwyn, this time from the downstream side.

The local BMW car dealer must have done very well from the people round here as every darned car that went over this bridge was a BMW of one flavour or another. I noticed this as nearly all of them slowed to a stop to gawp first at the bike, then at the scruffy twerp stood in the middle of the river. 

Just over the bridge, once I'd finished dicking about in the river, was my target, the Bridleway to Treworder.

The early part of the Bridleway actually carries motor traffic as access to a house and also farm traffic. Riding in these tyre tracks proved the easiest option here - the mud up the middle being very thick and clawing.

Fatso, even at this point in the proceedings and well into the track, was still looking surprisingly clean. It wouldn't last though, and bike and rider soon got mucky.

The find of the day - this rather old horse shoe, which is now in my back garden performing decorative duties. 

The track has got just a little muddier.

The going might've been wet, sloppy and gloopy, but there was still some colour to be found, even in the puddles.

A cringeworthy self portrait in Treworder Wood.

The Bridleway finishes up the side of a farm house at Treworder, where it joins the lane between New Mills and Threemilestone.

Remains of a downed tree in the lane twixt Treworder and New Mills.

The River Kenwyn again, and the bigger of the two fords at New Mills. Despite recent bad weather, the water wasn't running too deeply or fast, otherwise I'd have taken the path to the side. I rode Fatso through here once when it was running high and fast, and discovered, much to my buttock clenching surprise, just how much those big tyres get pushed around by the fast moving water.

Every one's a fuzzy one...

After the lung busting climb up from New Mills I had a quick chooch along the shared bike/pedestrian path into Shortlanesend. By now though, time was getting on and the Brain of Britain here had set off without bothering to take any lights, so it was time to get a shake on.

One of the hazards of hooning in the countryside - Country Dumplings on the racing line.

So with time being against me, I had me a bit of a thrash for home, to round off what had been a very enjoyable ride indeed. It's not often I ride hard like I did on Saturday as I pressed for home, well, riding hard by my standards anyway, but I got home feeling pretty darned good as it happens, very invigorated. 

Fatso meanwhile, wonky steering apart, handled it all with his usual aplomb, but is now rather muddy again, but there we go, you can't make an Omelette without getting your bike dirty.

Quick map of the route. The Bridleway is where the trace goes straight as an arrow through point number 7.

The full map can be found HERE although the map doesn't show the entire route, as I couldn't get it to track the return home from point B, which was the the same way I'd ridden out, so it shows the mileage as being short by about 4 miles.

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A Bit Of A Monday Melange.

Ah yes, I am definitely a coffee lover. Not a snob mind you, I will drink anything as long as it tastes good, including the cheapest of instants, but a life without coffee would be a bit much to contemplate really. The day doesn't start until the central nervous system has been booted up by a mug of the good stuff, and I must confess, I do drink quite a bit of the stuff.

I do drink tea as well, just supermarket cheap stuff, as I've heard all proper tea is theft... Ahem...

Anyway, moving swiftly on, although as I say, I'll drink pretty much anything labeled Coffee, I couldn't be without my Aeropress. After reading and watching so much guff about the thing for a several weeks, I finally took the plunge (literally) in January and now I'm utterly hooked. I love the coffee that comes out of it - smooth tasting and clean too - no gravel in the bottom of the mug or floating about in the liquid itself. Clean up is a piece of cake too, so much easier than with my Cafetiere/French Press. Although the latter looks smarter, more 'cool' and classical, the Aeropress knocks it into a cocked hat in every respect.

My beloved Aeropress and my favourite every day coffee, Asda's cheapo Italian - it's rather good and a bargain too.

I wouldn't make a very good product photographer though - random use of a vignette and odd choice of post processing, but in my defence, I was experimenting/dicking about rather than taking a serious shot.

Now I have seen the Aeropress procedure described as being a very mindful ritual. Well I'm all for mindfulness I have to say, it really helps me to stay on an even keel and it plays a big part of my Bimbling about, but I'm not sure I'd describe this particular coffee maker in such a way, mainly because of its looks and plasticky build. It's is perfectly up to its job, but just not made to classic or craftsman looks. That's the only reason I can come up with by way of explanation, but using it I don't find myself indulging in the moment at all. Now the drinking of the coffee, that I do indulge myself in.

But when it comes to mindful caffeinating, for me, nothing betters brewing up on the Trangia stove somewhere quiet in the countryside, as a read through earlier entries on this blog will show. But it is also something I haven't done for quite a while so I decided it was about time I had myself a coffee ride down to my favourite spot for such an event - beside the Tresillian River.

