One of my aims for the winter had been to get out on the road bike more. Looking back at my training diary I see that since the beginning of November I have only been out twice. This has not been because of lack of motivation but is down to the weather. Strong winds, torrential rain and when these were absent – ice and snow. As much as I like road cycling my passion is not so great that I am willing to brave any of these elements. Cold, wet and a few hours away from home is not a good place to be.
Today it is all change on the weather front. There is not a breath of wind, the overnight frost has started to melt and the patchy fog has started to lift. Walking into town for some shopping I notice that this sudden disappearance of wind has caused the normally chattering jackdaws who hang out at the primary school to fall silent. Yesterday I had watched intently as one had removed a large twig from a nest under the eaves of the building. It sat on top of the give way sign and appeared to be trying to trim the twig. This was a time consuming process and I started to move off; realising that a middle aged woman staring into space outside a school may be viewed as suspicious. At this point the bird grew tired of its project, let go of the branch and flew back up to the nest.
The butcher’s assistant is a cyclist and asks what my plans for the day are. I reply that I am going out for a road cycle. He declares that he will be doing the same thing on Sunday and is planning to ride a 100 miles. He claims he will do this without stopping; fuelled only by a few energy gels and a Mars bar. Although I plan to ride only around 60 kilometres I will probably be taking as much food although I will be swopping the chocolate bar for something more energy rich.
In honour of the cycle I have actually spent time cleaning the bike; including what seems to be a few years worth of dirt from the chain. White is not a great colour for a bike as every speck of dirt shows up on it, but it was the only colour available the year I bought it. I decide that perhaps this summer the white bar tape should be replaced with a darker colour. Black is probably the most practical but I am fancying red.
The wait is over
I set out on the ride with good intentions and vow to keep an eye on my cadence so as to prevent laziness creeping in. This does not last long as I start scouring the fields for newly born lambs, with no luck. The heavily pregnant ewes are silently nibbling the grass before their peaceful existence is shattered by the arrival of the lambs. Looking over the Solway the sea is like a giant lake with barely a ripple disturbing the surface. Just before I turn back inland at Caulkerbush the road surface is covered in water and I have no option but to ride straight through it. With no front mudguard the discoloured water splashes onto both my lower legs and the bike reaching as far as the white taped handlebars. Since I have promised the bike that in future it will not be put back into the garage dirty a post ride cleaning session will now be necessary.
After 30 kilometres I start to find my rhythm but I have still not found any lambs. The blades of the two wind turbines at Crofthead farm are motionless. Up ahead a woman from one of the farms is out for a walk. Her wax jacket is draped over her shoulder and in one hand she carries a pair of thick looking black gloves. I am beginning to feel over dressed myself. We exchange greetings and remark on how spring like the day feels.
At last my lost lambs. Climbing up Fell Hill I hear them before I see them. Their high pitched bleats mingling with the deeper baa baa of their mothers. I ride past a thicket of trees containing a number of crows nests built at the tops of the branches. I am reminded of my late grandfather who always said it was going to be good summer if “the crows were nesting high”. It took me a few years to realise that the crows always seemed to put their nests in the same place regardless of the weather.
At Kirkgunzeon I eat the last of my energy bar and crossing over the main road know that the climbs are all out of the way now. The best part comes at the end of the ride – the swoopy descent past the sawmill back into town. Bike cleaning and more food beckons…
A week on – the wind has returned and the butcher’s assistant is nowhere to be seen – perhaps he is still out there?
Granite Heart 