Monday Catch Up.

It's currently Monday morning on the 16^th October, and ex Hurricane Ophelia is roughing up the countryside a bit, but it's nothing out of the ordinary for Cornwall wind wise, so far at any rate, but the wind is due to strengthen further as the day goes on. We're on the edge of the huge spiral anyway, I pity those folk who aren't, namely in Ireland, they're in for a rough old time for sure, and I hope everyone stays safe wherever they are.

But for us down here in Cornwall, it's business as usual, and rather than panic and start boarding up the windows, I looked out and thought it was a good drying day so have got my washing done. It'll be dry in no time at this rate. It might end up three streets over, or stuck to the front grille of a Scania truck and finish up in Carlisle, but it will be dry.

The media has been full of memories of this very day thirty years ago when we had 'The Big Storm' of 1987, and of course a lot of people remember that day well. Me, I was trying to poke a double decker bus around the streets of Reading, and can well remember the slightly bum twitching feeling I felt when crossing an open piece of park land on top of a hill by Bulmershe College, and the bus starting to lean heavily to the right. It felt like it was going up on two wheels, but of course was nowhere near it, it was just the body being pushed over on the suspension, but I was still relieved to reach shelter at the end of the road. Hard to believe it was 30 years ago though.

This now ex Hurricane is named Ophelia, presumably after Bill Shakespeare's young Danish noblewoman character in Hamlet, who was known for her excessive, but enthusiastically delivered, pungent flatulence. 

The famous scene from Hamlet, Act IV scene V, where Ophelia dances with her consort before the King and Queen, and unwisely lets a particularly ripe one go. The King can clearly be seen regretting pulling Ophelia's finger...

Moving swiftly on, I'm also waiting for my shopping to be delivered, so a good opportunity to catch up on a couple of rides.

Thursday the 12^th saw a bit of a bimble round one of my usual loops. A chilly day, but also a sunny one. At least that's what the forecast had said, and indeed, the sun did come out now and then, so it wasn't too bad out and about for a ride. Trouble was I wasn't really feeling too enthusiastic at all, I made myself go out rather than wanting to go out, but in the end the tactic paid off, and eventually unwilling legs started to loosen up, and the mood picked up a bit too.

 The lane from Ladock Woods to Boswiddle looking a tad wintery already.

Boswiddle girls.

 Puffball Fungus clinging to the side of the bank near Boswiddle Ford.

Near Boswiddle Ford.

 The countryside isn't always quiet and tranquil. This is the water running off the road and onto the level below at Boswiddle Ford and it makes quite a din. But it's a good noise, quite an invigorating one in fact.

Autumn leaf at Boswiddle Ford.

There's a lot of Arboreal litter lying around at Boswiddle Ford, both from naturally felled branches and council pruning activities, so claiming salvage rights and finders keepers, I brought this lump home in my right pannier, to plonk in the back garden. Funnily enough I still made it up all the hills on the way home without any bother, but the downhills came with added gravity, and some top plunging was had.

Friday saw me feeling a bit more like it, so I'd planned a ride for the following day. Thus it was that I booted Fatso up the road on a very gloomy Saturday morning bound for the trails, tracks and Byways around the West Wheal Chiverton mine.

This is an area that offers all the good stuff that make rides enjoyable, so it's all familiar territory, as most of my rides are really.

Fatso in Truthan Lane. I actually had the back light on at this point, as it was just after 8am and still very gloomy.

It was to stay gloomy and dull all day, which made for some extra fuzzy high ISO photos (lazy boy here can't be bothered to get out the tripod sometimes...)

 To get to Zelah, I use a closed off lane that used to connect St Allen with the village, but is now dissceted by the main A30 which cuts across on an embankment, burying the lane in the process. The lane is still available to pedestrians and we bikers too, by means of steps up one side, crossing the A30, and steps down the other side to rejoin the old lane.

