A Big Rant and a Couple of Rides.

Well after my last ill advised ride in the rather less than exciting snow we had recently, my back recovery was set back rather, as what had been an improving spine got the hump with my rash decision to give it some work to do, and decided to go back to giving me grief again. So that wasn't much fun, but once again some intensive rest and much downing of Paracetamol saw things recover enough to enable me to get back in the saddle recently. So that was good, as I was starting to climb the walls what with being stuck at home and somewhat immobile. 

It's never fun being stuck home and unable to do much - for some folk it means being curled up on the sofa watching daytime telly, but I just can't bring myself to do that, and I haven't got a sofa anyway. So I spend the time on the internet usually, and once my usual haunts have been checked for updates, and checked again, I tend to wander off and investigate what is going on in the wider world.

Well it appears this country at least, is going to hell, it really is. Nothing to do with Brexit though, but everything to do with the professionally offended virtue signalling Snowflakes and their rabid Political Correctness. 

Nothing it seems, is safe from these self absorbed, self important, attention seeking morons who pump themselves up full of self righteousness and take to Twitter and Facebook to wage hashtag war on some business, individual or even history, and who wimperingly take to their 'safe spaces' as soon as someone with a differing opinion comes along in case they become traumatised. 

By crikey my patience has been sorely tested by the daily reports of self entitled imbeciles whining about something new that really is none of their business. What really grinds my knackers though is why these wet dipshits are pandered to, why don't businesses just say something like "Thank you for bringing our attention to the boys T-Shirt we sell with the slogan 'Dad's Little Helper' and your concerns that it is gender stereotyping. We have spent five seconds thinking about the matter and concluded your opinion is irrelevant and stupid, and you would be better served moving on with your life and worrying about something that is actually important. In short, f*ck off and mind your own business."

The trouble seems to be everyone is so scared of being called out on Social Media that they have to give in to these cretins and give them what they want - validation by way of an apology and the offending item being taken off sale or whatever. 

What sort of person thinks they have the right to go through life without being offended by such petty irrelevancies as are being brought up on a daily basis by these spinally deficient idiots? What would their ancestors, who lived through real hardship, wars and so on, and who these vacuous morons have to thank for bringing them into this world, think of their great great grandsons and grand daughters and the 'hardships' these snowflakes now find so distressing?

Oh and what the hell is going with gender these days? I cannot count how many stuffs I don't give what gender someone is or thinks they are that day - be whoever or whatever you want, I really don't mind, nor care actually, it's none of my business, just don't expect me or anyone else to somehow magically guess what the correct way to address you on that particular occasion is. 

In an ideal world there wouldn't need to be Political Correctness, it wouldn't be a 'thing' at all if everyone treated each other with respect and good manners. But it isn't an ideal world and never will be, so it's only right and proper that certain issues are addressed, but, as with Health and Safety, some idiots take the idea and run with it, as far and as fast as they can, and what a joyless, empty flipping world we are potentially creating as a result. I pity kids of today and the beige, bland future that awaits them unless the tide of moral outrage can be turned and commonsense rediscovered. 

The worst bit of all this is that here I am getting wound up and offended by these people, just as they are getting offended by white people with dreadlocks and whatever else it is they are whining about yesterday, today, and tomorrow... That makes me one of them... Aaaarrrrgggghhhhh!!!

Grrrrr....

Anyway, rant over, let's restore some much needed balance, (things aren't actually as bad as they might seem... I do realise that, well, so far anyway) think happy thoughts, and get back to a bit of quality Bimbling.

Good news! Spring is... erm... Springing!

Whoop! Reasons to be cheerful - part one: The Daffs are starting to flower. 

Soon the countryside will be awash with bright yellow vibrancy as the commercial grower's efforts come to fruition along with the freelance wild jobbies that highlight the verges and hedges along the lanes. The flowering of the Daffodils is always a sign of better times just around the corner.

After being stuck indoors so long with my temper slowly coming to the boil, it was great last Thursday to get out again at last and go for a potter in the rural sunshine. There was quite a fresh breeze blowing mind you, but t'was a friendly one - a South Westerly, not the eye watering, bitingly cold Northerlies or Easterlies we've been suffering of late (last time out I saw a bloke trying to break his dog off a lamppost it was that cold...) 

