Chicken and Fish
It's another lovely spring day.
I have many things to do like sorting the bike saddle to new seat post combo, sorting my niece's boy's teaching aid first computer thingy and sorting my ancient uncle Con as its Friday! Yay. Friday! Yes it's time to make more cakes and buns with him to make sure that the old goat is up and doing something rather than vegetating in front of the TV.
Can I squeeze a bike ride in? Yes! It's sunny with a fresh south easterly wind and being that I'm a ride out with the wind in my face and ride back with it behind me kind of guy then there's no choice; I need to visit Skipwith Common woods again for a peek.
As usual it takes at least 20 minutes for the legs to warm up before I can push along. I'm again on the old LNER railway line, now a Sustrans route from York to Riccall. There I am all lah-di-dah Gunner Graham ambling along when from nowhere there is a very polite 'I'm gonna pass you on your right' call from behind me. OK. With the sound akin to the Death Star moving towards another planet this rather fulsome young lady gently cruises past with a 'its hard work today for a fat lass' kinda comment and in agreement with me saying 'and for fat lads at the back too' kinda thing. It normally takes me until I get to the old Cawood railway swing bridge before I feel that I can press on but not today. I'm not having that! So away we go with me following south in the wake of a rather minor planet's shadow as I, Mars (mmmm Mars Bars!), pressed on behind. In to a headwind. Yeuck! I love it!
My Koga is more of a sit up and beg riding position and the size of me tends to present a rather large sail to the breeze. My cycling jacket billows out as though a rogue spinnaker on a rather old storm ridden sailboat. I cannot drop behind my bars without hands dangling in fresh air so I put up, shut up and get on with it. As though drawn to one side by some invisible black hole she peels off onto one of the backroads towards Escrick and leaves me to power on. Which I do. With snot dribbling from my nose and eyes feverishly watering I plod on into the headwind towards Skipwith Common.
I arrive in Riccall, a village on the edge of the common and stop in a local shop. A shop for local people. I'm the only customer and find a bottle of diet coke at the very back of an old fridge. A local woman with glasses and bright blue eyes behind the counter stares at the stranger and starts up a conversation. She shows me a local magazine which has a picture in its pages of a rather large Buxted 'cooked' chicken. Well, I think that's what it is, although it looks like a rather large bald bird thats been attacked with a cigarette lighter with places that are just a little too pink and others a little too burnt. Somewhere in that local conversation I say "...that's what I look like after a long day in the sun! Ho! Ho! Ho!". Oh how she didn't laugh!
As I left the shop I noted a selection of rosettes above the door. Best of breed and best in show, you know the kinda stuff one would get if one were to enter a dog at Crufts. Oh dear. She follows me out of the shop with gentle panting and her tongue stuck in the corner of her mouth. I saw an image project across the back of her eyelids, of her biting in to a rather large undercooked chicken thigh. And I'm off. To hell with the headwind I'm not hanging around.
Skipwith Common woods were lovely with plenty of shelter from the persistent breeze and a riot of new growth with many a tree now in green bud. At the end of the trail is the village of Skipwith with a pond at its cold heart which felt like it was still in the midst of winter. There's a plaque on the green that read 'Winner of most beautiful village in bloom, 2011' or something like that. I think they've let it go to rot.
I sit on the better of the two park benches beside the pond, the first I'm sure would have broken through if I had parked Hairy Melon on it. With dead reeds at the edges it's covered in a thick crust of what looks like a mushy peas and black mint scum. I see the occasional fish push its pursed lips through the smog making a glug, glug gluuuug sound akin to a wet cry of 'help me I can't breathe'. I hear a plop. The weeping willow tree, which has a combover and hair as thin as mine when I was in my 20's, is now regularly throwing small branches into the cauldron as though flicking the threads of once youthful hair from a huge comb passed though it's withering locks. Audrey II is back, she's shouting at me for food as I roll up to the bench. I stare for a short while at the cold cooked chicken thigh in my lunch box and slowly press the lid back on it. Sorry Audrey, I'll get something for you real soon.
Good news though is that I have turned and no longer face the wind. Its now side on to Thorganby and Wheldrake. A rather large spikey arsed tractor comes towards me with front tyres as wide as those on a dinky toy, designed for rolling over fat cyclists, sleeping policemen and other plants without causing any damage. At the end of the Elvington lane road works I turn left again and the wind is at my back. I fly along, at times touching 22 MPH. My God! 22 MPH! Never since my youth were such speeds ever attained. The hill up to the A64 and Hull Road junction brought my legs back down to earth with a crash. Even though the wind had stuck it's shoulder hard in the middle of my back and was heaving with all its might there's no way that it and me were going to beat gravity this day or any other. I arrive at Lindsay's house just before 2pm, a breathless, wet, blubbery wreck covered in snot as though, like Luca Brasi, I'd been swimming with the fishes..
Computer was done just after 2pm. A quick whizz along the old Derwent Valley Railway cycle track took me most of the way across York to uncle Cons. Coffee and cakes were done by 4pm. Very nice coconut buns today we thought. We think we're getting very good at this making cake malarkey. That left me with a slow plod back home into the wind via the fishy chippy shoppy for tea and with tired wind worn legs I'm back home by 6pm.
Wot a busy day. So much done. So many successes...
And new memories of...
