This winter really has been a wet and horrible one, with little to recommend it weather wise at all. The novelty of the rain and wind combo wore off some time back in October, now it is just getting tiresome. For a lot of us I suppose it is just that – a tiresome inconvenience, for some folk up country though it has meant disaster in the shape of flooding, but it must also be causing the farmers all over a lot of headaches too if the land around here is anything to go by.

This end, the St Erme end of Tregassow Lane, is always a bit wet, but this just a titchy puddle, just a tad damp, compared to a stretch a bit further along.

I'm no agricultural expert, but I doubt the fields are good for anything much at the moment, waterlogged as they are. My neighbour who is a gardener hasn't been having much luck either. This time of year is normally spent pruning trees, and erecting fencing and so on, but any garden just turns to mud as soon as foot is set on it at the moment, so people have been cancelling work until it can be carried out without trashing the carefully tended lawns.

Bimbling along the streaming wet lanes, looking at the sky reflecting off the stripes of water sat in rows up the fields, I couldn't help but wonder what effect all this bad weather really has for some people, animals, and businesses too.

I'll be glad when spring and summer come and (hopefully) all the muck and slop dries out, and a bike can be taken for a ride without needing a thorough wash immediately afterwards. But it's also a small price to pay for living in the country really, better these lanes than busy streets as far as I'm concerned.

 This section of Tregassow Lane is now more like a canal, and still the rain keeps falling.

Bikes are very good at making one feel like a kid again - give me some water to splash through and I'll show you a very happy old codger.

It was just a quick six miles around my regular loop for me yesterday, and again, I had thought I'd take the Voodoo out for a spin as it hasn't had a ride in a couple of months, and there's nothing wrong with it at all. But... Fatso was already dirty while the Voodoo is clean. Fatso is easier to fish out and well... I just like my riding Fatty flavoured at the moment, even though the lanes, even at their muckiest worst, are a long way from a fat bike's supposed territory of snow and sand.

 At least there was a break in the wind and rain for me to exploit, although it was still drizzling throughout this short ride. It soon turned back to heavy rain again though just a couple of hours later.

Delicious hot or cold the bag says. But given the contents appeared undisturbed maybe the prospect of actually eating whatever is inside wasn't so appealing after all.

So although just a short tootle about, it was still an eye opening one at times just seeing how land I'm so familiar with can look so wet and lifeless, although I did notice the Daffodils are coming through nicely as a couple of large fields are starting to turn yellow already. Fetching them in will be a very muddy, energy sucking, foot clawing, job I imagine.

On the bridge over Trevella Stream, on the wooded section of Tregassow Lane.

Let's just hope we have a good spring and summer, we certainly need some respite from all this wet stuff.

A better map and more info can be found Here

Lucky Jim.

Like slipping on your favourite pair of comfortable slippers after a hard day on your feet. I've only had Fatso a few weeks, but already that is how climbing aboard felt yesterday after taking the Jamis out for my last ride. The comfort, the riding position and the stable, reassuring feel of the bike make me feel right at home as soon as bum hits saddle.

I felt the same with some of the motorcycles I've owned in the past too – some I sat on and rode, and they were very good too. But a couple of others just felt so right to me in any situation, me and the bike were totally tuned in together, we were as one if you like. That sounds like a load of pretentious tosh, but I don't know how else to describe that feeling of bike and rider fitting together so perfectly.

Fatso I think is ideally suited to my slow, peering over the hedges, bimbling style of riding, being so stable at low speed, and easy to handle. Fat bikes aren't just for snow and sand, they are also for old giffers who potter about the wrecked back lanes and bridleways at single figure speeds smelling the smells and admiring the view!

Anyway, I cast off yesterday morning into the teeth of a chilly and stiff north westerly, with the village of Probus and some surrounding bridleways in mind. After climbing over the first, and rather exposed, hill, all calmed down again as trees lined the lanes to provide shelter from the wind, and a 'freshy' 'whooshy' soundtrack as I ambled onwards.

One of the themes for the day - hills. A chilly day to start with, and with a lot of fresh air rushing about too, but these high banked, tree lined lanes provide welcome shelter.

The upper reaches of the Tresillian River near Truck Fork, Probus.

The main road into Probus was soon reached, and with more exposure to the wind (now from the side) came that weird feeling of someone trying to push the front wheel sideways from under you that any motorcyclist will be aware of, but the fat bike seems more prone to than any other bicycle I own. Somehow though, it never feels threatening or alarming, and I wasn't in danger of being blown into passing traffic.