Part of the beauty of bimbling about lanes like these is their ability to relieve you of the concept of time. I don't feel dressed without a watch, and even continue to wear one when it isn't working, and also as an ex bus driver, I have a pretty well developed sense of passing time. Normally that is. 

But once I'm on the bike and enjoying the sun on my face and the breeze on my knees, (oh good grief that was cheesy) then all consciousness of time usually falls by the wayside and I can lose whole hours while bimbling about - suddenly realising my growling stomach is telling me it's lunchtime when it felt more like eleven am or something.

This old boy, a tripod no less, isn't usually bothered when I ride through the middle of Hay Farm near Boswiddle, and he usually barely registers my presence as he lies napping in the road, but on this day, for some unknown reason, he got the hump with me and started making a right old song and dance, barking and howling as if his nuts were being crushed in a vice or something. Yonder mooey was less than impressed by this outburst too by look of it.

Space to breathe.

The compulsory stop at Boswiddle Ford.

Hmmmm... what went on here that left a couple of feathers atop the wall I wonder. Probably just a gust of wind that blew them there...

View from the footpath that dodges round the ford at Boswiddle.

As ever, if a photo looks blurry, right click and open in a new tab sorts it out.

Thursday was obviously National Barky Dog Day as entering the hamlet of Penhale I encountered another shouty pooch. But this one was having some sporting fun, his furiously wagging tail being a give away, as was the 'chase me - chase me' way he took off and then returned a couple of times while I was lining up a photo. If their tail is down between their legs then I'm much more wary of a barking dog, this one was up for playing some games though.

Reasons to be cheerful - part two: The Primroses (or 'First Roses' apparently) are also starting to appear. Also known as Primula Vulgaris, which sounds a bit unfair for such a pretty, brightly coloured, flower. But then I moved in closer to get a better shot and it hissed menacingly "Piss off big nose" at me...

Not so welcome a sight on the roadside is all the litter. I've often brought odd bits home with me that I've come across when stopped for a photo or whatever, but now I've decided to go out and actually pick litter up along the lanes properly. I'll be using the bigger panniers from the old Clatterbus Carrera, and just this morning, a cheap long reach grab/litter picker thing arrived in the post. Litter has always bugged me, and my opinions of those who chuck crap about are best not repeated here, so it's time I did something about it locally. It'll give me something useful to do as well, seeing as I'm not working at the moment. Not every ride will be a litter picker, just now and then I'll head out with the sole intention of scooping up some crap.

Last shot for this particular ride and a peaceful rural scene. Well it looks that way, but that turbine was going like the clappers in the strengthening wind and making some quite dramatic swooshing noises.

Encouraged by completing a trouble free ride and invigorated once more by the great outdoors I headed out again last Saturday, this time on Fatso, for a mooch down through Idless Woods and into the Hamlet of Idless itself.

I love this tree at Treworgan Vean at this time of year, but it's a beggar to get a decent photo of. Another sunny morning though, the better days are starting to outnumber the grotty ones at last.

More Primrosery colour, and this one much more fetching than the more common yellow variety. The bank on the opposite side of the road is full of yet to flower Daffodils so it will truly be a blaze of colour along here shortly.

I don't normally like laying my bikes down, and that is why I carry a collapsible walking stick with me to act as a prop, but sometimes sheer laziness gets the better of me and Fatso gets to lie down.

I've just added Ergon grips to this bike to match those fitted to the Marin and Jamis. I'll be getting some for the Voodoo soon too as they are a very worthwhile addition in my opinion, making for a very comfortable grip.

I took the main central path through the woods on this occasion, as my last outing along the upper and then lower paths made for some very boggy going and cycling in several directions at once at times as well.

This path is hard packed and has a pronounced camber to each side so drains really well. Not only do bike and rider stay much cleaner but I don't leave big tyre tracks through the countryside either.

