Tuesday, February 07, 2017

All roads lead to Loam

A man is standing on the margin of a field, searching through the hedge for a suitable stick, his grey hair is being hardened into a series of vent-shapes spikes as the sweat evaporates through the holes in his helmet just leaving the salt. Next to him is a bicycle, well, it used to be a bicycle, in its present state it has become sculpture, a sculpture signifying the fusion of rural and industrial. It is Nick, one month into his retirement he has had an interview with the bathroom scales, and decided that getting out of the house may prevent over-eating. Consequently, he has decided to go to the other Sainsbury's (the one over the hills and far away, as opposed to the one down the hill by the canal) to see if they have liquorice comfits (they don't by the way, in this time of superlatives this Sainsbury's Superstore is less than the other Sainsbury's Superstore. Speaking of superlatives, when did "average" become a term of approbation: "I thought your light bulbs were average." How different can light bulbs be for crying out loud [FCOL?]? "Why did you give us such a poor rating? How can we do better?" but I digress). Liquorishly disappointed but otherwise laden with heavyweight peanut butter, yoghurt, coffee and olives, he has now decided to embark on a different route back.
Should you wish to follow, the enclosed link may prove useful (https://www.ordnancesurvey.co.uk/demos/os-trig-pillar-80/index.html) if you zoom in on Hemel Hempstead and then find grid ref 080102 (Sainsbury's) you will see a bridle path next to the wood at 104. This was fine, a bit slippery but the weight of groceries in the panniers provided extra traction. At the road he turns right until distracted by a bridleway at Eastbrook Hay Farm. The start of the route is ballasted, at the bottom of the valley he can see that it is concreted, so, throwing caution to the winds, he turns right, past the farm and descends. At the top of the other side the concrete runs out, in retrospect it is probably only concreted to assist getting up it in winter, after a few more hundred metres the slight knobble on the tyres are plastered over with mud, this is fine until the left turn by Hay Wood, heading towards Corner Farm, where the skin of Hertfordshire loam picks up, grass, small twigs and more Hertfordshire loam. After a few more hundred metres a Mediaeval brick factory is happily ensconced under both mudguards and butted up against the brakes. It is here that we join Nick in the hedge, searching for the stick that will allow him to remove some of the log jam. The next 400 metres takes over half an hour and culminates with 100 metres of portage, first the groceries, then the bike. There is a further 10 minutes of jiggery-pokery with the stick, followed by various repairs, then he is off, ignominiously back past Eastbrook Hay, and down Dodds Lane, accompanied by the susurration of tyre against impacted adobe tempered with whatever has been picked up on the tyre rattling and scraping on the inside of the mudguard. Eventually he arrives back at Warner's End, mercifully prior to the School Run (the School Run is bad at the best of times but the school on Green End Road is a Catholic Primary - bigger cars). Knackered, he loses his presence of mind on the last hill, and turns off to go through the wood, 100 metres later the bike comes to a grinding halt, the stick-cleared space now choked with leaves. Stick.
At home the bike is treated to a shower, followed by an extensive application of bike spray. Nick is treated to a large coffee, and a reminiscence of the last time this happened - in Bedfordshire - about 25 years ago.
Moral:- if it's winter, and you have mudguards - DON'T.