footloose crow
Veteran
- Location
- Cornwall. UK
21 May. How south can we go?
May blossom has scattered the lanes with confetti and the sky is cerulean blue. My wife has switched off her battery and is still matching my speed and we spin side by side along hedge lined lanes in the early summer scent of Cornwall. Stithians Lake is behind us and quickly hidden again in the folds of this ancient wrinkled landscape. The car is back there and will remain waiting patiently until we have been as far south as we can and the land completely runs out, heading into the knife cold south easterly whilst our backs are warmed by the sun.
The route runs downhill as we have started on Cornwall's roof. A long, rambling downhill on a broken surface that makes the bike rattle and my hands shake. Madame Crow complains about a numbness she is experiencing but is unprepared to detail exactly where. I am sympathetic as I think I have the same. The lanes shuttle between light and dark, from expansive views across tiny Celtic era fields, stone hedged and ringed with gorse and bracken and then into a green tunnel beneath old oaks and beechwood, the last purple flush of blue bells now just fading.
The downhill peters out in the marine dominated village of Gweek at the head of the Helford River, the boatyard full to bursting and the tide drained river lined with the rotting carcasses of abandoned yachts interspersed with renovation projects, new paint glistening in the sun. From here it is uphill and then downhill, uphill and then downhill as we cross the small tributaries that run at ninety degrees to the river and the road. Each small tributary has its own stone bridge providing a convenient place to stop and admire the views before the next uphill grind.
Another long uphill as we leave the river and head onto the horizontal moorland of the Lizard itself. Dominating the stone age field systems now overrun with fern, gorse and coarse grass is the space age Goonhilly Earth Station, its satellite dishes pointed up beaming thousands of conversations and characters around the world. The lanes here are flat and we can spin faster and faster, running side by side, Madame matching me every time I increase the pace. Her battery is humming and my tyres are hissing. Joy!
Lizard village arrives, eerily empty perhaps due to the large sign on the edge requesting visitors to go away as the village is self isolating. Despite the unwelcome sign the village ice cream and take away is open. "Too soon' says Madame. I think she is referring to a degree of over eagerness in opening up again but she means it is too soon in the day to be allowed a treat like ice cream. We are on an "eat to win" diet today.
The lighthouse is also empty, the museum curiously old fashioned and also closed. The car park looks forlorn. The sun glints on the sea and the waves roll in from the south west foaming over the rocks at the foot of the cliff. There are two bulk carriers and a container ship a few miles offshore on what should be one of the busiest shipping lanes in the south west. We saw fourteen cargo ships anchored under Falmouth earlier this week, something no one has ever seen before - evidence of the impact of Covid 19 on global trade. Now we are furthest south of any humans still on the mainland. There is no one in sight apart from us and we can spend our time, as we did at Lands End last week, taking photos by the signpost that shows all the places that are a long way from here.
Time to head north. There is no alternative to north apart from swimming the hundred miles or so to France. Unless we missed the Pointe de Raz and headed instead for Brazil, far to the south west and even more Covid infected than us. Past the ice cream shop, Madame setting the pace and her gaze averted from the temptation.
My electric MAWIL forges ahead, the wind on her back and legs spinning in a blur. I trail in her wake, standing on the pedals on the hills to keep in touch with her relentless pace, her extra 250 watts leading me on. We drop into Mullion, empty shops, empty streets, a flyblown estate agents window and then down to sea level and Poldhu Cove. At last I am allowed an ice cream! The road heads up from here; there is no alternative from sea level and the ice cream revolves around my stomach as I try to revolve the wheels up the 15% slope. Madame waits for me patiently at the top but I am too breathless to comment.
On, on, more spinning, the sun warming us and more layers removed as we pass the vast naval air station at Culdrose where flags snap in the wind with messages of support for the NHS. Helston is busy with the 4pm rush hour that now replaces the 5pm rush hour in these Covid days. It is a relief to get to the quiet and tiny lanes that lead back uphill to the roof of Cornwall and the grassy car park at Stithians.
A magnificent ride, fast for us two and neither of us particularly tired despite nearly 3000 feet of ascent. The bikes are loaded on the car and cold beers on the deck at home are waiting for us. This is the life. I sit on the deck and alcohol infused ambitions are spoken aloud, of long rides and far destinations, of challenges and journeys. Madame listens patiently. She doesn't need to tell me that we have a long wait before any of that happens and I don't want to hear it, buoyed on by beer and dreams.
May blossom has scattered the lanes with confetti and the sky is cerulean blue. My wife has switched off her battery and is still matching my speed and we spin side by side along hedge lined lanes in the early summer scent of Cornwall. Stithians Lake is behind us and quickly hidden again in the folds of this ancient wrinkled landscape. The car is back there and will remain waiting patiently until we have been as far south as we can and the land completely runs out, heading into the knife cold south easterly whilst our backs are warmed by the sun.