Looks quiet doesn't it. It's typical though that as soon as I set up the tripod and camera for some selfie action, so loads of people and their dogs showed up and I waited ages to get a clear shot. I did meet several friendly dogs though, they're always fascinated by my gear and bike on such occasions and like to have a good sniff around. The main thing is to try and stop the beggars cocking a leg over my camera gear or bike though...

Reasons to be cheerful, part three: The Snowdrops are out! (of course). Now Snowdrops are a domesticated escapee apparently, and where you find 'wild' Snowdrops you'll also find a garden or two nearishby, or so I've read. So anyone who gets utterly lost and finds some Snowdrops, well they can be followed in a line more or less towards salvation.

At the same location is the old Scawswater Sawmill that is thankfully preserved and given a new lease of life as a residential property. The river is the River Allen.

More Snowdrops at the same location, and sure enough, they do stretch along the roadside away from the garden of a rather posh house on the edge of Idless. So I could've followed them on my hands and knees if necessary to get help. Or just followed the road they are beside, that would work too...

That was it photographically for that ride as the photos I took subsequently were a bit crap so rattled the Windows Recycle Bin within seconds of them transferring from the memory card.

So it's been good to get back in the saddle and poking my nose about again, and the emergence of Spring flowers really gives the spirits a much needed lift after such a wet and windy Winter. A much needed antidote to all the perceived hassles and wretchedness of modern life too - a very effective balance and perspective restorer! To hell with all the dickwit fugnuggets, social justice warriors and PC snowflakes, leave 'em to it, I've got all this countryside to enjoy right on my doorstep, and when I'm out in it all the professionally offended become as irrelevant as their stupid opinions, and that is a very good thing indeed.

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At Last! Snow!

Well alright, a little bit of snow. No huge drifts, no villages cut off, no skiers hooning down the slopes of the Cornish Alps, not even any schools closed - that is how little snow we had yesterday morning, and anyone who knows how readily some schools lock their gates at the merest threat of a cold snap will realise we're not talking about snowmageddon here.

But yesterday morning as I levered myself out of bed and peered out the window, there was indeed snow falling, and settling too, albeit only in the kerbs and hedges. Not enough for the local kids to make a snowman, uh-uh, not even a snowborrower to be honest. A white out it was not.

But snow is snow and down here in Cornwall we have to make the most of what little we get so I was still quite excited and vowed to get out on Fatso at some point, even if you'll see a heavier coating of whiteness atop a sponge cake.

The main question though was when to get out for a ride? Leave right then and make do with what little there was or wait and see if any more snow fell and things got a bit more picturesque? My back was still giving me grief so I knew that I'd only really manage a single ride so I consulted the weather forecast as provided by the Met Office. Now I do give these forecasts some stick now and then, but I'm happy to also give them praise when they get it right, and they certainly got it right yesterday morning. The graphics showed an 80% chance of snow around 10 am and again at 12 pm, with a drop off in between. So I waited a while, had some coffee and set off just before 10.

See what I mean about not having much to brag about in the snow stakes? This was the state of affairs along my beloved Tregassow Lane as I winced, grimaced and gurned my way about the countryside.

Ah yes, now I mentioned my back was still a bit tricky, well it was very tricky. Even on Fatso which gives the least harsh ride of all my bikes courtesy of the fat tyres, I was still getting pain rocketing up my upper back, across my shoulders and chest with every lump or bump in the road, even though I know where all the bumpy bits are and can brace for them. It was painful going, and when I say I was Gurning, I mean it. For those outside of the UK and wonder what Gurning is, it's pulling a face. So imagine if you will seeing a cyclist riding along pulling faces, like this...

Or this...

Even this...

And you will get the idea. Those are web found photos by the way, not actual photos of me, I'm not as handsome as those chaps.

So anyway, riding and photographing was turning out to be a struggle, but there was snow fer heaven's sakes! I spend all winter praying for snow so when we get some staying home is not an option!

It wasn't just an iddy biddy bit snowy, there was ice about too, most notably across the top of puddles. This here entrance to a field has been a muddy quagmire lately, best avoided, but yesterday it appeared to have a good covering of ice. The puddles certainly did, and a tentative poke of a toe suggested the muddy ground was nicely frozen too. 

