Cycling in the wind brings its own challenges:sailing uphill with the wind on your back or turning a corner to go head first into a blast strong enough to send you reeling. Cycling along a high banked lane is fine and you forget it's even windy until you pass a field gate when you are suddenly pushed sideways into the hedge. The coast path to Marazion can be exciting, one way you bowl along at a rate of knots enjoying the wind surfers but the other way can be hell, head down with sand blasting into your face and sea gulls going sideways
The old joke "I had the wind the whole way" couldn't be truer for us cyclists.
The old joke "I had the wind the whole way" couldn't be truer for us cyclists.You always know it's serious when the Scillonian creeps into the harbour and shelters against Albert Pier when she should be chugging her way over to the Scillies
This weekend she has been in the harbour both days so there must be lots of people kicking their heels in Penzance, the ones who took out insurance smugly watching the angry seas from their hotel windows.
This weekend she has been in the harbour both days so there must be lots of people kicking their heels in Penzance, the ones who took out insurance smugly watching the angry seas from their hotel windows.I decided to make the most of the wind today by opting for variety:today's ride included the north and south coasts, open moorland, valleys and little country lanes. a foolish whim, I should know better, which ever way I went the wind was either in the face or threatening to blow me sideways into the traffic. The leaves were blowing inside out, buzzards hung still and then at the flip of a feather swung sideways crossing several fields in a split second, the cotton grass danced
and the skies constantly changed from leaden grey to summer blue. Coming home I pass the sign to Carfury and Ding Dong
the very names of these little settlements clinging to the side of Mulfra Hill sound of Cornish wind. I cannot imagine a still day at Carfury and they say that the bell at Ding Dong mine never stopped its ghostly clanging.
Where I live we don't have proper trees, the few that do cling to the thin soil end up surrendering to the elements
and the skies constantly changed from leaden grey to summer blue. Coming home I pass the sign to Carfury and Ding Dong
the very names of these little settlements clinging to the side of Mulfra Hill sound of Cornish wind. I cannot imagine a still day at Carfury and they say that the bell at Ding Dong mine never stopped its ghostly clanging.
High in my moorland cottage I understand Ted Hughes' lines "This house has been far out at sea all night...the tent of the hills drummed and strained its guy rope...the wind flung a magpie away and a black-backed gull bent like an iron bar slowly"