A Hairy Scary Halloween.

Friday night saw my phone ring and my mate Craig asking if I fancied a ride somewhere. This is always good, as without a car of my own any more (Craig in fact owns my old van) my riding range is limited. So we made loose plans to head for the Bodmin area, and to do the Camel Trail, or part of it, or maybe Cardinham Woods. We'd see how we felt when we got there.

I was encouraged initially when Craig wheeled out the Giant Hybrid (a bike I owned for a while and christened 'Lump') but, while my back was turned, he also sneaked in the 'Batbike', his battery assisted full bouncer Cube 29er. Oh joy, keeping up with that thing was going to be fun...

Warning - Northerner on board...

Craig, professional Mancunian and dispenser of wit and genial sarcasm,  at the wheel of my old van, heading towards Bodmin, which in itself is a scary prospect - they're a funny lot in Bodmin.

As it happened, we headed for the latter, Cardinham Woods, which was fine, as it is Forestry Commission land and they allow mountain biking and so forth. On arrival, the place was busy with walkers of two and four legged variety, and lots of mountain bikers. All bouncy bikes and baggy shorts, full face lids and googles. Serious stuff. Then we checked the trails. My local woods are Forestry Commission, and you just go in and ride around the paths. Here though, my bum started puckering. There were Blue and Red trails... uh oh... I'm a Bimbler. A potterer and a pootler, not a mad speed crazed adrenaline junkie, and I didn't want to be getting in anyone's way, and nor did I want to die myself to death particularly either, which could be a distinct possibility by the looks of things. I've never been on an organised 'proper' trail before with man made hazards to contend with, so I was thinking of asking for a medical helicopter and a full team of surgeons to be put on standby, or a packet of Band Aids at the very least.

The car park at Cardinham and the Batbike breaks cover.

But what the hell, I also didn't want to be a big girl's blouse over it and be a wuss in public, so I gritted my teeth, clenched my bum and prepared to get on with it.

The trails pass through some dense woodland lining the side of a steep valley so there is plenty of climbing involved, and trying to keep up with Craig on his flipping Batbike was certainly giving my legs a good pasting, but to begin with, it was all good.

Well this is easy peasy... don't know what the fuss was all about...

I must stop putting my thumbs on the ends of the bar ends like that - I'll hit a bump one day and break them or something.

Soon though, the trail pointed downwards again through the trees, and suddenly things got a little more exciting. Speed is gained cheaply on such slopes and suddenly I was arriving at sharp corners at what for me seemed terminal velocities (but for anyone else would've seemed like they'd stopped) 'Bwaaaaaahhhhh Mother!!!' Just as I thought I was going to face plant a tree instinct would kick in and I'd turn left at the critical moment and save the day, only to lead me straight over a hump and down another slope into an even tighter corner 'Whoooooaaaa Fuuuuu....' This went on and I was glad I was wearing bicycle clips as otherwise the adrenaline would've been running out of my trousers. Then there were some Pump track bits, or whatever they're called. 'Sky – Ground, Sky – Ground, Sky – Ground' all done with my stomach alternately up round my ears and down in my boots. Fuggssakes that was hairy... exciting, but hairy.

Damn those electric bikes... 

Craig is a big chap, so needs a big frame size. Add in the 29er wheels and it runs out of room quickly on tight turns, allowing me to close the gap... 

But just as I would get close, he'd straighten up again, and off he'd go up the hills, humming away like an electric golf trolley... the git!

As the ride went on, so a pattern began to establish. Grinding up hills with my heart bouncing off the rev limiter and me breathing through my backside, followed by some downhill sections where I was sure oblivion was just a slip of a wheel or unwise grab of a front brake away.

Don't know why he's sitting down, his bike was doing all the work for him... 

The left side of the Batbike. A very impressive piece of kit, but ugly as a Kebab shop fist fight. 

I did have a quick go on it up a very slight slope, and after a nano second's hesitation the battery cut in and I took off faster than a well kicked cat - this thing flies up hills. Turning circle of a bus and it's a bit of a chubber too, being quite heavy, but it makes mincemeat of hills.