Well, first appearances can be deceiving, as as soon as I trod with my left foot and attempted to wheel Fatso across a puddle, the icy crust gave way with a crunch and my boot plummeted into the gloopy glunge and Fatso's wheels broke through and into the icy water. The upshot was mucky feet and a very mucky pair of tyres, as can be seen. But to hell with it, I was going to get at least one photo of a snowy scene so I gamely pressed on stogging about in the mud to get the above photo.

Back aboard the bike and the presence of ice in places made things a little scary as the last thing I needed was a prang, so I engaged Nervous Nelly riding mode and avoided the snowy bits just in case. This was already turning out to be a long ride and I did consider turning back, but you know, press on while I still can and all that, there maybe something better round the corner I'd not want to miss. And it's snow... Got to make the most of a bit of snow when we get it...

Hmmmm, not much to see here on this much photographed by me section of Tregassow Lane, but I still took a shot 'cos I like this bit of lane.

As promised by the Met Office it started snowing again just after 10 am, although it's hard to see in this shot. Neither of my two 'proper' cameras are weather sealed, so long exposures on the tripod weren't really an option as I couldn't find a place to set up where the wetness wasn't reaching. So it was a case of being quick on the draw with the compact, whizzing it out of my bumbag, leaning over the camera while I held it close to my waist while I set it up then raising it, pointing and shooting quick.

Trevella Stream.

It's amazing how a bit of snow dampens noise as even before it started snowing again, all was very quiet as the air, thick with impenetrable snow, was muffling the usual noise of distant traffic and so on. As usual I had a stop and poke about where Tregassow Lane crosses Trevella Stream, this time spotting a freshly downed lump of tree across the stream.

Here, under the trees at the edge of Trehane Wood, the softly hushed murmur of whispering snow falling on the leaves and branches really was utterly magical and despite being in some discomfort with my back, I stood dead still for a minute or so just looking around and listening, taking in the moment. That alone was worth the pain and effort of getting out and about, and I really must start doing video!

The snow might've been falling but it wasn't posing any threat, not being heavy enough and was also more of the wetter variety of flake, so wasn't settling and not adding much to the little whiteness we already had.

T'other side of Trehane Wood and once again the snow is hard to see in this shot, but t'was falling quite nicely and just a shame it wasn't sticking.

 Now you can see it a bit better...

Aw bums, that bike was clean before I set off... As it lives indoors I had to wash the mud off the tyres before putting it back in my living room. A full wash was out of the question - far too much aggro.

T'is a blizzard I'm telling thee! 

Now on setting off I did have in mind 'Snow photo cliche number two - Daffodils in the snow.' Unfortunately, all the wild Daffs that are very much in evidence on the verges and hedges have yet to flower, but I did spot one or two had popped out in the Parish Council flower beds in my home port. Not much snow visible again though...

So we finally did get a dusting of the glorious white stuff, but by the time I'd managed to get myself out of the shower it had all gone thanks to the falling snow having turned to rain.

My back was pretty grim too, I'd aggravated it rather well despite it being just about the slowest trip round my regular loop I've ever done.

As it turns out, I should've kept my powder dry and waited until this morning as overnight we had more snow and a proper covering when I peered out into the weird grey light. Damn! This would've made much better photos and more fun riding too, but no way was I able to get out, not even into the garden for a shot, so I had to let it go, and go it has as once again some rain and then bright sunshine has seen it all off. 

So that's the news from one rather frustrated Bimbler. Had I been fitter I would've ridden to some far more photogenic places but going off road was out of the question, as was going too far from home. But still, as I used to tell my ex wife, a little is better than nothing at all, and that moment of wonder when I was stood under the trees listening to the snow more than made up for the disappointment of not being able to make more of the day.

Now I've just got to hope it's not three more years before we get another light dusting, let alone the eight years since we last had a proper, heavy, fall of snow!

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Marinating Metha Bridge and an Exciting Weather Forecast...

I wince and grimace every time I pass this... Makes my teeth itch it does... 'Meter' is bad enough in a country where we have 'Metres' (I'd prefer feet and inches personally, I know where I am with them...) but 'whellchair' really tugs my beard.