A good mountain biker would ride down these, especially one mounted on a Fatbike. I'm a coward though and don't want to risk hurting my back any more than is necessary so opt for the more boring, but safer, wheeling of the bike down the steps.

Flipping fuzzy upload again.

Fatso at the bottom of the steps. It is a bit of a struggle for me to negotiate all these steps, but it is actually preferable to reaching Zelah by road.

Arriving in the vicinity of the mine, I could've taken the byway that runs around the easterly and southerly sides of the site, but instead I turned right, dropped down the hill and then hung a left onto a marked footpath (ahem...) that runs up alongside a huge scar in the countryside. This area is Sandstone spoil I gather, and appears to have also been worked itself sometime in the past. A bit of a valley has been created in the hillside, and the remains of a shallow Adit uncovered. A stream runs down through this area, but by crikey you wouldn't want to fill your water bottle from it. You'd be setting off metal detectors for ages afterwards, there are all sorts of nasties lurking in the ground and on the surface at sites like this.

Now here's a crappy map of the area around the Wheal Chiverton mine. I rode along the tarmac lane at the top of the map before turning left onto the footpath at point A. I sometimes ride around the Byway marked on the map, but on this occasion, wanted to do some bush busting along that footpath.

 Right click and open in a new tab on any fuzzy photos to see them properly.

A couple of fly by selfies from slightly different positions, showing the top end of that wasteland.

Tyre tracks aren't mine, but belong to some locals on Motor Cross bikes.

The footpath I rode up is visible as that flat topped ledge on the very left of the shot, at about ten o'clock.

These timbers jutting out of the ground are supports from a shallow Adit, now exposed. I assume the erosion of the surface is the result of human extraction of the sandstone rather than natural erosion, but I really am only guessing.

I only had a brief mooch about the very top of this huge, desolate looking, scar on the landscape. I've yet to explore the rest of this barren area that is clearly visible on aerial mapping, but no doubt will at some point.

Instead I followed the footpath up through the thick bushes and trees that eventually lead to the old engine house of the mine, currently fenced off and thus preventing a closer poke about. It could be just for inspection purposes, to make sure gert lumps of granite or chimney brick don't drop on the heads of nosing folk below, or it could be something deep and deadly has opened up, as mine shafts are prone to do a lot these days.

 Following the footpath up the Westerly edge of the site makes for some good old bush busting fun.

Unfortunately the fine Batters Shaft engine house is currently out of bounds.

A lot of shafts were quite crudely capped by blocking the top just below the surface with timber then piling soil and stuff in on top. A lot of shaft locations are known and secured, a lot are not, and now, the timbers are rotting away and the shafts opening up. In some areas that were once intensively mined, the kids are warned not to play Hopscotch and you never stamp your feet to stay warm in winter either... 

Well I am joking of course. Or am I? CLICKY

Between 1859 and the mine's closure in 1886, The West Wheal Chiverton mine produced 45,100 tons of lead, 22,000 tons of zinc, and 1,221,200 ounces of silver. Copper ore was also raised, but in much smaller quantities. At its peak, nearly a thousand people worked at the mine.

The Batters Shaft engine house is unusual in having the chimney stack set in the middle of the end wall, rather than in a corner, and at one time was home to a huge 80 inch cylinder, beam pumping engine built by Harvey and Co of Hayle.

Mining in Cornwall of course went into a severe decline in the late 1800s, leading to huge numbers of closures, and the start of a mass migration of Cornish folk anywhere in the world where hard rock mining was carried out. Hence you can now find people in places like South America with very Cornish surnames like Penberthy, Rowe, Jago and Spargo. There's something very endearing about hearing of people with names like Juan Miguel Tregaskis.

 No need to lob the bike over that gate, or indeed through it, there is room beside that large lump of granite to the side of the gate to get past.

Leaving the mine, it was onto the Byway that skirts the southerly edge of the site for a short distance.

