19 March. I must go down to the sea again...and again....and again
I have a friend who (pre lockdown) would text me to say 'Fancy a ride...you choose where but it must be a destination and not just a circle of lanes'. I always find this a challenge because I like circles of lanes that go nowhere in particular but today, in his honour, I have a proper destination. The seaside.
In fact, three seasides linked up in one ride. There are three north coast surfing villages all beginning with P and all with names I get muddled. First there is the well known Perranporth, then westward to Porthtowan and a little further west and the other side of a big hill, lies Portreath. I have been meaning to link them all up in one ride for months.
Porth' means a bay or harbour and 'towan' is a beach. So is 'traeth' . Most Celtic place names are descriptive; the 'house by the beach', or the 'place under the red hill' or 'the headland'. We have a lot of places called 'headland'; anything with 'Pen' is a headland.
Today is overcast, dulling the green of spring's new growth and sucking the light out of the sky. The first cows are just returning to the meadows, kicking and bucking with excitement after a winter cooped up in an open sided barn, knee deep in faeces and old hay. Where I pass barns with cows still inside, the noise they are making expresses precisely how they feel. They want to be out. Like an unruly group of teenagers kept inside for too long, they want to stretch their legs and feel the sun and wind. Eat fresh grass. See different things.
Some days you feel you can go fast. And some days are like today where the hills catch you by surprise and you wonder where the elasticity went from your legs. Breath in, pushed out, repeat. Try to spin and not make squares. The trees close in on the lanes, making them gloomy and dark. Yesterday's sun is just a memory and I feel winter is still lurking, skulking in the tangled woodlands and old brambles of the valley bottom where streams still run red with mine waste a hundred years after the mines closed.
Perranporth is busy even in lockdown. There are a number of cars here that may not be Cornish owned; they don't have the WL or WK in the registration that denotes Cornwall, they are such things as Range Rovers and Jaguar I-Paces that most Cornish can't afford and the killer sign of a car from 'furrin parts', they have roof boxes. I wonder where they are staying. Local people are calling the Council 'tip line' if they detect use of holiday homes and hotels are closed along with the campsites. But here they are nonetheless.
The beach is busy with dogs chasing each other and small groups walking across the sands. The takeaways are doing a brisk trade. The scent of hot Cornish pasties sends a spurt of saliva to my mouth.
But I am made of stern stuff and cycle past.......also I don't have any money with me. Who needs money if you are too frightened of Covid to go into a shop?
Porthtowan next, a scruffy village with its mix of high end summer homes of glass and steel next to the faded 60s bungalows and some wooden shacks that have been here for years. A quick dip of the wheel in the sand and then back to face the hill. This is the worst hill for today - 250 feet of 10%. My only goal is not to stop even if I die. Well OK dying will make me stop...but short of that I won't stop. I have a super granny gear, 31 x 34 for these hills and days when I am not feeling it. This is such a day. I don't die, I don't stop, I reach the top. Quite slowly.
And downhill all the way to Portreath, which sits between uber-posh Perranporth and shabby chic Porthtowan in terms of its status.. A village for ordinary people as well as those who can afford holiday homes. A real place, not a holiday theme park. There is an estate of 1960s terraces within yards of the beach, built when Cornwall was much cheaper and harder to reach than it is now. The beach is almost empty and the car park, owned by the village, is locked to deter visitors. It seems to be working.
And now back up that hill again but with a more reasonable gradient on this side and then along familiar lanes back home. I am glad to have finally done this circuit, with its three destinations and not just one. I have been anxious about that big hill and avoided it until now. Next time I am sure it will feel easier.
A text arrives from my friend and we plan a joint ride to St Mawes (a destination apparently) after the 29 March. It will be good to cycle in company again and to talk to someone else apart from my wife and the cat. An Audax is also booked for 10 April....I could be talking to six people by then. That will make my head spin. I will need to re-learn conversational gambits....and stop talking to myself. And go into shops to get receipts as 'proof of passage' as this is a 'Covid Audax' with no manned controls. Better take some money with me.
.
