On the trail to recovery

As autumn sets in and the colours change from green to yellow to red I find myself sitting in my damp student house with a cold. The walls are staining with a yellow orangey tinge and water occasionally drips onto the carpet. It’s driving me insane. Autumn’s meant to be bold, crisp and fresh, not grey and mouldy green. My nose is running and my throat feels like it’s had a razor blade scraped down it. I know there must be something better I could do than be miserable. My bike sits underneath a load of washed and clean tea towels, the muddy handlebars not an ideal place for something that’s meant for reasons of hygiene. I remove them and place them on the airer where they’re supposed to be. I glance at my bike, it glances back at me.

“Take me out” it cries. Either my bike spoke to me or I’m really ill. I don’t know but it gaveme a brilliant idea.

It was impulsive; the wheels are removed and carted downstairs. In the mean while I phone Alix. She’s free and this just makes my day. I hurriedly pull on my biking shorts and a thermal and stuff a load of dry clothes, lubricant for my chain and knee pads into a reusable Shopping Bag. I grab my keys and I’m out the door faster than you can blink an eye.

I call at Alix’s door with my hazards blinking away because it’s a narrow street. The grey, sooty feeling of the town imposing, crushing down on me. She’s not ready and runs around to grab her stuff. Luckily her bike is out of the cellar so I take it outside and begin to take off the wheels. I untie the straps that had tied my bike on in the first place, people drive past giving me funny looks. What have I done now? The bikes are on and, listening to Linkin Park and Sum 41 in true teenage style, we sit and talk excitedly about the day and about events gone by. It’s been a while since I last saw Alix so we have a lot to talk about. Within 10 minutes we’re laughing our heads off, reminiscing on practical sessions gone by, we always laugh.

The drizzle hits the windscreen and coats it so much so that it’s hardly worth having the wipers on but I need them. I never get bored of the grey clouds in the Lake District. It’s a different kind of grey to civilisation. It suits the spirit of the place so well, so much more inspiring than my damp town house. I love the feeling of how being out of the box suddenly makes you feel ten times better. The rain continues to pester us always falling, never ceasing. I like the feeling of still being able to go out in the damp and still have fun. We don’t need fair weather.

Driving up the narrow road to Whinlatter forest I become excited, the trees enclose around us and I can smell the faint tinge of pine and fresh, damp, autumn air. The leafy lane provides some entertainment, Sunday drivers not knowing that we drive on the left hand side in this country and walkers being cast aside as I drive faster. They should know to walk in single file. But these people don’t know the etiquette of the outdoors. Why are they here?

We pull up in the Masmill car park; it’s right on the new blue graded trail route. And what’s more is that it’s free! Next to us is what I can describe as a happy family. Baby screaming, parents laughing, grandparents fussing. The smell of barbeque wafting our way from the picnic benches below us. They’re dressed in typical woolly jumpers and macs, the “wannabe” country folk. Their leather walking boots with exposed woolly socks and matching woolly hats and fingerless gloves. It’s like going back to a distant time. Family holiday. It sparks an amazing idea for the next full day Alix and I have off University. A girly ride with after party barbeque. Sounds perfect doesn’t it?

We wolf down our cheap sausage rolls, the taste tasting more like bread than sausage. I put my wheels back on my bike, not knowing instinctively how tight they should be. I always have to check. I’ll learn. Alix is good to go too. The smell of GT85 fills my lungs and I’m happy. On with the ascent!