I was managing to stay out of other folk's way which was good, as going as slowly as I do, they can be heard approaching from behind, and at one point I did try and latch onto the tail of one unsuspecting rider to see if I could stay with him, but he was all asses and elbows and pulling shapes and I'm a big chicken, so that plan failed and I continued on, scaring myself at times still, but also learning fast the old tricks from childhood woods hooning,  and latterly on motorcycles, of looking further ahead and picking the right lines and threading twists and turns together and so on. 

 What's this section called? Breakneck? Oh... that's nice...

There has been a lot of hard work put in  to make these trails enjoyable and the Forestry Commission are to be commended for doing it. We've had a fair old bit of rain recently, but the trails were remarkably free of mud, and safer for it. In fact the bike got far muckier on my recent trundle round the local lanes. 

It all soon became less terrifying  and more fun, lots of fun in fact, but as ever there was a penalty to be paid. My usual slow riding sees me sat on the bike most of the time, only occasionally standing over rough bits, and with my legs doing all the work. All this haring about between the trees and flying round hairpin bends (well... sort of...) meant using a lot more body language to keep things together, and that meant my back started getting stiffer and more painful. So the last mile or so was a struggle, an exercise in just making it back to the van, so I didn't have the free movement to flip the bike about, even to my modest levels. But I made it round, sweating like a glass blower's backside and with aching legs, burning lungs and a stiff, raw feeling back. But I was happy. I thoroughly enjoyed the ride, it took me right back to my childhood when my mates and I would ride our 'trackers' at maximum speed through the woods at the back of our houses. I also saw it as an achievement as on another day, with a less positive mood, I wouldn't have even tried it, and although my back was crippling me by the end and for most of the following day (yesterday), I was damn glad I went for it and got round.

I'd just struggled up the slope on the right, and was breathing harder than the Flying Scotsman, while Craig was explaining how his bike just purrs up the hills with no effort involved in the pedaling. Next time I'll let his tyres down or something...

Craig zig zagging his way down a series of switchbacks.

No choice for me - Blue! Craig opted for the red 'speed freaks and mentalists only' section.

Craig wants to go back again soon, so I'll have to weigh things up still, but probably would have another go. I just need to get some baggy shorts, and learn the lingo – 'Rad' and 'Dude' and 'Gnarlmungous' and so on.

And here he is, whooping like a child and swearing enthusiastically (whooooaaa shi.... fooooksache.... waaaahhhhhh nooooo.... wooo yabastad! etc) as he makes his way down the red 'Hell's Teeth section. It's safe to say he enjoyed that bit rather a lot.

Trick or Treaters? Pfft! They didn't scare me... Flipping narrow tracks between trees on near vertical slopes, even at my dare devil single figure speeds, now that really was a scary Halloween. Bloody good fun though.

Busy Place, the Countryside.

So the unseasonably good weather these last few weeks has come to an end, and the lanes are set to be wet and mucky now until Spring next year. Goodbye dry and dusty, hello wet and squidgy.

I've had a bout of the glums in recent days, the bad old feelings of lifelessness and fatigue taking over again, and all enthusiasm for anything disappeared under my duvet where I spent a lot of time looking for it, but failed dismally to find it. Sunday was a beautiful day with no wind, just warming sunshine and glorious autumnal colours and smells. Even that failed to kick my spirits up the backside and lift the gloom as I closed the curtains again and headed back to bed.

But this is all part of a cycle, ups and downs, like one of those pump tracks or whatever they are where young folk with jeans halfway down their asses get airborne. One minute you're flying and showing your keks, the next you're in the bottom of a pit. Just as the better times come and go, so do the days of feeling kicked and crushed, it's often a case of just giving in, riding them out and the better days will slowly appear once again.

Well yesterday was a better day – I may not have been sliding down the bannister and singing 'the sun has got his hat on' when I woke up to the world, but I was feeling a bit more like it, so I quickly decided a bimble around my usual lanes would be just the ticket.

Grumpy looking skies looked ominous but the only rain that fell was while I was under tree cover once again.

Was I really out of action just a few days, or was it weeks... months even? How could things change so quickly? Firstly it seems there is some building work or other going on to the East of the village here and the result is a steady stream of six and eight wheel tipper trucks roaring along part of my favourite loop, filling the lane with diesel smoke, noise and big lumps of assorted Scania, Daf and Volvo. Oh and mud. Lots of mud, both from their tyres leaving the muddy site, and from them going up the verge and dragging mud back into the road. Deep joy.