Chicken and Fish.
Urp!
I have many things to do like sorting the bike saddle to new seat post combo, sorting my niece's boy's teaching aid first computer thingy and sorting my ancient uncle Con as its Friday! Yay. Friday! Yes it's time to make more cakes and buns with him to make sure that the old goat is up and doing something rather than vegetating in front of the TV.
Can I squeeze a bike ride in? Yes! It's sunny with a fresh south easterly wind and being that I'm a ride out with the wind in my face and ride back with it behind me kind of guy then there's no choice; I need to visit Skipwith Common woods again for a peek.
As usual it takes at least 20 minutes for the legs to warm up before I can push along. I'm again on the old LNER railway line, now a Sustrans route from York to Riccall. There I am all lah-di-dah Gunner Graham ambling along when from nowhere there is a very polite 'I'm gonna pass you on your right' call from behind me. OK. With the sound akin to the Death Star moving towards another planet this rather fulsome young lady gently cruises past with a 'its hard work today for a fat lass' kinda comment and in agreement with me saying 'and for fat lads at the back too' kinda thing. It normally takes me until I get to the old Cawood railway swing bridge before I feel that I can press on but not today. I'm not having that! So away we go with me following south in the wake of a rather minor planet's shadow as I, Mars (mmmm Mars Bars!), pressed on behind. In to a headwind. Yeuck! I love it!
My Koga is more of a sit up and beg riding position and the size of me tends to present a rather large sail to the breeze. My cycling jacket billows out as though a rogue spinnaker on a rather old storm ridden sailboat. I cannot drop behind my bars without hands dangling in fresh air so I put up, shut up and get on with it. As though drawn to one side by some invisible black hole she peels off onto one of the backroads towards Escrick and leaves me to power on. Which I do. With snot dribbling from my nose and eyes feverishly watering I plod on into the headwind towards Skipwith Common.
I arrive in Riccall, a village on the edge of the common and stop in a local shop. A shop for local people. I'm the only customer and find a bottle of diet coke at the very back of an old fridge. A local woman with glasses and bright blue eyes behind the counter stares at the stranger and starts up a conversation. She shows me a local magazine which has a picture in its pages of a rather large Buxted 'cooked' chicken. Well, I think that's what it is, although it looks like a rather large bald bird thats been attacked with a cigarette lighter with places that are just a little too pink and others a little too burnt. Somewhere in that local conversation I say "...that's what I look like after a long day in the sun! Ho! Ho! Ho!". Oh how she didn't laugh!
As I left the shop I noted a selection of rosettes above the door. Best of breed and best in show, you know the kinda stuff one would get if one were to enter a dog at Crufts. Oh dear. She follows me out of the shop with gentle panting and her tongue stuck in the corner of her mouth. I saw an image project across the back of her eyelids, of her biting in to a rather large undercooked chicken thigh. And I'm off. To hell with the headwind I'm not hanging around.
Skipwith Common woods were lovely with plenty of shelter from the persistent breeze and a riot of new growth with many a tree now in green bud. At the end of the trail is the village of Skipwith with a pond at its cold heart which felt like it was still in the midst of winter. There's a plaque on the green that read 'Winner of most beautiful village in bloom, 2011' or something like that. I think they've let it go to rot.
I sit on the better of the two park benches beside the pond, the first I'm sure would have broken through if I had parked Hairy Melon on it. With dead reeds at the edges it's covered in a thick crust of what looks like a mushy peas and black mint scum. I see the occasional fish push its pursed lips through the smog making a glug, glug gluuuug sound akin to a wet cry of 'help me I can't breathe'. I hear a plop. The weeping willow tree, which has a combover and hair as thin as mine when I was in my 20's, is now regularly throwing small branches into the cauldron as though flicking the threads of once youthful hair from a huge comb passed though it's withering locks. Audrey II is back, she's shouting at me for food as I roll up to the bench. I stare for a short while at the cold cooked chicken thigh in my lunch box and slowly press the lid back on it. Sorry Audrey, I'll get something for you real soon.
Good news though is that I have turned and no longer face the wind. Its now side on to Thorganby and Wheldrake. A rather large spikey arsed tractor comes towards me with front tyres as wide as those on a dinky toy, designed for rolling over fat cyclists, sleeping policemen and other plants without causing any damage. At the end of the Elvington lane road works I turn left again and the wind is at my back. I fly along, at times touching 22 MPH. My God! 22 MPH! Never since my youth were such speeds ever attained. The hill up to the A64 and Hull Road junction brought my legs back down to earth with a crash. Even though the wind had stuck it's shoulder hard in the middle of my back and was heaving with all its might there's no way that it and me were going to beat gravity this day or any other. I arrive at Lindsay's house just before 2pm, a breathless, wet, blubbery wreck covered in snot as though, like Luca Brasi, I'd been swimming with the fishes..
Computer was done just after 2pm. A quick whizz along the old Derwent Valley Railway cycle track took me most of the way across York to uncle Cons. Coffee and cakes were done by 4pm. Very nice coconut buns today we thought. We think we're getting very good at this making cake malarkey. That left me with a slow plod back home into the wind via the fishy chippy shoppy for tea and with tired wind worn legs I'm back home by 6pm.
Wot a busy day. So much done. So many successes...
And new memories of...
Chicken and Fish.
Urp!
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