Friday was the first of December, the first day of winter, and temperature wise it really felt like it. It was cold although there wasn't any frost, the temperature was just above freezing, but there was once again a Northerly wind blowing, albeit only fairly lightly, but enough to make its presence felt, particularly on the face and ears...

It was cold enough not just to require the donning of the winter gloves for the first time in months, but also my long sleeved underpants and Shemagh scarf. Despite all that, I was still cold for the first few miles until both my body and the day itself warmed up a bit. 

The low but bright and watery sun made me extra wary of stuff coming up behind me whenever I was facing into it, but thankfully the lanes down to Tresillian are quiet affairs anyway.

You do find some strange things by the roadside sometimes. Last week it was a pair of pristine Pumpkins, fresh from the supermarket and just lying in the ditch.

On this ride, it was a crank and pedal - much butchered too. Someone had a tricky ride home by the look of things, possibly with some fresh injuries too as when a crank lets go all sorts of bodily bits become vulnerable to damage - wedding tackle and teeth in particular.

It really was a beautiful day on Friday, despite the chilly wind.

A favourite spot for photos this - the railway bridge on the lane to Tresillian.

The Wheel Inn at Tresillian dates back to the 14th Century, which officially makes it 'a bit old.' It is now Grade II listed and its claim to fame was it was the HQ for Sir Thomas Fairfax, a Commander in Chief during the English Civil War. 

But never mind all that, more importantly it was Fish and Chips Friday, and boy did I know it as later on, when I rode home past here at nearly one o'clock. The smell from the kitchens really made me feel hungry  and Fish and Chips would've gone down a treat in other circumstances.

Fish and Chips on a Friday is a bit of a thing here in the UK, and apparently it has its origins in Roman Catholic tradition, and not eating meat on a Friday, so Fish was the obvious alternative. It was also likely to be fresh on a Friday due to boats returning for the weekend after being out all week.

Not to be outdone, I had fish and chips myself that very evening as I sat down to watch Coronation Street erm... my foreign language news and current affairs programme. My fish and chips came out of my freezer though, so not exactly fresh, but still, there we go, and with both a dollop of Mushy Peas and a dollop of Baked Beans, along with a Pickled Onion, it was all rather tasty.

Told you it was a beautiful day.

This is the view the traveller on the A390 gets as he/she/unsure passes through Tresillian heading towards Truro, and along by the river. Shortly I'd be hanging a big left and following the trail that leads through the trees sticking out into the river up ahead. 

Bloody hell this one's fuzzy.

Not so long ago on seeing a Toyota Prius I would've sworn under my breath and cast my best disapproving scowl in the owner's general direction. Those things weren't popular in my house I can tell you. So beloved they are or were, of the superior and pompous, condescending, virtue signalling, baggy jumper wearing, tree huggers who proudly proclaimed their green credentials,  when in fact purchasing one of these things at the time was anything but green. Now Toyota build the Prius in factories around the world instead of only in Japan, their green points might have improved a bit these days, but for the first few years of their existence, the car a person already owned was far and away the greenest car they could own. One of the Universities published a top 20 green cars list and the Prius came 12th I think it was, behind a diesel Land Rover Discovery! It was all to do with whole life costs rather than the headline - 'It runs on batteries round town so must be green'

There was just such a snooty and smug owner in the village where I live, and he never quite got the hang of the fact that other people couldn't hear his pompousness approaching as the thing ran about on its batteries, and he would scowl and mutter at people who would unwittingly get in his way in the lanes - people like me!

So as you may have noticed, I'm not a fan of the Toyota Prius. Or at least I wasn't until I traveled about 15 miles in one, possibly that very one in the photo, as it was one of these taxis. The example I went in had been to the moon and back, as all good private hire cars have, with some silly mileage on it like 280,000 miles or something. Yet there were no rattles or squeaks, it was silent inside and the transition from battery to petrol was utterly seamless. Ok, it was a little revvy cruising along the A30 at 65mph, but the ride and drive, fit and finish, really impressed me, and apparently, for all its miles, it had been utterly reliable.

So I got things wrong - It wasn't the car's fault at all of course, but the aloof owners, so I must apologise to Toyota for all the rather robust mutterings I've made in the past, as it seems a really good car. I'd go for one of these over an all electric every day of the week if I was after a biff about and wasn't fussed about a normal petrol or diesel engined job, and I never thought I'd see the day I'd be saying that!

