Nice poddle about on the Camel Trail

Riding. Alone again. Naturally

Kenn at dialysis so there will be no evening riding today, anyway he has to go to the docs about his meds. I doubt I’ll ride tomorrow, as Kenn has the dentist but I had hoped to go to Bude and check out the ride along by the canal there. I’ll suggest it to him anyway. He can go to the dentist, I’ll go for a ride.

We did get out the other day for a short 8 and a bit miles. I suppose a pants ride is better than no ride. Kenn says he doesn’t want to ride as he is not very fit. He’s not fit because he doesn’t want to ride. When he does get fit he stops riding and then we are back to the start again and he’s whinging like anything about not liking riding as he’s not fit. I suggested that we sell his sexy carbon fibre Boardman and put the money towards a new Strat for me but he wasn’t keen. I fancy one of these:
This is an Eric Johnson Signature Stratocaster. In a sensible sort of colour too. How gorgeous is that! Not cheap, more than my roadie and my CX put together for a new one of those.
I could try selling Kenn on ebay. HmmmFender-American-Artist-Eric-Johnson-Stratocaster-Dakota-New-02_900_5t6qd1yx

I looked at various routes and then decided that I might head to Camelford and back. I had a nice ride, having found the track pump and put a decent amount of air in my tyres, out to Wenfordbridge and then carried on for about a mile up the road. It was about there, you see, my knee started screaming. Not audibly, that would be daft, but internally it was definitely yelling in protest.

I looked down at my knee and I was actually surprised not to see small Elven folk shoving red hot spears into my knee, because that’s what it felt like. I am not being a drama queen, it really hurt.
I wondered if pushing on to Camelford was worth the effort as there was bound to be a whole lot more ‘up’ to do. I decided that descretion was the better part of valour and did an about turn and had a lovely ‘wheeeeee’ down the hill and back past the Snail’s Pace Cafe and on to a garden I think is really pretty.

The pic probably (definitely) doesn’t do it justice. It’s really nice and sounds nice and watery too. That stream calms right down and is just about flat by the time it comes out on the other side of the trail.

Just after there, I bumped into my neighbour and we had a nice chat for 15 minutes or so, then I carried on and came across a lovely couple with their gorgeous Harlequin Great Dane. I should have taken a snap of her, as she was rather beautiful. It was this nice couple with the Dane, who told me about the Canal at Bude. Other rides around there are available. We have a car, about time we hauled the bikes about in it.

Carrying on back home the usual route – along the flat bit of Cornwall, wondering if I might have made a massive mistake coming here. I have to climb, within half a mile of leaving my front door, which ever way I leave the town – unless I go up the Egloshayle Road and then to a very fast A road. I’m not right in to this hill climbing malarkey. My knees are not keen either. Bound to be flat bits. Having to give up my Greyhound to come here, has really upset me too. It’s been 5 weeks now and I miss him so much. We’ll carry on a while longer though. Only just landed.

I passed my home and decided to do the extra 4 and a bit mile to complete a 50km ride. Trying to do one a month and, as the weather was good, I thought that now was as good a time as any. I rode though the town and onto the Camel pointing towards Padstow, rode 2 miles to the old bridge that goes over and turned about to come home. The clouds were black and very threatening, I was expecting a drenching that never came. Thankfully.

I was nearly totalled, just after turning,  by a bunch of giggling 20 somethings who were wobbling all over the trail coming towards me. I could see that they were paying no attention to anything but themselves, so I stopped and put my foot down. When the inevitable collision came, naturally it was me who was going to fast and all my fault, even though I was stationary at the time. The ‘lady’, and I say this in inverted commas, picked herself up and put her face to mine and used language that I hadn’t been subjected to since dumping my British Armed Forces ex husband.
Happily, a chap on a very sexy Trek – can’t remember what he looked like but the bike was gorgeous – came to my aid and got hold of the seatstem of the offensive girly and asked me, very pointedly, if my bike was OK. Girly didn’t like this. She was all “what about me, SHE was going too fast” – I’ve left out the expletives for brevity – Nice chap explained that I was stationary and that he had been trying to pass for over half a mile and had at least one of them not had their MP3 player earplugs in they would have heard him dinging and calling over the noise of their music and their cackling. I’m paraphrasing, of course, but that was the gyst.
Nice man was abrupt with girly and suggested that my bike probably cost more than her parents spent on her entire upbringing going by her language and probable level of education. Once chap was happy that neither I nor Eric the bike were damaged, he let go of the seatpost. Interestingly, her so called friends, cycled a way down the trail and left her to it. Nice folks.
Trek man and I had a short chat, he was curious as to what Eric is. He’s seen me bombing up and down the trail of late but generally on my roadie. He recognised my, quite distinctive bike jacket.
Off he went home to Padstow, while I headed back home. I stopped and took a pic, as I thought it looked nice.

A bit dramatic in the sky department. If you squint, you can make out the hull of an old boat just on the right behind the tree. I’ll go and explore that another day.
It was about here that I realised that I couldn’t remember if 50km was 31.2 miles or 32.1 miles. I didn’t want to be a few hundred yards out so I rode over the Bridge on Wool, once I hit town and then headed right up the Egloshayle road to past the sports club buildings and got onto the track to head back to home.

I stopped an took another pic of our end of town from the other side of the river, for a change. You can’t see my house from here, in case you are wondering. I followed the path to the right, past the dog poo bin you can see towards the right of the pic, over the bridge and then to the right again as I discovered that I coudn’t unclip my left foot from my pedal. I’d have needed to stop for a couple of teenagers had I gone left. I carried on to the Co-op car park, unclipped my right foot again and gingerly rode along to the junction to turn left for home. Very very weird unclipping my right foot. I really ought to practice this a bit, I think
I got home at exactly 32.14 miles. When I checked, I could have come straight home as 50km is 31.2 miles. Heigh ho. Then I would have thought that my cleat was OK and wouldn’t have sorted it and would have had a grotty ride another day.


About RosieRosie

RosieRosie is a woman of a 'certain age' - whatever the hell that is supposed to mean, known. I feel about 26. I have no idea what I look like as some older woman keeps getting in the way when I look in the mirror. Separated from husband but dating a nice chap at the moment. I have a proper wanderlust and have finally moved - using the housing exchange system from - where I started in Inverness, down to Cornwall and back up to the Flatlands and Big Sky Country. It's taken since September 2011, when I left Inverness until May 2017 to get to somewhere that I really like. That's not too shoddy with a swap here and a swap there, saving up again for each move. Not ruling out going home to Norfolk if necessary. Time will tell. For now my mates are just a 90 minute or so, drive down the road. I love my bikes, I love my dog and I love guitars. They all keep my busy.
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