Ok then, some on the fly route modification saw me take to Tregassow lane, only to find just as much mud, and a steady stream of farm tractors barrelling along and filling the lane as they go, making getting out of their way a bit of a problem in some places. It wasn't like that last time I went along there.

There's tarmac somewhere under all that slop.

Thankfully though, I soon passed the field they were dragging produce from, and beyond there the lanes were free of heavies, if not gooeyness. The leaves have fallen big time now and where my knobblies last fizzed on dry tarmac, they now splashed through puddles and squelched through decaying foliage. Some of it is flipping slippery too, as we all know wet leaves can be. Going down the steep S bend in Tregassow Lane, which is also blind, I got a ridge running up the middle of my saddle from where my clenched buttocks were snapping at the fabric as I tried to avoid locking wheels and subsequent impromptu break dancing. Falling off on that vertiginous hill would see me bombing down on my backside like a winter Olympics luger who'd forgotten his tea tray. Not a good look I find.

Autumn is starting to reveal the twisting boney skeletons of the local trees.

Safely down and pausing at a bridge to gawp at the waters flowing underneath saw the first of three encounters with chatty folk I was to have on this ride, another unusual occurrence as I often potter about these roads without meeting a single soul. A van pulled up as I was taking a photo and a local chap asked if the water was running very fast or not. From there things moved on and we had a right old natter, and this chap was quite a character too, with a fine sense of humour to match his equally fine beard.

Not so bad here, but these Ash leaves can be as slippery as a well greased Weasel, and test one's sensitive braking abilities to the max on severe downhill sections.

The second encounter came at the top of Tregassow Hill where I met a roadie stood by the roadside and talking on his phone. Wondering if he was ok I stopped to check and found he was just out for a big old ride around with a mate who knew the planned route, but who had dropped him and beggared off into the distance. Some mate. So this chap was ringing this 'mate' to find out where the hell he was and which road to take given the choice of three at this particular junction. So we stood and had a brief chat, stuggling to make ourselves heard over the growling tippers coming past every couple of minutes.

Carrying on saw my choice of lane once again take me away from those blasted tippers and I just had the ever present catastrophic Pheasants for company – bloody things they are, crashing, flapping and screeching about. Oh and Squirrels, lots of Squirrels, all flitting about and launching up trees and so on. Pheasants could learn a lot from Squirrels about making quiet escapes, but they don't take any notice, obviously.

The colours of death and degradation.

Colourful life is still to be found in the hedges and verges, although this Cranesbill Geranium is likely an escapee from a nearby garden.

My third encounter came near home as I gamely made it up yet another unruly hill, and I met three women walking a varied assortment of dogs. I bumped into them at just the point where I usually stop to take in the view through a gateway (not really, it's where I bail out normally and start pushing, but I prefer the former explanation). So another brief chat was had and I made friends with a Pug. Least I think it was a Pug, it could've been a Terrier that chases parked cars, but what struck me more than her 'hit in the face with the flat side of a plank' looks was her name – Marion, apparently. An odd name for a dog really, made me wonder what the other assorted mutts were called, but I didn't get the chance to ask.

Muddy puddles failed to wash the gribble and slop off the bike, so it was out with the pressure washer once home as this is a house bike, and I don't want it dripping wet mud on the carpets.

So that was a brief ride around my local loop and I couldn't believe how busy it was, with mud flinging heavies, chattermongous people and flat faced dogs too. Apparently the trucks could be rampaging along my fave bimbling routes for months to come, which is not good news at all, but hey ho, I'll just have to find other routes around my 'hood.

But it all sort of proves that even though the lanes are supposedly quiet, there is still all sorts going on. This time it was added humans going about their business, but the nature related stuff was in evidence too as the landscape has changed with the falling of the leaves and various beasts beat hasty retreats and so on. Busy place the countryside sometimes.

Bridleway Bashing and Mud Plugging (sort of).

I'm sat here now, while outside it is a bit manky - all grey and drizzly giving way to occasional periods of... grey and rainy. Plus in the night someone came in the front garden and gave the tree a good shaking judging by the fact nearly all the remaining leaves fell off and are now lying strewn across the grass. Or maybe it was the wind. Whatever, as days go today is a bit crap, so I'm glad I went out yesterday, apart from the fact my back is now raging as a result, but still, I picked the right day, obviously.