Ok, rant over, let's get back to Friday's pootle about in the glorious sunshine...

Take the left turn I mentioned earlier, and another immediate left and you find yourself on this very pleasant access road that actually leads up to Pencalenick School. Before long though, you take another left and onto the riverside Bridleway, but before that I had a stop to check out an old friend of mine...

Trevella Stream!

This stream pops up out of the ground just north of my home port and criss crosses several of my regular routes and haunts around the village. I nearly always pause when crossing it to hang my nose over the parapet and see what is going on, or maybe take a stroll up the banks a short way in each direction. One of the tracks I occasionally follow also runs parallel to this stream, so I'm well acquainted with it near home turf. But the stream does in fact wend its way across country and down into the Tresillian River, and this is it just before it meets the river. 

One day, if I was fitter and in possession of some welly boots, I'd like to walk along the stream from source to finish just to see where it goes and so on. I doubt I'll ever be able to manage it, not just for time spent walking doing my back in, but also for all the scrambling over obstacles that it would involve. It would be asking a bit much to attempt it unfortunately, but maybe I could do short stretches, we'll see.

Not a wellie, but my trusty 25 quid walking boots from Decathlon. I'm a huge fan of these boots, and this is why - completely waterproof, not a drop of water got in despite me wading about almost to ankle height while taking photos. For 25 Lizzies, I think that's rather good.

Turning off the riverside Bridleway a short way in and one finds the ruins of an old boathouse. A nice place to sit and take in the view, but I prefer just around the corner from here and on a sort of beach affair at the water's edge.

Aaarggggghhhh... flipping fuzzy photo posting!! Grrrr.... wheresmeflippingswearbox....I'mgonnaflippingpumppoundsintothatboxlikeamachinegun... 

Anyway... this is the Tresillian River and most pleasant it is too. Out of shot are the opposite wooded banks of St Michael Penkivel.

 I'm a sucker for a free sticker and a bit of shameless advertising in my photos.

I have found the Trangia can be a little reluctant to light easily when it's cold, so I left the burner out in the sun for a while before putting it in its stand and good ignition was achieved.

This was the tipple of the day, and my first time trying this particular flavour. As you'd expect, it was nothing offensive, although as these are sold as being 'three in one' jobbies, they do contain sugars so might be a tad sweet for some folk. But this made for a very tasty trailside mug of coffee, and it was all the better for having been made using a stove, rather than brought in a flask or bought from a Hipster in some coffee shop for a small fortune.

The wind soon meant me having to deploy the windshield to keep the flame under the kettle, but in the sun, it's chill was emasculated.

This is a very mindful way to drink coffee - I would advise anyone wanting to spend some quality time like this to not even use a gas stove, as they will boil water far too quickly. No, the Trangia's ten minutes or so to boil a single mug's worth of water ensures plenty of enforced idleness, and that is time best spent immersing one's self in the surroundings and enjoying the anticipation of the hot beverage to come. The coffee itself is just the end part of the whole process, and it's a ritual I always enjoy and take benefit from.

On this occasion it was the warming sunshine, the sound of the wind in the tree tops and the noise of some water birds or other - I'm not up on such things so couldn't identify the squawks and calls. On other occasions I've been treated to Kingfisher's zipping about, and the sound of Cuckoos and Woodpeckers, while I sat and waited for the kettle to boil. It's all rather splendid at this spot I must say.

Coffee supped, time for some photos...

 Usually, in the lanes, such a sight would be the remains of an old bin bag or some tattered agricultural wrap, but down here it's seaweed hanging in the lower branches of the trees.

Oh........ bother.... (I've run out cash for the swearbox now).

I did think I'd just head back the way I'd come, but decided that I may as well enjoy the day some more and ride the mile or so down the Bridleway to St Clement.

On the right is Tresemple Pond, a gert lump of water cut off from the river by the path.

St Clement.

In St Clement I paused to take in the surroundings, and after a few minutes a Mercedes Vito van with a folding satellite dish on the roof rolled into the small car park. Now I've seen these vans around before, they belong to the local BBC South West telly news crew, and I knew exactly what was about to happen, and later on that evening, I was dead chuffed to be proved right. But back to St Clement, the van stopped and out jumped a chap who as forecast, proceeded to take out a stills camera and a large telly camera thing on an industrial looking tripod. That was my cue to get out of there quick as I didn't want to end up on that evening's weather report! So I dialed in maximum thrust on the Voodoo's pedals and got out of Dodge fast.