The route runs downhill as we have started on Cornwall's roof. A long, rambling downhill on a broken surface that makes the bike rattle and my hands shake. Madame Crow complains about a numbness she is experiencing but is unprepared to detail exactly where. I am sympathetic as I think I have the same. The lanes shuttle between light and dark, from expansive views across tiny Celtic era fields, stone hedged and ringed with gorse and bracken and then into a green tunnel beneath old oaks and beechwood, the last purple flush of blue bells now just fading.
The downhill peters out in the marine dominated village of Gweek at the head of the Helford River, the boatyard full to bursting and the tide drained river lined with the rotting carcasses of abandoned yachts interspersed with renovation projects, new paint glistening in the sun. From here it is uphill and then downhill, uphill and then downhill as we cross the small tributaries that run at ninety degrees to the river and the road. Each small tributary has its own stone bridge providing a convenient place to stop and admire the views before the next uphill grind.
Another long uphill as we leave the river and head onto the horizontal moorland of the Lizard itself. Dominating the stone age field systems now overrun with fern, gorse and coarse grass is the space age Goonhilly Earth Station, its satellite dishes pointed up beaming thousands of conversations and characters around the world. The lanes here are flat and we can spin faster and faster, running side by side, Madame matching me every time I increase the pace. Her battery is humming and my tyres are hissing. Joy!
Lizard village arrives, eerily empty perhaps due to the large sign on the edge requesting visitors to go away as the village is self isolating. Despite the unwelcome sign the village ice cream and take away is open. "Too soon' says Madame. I think she is referring to a degree of over eagerness in opening up again but she means it is too soon in the day to be allowed a treat like ice cream. We are on an "eat to win" diet today.
The lighthouse is also empty, the museum curiously old fashioned and also closed. The car park looks forlorn. The sun glints on the sea and the waves roll in from the south west foaming over the rocks at the foot of the cliff. There are two bulk carriers and a container ship a few miles offshore on what should be one of the busiest shipping lanes in the south west. We saw fourteen cargo ships anchored under Falmouth earlier this week, something no one has ever seen before - evidence of the impact of Covid 19 on global trade. Now we are furthest south of any humans still on the mainland. There is no one in sight apart from us and we can spend our time, as we did at Lands End last week, taking photos by the signpost that shows all the places that are a long way from here.
Time to head north. There is no alternative to north apart from swimming the hundred miles or so to France. Unless we missed the Pointe de Raz and headed instead for Brazil, far to the south west and even more Covid infected than us. Past the ice cream shop, Madame setting the pace and her gaze averted from the temptation.
My electric MAWIL forges ahead, the wind on her back and legs spinning in a blur. I trail in her wake, standing on the pedals on the hills to keep in touch with her relentless pace, her extra 250 watts leading me on. We drop into Mullion, empty shops, empty streets, a flyblown estate agents window and then down to sea level and Poldhu Cove. At last I am allowed an ice cream! The road heads up from here; there is no alternative from sea level and the ice cream revolves around my stomach as I try to revolve the wheels up the 15% slope. Madame waits for me patiently at the top but I am too breathless to comment.
On, on, more spinning, the sun warming us and more layers removed as we pass the vast naval air station at Culdrose where flags snap in the wind with messages of support for the NHS. Helston is busy with the 4pm rush hour that now replaces the 5pm rush hour in these Covid days. It is a relief to get to the quiet and tiny lanes that lead back uphill to the roof of Cornwall and the grassy car park at Stithians.
A magnificent ride, fast for us two and neither of us particularly tired despite nearly 3000 feet of ascent. The bikes are loaded on the car and cold beers on the deck at home are waiting for us. This is the life. I sit on the deck and alcohol infused ambitions are spoken aloud, of long rides and far destinations, of challenges and journeys. Madame listens patiently. She doesn't need to tell me that we have a long wait before any of that happens and I don't want to hear it, buoyed on by beer and dreams.
. Waited all day for the wind to die down a bit finally out the door at 18.15 for an hour . Headed out and thought it's still windy ,headed up through Newtown Linford and headed up Polly Botts lane climb around the back of Markfield to Thornton ,instead of my normal route I turned right to Ratby ,Groby and home got my timing all wrong as I was out for an hour and 25 seconds 
This is a circular route which seemed to have a headwind all the way round . Got rained on for a few seconds and was treated to a lovely 🌈 .Hopefully the wind is calming down
The last bit up to the summit at Oaks was thankfully slightly sheltered otherwise it might have been faster walking.
The stretch to the A49 didn't quite work with the wind direction this time but it was better on the main road which helped me up the hill.
