I’ve just finished a short ride wearing a shirt and three quarter length leggings. A peregrine falcon battled with a flock of swallows that were determined to keep it out of their midst. A greater spotted woodpecker alighted on a branch just ahead of me as I trundled home in the peace of rural Devon. It felt a world away from a cold, wet and windy Scotland where I had spent most of the previous two weeks.
On Sunday this week Michele and I will set off for the Scottish highlands, a trip I’ve made every year since 2006 with the only break being last year when time and the need to rest were greater than the desire to ride in the mountains. Even then I made it to Edinburgh, one of my favourite cities, drawn by the imminent graduation of my lovely daughter Lydia.
“We were expecting you to be in a motor home,” said the man with no name. “We don’t take tents outside of August,” he added a little aggressively. “I was quite clear when I booked that I would be riding a bike and camping,” I replied calmly, adding that I had already paid and realising that I had been charged as a motorhome. I had agreed to this extortion as I had an appointment that I didn’t want to miss out on during Monday and nowhere else to go locally.
The time leading up to the start of any journey is always a special time. You prepare yourself and your equipment, mindful of your hopes and fears for the coming weeks, months, or in some cases years. You will almost certainly have mapped an outline route that you will use to guide you on your way and if you are experienced you will have memories of certain of moments that you hope will be replicated in some small way during this adventure. Most of all you want to start, to get out amongst the scenery you have visualised and researched to see if it meets your expectations. Most of all, if youre like me, you want to be free of the complexity o modern life for just a short period.
A couple of months back I wrote a piece about my love of maps. From the response I got it would seem that I’m not alone. This article on the BBC website made me laugh this morning over breakfast. Take a look at this article: http://www.bbc.co.uk/news/education-32551090. The notion of not noticing Snowdonia as you drove through the mountains and out the other side combined with leaving the UK mainland via a large bridge across the Menai Straits because your sat nav told you to makes me giggle every single time I think about it.
I scurried away from home like a mouse leaving the nest after winter. Blurry eyed and still a little drugged I headed for the lanes that would lead me towards the north coast of Cornwall. Immediately after leaving the close where I live a short hill provides a jolt, reminding me that this particular ride would not be a cruise in the sunshine. Why I had chosen to head along these lanes I don’t know. It’s tough when you are fit and far harder when you feel you have hardly ridden at all.
The sun’s back out in Devon. As I write this, the sky through my front bedroom window is cobalt with orange highlights as the sun begins to sink towards the horizon. Wisps of cloud still linger but are diminishing and the wind that has torn around all day is quietening for the evening, its merry dance complete for today. Daffodils are lifting their beautiful heads towards the sun again, the sentinels of springtime, and crocuses lie like rainbows in the ground.