 The approach to the centre of Probus. This was once a busy main road, thick with trucks, coaches and in summer, caravanners. Thankfully a by-pass has removed all that, and like other similar villages, the place has been rejuvenated. You no longer take your life in your hands crossing the road, and the houses are no longer coated in road filth thrown up in wet weather.

Fatso in the square, Probus. Bus shelter is a recent addition, and not a popular one either as I understand it. 

From the square I headed for Wagg Lane, a favourite for a bit of quiet pottering when in these parts. The top half of the lane is as you'd expect, lined with housing, but on reaching the edge of the village, it loses its status as a navigable road and has become classified as 'other public access'. The lane drops into a valley and then climbs steeply up the other side and through farmland towards St Michael Penkevil. The first section down to the small river is no bother to a small motor vehicle, but the other side, narrow steep and muddy as it becomes, would prove a tad 'technical'.

One of my favourite road signs...

At the start of the descent I was setting up a photo when a chap approached walking his dog, curious as to why I was apparently photographing a road sign, and with a tripod set up too. Having explained what I was up too, and received the obligatory 'this bloke is clearly nuts' look in response, talk turned to his old looking Collie Cross. It turns out the chap had only had the dog about six months, but a strong bond had already clearly formed between them. The dog was a rescue animal, picked up as a stray, filthy dirty and all bones. In the short time the chap had owned the dog, he'd had to fork out for various vet bills, not least an operation to remove part of the dog's lower jaw thanks to cancer, but it was clear money was not the important factor here, it was the dog's well being. As with my much missed dog, also a rescue that had been abused, this dog soon became a different, happier and loving character, and the chap has a companion he is clearly very fond of. I didn't get his name, but the dog was Jim, and it was great meeting the pair of them.

The stream crossing in the valley bottom of Wagg Lane. The point at which the going changes from 'well this is ok' to 'oh sh*t!'

Back in the saddle after having to push up the steepest and muddiest part of the hill out of the valley bottom.

The rest of the ride passed with me not really paying much attention to things, just ambling along alone with my thoughts, so there wasn't really much to speak of, other than it was a very enjoyable ride around once again. 

Back in Probus again and about to head for home. Shed/outside loo roof needs a bit of TLC there...

But that's the way it goes, some rides are all about seeing and smelling, and lapping up the surroundings, others are more an opportunity to get a few things straightened out and enjoying the 'head time.' I used to do all my thinking outside with a cigarette, but since giving up smoking, I do all my thinking these days on a bike – much healthier!

The full size map can be found Here

Just Following My Front Wheel.

After riding Fatso on almost every ride since his arrival, I had told myself I mustn't neglect the other bikes in my stable, as they are perfectly good bikes and I've had many enjoyable rides on them. So yesterday, with a ride in mind and the Voodoo still being properly peachy after its last marathon cleaning session, I elected to take the still mucky from 2015 Jamis out for a 'make it up as you go along' ride, a 'go wherever I end up going' job.

Strewth. I do run the tyres on the Jamis close to their recommended maximum of 65psi as it only ever goes on the road, but it felt like someone had sneaked into the shed one night and filled the tyres with concrete. It wasn't just the seemingly harsh ride that felt weird either, the Jamis felt long and teeteringly tall too. Fatso really is a comfortable and cosseting beast that makes other bikes feel like unstable scaffolding planks to ride. That however was just the initial impression, as a couple of miles in and all felt as normal once again ( I did unlock the front fork though to soften the ride a bit...).

This section of the old A39 just east of Trispen is still open to all traffic, a bit later it becomes a Bridleway. A cracking morning for a ride, but after riding the fat bike a lot recently, the Jamis, even with its chunky tyres, felt harsh to begin with.

Setting off, as I said earlier, I didn't have a route, or a destination, in mind, unusual for me as someone who usually likes to know what I'm doing. But these 'go where the mood takes you' rides can be very enjoyable too, although the early stages of this ride were a bit of a slog as I'd chosen to head out along the old A39 towards Carland Cross, which involves a lot of up hill wheezing, and the reason I usually come the other way along this stretch. But hey ho, it was a nice, if full finger glove wearingly chilly morning, so just settle in and keep the legs spinning and enjoy the fresh air.

A double Rainbow near Carland Cross.

