It is a wonderful but hard to describe feeling. The Norwegians have a word
for it that doesn't quite translate into English. It's that feeling of
comfort, cosiness, warmth inside, coupled with a weariness in the muscles
and a feeling of a job well done.
It had been the usual Sunday. I'd dug up supper from the allotment (some
parsnips, a celeriac and a few other veg) and Rachel had given me a hand to
add them to a pot roast beef joint in half a bottle of cabernet sauvingon
shiraz from the western cape. I'll have to watch out for that girl - she is
nearly eight but already getting a taste for red wine. And then cake baking.
Alan made chocolate jumbles, Rachel made chocolate fairy cakes, Peter (age
nearly three) helped by adding one and a half eggs to the yorkshire pudding
mix and whisking it. I cleaned the other half an egg up from the floor.
Supper was as good as it sounds. My wife was going out early evening with
the car so the other half of the red wine was put to one side. Kids into bed
and I went hunting for the cold weather gear (polypro leggings).
Cabin fever led to me taking the bike out despite the rain pouring. I took
the usual route up the Old Kings Cross Road, out through Strathmartine and,
on the spur of the moment, decided to investigate the little white byway
that promised an off-road route between the Strathmartine road and Templeton
woods. I flicked the gears down a notch or two and the lights on to the ten
watt spot. Interesting.
The bike is nominally a hard tail, but it is many a year since the front
bounce rusted solid and any bounce is long gone. The Schwalbe City Jet were
freshly pumped to a nice 90 psi, fine for the road, not so good off road.
The track was unmetalled but was surfaced. The occasional sandy/gravelly bit
was interspersed with edge laid flat stones as a cobbled surface. Water ran
over this to a depth of several inches in places. I could feel the front and
back tyres skipping and sliding across the stones and bouncing of rocks
unseen through the running water. I could also feel my shoulders and arms
complaining at their unfamiliarity with such terrain, especially with poor
visual cues to the bumps.
I followed the trail past several houses and it then became somewhat
grassier and a bit muddier. Obviously less well used, and less waterlogged
but just as slippery as it passed under trees and many fallen leaves
conspired to make the going a little treacherous.
A gate across the trail gave good reason for the little used appearance of
the trail, but this was easily circumvented. Now the potholes started.
Random depth, random length, splish, splash, splosh. I'd dug out my neoprene
overshoes and they were getting a good workout. Through the muddy part by
the farm, trying to keep traction and then a short but good stretch to the
road.
I felt surprisingly good despite the pouring rain and headed off down the
hill. Half way down I took a right but misjudged the corner in the dark and
parted the waters of a large puddle like moses in the red sea. The spray
flying high to either side, just caught in the glow from the lights.
A long haul now, up the hill past Martin's Stone towards Tealing, then
taking the Auchterhouse road. The high point of the ride was just hitting
the base of the cloud, shards of light shooting into the mist, shattered by
the lens of the lamp into individual beams.
It is very strange riding at night. You don't get the same anticipation of
hills and changes in gradient as during the day. In some respects the hills
don't really exist outside of what you can see, they only exist in your legs
insomuch as you feel the changes before you see them.
I swung round the corner to drop down into Auchterhouse and realised the
wind had been behind. A fast downhill, feathering the brakes to keep the
rims clear of water, and the raindrops stinging the face, almost making it
impossible to keep eyes open to watch the road ahead.
Through Auchterhouse and the second long descent, past the farm with the
very bright security lights and into a black hole between the trees. It is
almost impossible to see the road until you reach the trees and are no
longer dazzled by the farm lights. Uphill round Dronley wood, and a short
downhill.
Normally I'll peel off to the right and head up to Templeton Woods. I would
get there but via a longer route. It is possible to climb the hill back to
Auchterhouse but time was getting on. Without street lights it was
impossible to read the clock on the speedo so I took it off and held it in
the beam of the front light. Too late for another circuit up through
Auchterhouse and I was starting to notice the rain, not least because my
fleece hat was so heavy with water it kept sliding down over my eyes.
Tipping my head forward resulted in a stream of water from the hat as it
overloaded the polyesters ability to hold on to so much water.
Up the hill, the final hill, pushing hard. Hit the main road, turn left,
time to fly. This is a 50mph road that is not particularly pleasant to ride
along so the aim is to do so as rapidly as possible. Dodging the streams
that criss-cross the road, past the roundabout to the cinema and home a few
minutes later, wet but still warm.
It took several minutes to divest myself of the wettest kit. It is almost
unbelievable how much water you can wring out of a pair of fleece gloves and
a fleece hat. Even though the overshoes are neoprene they still relinquished
a fair quantity of translocated weather out the front door.
And then upstairs. DW made me a cup of fruit tea (Roibos and vanilla) and
the leftover red wine was waiting in a glass. A hot bath later and the world
feels good but I know I will ache later in the week.
...d