15 Feb. I've got a bike and I can ride it where I like....
This is a properly muddy lane.....
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It's alright though as I have gravel wheels. It even says 'gravel' on them. Problem is, I don't have gravel tyres but here it's just mud on tarmac with gravel in the puddles. Is there a tyre for that?
It is warm today. Ten degrees. It has stopped raining and for the first time in this month, I can see my own shadow. The gales have blown themselves out and the next weather front is still mid Atlantic. That explains why every cyclist in Cornwall is out today. Well, six people are but it's more than I have seen for a month.
A cyclist pulls alongside of me and starts to chat. This is the first conversation I have had face to face since Christmas. I forget about the virus for a few kilometres as we discuss the weather, why I carry so much spare clothing and tools, where we have been, where we are going, our bikes. I feel very lonely when we choose different roads after fifteen minutes and only later consider (the lack of) social distancing and my infection risk. At 30km/h we are probably OK riding side by side. But if you don't see another post from me....you will know why.
Today I have been to Perranporth and then northwards along the coast on a switchback series of lanes that seek the steepest, dampest, muddiest hills. The Wahoo says 23% for a while on one. They are all over 10%. I won't come this way again. From the top of the first hill I can see the waves rolling onto Perranporth beach, made huge by pulsating low pressure systems three hundred miles away. When you can see the wave crests from three miles away, you know it's big.
I end up in Crantock, by the Bowgie Inn. Every pub or inn I have passed today has been shuttered, shabby, litter blown into the doorways and green stained masonry. The Bowgie looks more hopeful, as if it has heard that it may be open soon. The view across Crantock Bay never changes and there are a number of surfers in the shelter of the cliffs, avoiding the huge swells in the middle of the bay. It is cold in the wind but there is blue in the sky and the surf makes fresh, white lines in a grey sea.
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Turn for home and I have chosen a ridiculous route that cuts across the grain of the land. Up, down, up , down, the view is always tall hedgerows and brief glimpses of fields, wind turbines silently making endless circles. It is clouding up now and even the wind has turned against me. My legs hurt. I hate it when I think I have reached the top, only for the bend to reveal the lane snaking upwards towards another horizon.
Then there is more mud. The discs are scratchy. The derailleur is cranky. The new bike says it doesn't really like mud, could I take the old one next time.
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I pass the place where I crashed last July, breaking my collarbone. It is the first time I have been back this way and I take it slowly. No day dreaming the time. Safely home after three hours of rather muddy lanes.
It took an hour to clean the bike this afternoon. Both wheels off. Brake pads out and cleaned. Looking at the bike now, I can see that there are still bits of mud I didn't get, hiding in corners and inaccessible places.
But it didn't rain and it wasn't cold and that is a major victory for cycling in February.
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