Buying the Sunday paper

The north coast road between St Just and St Ives must be one of the loveliest in England. As it weaves it's way around Trendrine Hill and Carn Galver you get a fantastic view down into St Ives Bay towards Godrevy or, on clear days, in the other direction the rocky outline of the Scillies sitting on the horizon. The sea stretches to the north but the road stays above the cliffs, if you want to get down to the sea you must walk down to the beautiful cove at Porthmeor or the tragic sands of Portheras.
I usually join the road at Zennor and cycle west past Yew Tree Gallery which never disappoints with the beautifully chosen and displayed paintings, ceramics and jewelry, Gilly coaxes her organic vegetables from the thin soil and has a perfect bed of old fashioned flowers around her house.

Before the gallery there is a barn with such a proudly carved kneeler stone and worked granite door surrounds that it must have started life as a much grander building.
Further on there are barn doors, little houses and the old Working Mens' Institute at Bojewyan

As the road gets nearer to St Just you get into real mining country with barren spoil heaps, half ruined mine workings and terrace after terrace of mine workers cottages. Geevor was the last working tin mine in West Penwith and when it closed in 1990 the community was almost destroyed by unemployment, since then the mine has reopened as a popular museum employing many of the men who sweated underground, it is more than a museum as you come away understanding how mining was not just a job but a way of life.

I cycled the road again today in bank holiday mist (sorry, forgot the camera) with visibility down to about 50 yards but it was still a delight. I continued on though St Just past the fogged-in airport and, as always, saw things I had never spotted before, a well half hidden in the grass verge, two converted chapels within only a few hundred yards of each other and the chapel near Escalls decorated for Harvest Festival. As I waited for a gap in the traffic I said my normal silent prayer at the Friends burial ground lying unnoticed at the busy road junction. On through Sennen and then back towards St Buryan, always within smell of the sea but the mist was so thick I got to Mousehole before I actually saw the sea. Back though Newlyn busy getting ready for the fish festival tomorrow, on to the paper shop in Penzance and up the last five miles to home. Forty miles and one of the best ways to buy the Sunday paper.