From the remains of the mine I had a short ride along a lane before hanging a right and disappearing through a hole in the hedge. This is actually a footpath through some woodland and always makes for a pleasant ride. It wasn't just me enjoying the tranquility along there though, as I met a young lady on a horse that was sporting a rather fetching Dayglo cap and ear covers (the cap was on the horse that is, not the rider...). Extra visibility on murky, grey days apparently to warn traffic of the presence of Dobbin and rider.

The footpath towards Cotton Springs.

Riding along these paths and byways, I can't help but wonder who walked them in the past, and in the case of the tracks round here, it's quite likely to have been mine workers travelling to and from work.

Old boy chooching along where once weary miners trod.

There are always some muddy sections along this path, and it was on these that things started to get a little unruly in the Fatso department. I've still got the tyres at a fairly high pressure, and big fat tyres and high pressures do not play well with mud at all. Bike and rider harmony was endangered a couple of times as the tyres skated about and felt like they were going in several directions at once. Thankfully an unplanned trip into the Rhubarb was avoided by judicious deployment of my left boot to the ground.

Memo to self: Let the bloody tyres down a bit you twerp!

At the end of that path I took to another Byway that passes through quite a deep ford at a place rather charmingly called Cotton Springs. As usual I couldn't resist releasing my inner nine year old and rode through the ford a number of times, before heading via the lanes to Zelah and thence back the way I'd come.

The footpath changes designation to Byway status as it heads towards Cotton Springs.

The view from the eyebrow cam on the Byway.

 The ford at Cotton Springs is deep everywhere, just a bit less so towards the left in this shot above.

Time for some fun!

Hello, just noticed my finger creeping into shot in the bottom right corner...

 Quick turn round on the other side...

 Get some speed up...

And bosh! Back through the ford we go.

I suspect all we cyclists who ride on the road have particular bends that we count as favourites for a bit of a hoon round. This is one of mine, and I always enjoy ear'oling round here, knee almost on the deck in the style of the late great Barry Sheene... Then I see a photo like this and realise I'm wobbling round barely off the vertical... doh...

Back to that lane twixt Zelah and St Allen, and here we are on top of the embankment that buried the old lane, having just crossed the hellishly busy A30. I grew a rather fine and bushy beard waiting for a gap in both directions big enough to let me dart across the road here, it was that busy. 

Bright orange Daf going East belongs to Conway Bailey Transport of Redruth, and one of their drivers has quite a good trucking vlog on YouTube (search for Mark Dring), should any truck buffs be wanting something to watch.

Almost home again and a very bright and colourful field at Truthan. 

Hmmmm... an even crappier looking map than usual.

Well there it is, the numbers don't relate to anything, but the full size jobbie, complete with graphs and stuff can be found HERE

The mapping site shows the ride at 10.8 miles whilst Fatso's computer recorded 13.3 miles - must be all that toing and froing through the ford...

---------------

A Little Bit of Housekeeping.

There's always something you need to be doing with bikes it seems, and it follows therefore that the more bikes you have, the more little jobs there are to attend to.

Working on a bike can be a deeply satisfying thing of course, as long as things go well at any rate. When they don't go to plan for me, well then the Back Road Bimbles Swear Box is likely to see some action, along with the first aid kit to patch almost severed fingers and bruised foreheads and so on.

This last couple of days both my chunky tyred house bikes have received some attention, and thankfully, both the small jobs required went well... so far.

First up was the Marin. A couple of days ago I was giving the chain a wipe down with the old hand towel I keep just for this purpose (a clean and shiny chain is a thing of beauty don't you think?) when I noticed the rear cassette had come over all wibbly-wobbly. 
Ah Ha! That would explain why, towards the end of the last ride, I'd been thinking the gears maybe weren't quite their usual selves. I thought I'd detected a clunky change or two, and a bit of slop when pedaling again after coasting, but dismissed it as just me being paranoid (as usual), or the road being bumpy and my right thumb being a bit ham fisted or whatever. Turns out my initial instincts had been right though, obviously.