Heading along the lanes towards Ladock. It was a bright, but cloudy day tricky for getting exposures right then, leading to much tickling of the RAW files to get a half way decent looking photo.

I love Bridleways. If the country lanes can whisk one away to peaceful tranquility across the countryside, bridleways take you and drop you right in it. Or drag you right through it, whichever seems more appropriate at the time. You still get to ride your bike (some of the time) but you lose tarmac and instead gain knobbly gnarly bits often with a dose of bushwhacking, and maybe even a bit of bull running thrown in for good measure.

The only drawback for me, is my aversion to generous levels of mud, and the local bridleways all become off limits over the winter for me, so yesterday I grabbed the chance to go wild one last time this year probably and made for a bridleway I've 'done' a couple of times before.

This partcular bridleway starts about five miles from my door, near the village of Ladock, and delivers one, only a little muddied hopefully, to the hamlet of Trendeal, a distance of perhaps two miles.

I do like this particular path a lot because it has a bit of everything, from semi wild scraggy woodland traversed by the path sunk between earth banks full of critter and hairy beasty holes and ancient dry stone walls, to crossing open farmland (and a Bull's field, but thankfully, once again, he wasn't home or was attending to matters elsewhere in his field, I don't know which).

Plenty of this sort of going to be found on this bridleway.

It also just nicks one corner of a local wood, a wood I frequent on a... frequent basis and so know is open to the public for the purposes of mooching about. I had a dip into the wood where the path passes once before, and thought it would be an ideal spot for a bit of lurking with a mug of coffee. Splendid.

The bridleway passes along the edge of some fields, and the farmer leaves a generously wide section for it. Some would've ploughed to within a few feet of the hedge, being less accommodating.

The downside to this particular bridleway though is the amount of pushing I have to do. One of those sunken parts climbs a rocky, stoney hill up to open fields, but it's too much for me to ride up so I bail out and get walking.

The corner of the wood where I planned to brew up a coffee. Taking this, I admired how clean the bike still was...

No worries.

Having done all that, then ridden along the edge of a field, I was ready for a brew, so imagine my dismay to find the previously open entrance to the wood now closed off with barbed wire. Bums! I was really looking forward to that. Carrying gamely on I got to the Bull's field, only to meet a farmer type walking his dogs coming the other way. He assured me the bull was free (it doesn't charge... groan...) and that the path beyond was a little muddy. So, regardless of the bull's apparent lackadaisical attitude I made like Bernard Hinault across his field, only mildy crapping myself as I went, and made it to safety on the other side. Bulls eh? Pfft! They don't scare me. Ahem.

Aw... bums. Bang goes the clean bike.

It was just after my feat of derring do that disaster struck. The 'little muddy' that the farmer described turned out to be a bit of a mud bog and far too squelchy and gooeysome for my liking. But the worst bit was my otherwise pretty clean bike was now going to get thoroughly defiled, as were my boots probably, but I don't care about them. There was no way I could ride through that murky mire, so I took to the edge of the hedge and pushed the bike through the gloop (this time from the right and that just feels so wrong, I always push from the left). I'm glad I did too as the wheels sunk right into the mud and would've made riding across nigh on impossible what with me not having a fat bike (see how I dropped a hint there? I'm slowly making a case for one to myself you see...).

The final stretch of bridleway has had some recent TLC.

Hitting tarmac once again saw the inevitable flailing Catherine Wheel effect as mud got flung everywhere by the Centifrugle... by the Sentryfrugal... by the wheels turning faster and the knobbles flexing, and despite having a crud guard thingy on the front, I collected a lump of mud on my forehead as I rode into it. That's not meant to happen now is it. Still without the guard I suspect I would've been wearing a lot more so I shouldn't complain too much.

Anyway, all that pushing knackered my back, it stiffened up steadily as I winced and grimaced my way home, and now the bike is sat behind me in the living room, blathered in mud, as is the mat beneath it as chunks fall off now and again like snow falling off your roof when the sun comes out, only a bit smellier. I say that, because there is a bit of a smell in the house, the bouquet of the countryside, the aroma of agricultural air. The smell of pee and poo that's what it is. Either I ran through some horse doings, or that mud contained cow emissions, which given the field next to the mud bog was full of mooeys, and thinking back they were giving me a knowing look, (“yeah, crack on mate... heh heh heh...”), I think the latter are to blame. Burgers it is for dinner tonight then.