Reaching Carland Cross leaves only one way to go, unless I fancied dodging the Scanias and Volvo Globetrotters along the A30 (erm... no). So I found myself heading in the general direction of Ladock or Boswiddle, places I visit often on my usual loops. So on arriving at the first junction I turned left instead, and doubled back on myself and dropped down the long hill into Mitchell. Now where? I could hang a left and head off towards Newlyn East, or go half way and hop over the stile and onto Newlyn Downs for some off road action... nah... wrong bike really and it'd be a mudmungous slopfest. Neither of those tickling my fancy, I opted to head out on the Newquay road instead, but only for a short distance as A - it's not a pleasant road to be on and B – it goes to Newquay. Good reasons then to find another road to use, and quickly. So on reaching the mini roundabout just yards out of Mitchell I turned right and headed north eastish up the lanes for a good old mooch, arriving eventually at the rather splendid St Enoder Church, which some Googlery reveals dates back to the 15^th century, which makes it officially, a bit old.

The church at St Enoder is a handsome looking affair, but fitting it all in to an unobstructed photo isn't easy, even with the bare trees of winter. 

I had hoped to get a good photo or two of the church, as in the past I have been thwarted from all angles by trees. This being winter though I stood a better chance, but on getting there I soon found the angle/view I wanted was still obscured too much by a tree, but apart from indulging in a little freelance Lumberjackery, there was not a lot to be done about it, so I settled on an angle that did show the church, or some of it at least, but not to its best advantage in my opinion.

From the church I decided to head in the general direction of home again, pottering through the village of Summercourt and back onto the lanes heading towards Mitchell. Mitchell is very nice, I've nothing against it at all, but rather than visit it again and retrace a chunk of my outward journey, I veered left at a junction and headed for Trendeal instead. From there it was along favourite back lanes past Ladock Woods, then Boswiddle via a dunk in the ford, and home.

 Water running down the hill and over the verge on the Summercourt to Trendeal road.

Gravel has been pushed into the middle of the lane by traffic after being left by water streaming down the hill then turning off into a ditch behind that bollard.

Heading homeward did reveal one of the drawbacks of riding the lanes at this time of year – the strobing effect of the low winter sun behind the trees. It also made me particularly wary whenever a vehicle appeared in the distance behind, having seen the aftermath of a crash caused by heading towards a low sun in the past.

But anyway, the Jamis delivered me safely back home in time for lunch (Chicken Noodle simmer soup, naturally), and I even showed my appreciation by giving it a thorough wash and lube. Can't be bad.

The more detailed map can be found here

A Sunday Group Ride.

Sunday saw another ride out with my neighbour Craig, this time along the shared cycle/pedestrian path and part of route NCN 3 from Marazion to the harbour at Mousehole. This can be a very pleasant ride indeed, having done it with Craig once before in 2013, as the path runs right alongside the shore of Mounts Bay, through Penzance and on round to Mousehole via Newlyn.

We were going to have company on this ride as well, as Craig had been busy with his phone and rounded up some of his cycling friends. Now this led to some alarm bells ringing for me, as I had visions of roadies in full team kit, Peleton etiquette, and getting dropped amid shouts of 'cadence' and 'push – push' and so on. Craig reassured me though, that these cyclists were like me, people who just enjoy cycling about and the ride would be at a gentle pace, not an aggressive one.

The weather wasn't bad, it certainly could have been worse, but well, it was a bit murky and grey, and on arrival at Marazion, it was rather chilly as we fished the bikes out of Craig's van and met a couple of his friends. Setting off though found that cold wind behind us and soon forgotten.

One fly in our riding ointment came when a sign announced the closure of the path (due to weather damage), but local knowledge from Mike, one of our companions, suggested it was only off limits a short way, and could be regained next to the Long Rock railway depot. This proved to be correct and we were soon rendezvousing with some more riders in the car park adjacent to the depot.

 St Michael's Mount in the grey Murk.

Ride leader Craig on the left in the 'Mountain Rescue orange' oversees the gathering of riders at Long Rock.

I didn't get all the names of these people, but I do know there were two Mikes, an Eileen and Jo on her beloved Tricross. I was also glad to see Craig had been right, these people were not about to set off at a leg killing pace and the only thing happening fast would be the laughs.

Setting off from Long Rock and towards Penzance, which can be seen on the far left. On the right is the Paddington mainline.

