Cyclokairos

The solace of interiority, Geoff Dyer’s description of reading. I’m claiming it for cycling. An act of journeying outward that journeys inwards. Hours alone in one’s head. Rarely a bad thing when out there – is it the forgetting, the escape from what dwells in other circumstances?

Familiar sites of late – Edstone Aqueduct (England’s longest says a sign – the competition must be meagre, it doesn’t seem that big), the weir at Great Alne, Mary Arden’s (Shakespeare’s mum) gaff, Grant Petersen’s too.

Temple Balsall – founded by the Knight’s Templar, and following their suppression, property of the Knights Hospitaller of St John. Then, narked with Rome, the eighth Henry dissolved the monasteries and the estate went to Lizzie the First’s favourite, Robert Dudley (his seat, Kenilworth Castle, is down the road). There’s still a church, the old hall, and almshouses. I’ve ridden through it umpteen times but apart from some wildlife watching at the mill pond, I’ve not had a proper look around. Too much interiority!

The mill pond is rainwater fed, long since cut off from a stream, and with one of the driest years on record, low. The nearby River Blythe is doing fine, and thinking better of using the ford, I used a footbridge to cross it. Despite its close proximity to home, it was the first time I’d ridden the track either side of the river. I did attempt to, from the other direction, a couple of winters past but the track was flooded and I had to turn back. Of course, now the summer break has arrived the dry weather has ended and the heavens opened. My timing was spot on though, a copse providing shelter from the thunderstorm.

Always pleasing to discover something new on my doorstep.