19 Jan. Back lanes north of Truro
I always get a song stuck in my head when cycling, endlessly repeating the few words I can remember, that Madame Crow assures me are not even the right words. It is hard being musical and married to me. Today was Willie Nelson and 'blue sky, nothing but blue sky from now on'. Are those the words? At least it an optimistic song and like others on this site today, I am enjoying the bright crispness of a winter anticyclone, hard shadows and sunshine with nothing but blue sky ahead.
Some of the back lanes are still in winter garb, the centre of the lane a foot higher than the tracks either side in places, potholes hidden. But away from the shade of trees and with free drainage the other lanes are dry and the bike runs smoothly along them, humming contentedly to itself, as pleased as me to be let out this day.
There is a bright green flush in the hedgerows now, cow parsley fern I think, and some optimistic wild garlic shoots. Wild daffodils are still hiding their bells unlike the tame ones in Truro that have been out since December. I tell myself to take it slowly, not to overcook it, remember I am convalescing but it is no good. A hill is a challenge and must be met. Breathing heavily I leave the gloom of the tree shrouded lanes near Truro and puff up to the open high roads with views both sides of fields and copses, a few cows out a sign of our mild winter. There is a frost on the shaded side of the road although it is past mid day and ice rattles in my mudguards.
Once near the A30 I have reached the highest point of the ride and turn right, a forgotten lane that runs along the central ridge of Cornwall, views spilling away to my right, sun warming me despite the bite of cold air in my lungs. I see what I think are goats and puzzled, slow down. They are muntjac deer, three of them, watching me anxiously. I don't move and nor do they, a shared minute until by some instinct they turn and trot away, elegantly jumping, weightless, effortless, ground covering leaps.
The lane continues in its secret ways, crossing the new A39 after a steep downhill and then following the old, abandoned now except to cyclists A39 back up the hill. Then away again, meeting a car for the first time today. He stops and waits for me to come past. That happens three times today, one even reversing a hundred yards as the lane is too narrow for us both. Are people are just more chilled and laid back in the countryside? Maybe its the 450 lumen strobe I now have on the front!
A long downhill, two miles of it through woods and wet lanes, crossing a bridge at the bottom where with the sun streaming through the bare branches and the ground steaming in the heat I stop for a drink and some chocolate.
I need a rest, my legs have grown lazy and now the road ahead is uphill, steeply, the Wahoo says 20% in places and who am I to disbelieve it. I want to stop but play the game of 'just get to that tree, just get to that corner' until lungs heaving and bike weaving I emerge again on the plateau and into sunshine, pulling down the zips of both layers of clothing, overheated and now feeling very tired.
On, on... a bit of up and a bit of down but nothing too hard now, the sun warm although the ground is still frosted in places. Through Grampound Road, accelerating down the long hill but having to stop at the bottom for a car when I hoped to use momentum to carry me up the other side. No matter, the legs have decided to work for a while and we make fast progress, much faster than earlier on. On through Probus, quiet as always today with its church tower that can been seen for miles, hanging watchfully over the village. A fast downhill, breaking the speed limit, leaving traffic in my wake and then I am beside the Tresillian River. It is half tide, the lowering sun making the mud glisten and glow, waders and mud feeding birds following the retreating tide. I always mean to stop here for a photo but as always the flat road brings out the need to for speed, legs spinning, always trying to beat my previous time. Today I don't but it feels good to try.
The last hill and into our quiet lane, the mile of tree hung broken tarmac that leads just to our house. Rattling over the cattle grid I surprise a big dog fox who lopes away unhappily as the pheasant he was stalking jumps into the air, squawking hysterically. Madame Crow feeds the pheasants here with raisins. The fox will eventually appreciate her kindness too, but not today.
and after rain yesterday that meant I didn't venture out early, which turned out to be just as well as I unexpectedly got a call from my brother wanting a lift.
) and decided to finish off via Weeping Cross and Meole Brace.
