The weathermen, eager for image rehabilitation are falling over each other in excited competition to predict ever more clement Indian Summers which extend, depending on their optimism, largesse or accuracy for days, weeks or even unto next June. It is almost as if they actually create the highs and lows themselves and give them as gifts. However whatever the ultimate duration Sunday was definitely a first day.
A mildly flustered leader found two of the merry band already on the piazza when he got there. Discombobulated by a hurried inner tube change in Mount Ambrose. Remarked the disconsolate trio of fellow cyclists at the Lanner end of Sandy Lane sadly inspecting a flat tyre and then three minutes later collected my own literal and metaphorical thorn.
The numbers swelled to a satisfactory seven. John, Peter, Hugh, Dave, Niq, Jonathan and myself. The drummer boy lies at approximately 10 m above sea level and the Golden Lion at 166 m and if I ever volunteer for this destination again I promise I will try and navigate something more like a steady increase in altitude. But on Sunday it was the Grand Old Duke of York’s progress of up and down again.
A reworking of the adage I saw recently on Trip Advisor about clothing for travel to the UK suggested “there is no such thing as bad weather, only wrong clothing choices”. Could perhaps be offered as “there are no steep hills, only wrong gears”. And I had the wrong gears for the most immediate escape from Truro. So the (infinitesimally) slightly less arduous up past the station beckoned. Right to Highertown at the top and then left by the vets to drop through Penwethers and climb back to cross the Quenchwell road and drop again via Helston Water to the Carnon Valley. Helston water exists a bit like a sub-atomic particle in quantum theory. You can know directions to it or you can know what size it is but you can never be certain that you have actually seen it. It is a sort of probability of a hamlet.
Through Bissoe and along the valley to Cusgarne and then a grind up to United Downs and Carharrack. Seven became Six as Jonathan returned to Truro at this point with a busy schedule. Round the slopes of Carn Marth via Pennance to the top of Lanner Hill and then into the small lanes to zig-zag towards the pub. Unclassified roads that defy identification even on my big map. A flirting with Higher Tretharrup, Trethellan Water, Trewithen Moor, Seaureaugh Moor to come out by Stithians Cricket Club and the village church. Dave departed for important rendezvous with a recent addition to the family and we completed the last leg via Hendra and Penhalvean to the lunch.
With food consumed and a workshop from Niq on disc partitions and backups this leader interpreted the description “lead a ride to Stithians” literally and begged the indulgence of his companions that they might deputise an assistant leader for the return trip. A feeble excuse but in spite all encouragement my cold refused to be shaken off. By gratitude to Peter for piloting back.
Many thanks to all coming and going.
About 15.5miles outward leg
Hemi-Ride Leader: Hugo Whitlock