30 March. Leapfrogging around Truro's back lanes
We have had two days rest - it's time to leave the house and see the outside world. Madame has decided to come with me again and we are heading NE into the wind for the first part of the ride whilst we are fresh, on another circle around Truro, mainly on back lanes although I think (foolishly as it turns out ) that the B roads will be corona - quiet.
The news continues to be bad but the apocalyptic headlines from Italy, New York and London clash with our day to day experience in Cornwall; it's quiet and calm here, everyone tucked up indoors, village shops closed. No feeling of impending menace. A few families out walking, pushing prams along the lanes, herding children on small bikes, smiling at us and waving as we pass. We try to maintain six feet separation, holding our breath for as long as we can but no one seems too bothered. I guess our turn will come as the infection wave spreads out across the UK.
There seem to be more cars out today - and they are going faster than they used to on the B roads. It feels uncomfortable and we itch to get off them. The back lanes are quiet though and it is with a sense of relief that we leave the busier roads once we turn west. Our nearest brushes with death all afternoon are now to come however - going around blind corners to be met with tractor wheels, towering more than head high, juddering as the brakes are applied. The farmers think they have the lanes to themselves and are startled to see us. Not as startled as me. The wind is blowing the tractor engine noise away from us and we cannot hear them coming.
It seems hillier than I remember and the wind is stiff enough and cold enough to discourage much hanging around. We leapfrog our way around, Madame passing me on the hills with a faint whir of electrons and I pass her on the downhills as she squeezes the brakes, less confident of her abilities. We meet at junctions but it is too cold to say more than a few words. I just want to get this ride done.
The sky starts off bright but quickly clouds over and the afternoon settles into a grey murk. Occasional shafts of sunlight break through briefly illuminating the hills around us. From the middle of the ride we are on the roof of Cornwall, all five hundred feet of it here - just a shed roof - but the views are extensive right across to the north coast where the cold Atlantic blurs the horizon.
A bumpy section of back lane now, the road barely more than a gravel track in places where it passes through farm yards. It is better today than it has been all winter, the mud dried and the tyre tracks either side of the grassy middle are reasonably OK. I tell Madame that I have never seen any other cyclists on this section, that it is my secret lane and almost as soon as I say it we meet a cyclist puffing up the hill in the other direction. And then another. There is a sign saying the lane is closed too.
More hills up and down, snakes and ladders, swopping places with our different paces. Madame looks pointedly at the signs for Truro but I want some more of this, the energy gel I took ten minutes ago seems to be working. We continue dipping across river valleys, cutting across the grain of the land, seeing no one, lost in the countryside.
It has to end. A fast hurtle down Kenwyn Hill into Truro and I can get over 30mph, fast enough for me and too fast for Madame who dwindles into the distance. She catches up with me on the hill back up the other side of Truro. Truro sits in the bottom of a bowl, all routes out of it are up. This hill starts at 10% and slowly declines to 4%, an aerobic challenge to keep going. I hold her off until five yards before the top.
I leave her behind again as we sprint along the lane for home, unsettled by seeing people walking along it. I have never seen anyone walking here before. The world has turned upside down in the last fortnight - everything feels different.
We have managed to spend an afternoon cycling but hardly speaking, meeting at junctions, each in our own world of pain (but mine is worse!). The house is quiet: the cat knows nothing about corona virus. I read that the rate of infection may be slowing down. We sit here waiting for the viral tide to reach us too but hoping like everyone else that we all get to the other side of this.
It was like turning the cranks with the brakes on. I was gasping and puffing away wondering why on Earth I do this.
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