Now this of course, is a very simple job - whip out the back wheel, tighten up the lock ring on the cassette and lob the wheel back in. Which is essentially what happened. The spring in the rear derailleur is a feisty beggar mind you, it was after my fingers for sure, but all was done and shifting swiftly and silently again in about ten minutes. Hopefully, it'll stay that way now too. With only 163 miles under its wheels, the bike is still pretty new so it maybe wasn't torqued up properly in the factory. Whatever, it's no hardship to fix.

I forgot to take any photos of this fascinating operation though, so here's a general photo of the cassette in question, just in case you want to see what one looks like or something...

Sunrace cassette loveliness recently.

The Marin wasn't the only bike in need of some TLC though, as the Fatso Floater tyre saga continues, or rather in this case, it was a new tube that was the issue.

The On One Floater tyres are well known for their lack of enthusiasm for getting seated on the rim properly, they are in fact, a bit of an arse to be honest, and I had only recently done battle once again with the issue when I swapped the tyres around and decided to fit new tubes to see if that solved the problem (it didn't, not entirely).

The tubes fitted from On One are 26 x 2.75 I think, which seems a tad odd for a 26 x 4.0 tyre. So a few weeks back, with Fatso needing a new chain, I also took the opportunity to swap the tyres around and fit lovely new 26 x 4.0 tubes from Schwalbe.

Here we go, the proper tool for the job... Or so I thought.

All went well. The new chain went on easily (quick links are the Mutts Nuts) and tyre swapping and inflating went well. I lubed the tyre beads with Gt 85 this time, which may not be a good thing to do where rubber items are concerned, but there we go. The tyres were over inflated to aid seating and I enjoyed near success. Both tyres were better than they had been, but both still sported small areas where the tyre still wouldn't sit properly. Knickers to it, I don't notice it while riding so I left it as is and set about enjoying some rides.

But... I then noticed the front tyre had come over all incontinent, and was losing air over a period of days. Bugger. A quick Google found Schwalbe tubes do this sometimes, it's the valve apparently and some just need everything tightening down, others just keep on leaking whatever you do. Bums.

With the bike living in the house, I took to pumping it up again with the pump I carry in my rucksack for on the road emergencies:

The Lezyne Micro Floor Drive HV pump - A superb little bit of kit.

Now I got this pump as it was recommended on Fat-bike.com as being good for inflating the high volume tubes of donut tyred Fatbikes. It's not the pressure that gives you a work out, it's the volume you see. Now this pump is designated HV for High Volume and is better for the job than the HP model, which is for High Pressure. I must admit, lovely piece of kit that  it is - all shiny and nicely made, I was a tad sceptical. Just look at it, it's pretty small really. I imagined inflating a Fatty tyre would leave me with arms like Popeye on steroids and gasping for breath.

Not so! It really is an amazing little pump to use. It has a small fold out foot on one side so you can stand on it, but I generally kneel down, hold the pump with one hand, and pump (very easily), with the other. I don't know how many strokes it took to pump the tyre from flat up to about 20 psi, but it wasn't hard work at all and the tube inflated remarkably quickly for such a small pump. 

Pumpety-pumpety-pump.

Easy to inflate it may be, but it wasn't right. The bike was flawed, the slow deflation needed fixing. 

Not having a valve core remover I just thought sod it, and looked around on the net for more tubes, just not Schwalbes this time, and this morning 'they' arrived. I say they, as the ones I went for come as a pair, and with extra valve caps too, shiny metal ones to replace the plastic ones already fitted to the tubes inside the boxes. These came from a seller on Amazon and were £9.97. 

Now near as damnit a tenner for two tubes might seem a lot to those folk who are used to paying a couple of quid for a tube, but such is the Fatbiking life. Tubes and tyres cost an arm and both legs. Think a tenner for two tubes is a lot? My neighbour went into our LBS to buy a spare tube to carry on his Specialized Fatbike, and came out twenty quid poorer, and with just one tube (also by Specialized as it happens). Yikes!

