Meandering

 I had no real expectations that it might be possible to break my ride over the crest of the hill, just as the view opened out far below.  To even think of attempting the Maud Meander, having covered so few miles this year, was perhaps an indication of the onset of an unsettled mind.

That I managed to take in that view was reward in itself.  The Meander is not a long ride, but it does a bit of climbing, some stretches on the steep side.  I have ridden it in both directions, the first time clockwise.  Never again.  As I finished my sandwich I remembered that climb, up the hillside down which I was about to hurtle.  Never again.

Riding the hill widdershins I could manage, when reasonably fit.  Today, with an arthritic knee, and a lingering chest infection on top of the usual asthmatic issues, I had a very firm Plan B.  I could always turn round.  The climbs were long.  And very slow.  

And yet, here I stood, sandwich in hand, taking in the autumn colours, that time of year when the veil may be stretched, the light thin.  And drawing in.  It felt good.

The light thin.  Samhain.  That shift from light towards dark.  Changing seasons.  I tend to the thinking that what we witness may be more to do with the angle of the light than the density of the perceived veil.  Drivers will know all about low sun.  Up here, looking down on the woodland, at this time of year, the shifting colours are in stark contrast.  Always beautiful.  And that I put down to the angle at which sunlight picks out highlights.

Round the back of the hill is The Secret Place.  It always brings a chuckle.  Roadside delights.  Over-sized, colourful, and imaginative.  I didn't enquire as to whether the eggs came from the woodpecker.  But nothing would surprise me.

From there we undulate round the hill, hurtle down, and then climb again.  This takes us over the shoulder of Maud, a dip shared with The Bin.  Now there's a walk I need to get back on the agenda.

Fortunately I had picked a day with virtually no wind.  The sun strained,  but the light cloud was stubborn.  A fine day for a bike ride on the cusp of November.  As I finished that sandwich I realised that the woods were quiet; the birds collectively silent.

As I began my descent so the chirping filled the air; only to be overtaken by windrush in the ears as gravity increased my speed.  These were the moments when you start to wonder when you last gave the brakes any attention.  Speed gathering; twisty bends, and a long way down.

The brakes were fine, and all too soon it was back to level ground.  That was when the ride had its hairiest moments.  I had to negotiate a couple of hundred yards of the A98; find a gap in the traffic, make it to the next junction.  Then turn right across the oncoming traffic.  Memories of horrific moments and close calls on the A71.  Luck was on my side, and I made it safely back to my familiar minor roads through the woods and back to base.

Meantime word comes in of a rare visitor to the garden at Peelhill - a goldcrest, in the rowan tree.  And I missed it.  Heard several in the woods in various places; but still to see one.  And there it was in the garden, when I was absent.

Instead how about a hielan' coo to brighten the day