All deemed present and correct we headed off, dodging loose dogs and children along the path past Penzance station and onto the road that wends it way along the sea front and through the wharfs and docks. Road traffic was light, but pedestrian traffic heavy as half the town seemed to be out strolling or jogging and making the most of the lull in the weather.

Passing the docks and wharfs of Penzance. The shop on the left sells Pirate ear rings for two dollars a pair. Not bad for a buck an ear...

 Hi Viz yellow is the new black you know...

Lantern Rouge again as the Peleton heads up the hill out of Newlyn towards Mousehole.

On we ambled past the fish market at Newlyn, and up the hill and past the Lifeboat Station. This is a very poignant spot, being the empty home of the Penlee Lifeboat the Solomon Browne that set off on the night of the 19^th December 1981 to go to the aid of the coaster the Union Star which had lost its engine and was being blown onto rocks. But in appalling conditions, the lifeboat and its crew of eight, and all eight people aboard the Union Star were lost. The lifeboat had got four people off the coaster and was returning to get more when radio contact was lost. Nothing more was known until daylight revealed the Union Star wrecked on the rocks and wreckage from the lifeboat floating in the sea. Some of the bodies of those lost were never found.

The replacement Lifeboat is now moored in Newlyn harbour, and the old station is retained, exactly as it was left on that night, empty of its lifeboat, as a memorial.

Passing the Lifeboat station though we were all strung out so we didn't stop, but it was certainly noticed and memories were stirred.

Not long after and we had arrived in the small harbour of Mousehole. A proper Cornish fishing village with a ramshackle collection of hunkered down sturdy cottages and pubs, and home to the crew of the Solomon Browne.

This was the destination, and so a small area overlooking the harbour was swiftly populated with bikes and bodies, as lunch boxes and flasks were cracked open. By now the wind had dropped, and the day was pleasantly warm, very warm in fact for January.

 No power gels and energy drinks here, just jam sandwiches and flasks of tea.

Jo's beloved Spesh Tricross at Mousehole. That's 'Mouzzle' by the way, most definitely not mouse hole!

The return ride to Marazion was via the same route, and also passed without incident, and so a twelve mile round trip had been enjoyed by all and promises made to meet up for another mass outing soon.

Heading back into Penzance on the return journey.

One duff point wasn't discovered until I got home - somehow I contrived to leave the GoPro snapping away every 2 seconds for nearly the entire ride, something I've done before, but this time I had nearly 2,500 photos to download. Oops!

Oh and I didn't get dropped... although I came close a couple of times mind you...

Link to the full map is here

The Nineteen Nineties Called, They Want Their Bar Ends Back...

Bar ends. At one time every mountain bike worth its knobblies sported a pair of bar ends, they were one of the 'must have' accessories to fit to your bike as soon as you got it out of the shop. Now though, they seem rare on newish bikes out in the wild, and if you do some Googlery you will find they are terminally out of fashion  - mountain bikes version of the Mullet no less. Not only that, but they look a bit odd with riser bars, look entirely wrong with wide bars, hook up on every passing branch, and fetch you an unfortunate one in the family jewels should you crash. That's what a quick mooch around the forums will tell you anyway. But who cares what fashion or forumeers say, especially when it comes to something functional rather than aesthetic.

I've got bar ends on all my bikes, but due to bank balance traumas, I didn't fit them to Fatso immediately, and boy did I miss them when climbing hills. I had also decided that money spent on mudguards was a higher priority, given how enthusiastically fat bike tyres lob mud around. But now at last happy hill climbing is restored, as I got some bar ends for Fatso this week, and knickers to the fashionistas!

But I don't get why bar ends are out of favour anyway.Turning my wrists ninety degrees when climbing or just ploughing along on the flat, feels right somehow, and of course you can pull back slightly on the bar ends and really put your back into powering forwards when climbing too. They offer an alternative hand position, and when bozzing along on the flat or dropping like a bomb down hill, you can tuck your elbows in – more aero!

Lastly, where else can you hang your hat or helmet when climbing a long piece of bad ass geography on a hot day? Eh? Case proven I think!

Bar ends provide a handy place to hang your hat whilst riding, or your shopping perhaps.

New bar ends installed on Fatso, and already mucky and slightly scuffed. These come without bar plugs, so I had to re - use the much sullied On One jobbies.

Anyway, I had decided that I needed to ride my other bikes and leave Fatso behind more, but well, having fitted the bar ends, well they needed proper road testing, didn't they...

