Cycling in the 21st century.

Sunny day; enough cash to get out of town and purchase the obligatory coffee reward for being so energetic…
The cycle track past the quay and over the school playing fields, narrowly avoiding the doggy-doodoo that litters the path ready for innocent shoes to smear it over mothers freshly hoovered carpets, eueuw!
With the heart raised ever so slightly and a tiny effort of breathing the minor rises out towards Wootton are eased by the pod playing soothing tunes. (School of seven Bells as you ask)
There’s something really special about that first foray into the wilderness after months of cold and wet. Apart from a few rides around Newport and the odd venture to Cowes along the cycle-path the bike’s been neglected for months. Any warmer and I might have got a sweat on although realistically it’s highly unlikely as I’m more likely to get off and walk for a while rather than soil my clothes when there’s cheesy chips and coffee to be savoured at the cafe and it’s not just any old cafe, I’m talking Briddlesford farm cafe where the aroma of cow shit clears the nostrils the moment you ease onto the Briddlesford straight from Wootton.

If you’ve never had your arm licked by a calf you are seriously missing out. All those people with bucket-lists seem to miss this one off, same as walking in an English wood when the bluebells are in season.
Stuff your powerboat and your bungie: get a calf to lick your hand…proper.

The answer to life is never, or very rarely about expense. For me it’s the simple things like a cycle into the country, a calfs scratchy tongue on my wrist, the crunch of brown sugar eaten with a spoon from the top of a latte, that crispy edge to a triple-fried chip dipped in Mayo and tommy sauce with a slight smattering of cheese…and then there’s the ensuing journey home, again with a slightly raised heartbeat, a slight effort to the breathing, to counteract the calorie intake from the treats. I’m not a great one for exercise but there’s rubbish exercise, then there’s cycling on the Isle of Wight.
Spring is gorgeous, cycling wonderful but little baby calves, oh Lordy they are so cute.

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