It has been a glorious winter's day here at Bimble Towers, not a breath of wind, just golden sunshine and blue skies. Flipping chilly mind you, but that's par for the course with winter sunshine. This is ideal weather for some quality bike pottering but unfortunately I've been confined to barracks for nearly a week now with my back which is giving me considerable grief after a short bus trip into town last Monday. I always have a stiff and painful back after bouncy bus rides and walking around town, but usually it'll ease after a day or two. For some reason this time it has refused to go away and has kept me off the bikes.

Right now though I'm even more desperate than normal to shift the pain and get in the saddle because we have an interesting weather forecast for tomorrow and into Wednesday as the local paper's web site notes:

And here's the forecast on the Met Office site:

The last time we had snow in my part of the world was the third of February 2015, and that was just a light dusting that only lasted a few hours, but I made the most of it alright, eagerly setting out on the old clattermonger Carrera and machine gunning photos all over the place.

Even a minor bit of unplanned break dancing on the slippery descent out of the village couldn't stop me enjoying the small amount of snow we had that morning.

So the feeling of excitement in the air here is palpable, well, in my living room it is anyway, other folk maybe less enthusiastic about snow, but knickers to 'em. Fingers crossed then that we get some, but knowing the weather forecasts we could anything from a mini ice age to a heat wave.

What else? Well while having been grounded this last week or so has been rather less than fun, I have had my nose into a really good book.

By crikey I'm crap at product photography...

I've recently started to really appreciate the work of James Ravilious who recorded daily life in rural North Devon in the 1970s. Looking at some of his work you'd swear the images belonged to a much earlier period, but this was a part of Devon that modernity was slow to reach and the images portray an at times idyllic way of life, but also an extremely harsh one.

The book is written by James' wife Robin, and although I'm only half way through at the moment, it is an utterly enjoyable read. Illustrated throughout, the book beautifully describes their individual early lives, their meeting, life in London and subsequent move to Devon, the countryside, characters and lifestyle. Ravilious was mostly contributing photos for the Beaford Archive who since his death in 1999 now hold the copyright to his images.

A book of Ravilious' photos The Recent Past was also released late last year and is on my shopping list for when funds are a little flusher. In the meantime many of his images can be found online and are well worth searching for.

So have I had any rides to report? Well yes, on Sunday the 28th of January actually, the day before I knackered my back, when I went for a boot to Metha Bridge.

Woo hold up... is that... yes that's the mighty Marin, my 'best' bike being wheeled out for its first ride of the year.

As I mentioned in a previous post I'd told myself I really needed to ride the Marin more often, as it is a bit daft keeping it indoors just because I don't like getting it dirty. So I (very bravely I think...) wheeled the Pine Mountain out intent on having a good ride (and avoiding mud and puddles at all costs).

The bells were ringing summoning the faithful to the village church, but I was safe here from religious conversion as this is the Methodist's Church and they like a lie in of a Sunday morning, not having their service until a more agreeable 11 am.

The above two shots were taken on the Bridleway up to Carland Cross which back in the day, was actually the A39, hence being a rather well appointed Bridleway what with it having tarmac and Cat's Eyes n'all. The 'new' A39 is just over the hedge on the right and under that bridge top left in the lower photo.

These two also show what a grizzly looking day it was out, flat grey and gloomy, damp from previous rain but with no rain forecast (and none appeared either).

The Marin really is a superb bike to ride, after my other bikes it feels light and agile, itching to be slapped from side to side by an out of the saddle rider, but that's a bit beyond me unfortunately, but it does accelerate well and steers beautifully, really carving and holding a line to millimetre (oops, thousandths of an inch...) perfection. I find it supremely comfortable too, and have not yet felt any bum or back/shoulder/neck/wrist aches when riding it.

It wasn't just the weather that was bleak, the fixtures and fittings in some of the lanes were a little tired too, adding to the rather sullen feel to proceedings.

This (Metha Bridge) counts I suppose as the target for the day's ride, but really I was just riding a lane that I've only ridden once before, and hasn't really got a lot of interest on it, but still, a ride is a ride and all that.

There are actually two bridges at Metha Bridge, one over a stream, t'other over a railway line. No prizes for guessing which one this is though...