The weather forecast for Thursday night and into Friday morning looked promising. Heavy overnight rain and battersome wind giving way around 10am to clear skies and bright sunshine, with the winds easing through the day. So I made the necessary plans to get out come Friday morning and get my knees in the breeze.

It's seemingly not often I say this, but by golly Holly (one of our local weather girls) got it spot on! Half past nine all was wet, windy, and full of weather wretchedness. By ten o'clock though, blue skies were to be seen out one side of the house, and the sun was breaking through – Bimbles are go!

Out and about in the countryside there was a definite feeling of 'just after what went before', as all around everything seemed to be brightening and warming up, while water could be seen trickling down hills, heard gurgling into drains and culverts, and felt dripping off trees. As usual, the rain left its mark in Tregassow Lane, in the form of a pop up lake or two, but I haven't seen these two stretches that frequently flood, so long or deep in water before. I've taken endless splashy photos in these wet patches in the past, so didn't bother this time, and Fatso and I just waded through, with the water level reaching just above the lowest height of the pedals. Even riding slowly, a fat bike makes quite some bow wave, so the surf was definitely up as I rode through.

The only thing to be heard on this part of Tregassow Lane was drips from the trees landing in the bushes, and water gurgling and trickling down the hill.

The wind was still blustery and fresh, but was at least a friendly blow – a westerly wind, and therefore warmish, unlike the away team winds that blow from the north or east – flipping cold beggars they are, I don't like them at all!

There was no destination in mind for this ride, it was to be a rumble around whatever loop I felt like as the ride progressed, along lanes into which I think I've probably worn a groove. Lanes I've ridden countless times before, but still provide ample peace and quiet, and just the pleasure of being out on a bike in the countryside.

Fatso bothering a fence post by what I know as Four Turnings Junction.

I did encounter one potential spot of bother though. Heading towards the hamlet of Boswiddle I found the lane completely filled with parked drop sides, and the noise of some busy work going on somewhere in amongst them. I was beginning to regret that extra mince pie I had at Christmas as I squeezed past the first truck and emerged to surprise the chaps patching the road surface behind it. A good bunch they were though, and after some brief banter one of them decided to save me squeezing past the second truck and backed it up for me, much to my relief, as the roadside bushes had proved quite strong and springy when trying to barge past the first wagon.

 Hmmmm... Looks a bit tight, but doable...

 Yup, it's snug alright. Now what was that about bar ends catching in bushes and trees?

Emerging from up the side of the truck and generator trailer I found the source of all the noise - Some jolly chaps patching the road.

I turned left in Boswiddle and ground my way up the steep hill out of the hamlet, glad I'd finally fitted some bar ends as they really do make climbing easier, and this hill is just the starter on this particular lane, the warm up act if you like, the main course of a properly steep and long beggar lies a mile or two further on.

Before climbing the second hill though, I always stop at a small bridge over a stream in the valley bottom, as it is one of 'those' places that are just so nice to linger at for a while. Like Boswiddle Ford in the opposite direction, I don't think I've ever ridden through without stopping and having a wander about, a sit or a lean, a look around and a listen, even a coffee on occasion. It's not much of a spot to look at I suppose, but it's one of those places that feels right to me, somewhere I just like to be.

I always stop here for a good lurk. Plenty of evidence to suggest this stream was running a lot higher recently.

After that, it was all pretty straightforward. The long slog up the following hill was achieved quite comfortably, courtesy not just of the bar ends, but also of Fatso's low 2 x 10 gearing, and once Carland Cross had been reached, it just left a good old bozz along the old A39 main road – now a bridleway, then up one last short hill and home for a bowl of bubbling and glugging Chicken Noodle soup.

 The 'old' A39, now a Bridleway, runs alongside the new stretch of road (over the hedge on the right) down the hill from Carland Cross. 

There is nearly always a single piece of litter here, usually a beer or soft drinks can, but on this day, a Costa cup. Makes me wonder if it's the same person always passing on the way home or stopping for a break or something.

I might have ridden this route many, many, times before, but I still enjoyed every minute of it once again yesterday, which is what it's all about, and proves that you don't have to go somewhere new every time to gain satisfaction from a ride.

Tregassow Lane is roughly from point one to point two on this map, and Four Turnings is by point 3. The above photo on the old A39 is by point 8.
The full size map is hopefully Here