Sun shining through thin cloud this morning, bird bath looking on the point of freezing, me believing the phone telling me temperatures will rise. Ride the fixed away.
Going through Holbeck, with the intention of riding eventually to Otley, I thought maybe the towpath would not be the cleverest route to the bottom of Cardigan Road, social distancing being all the rage these days. So let’s venture into the centre and see if I can find a different way. Not difficult, and I was happily surprised at the cycling provision along Wellington Street and Kirkstall Road. A bit of a faff turning right from the last bit but patience was rewarded. Up to Headingley then, and a right and a left to the A660 for more up all the way to Lawnswood. There was a bit of tree surgery going on just past the crest, no signs or lights, it was not until passing the (stationary) truck that I saw what was happening. Slightly careless, thinks I.
Pedal along the same road and reach Bramhope, realise there must be a tailwind and think ‘thank you’ to the weather. Then reach the lights at the Dyneley Arms and turn right for a sedate drop down Pool Bank. At least it felt sedate, but 27.4 mph on the fixed is pretty spinney. Maybe I am becoming accustomed to it after three years. Ride through almost all of Pool and turn left. The old friend, the A659. It stays fairly close to the river along this stretch, with no leaves on the trees it can be seen quite a bit of the way to Otley.
After a bite or two to eat, Leeds Road is next. Up all the way for a rather long distance but the views to the left today were a reward for the hard pedalling. Lambs and longhorns in fields near the road, Almscliff Crag crowning the north side of the Wharfe valley. All good. Bramhope again, and on the edge of the village turn left to wheeze my way up Kings Road. Choose the road down past Golden Acre Park and past Adel Dam then return to the A660 to ride on to Headingley. Kirkstall next, and back to the bike tracks. More of the town centre, never ridden these bits before, and then past the Dark Arches for the last miles home. A grin, thirty miles ridden and enjoyed on a gorgeous morning, things are not all bad, are they?
Squiggles . . .