Today is my daughter’s (aka youngest) birthday. At her request we had (freshly baked from the Co-op) croissants for breakfast. Well, you can’t have croissants without having coffee. It’s like, a rule, or something. So, being an essentially obedient soul, that’s what I did. In fact what with that and present opening and time passing I may have had a couple of mugs full. And I don’t usually drink coffee these days.
The birthday girl went happily off to school, and the plan had been to go for a ride later in the day in leisurely fashion. Mim was around but only for a bit, and at 9:15am which initially seemed a tad early. However the atypic consumption of too much coffee mean that caffeine was scratching its fingernails down my internal blackboard and it rapidly became clear that I needed to be out of the house doing something asap, before I jittered myself into oblivion. Cue much use of txt thumbs and we were set for a 9:15am ride, to take it as it comes.
Mim arrived to find me ready and raring to go. Chomping at the bit. And other wound up tighter than an pissed off rattlesnake/8 day clock/drum* (*delete as you feel appropriate) related phrases. She only had an hour or so and wanted to do something with effort, so I proposed doing a loop which had occurred to me on my last ride. Yep, time to be Gorge-ous again.
We went up the Gorge in the morning sun. It was quiet. The goats were happily eating by the side of the road, yet to be scared up the slopes by camera-crazed grockles. All very lovely. Mim happily cycled rings around me. Literally. She got ahead; twice. U-turned. Dropped back. Caught me up again. Now this could have been irritating but I chose to find it amusing, and, as you know, I’m often best left to my own devices going up hill anyway. Me, my music, the sun, my caffeine-fuelled legs. I may not be a hare, but I still get there. I may not be a hare but apparently I am a poet. And don’t I know it? ;).
Once up top, we headed over towards Burrington but this time, instead of doing the descent, we took the left towards Charterhouse. As we flew down the little hill there, past some roadworks, the man in the digger tooted at us, his equivalent of a builder’s whistle, which made me grin. Hey, I can take a compliment *grin*. Hey, it’s not like there’s enough of them flying around to be fussy about the ones I want to accept 😉 See, we are Gorge-ous!
I was totally in happy, glass half-full, flies in teeth mode today. What was not to love? Lovely hills, loads of bluebells, wild garlic, sunshine…man, some days it’s just great to be on the bike. Speaking of hills, that left us with the lovely Shipham Hill to go down, which was a blast. OK, so I still did it my way, but I figure it works, I had fun, and, to be sombre for just a minute, after the recent tragedy on the Giro d’Italia, I don’t see any need to take risks I can’t handle going down hill…
Right. That brings us back to Cheddar, a loop that had taken just over an hour. Mim peeled off and went home leaving me footloose and fancy free to amuse myself. I’d enjoyed it so much first time around that I was almost tempted to do the loop again! However the clouds were bubbling up, positively ooming in places (hey, it’s my blog, and I shall make up word if I want to!), and I decided I may well have had the best of the weather and that bad weather is not so nice “up there”, so I’d do something different instead.
Now, to paraphrase a supermodel, I don’t really consider it worth my while getting out of bed and getting on the bike for less than two hours. So I daisy petalled my way around. Every time I got to whatever the direct route home was, I asked myself how long that would take, and if that was going to make my time out less than two hours, then I headed off somewhere else!
So. Through Cheddar, up past the school to take the high road to Draycott. Past a random escaped cow and some particularly inane ducks at Nyland farm, and up to the junction at Cocklake, which was bedecked with a large yellow signpost for this Sunday’s Somerset Gran Fondo. Home on the ever popular Wedmore road? Nope, too soon…
Up Rug Hill. Past the Ashton windmill. More descending goodness down Weare Hill. Up into Cross. Home over the A38? Nope, too soon…
Up and past the Webbington. Right turn before the motorway bridge and along to Winscombe. Up, up, up Winscombe Hill, looking for frogs, and trying to get a fly out from behind my sunglasses. It’s amazing how much easier hills are when you’re distracted! Home down the A38 and the bypass?… You bet! Time had come. 2 hours had ticked past…and that really is the best way home *wheeeeeee*!
Cycling time: 2:14:53 hrs
Distance: 34.67 miles
Avs: 15.4 mph
ODO: 8356 miles
Now that was a beeeaayutiful ride 🙂