Anyway, back to the story, so the tubes duly arrived this morning and I quickly whipped out Fatso's front wheel and took it out to the operating theatre (the shed).

Over inflated and hard as a bowling ball on Sunday, soft and squidgy on Wednesday.

Right, we'll give one of these a go and keep t'other one for spare.

Woo get me and my posh tyre bead lubes...

Last time I used GT 85, this time I went for some shower gel, a substitute item on a recent shopping order. It's ok stuff but I prefer Radox for smelling fresh after a shower. So I wasn't too upset to 'repurpose' the Imperial Leather. Neat, it's more slippery than a well greased Weasel, so should aid correct tyre fitment...

Pumpety-pumpety-pump...

This time I used the Topeak Joe Blow track pump that lives with the spiders in the shed, and although it too does a decent job, it is actually harder work than the mini pump! This pump aggravates my upper back issue with the up and down movement but I'll survive.

Well the Imperial Leather did much the same job as the GT 85 - just a small spot where the tyre bead is still not where it should be. I've bunged 30 psi in the tyre, refitted the wheel to Fatso and will leave it overnight as it may improve given time.

Now, as long as the cassette stays wobble free and the front tyre stays up on Fatso, then it will have been a pleasant time spent doing those two jobs. Fettling your bikes is almost as good as riding them for satisfaction and enjoyment I reckon.

 I've also now got the best smelling Fatbike you'll ever meet!

---------------

Monday Catch Up.

Well I've been a bit tardy with the blog again, and have amassed a few rides since the last excitement filled bulletin here, so it's high time I got all tappety tap tap with the keyboard.

Thursday the 28th of September... blimey that seems an age ago, but anyway, we'll start there and lob up a few photos from some of the rides I've done.

That Thursday morning saw me peering out of the window wondering who had turned the contrast down during the night, turned out just to be a bit misty outside so need to panic then. Well yes actually, 'cos mist makes for some good photos, but first, coffee. Sometimes I can go without the jump start that is the first caffeine injection of the day, but not on that day. So it was, that by the time I had got brain and body functioning to a level compatible (just) with riding a bike, the mist was already lifting as the sun burned it off before my very (still slightly bleary) eyes.

Spiders must hate misty mornings as their wonderfully woven and cunningly crafted webs become so visible, even the most short sighted of insects buzzing merrily along can see the trap looming. 

Just a minute or two later on from the first webby photo up above and the mist is already clearing. Doh... Late to the party again! 

It wasn't long at all before all signs of the murky start had been seen off by the sun. This image makes things look a tad bleak - a result I think of the still damp roads, the recently cut hedges and verges. Oh and me turning up the contrast a bit in post processing to make it look half way presentable as an image. In fact it was a rather pleasant, warm and sunny day that unfolded.

Right, I'm hitting the fast forward button here and missing out a ride 'cos not a lot happened worth putting on here.

So we suddenly get to last Friday, October the sixth, and a beautiful sunny day once again. Now a sunny day means it's ride the Marin day, so out came the Pine Mountain and off I booted, being careful to avoid puddles and mud as much as I could, the Marin being my 'best bike' as it were, and the one I really hate getting dirty. Trouble is, it's such a good bike to ride it's hard to keep it for summer use only or something daft like that, but with some careful weather watching and even more careful dollop dodging riding, I can ride it and keep it from getting ruinously grotty in the process.

An absolutely beautiful day for a ride in the countryside. Warm, soft, sunshine and no wind to speak of (meteorologically derived wind anyway, no such assurances can be made regarding the old bloke in this photo).

Between the hamlet of Boswiddle and the ford. I'd be going past that farm on distant hill over yonder later.

Boswiddle Ford... again. I can't pass through here without a good poke around, and of course, a photo or three. It is a magical little place for me, somewhere I always enjoy stopping and just taking in the noise of the water dropping off the road onto the lower level of the stream below, and the squawking of the Crows in the tree tops here.