The line in question used to be the Chacewater to Newquay branch line, a slightly unorthodox routing even for a branch line, and the mostly rural nature of the land it passed through saw a decline in passenger numbers as road traffic grew and the line closed in February 1963.

But, as you can see, trains run beneath this bridge once more as the route is now part of the Lappa Valley Railway, a 15 inch gauge tourist attraction jobbie and I'm afraid, not really my cup of tea. (I was quite the rail buff back in my teens, and my disdain for what I unfairly perceive as 'toy trains' has yet to diminish...).

Not a shot taken in a field or anything, but on the bridge at Metha Bridge. 

The Marin now leaning against the parapet of the second bridge, as seen from the first, the rail bridge.

Hanging one's nose over the parapet (and taking care not to tread in the unfeasibly large dog poo - I don't know what sort of dog left that huge steaming pile, but it certainly had a good breakfast) one is greeted by this view of the stream below. The colour of the water could be the result of the recent rain running off the fields or metal contamination from nearby mine workings. Indeed, not a hundred yards away there is a capped mine shaft in the woods, so either, or both, is likely.

Oh hello, just up from the two bridges is this footpath... don't mind if I do...

I hadn't planned a mooch along this footpath, so just had myself a quick nosey to see what was what, and it is definitely one to revisit at a later (less muddy) date. As it is, I walked most of the path due to it being nearly all off camber and slippery as a well greased Weasel. I took this photo at the only flat bit I found on my brief sortie.

After the short footpath mooch, it was back on tarmac and in two shakes of a Lamb's tail I was in downtown St Newlyn East (that's the retail district pictured there - the local Butcher's shop.)

St Newlyn East isn't an easy village to get good photos of, frustratingly. There's a gert big pointy church smack in the middle of the place, but try getting an uncluttered view of it. Also this was a Sunday, and the place was rammed with parked cars, the above street only escaping by virtue of its narrowness.

Anyway, rather than go through the village and out the other side, heading towards the evil A30 at Zelah, I opted to head back towards Mitchell, thus making a bit of a loop. Instead of just taking the direct route though I did swerve off onto a single track lane but other than a random Campion there wasn't much there of photoworthy note either.

Campion on the back lane off Halt Road.

So I rode back into Mitchell (not photographed - too many parked cars) and back up the hill I'd flown down earlier, and thence hung a right and a nifty left onto the lane twixt Carland Cross and Boswiddle.

A 'Lanescape' on the lane between Carland Cross and Boswiddle. I've just made 'Lanescape' up, and I'm feeling smugly pleased with myself 'cos it is a term that doesn't appear to have been invented yet for photos of country lanes. So I'm bagging it - claiming first dibs on it. You saw it here first!

A common sight on this lane, rather flattened frogs (or Toads) in the road.

I can't pass water... no that doesn't sound right at all. I can't ride a bicycle past or over water without stopping to take in the atmosphere, and this bridge over an unnamed stream is no exception. A tranquil place to lurk for a few minutes.

Boswiddle is a place you'll see me mention a lot on here, but I haven't yet taken any photos of the actual hamlet itself. There isn't a lot there to be honest, just a farm, a cottage or two, a junction in the road and about a mile towards Ladock, the ford. But I must get some shots one day.

Having turned right in Boswiddle, climbed the hill up to Five Turnings, and turned right again I found the lane still flooded near Pengelly.

It had been a very enjoyable ride - the Marin, as said, is a great bike to ride, and the lanes were peaceful and most importantly, free of rampaging wind and flesh stripping hail showers!

Crappy mappage of the ride. Metha Bridge is at point 6, the bridge where I can't pass water (ahem) at point 12.

The full gory details of the ride can be found HERE

Ah... well you didn't really think I'd not wash my best bike once I'd got home did you?

Right, that's the latest, fingers, toes and all sorts are crossed for a bit of snow tomorrow bet it rains  no... must be positive... hopefully it'll snow and my back is fit enough for me to get out on Fatso (I'm nearly out of Paracetamol so have held some back especially for the morning...) - Snow is a Fatbike's raison d'etre after all!

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