Heading home. Taking this, I heard something grunty growling its way up the hill beyond and got to the bike just in time as a flipping huge John Deere appeared going like the clappers. 

Despite the lack of coffee, and the souvenirs of aches, a dirty bike and the house now smelling like a farmer's welly, it was a good excursion, as bridleway bashes usually are. Tomorrow I have to go into the big city (well Truro actually, but it is a city, if not exactly huge or busy – you could lob a pasty down the main street and not hit a single thing) and I know where I'd rather be, smelly gloop included.

New Discoveries.

It's always exciting finding somewhere new to ride, even better when it comes as a complete surprise, and on Saturday I found two such places.

Bozzing along in the local woods.

Out for an extended bimble, I had got the Voodoo a little muddied in the local woods. Aww bums. Nothing serious mind you, but it was clean as a new pin when I set off and I like to try and preserve that freshness as long as possible. So feeling able of body still, I thought a run through some local fords would wash away the grolly nicely, plus it'd be somewhere to go and so on, so a plan was quickly hatched to ride up the hill to the village of Shortlanesend, and then down the lanes the other side where I knew there were two or three fords to have a good old splash through.

 There are acres of woods here, and this lot all crowd onto one tiny old stump.

The woods are just starting to show Autumnal colours in the tree tops...

...But still appear dark and sinister in the denser parts at ground level. (I scare easily).

Heading down the hill from the village I was fair flying along when I saw a green sign on the right pointing out a bridleway. This was news to me, not noticed that before, so I duly had a quick nosey up it to check it out. It looks promising but I thought I'd check it out on the maps at home first, so back on to the lane I went, only to be distracted by another sign, on the left this time, pointing to a Nature reserve. Well this was news to me as well, not noticed that before either, so I duly had a nosey up to the entrance of that too, to check it out. Now I've never actually been in a Nature Reserve before, but I have seen them on the telly, and know they are full of Giraffes, Zebras and Lions n' stuff, so I thought I'd go in further and have a look. You don't see animals like that often, not in Shortlanesend anyway.

 So far so good... nothing hairy and hungry to be seen yet...

I was all alone in there, no other people around, and as the sign at the entrance made no mention of not cycling, I stayed on board the bike and rode in, just in case I needed to pedal furiously away from a marauding Cheetah or something. Well most of the path is a boardwalk which is pretty good to ride on, and whilst it was very quiet and peaceful in there, the only wildlife I encountered was a friendly Robin that wanted to check the Voodoo out. Bit of a swizz I thought, I can see them at home, but maybe the big beasts had got the weekend off or something.

It's not all boarded out, but still makes for easy and pleasant riding or walking.

The only wildlife to be seen was this cute little chap. 

Being serious though, I had no idea there was a Nature Reserve there and will make it a regular place to visit I think, as despite the lack of hairy arsed critters and beasts, it was a very tranquil and enjoyable place to poke around.

So after that little diversion, I carried on and dunked the wheels in a couple of smaller fords before hitting the big one at New Mills. Always good for a pair of wet feet on a bike that beggar is, and the plan worked well, as most of the mud was washed off the bike. The only drawback to this part of the plan was having to climb the hill back up and away from the ford, and that hill is a properly ugly affair. That's the only bad thing about cycling in Cornwall, the geology is definitely on the lumpy side and some of the lanes feature some serious hillage.

Giving it some welly through the last, and widest/deepest ford to clean some mud off the bike. It worked a treat, but I also got wet feet, which rhymes. I'm a poet and didn't know it.

Heading homewards from Shortlanesend I took a different route to the way I'd come previously, down a truly deserted lane. This lane passes through some woods, and there is another bridleway hidden away in the middle of them to explore at some point too. I did have a mooch along it but by now my back was starting to give me grief so I thought it prudent to keep heading homeward. I did stop and listen for a while though, to the sound of falling leaves. That, and the occasional bird, was the only noise I could hear – magical!

All in all then, a very enjoyable ride around, and some new bridleway exploring to be done, very soon, hopefully.

Heading back towards home, I had these lanes all to myself.

Still miffed I didn't see any Lions n' Tigers n' stuff though...