This was taken using one of those very cheap and crappy mini tripods that was a freebie with, I think, my Canon G7 when I bought it. The sort of crappy little thing you'd find in a pound shop no doubt, but it actually does prove useful on occasions such as this, when a low viewpoint and a long exposure are required. The G1X boasts a lot of gravity for a compact, being quite a chunky number, but the little tripod holds it well.

Just cruisin' along.

If only I could bottle the waves of calming pleasure I feel sometimes when riding through scenes like this...

Oh hold up, what's this? A Covey of Pheasants, a Nide or a Bouquet of Pheasants no less. Suggestions all for the collective noun for these equally magnificent but dim, birds.

I'd suggest a Mayhem of Pheasants, a Chaos or a Pandemonium perhaps, as being equally, if not more so, suitable.

There are three of the beggars lurking in this photo, as they took the sun on a fallen tree in the woods near Trendeal.

I've tried before, but failed spectacularly, to get a good photo of a Pheasant or two, but these for some reason, seemed quite happy with me being nearby. I say nearby, but they were still a bit too far for the compact's zoom lens, so out came the big guns - the 450D and the 55-250 zoom, rather than a Purdey side-by-side, much to the relief of the feathery ensemble no doubt.

The only reason I can think of that these birds didn't scarper quick on my arrival was that possibly, they couldn't actually see me due to the sun being in their eyes. Or, if they are escapees from the pens and guns of the local shoot, maybe their survival instinct hasn't been formed yet.

The turning colour and dropping of the leaves can mean only one thing - it's that Pheasanty time of year again, and sure enough, the lanes have suddenly become full of the beggars again after the quiet, tranquil, summer months. Hardly a ride goes by now without me being startled by some gert big bird, or birds, busting out of the hedge beside me and running up the lane ahead of my advancing knobblies. They dodge left, they dodge right, making that awful cluuuurching noise as they go, before finally remembering they can fly, well after a fashion they can anyway. So they take off, but instead of soaring gracefully upwards and away to safety, they veer to one side or other and crash alarmingly through the bushes, leaves and branches bustling as they go, and I wince at the thought of the battering the bird must take in what usually would qualify as an air accident worthy of the AAIB's attentions.

Not the brightest of birds by any means then. Not intelligence wise anyway, but colour wise, their markings really are quite something. The area below the vicary looking white collar and down their backs looks for all the word like it is painted in acrylics or something. Those long tail feathers are quite superb too.

So I think it's a shame they are seen as good shooting fun. I don't like hunting for shits and giggles in any form, but I fail to see the sport in shooting Pheasants. Take a large, slow moving and even slower thinking bird, and blow it to bits with a gun that could hit all four corners of a barn door from 30 feet with a single pull of the trigger. Where's the skill in that? Let's see you nail one with a sniper rifle then I'll be more impressed with the marksmanship, and the poor dim bird will at least stand some chance. Easy for me to say all that mind you, I've never fired a gun and probably couldn't hit the sea from a rowing boat if I tried to fire one, but still, it doesn't seem overly skilled to me.

But, Pheasant numbers in the 'wild' are on the rise apparently, and it is the shoots that we have to thank for that, as numbers bred in captivity increase each year, leading to the inevitable lucky escapees taking up residence in the countryside, albeit devoid initially of self preservation and foraging for food skills. 

So well have their numbers grown that a recent University of Exeter study found that Pheasants make up 38.1% of birds killed by traffic between 2013 and 2016, the highest number of any roadkill bird species (Pheasanty slaughter). I've personally nearly added to those figures myself after having had a couple of very near misses with the blundering bird while out riding. But despite all the startle induced wobbles and undercracker laundry traumas, I'm a fan of the darned birds. Thick as a yard of gravy they may be, but a ride in the countryside just isn't the same without their catastrophic presence. It was too quiet this summer so I'm glad the shooting season is underway and may as many Pheasants escape the guns as possible.