Sure enough, during the evening's weather, they went to the daily segment where their camera man had been out capturing the weather and views somewhere nice, and there was St Clement, and the chap even replicated the shot I'd taken above of the tree with the church in the background! Pure coincidence of course but nice to know my photographic eye was in agreement with a pro!

Had I stuck around I don't doubt I'd have been asked to go and sit on the water's edge or something to add a little human interest or whatever. I've been on telly before, many, many years ago, and every now and again, I'm still reminded of the occasion by some mickey taking beggar or other.

Leaving Steven Spielberg there to do his thing in St Clement without little ol' me, I headed back towards home, with the sun now behind me, but also straight into the wind.

This is the same spot as the earlier photo of course, just in case you weren't paying attention.

 Swans on Tresemple Pond. This is a nice distance to have Swans I find, I'm not so keen when they're up close and expecting food...

Looking (fuzzily) back towards Tresillian.

Cracking views to be had along this Bridleway. In the photo directly above the little 'beach' and old boathouse where I had my coffee are just visible on the left bank at the head of the curve.

Right clicking and opening in a new tab is the only way to view these fuzzy photos.

The Voodoo carefully slung in the bushes, and also facing the wrong way for whatever reason. 

That was the last photo I took - I'm a beggar for machine gunning photos on the ride out, but on the way back going head down and thinking of lunch rather than taking more shots. So these reports always lack the full story photographically.

Anyway, I made my way back more or less the way I'd come (I added a bit on the very end of the ride), past the seductive smelling Wheel inn and so intent was I on getting home for some scvoff, I pedaled all the way up the ugly climb out of Tresillian on the Probus/St Erme road. That hill is bang out of order, it's a nasty basket alright, and I've only gurned and gasped my way up it once before, on Fatso as it happens, so I was feeling rather pleased with myself at not having bailed out on this occasion. My legs were utterly buggared for the rest of the ride home mind you, and it took me a while to get my heart rpm down and my lungs back in my chest, but I was feeling rather pleased with myself I must admit.

So that was Friday, and it was all very well but by the time I'd got home the Voodoo there was absolutely minging. I'd have flown up that hill out of Tresillian I reckon if the bike hadn't been weighed down by so much clug. A good old scrubbing was in order then.

Now a friendly chap on Flickr had suggested I do a shot of my bike fleet in my back garden (or the Nettle and Bramble Sanctuary as I like to think of it), so with the Marin and also Fatso being clean at the moment, an all clean fleet would be ideal. But it wasn't to be, and by the time I got around to things bicycle and garden related over the weekend, time and imminent darkness, were marching on, so I shot the bikes before giving the Voodoo, and the Jamis as that was a tad mucky too, a good clean.

Looking back, I should've got my step ladder out and gone for some height, but I was in a rush to bag something before it got too dark out, despite me using flash for the shots.

I like a bit of strobism, but it's not something I do a lot of, so thought I'd use two of my three flash guns to give the images a bit of a lift from the dull back garden. I haven't got any lightstands, so use tripods to mount the flashes, and also had the camera on a tripod too. 

I had the Canon 430 EXII camera left and the Nissin Di 622 camera right. Both at full belt and the camera on manual to better control ambient/flash light. The only issue was the Nissin was not behaving itself, and when it did deign to fire, I don't think it was doing it at the right time or on full power, as it wasn't contributing much in most of the photos.

I tiggered everything using my trusty Yongnuo remote flash and shutter triggers, which usually behave faultlessly, but maybe the one under the Nissin is in need of fresh batteries or something. The third flash gun I own is low powered and only any good indoors as a back light really, not up to this kind o'thang. 

This was a very rushed job though, and a rather unimaginative laying out of the bikes too. I'm sure I could've done a lot better if I had got my act together earlier and not been racing the onset of dusk!

But, with all the photoey guff packed away, I got on with the job of washing the two bikes at the back of the shot, finishing up in the light from the kitchen window, but I am now the proud owner of four clean bikes, a state of affairs that doesn't happen often I must admit.

Anyway, I have to get on and get some dinner before Coronation Street I erm... read War and Peace... ahem, so I'll leave it there, thus avoiding a prolonged rant about the hot topic of British Cycling this past week or so, that of the Government having a review on cycling safety and considering, if the matter is brought up, compulsory helmets and daygloey clothing. That has really ripped my knitting that has, or rather some people's responses to it all has. Fingers crossed the subject of compulsion of these items won't come up...

Right, mustn't get into all that... time for dinner.

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