In my off-shifts these days I always like to have an adventure or two if I can. Today it was either a run up Kelham Hill, or a run around the River Witham at Barnby.
It was a late decision. I only made it as I left my house and turned left instead of right.
The run to Kelham is a dreary slog along a road under repair. The stench of tar was clogging my nose and the pitch blackened the soles of my shoes. It was a relief to get to the village and head out the back past the old post office with its charming ghost signage.
The route passes the I'll fated turn off for Southwell , it's just after that that the road curves round and begins to go up. Its gradual for a few metres, but it quickly kicks up to 15 percent plus.
It carries on like this for about 800m before flattening out at Kelham Hill farm.
Seagulls and crows rode the breeze up here, and small groups of starling were making a tentative attempt to murmurate. I went a little way further, but after 7km I turned round, disappointed in the lack of good views, and fieldfare or redwing in the fields.
Hills are so much easier to go down, no?
Eventually I turned off on to a bridleway at the back of Kelham, finding a little pond with a bird screen. All new territory for me. This is the point of the adventure!
I ran back through the village, split secondly tempted by the idea of a pint at The Fox before taking to the ugly path that heads for the sugar factory.
The path may have been ugly, but the buzzard watching me from a post was not, and keeping its distance ahead of me, a kestrel hunted along the field margins, bladed wings diverting the cutting wind around themselves. The kestrel makes flying look easy even on the worst of days; it's supreme control and speed must be the envy of all feathered friends.
All this, under skies straight from a Turner painting.
It was a late decision. I only made it as I left my house and turned left instead of right.
The run to Kelham is a dreary slog along a road under repair. The stench of tar was clogging my nose and the pitch blackened the soles of my shoes. It was a relief to get to the village and head out the back past the old post office with its charming ghost signage.
The route passes the I'll fated turn off for Southwell , it's just after that that the road curves round and begins to go up. Its gradual for a few metres, but it quickly kicks up to 15 percent plus.
It carries on like this for about 800m before flattening out at Kelham Hill farm.
Seagulls and crows rode the breeze up here, and small groups of starling were making a tentative attempt to murmurate. I went a little way further, but after 7km I turned round, disappointed in the lack of good views, and fieldfare or redwing in the fields.
Hills are so much easier to go down, no?
Eventually I turned off on to a bridleway at the back of Kelham, finding a little pond with a bird screen. All new territory for me. This is the point of the adventure!
I ran back through the village, split secondly tempted by the idea of a pint at The Fox before taking to the ugly path that heads for the sugar factory.
The path may have been ugly, but the buzzard watching me from a post was not, and keeping its distance ahead of me, a kestrel hunted along the field margins, bladed wings diverting the cutting wind around themselves. The kestrel makes flying look easy even on the worst of days; it's supreme control and speed must be the envy of all feathered friends.
All this, under skies straight from a Turner painting.
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