Riding on having bagged some shots of the Pheasants, I saw some far more graceful feathered flying courtesy of a couple of Raptors that swooped out of the tree tops and soared up the lane in front of me. It turns out they had spotted a Rabbit or Hare that I then saw floppeting up the road and I braced myself to witness the kill, only to see a car come round the bend ahead, the Rabbit (or Hare, can't tell the difference without my prescription glasses on...) dive into the hedge, and the birds swoop to the right off over the adjacent field. 

I've had many encounters with Raptors over my cycling years as well, and they are altogether a more special moment than encountering a floundering Pheasant. I need to take my NHS specs, binoculars and big zoom lensed camera, and stake out a couple of the places where I regularly witness the effortless flowing soaring of these birds of prey. Oh and a Raptor ID book for idiots would be handy as well. 

The Cornish Space Agency have got the launch pad sorted, now they're just searching Ebay for used Saturn Fives and there'll be Trelawney men fair and true in space before you can bake a big bloke's pasty.

Alternatively, this may be a BT phone mast I've heard about, near Carland Cross...

Sunday, yesterday, the 8th of October, was Fatbike Sunday once again, and another ride into Idless Woods.

Not Idless Woods, but a scraggy raggy bit of woodland nearby, atop the nearside hill above Lanner Mill.

I love these bits of 'wild' woodland that dot the landscape. I desperately want to get in them and immerse myself in their disorder, but they're all privately owned by some bugga or other, and most are protected by walls, fences, signs saying 'beggar orf,' minefields and watch towers etc. The woods I do get to explore seem almost too well managed in comparison, almost as if Disney did woodland. These raggedy bits provide reminders of what the countryside could've looked like centuries ago before we started tarmacing and concreting, and organising and controlling everything.

I started off poking Fatso along the middle path through the woods, as seen here, but was soon seduced by a 'new to me' path down through the trees.

Boldly going where Fatso and I had not gone before, and most enjoyable it was too.

Close up of some twisty Idless bark.

I must admit to not always being a fan of the long exposure treatment given to moving water. It seems such a cliche these days, every (white) water  shot you see looks more like smoke than gushing wetness, and the result is also not how we see it with our MK1 human eyes. But... I'm slowly changing my mind and experimented a bit with some longer exposures beside the stream in the woods. Too long an exposure and I got the smokey effect which left me not overly enthused. But the second shot of these two above was a bit quicker at 1/10th of a second, and is a half decent compromise, conveying the movement, power and maybe even the noise of the water here. The smokey look, to me at least, never portrays or suggests the noise that accompanies these mini waterfalls.

The original plan had been to do a loop of the woods then beggar off back home in time for lunch, but I changed my mind, enjoying the ride as I was, so took the long way home from the woods, via the road. This meant descending back down to Lanner Mill (where I'd entered the woods) but my bimbling was nearly interrupted by this fallen tree. On my side of the road, the left in this photo, I would've banged my head a treat (but missed my brains by about three feet), had I not seen it and been able to stop. Just as I stopped, so a Ford Fiesta came down the hill behind me and just squeezed under the tree by going to the right side of the road. Anything bigger would surely hit it so once I got home and could use the internet (my mobile phone doesn't do internet... actually it doesn't do much at all, it's a phone, for making phone calls with) I found the contact details and phoned it in. 

This lane is a cut through for people travelling to/from the north west side of Truro and wanting the A39 towards Newquay or the A30. This lane gives Truro and its traffic a swerve, so you do get all sorts along here,  and sooner or later, a4x4, a motorcyclist or a van would no doubt twat this tree a good'un, it being a steep hill and a bend an all.

I got an email this morning saying the tree had been cleared so all is good (hope it was done yesterday just after I called it in mind).

So that's the news from down here in Autumny Cornwall. 

I'm rushing to finish this post now, 'cos there's live Speedway on in a mo and we're getting near the end of the season so I want to get my fix while I still can. I won't be spill chocking this until later either, so it might be fill of mistooks and bad grammarisms, but it'll have to do for the time being.

Right, until next time, happy bimbling!