Two Hours on the Bicycle

I really need more outside exercise, and with my plantaric irritation still ongoing, cycling seems to be the only way to  do it. Unless I suddenly make the Cambridge 8 or something equally unlikely.

So I have resolved to get out on the bike the next few days I have off. Today was the first of these, and in good conditions apart from a wind that seemed to be head on for my entire ride, I headed south along the N64, wondering if I'd surprise a long eared owl that roost by day in the hedgerows alongside.

Of course I didn't, and suppose I only would have done so if I'd ridden my bike directly into the hedge. There weren't any winter thrushes either, but constant flashes of white wing edges and tail bars indicated that a lot of chaffinch were about today.

Off the cycle track, I rode through Shelton village (posh), Sibthorpe village (posh), Elston (posh), East Stoke (site of famous Roses War battle, also posh) and Farndon (not posh). In East Stoke I had fantastic close views of a pair of kestrels, so close I could see every marking on their chestnut backs as they flew away from the lumpy two wheeled threat.

Rumbles was open too, so got to have a really nice cup of tea afterwards, listen to 6 music and  just feel good about the 30km ride I'd had, despite the lead legs.

More tomorrow.

Si

All text and images copyright CreamCrackeredNature 29.12.18

Sibthorpe by Bicycle

I haven't had a run out on the bicycle for a fair old while, and I didn't want to waste a lovely day JUST gardening, although I sheared down the dead cow parsley at the back of the driveway and took out some of the more lethal looking clusters of nettles.

I needed a bit more freedom and fresh air than that, so off I went on my bicycle to see the strange storehouse at Sibthorpe, the round building like a Mycenean Tholos tomb above ground. It sits next to the small, shallow River Smite, whose banks were well populated with glittering banded demoiselles.

Various butterflies flitted about; large whites, small torts, the odd comma. No-one was stopping to chat.

I carried on the road round to Elston, to the windmill house, and saw a beautifully floral wall in Thorpe. All the time realising that I'd forgotten to bring a drink and that my mouth made a desert seem wet.

Fool. But a nice 30km anyway.

Si

All text and images copyright CreamCrackeredNature 03.07.18

A Savage Cycle Ride to Elston

After last night's fairly gentle trip round town on an evening as bright as chrome, today's ride was a far more wild affair under cirrhotic looking yellow-grey clouds with a strong wind blowing.

This was te first ride of 2015 on my standard cycling route, a 15 mile tour out along the Sustrans 64 to Votham, and then across to (nearly) Elston, before coming back home through Thorpe. Only today I thought I'd divert through Thorpe proper and come home along the old A46, a rather safer proposition since the bypass was built.

Elston is rarity nowadays; it's a small village that has managed to keep hold of its pub, although it took a residents buy out to be able to keep it open. I've never been to it though, Elston is 5 miles out which is a bit too much for a tipsy walk home! The village is dominated by yet another All Saints Church, with its pretty slim tower, and the former Elston Hall that nowadays functions as a huge spa for my most hated of words - "Pamperings". The thought of other people touching my nails gives me utter utter creeps.

Strangely, most of my cycling thoughts were memories of watching greyhounds racing over the fells, prompted by hearing it on "Open Country" on Radio 4. My grandparents took me, in Grandad's red Ford Escort 1.1, up to a stone circle up in the Cumbrian fells somewhere, it may have been the famous Castlerigg circle but I really can't remember as we are going back to about 1978 here!

The dogs came hurtling up the hill from the West, with us spectators kept a little way back from the route as some skulduggerous types had been baiting some of the dogs with meat to give their own hounds a better chance of winning. Given that these trail races can be 10 miles long or more up and down steep slopes, I don't blame the dogs for stopping for a snack.

In the way of the Tour De France, the "Dogeton" was through in seconds, and we drove back down the hill towards the silver ball at Sellafield and home in Egremont, a town that has joined Hungerford and Dunblane these days in having an unwanted fame.

Si

Surveryors marking out a new A1 turn-off. Great.

Speedwell on the Sustrans 64

Ground ivy

White dead nettle

Cowslips at their best at the Cotham turnoff

The upper reaches of the Devon, teeming with small fish but none of the big barbel you sometimes see spawning here

Elston mill

Oilseed rape next to the mill

All  Saints church, Elston

The East Stoke reach of the Trent, beyond feral oilseeed rape