One Night Out
Posted: Fri May 24, 2024 9:42 am
May 24 BAM
I thought instead of my usual list of facts and ‘technical author’ style I’d try and write this one up in a more literary style, inspired by the book I’m currently reading, The Rider by Tim Krabbe, which is a first person account of a race interjected with recollections from previous races. I’ve not fished it yet so no spoilers please. This is as much for my entertainment as yours and I recommend the book over this but if you must, read on....
It’s late and getting later, both the hour and the day. I should have gone last week when I planned to, my kit laid out ready and waiting for me, for the last seven days a reminder of my failings. On my ride to work this morning I was overflowing with enthusiasm for my night out but as the day wore on so my keenness ebbed away. Converting enthusiasm into motivation is the hardest part. I could just put it off, sit on the soda with a beer watching YouTube, US hikers heading out into to woods. Adventure is more palatable when viewed rather than experienced. Why go out into the darkness when I can experience it at home? Mine won’t be an adventure anyway, familiar roads and trails to a familiar woods.
I pack the bike, more through duty than desire. Are they new spits of rain on the recycling bin outside the back door? Or old ones yet to dry? I put on my waterproof jacket anyway, only taken off hours before after my ride home in the drizzle. I lock the door, push the bike round to the front of the house and I’m on my way. I’m on my ‘best’ bike, not really ridden since last September. Now with gears and a suspension fork ready for a big trip where the gears will make for more sociable riding and the fork will ease the aches of multiple days. I’ve chosen this bike today as a test ride, another little prod to force me go out.
Despite the time that has past the bike feels familiar, the feel of the bars, the weight of the steering, the sight of the front hub turning inside the spokes. Like an old friend who you’ve not seen for ages and them unexpectedly meet in the street, at once familiar as if you’d only seen each other earlier that day. The road too is familiar, ridden every morning, but somehow different in the evening. Less cars for sure but that’s not it, does it make that much difference to be riding away from home at a time when you would be on the return journey?
I turn off onto the cycle path, the route of the old railway to Newport, now long gone and a fading memory. Anyone who can remember traveling on that train must now be in their 60s. One day it will only be remembered in black and white photos. I remember riding along here on my first ever bivi, many years past now. We had bought bivi bags off the Alpikit stand at the NEC in late February with dreams of a summer of nights out. It had taken until December to finally take that first step. That was a real adventure? It was certainly into the unknown, a first night sleeping out with a view of the stars and the wind blowing across my face. But I’d survived, of course I had, it’s only sleeping, but outside.
I unlock the fork to take out the roughness of the cycle track. The tarmac a patchwork of repairs and pot-holes. Silt from the river flooding over and over through the winter still covers much of the surface. Its uphill now, but only railway grade, it would only be false-flat if it wasn’t for the headwind steepening the gradient. The run down this section was the fastest point on the old railway. In a time before cars this was the fastest you could go on the Island. If you didn’t own a horse the fastest you would have been before this was running.
At the road I decide to turn off the cycle track. The next section will remind me of the out of control dog and angry owner, blaming me for his dog chasing me. They won’t be there tonight but I don’t want those memories to spoil the peace of this ride. Besides, now the wind will be on my side for a while and not trying to push me back to where I started.
As I turn onto the maim road and start the climb I remember I still have my waterproof on. I’m not too hot yet and the sky is still dark ahead, perhaps the rain is just at the top of the hill. Despite the gears I climb out of the saddle, the only way I know how these days. But I must not push too hard, this is a gentle ride out to a peaceful sleep and I don’t want to arrive hot and sticky. I have no fixed route, only a destination. There are many ways I could go. I picture them in my head and try to decide? Which is the path of least resistance? Which will take me off the roads the most? Which will involve the steepest climbs?
I turn off towards Gatcombe, too small to be a village or even a hamlet, it’s just a place with a few houses and a church. If it wasn’t for the church would it have a name at all? There’s a Victorian post box so it was important once. The climb up to the church seems steep. I never ride the road in this direction. It seems less steep coming down. The road ahead is the steep section I remember when I ride down, how step will it be going up? I stop at the church to take off the waterproof. Bats are flashing about above me in the fading light. I’ll need my windproof on I’m sure. Short sleeves will be too cold now the sun is dropping behind the hills. But will I be too hot on the climb?
I roll away from the church and prepare for the climb ahead. The road climbs up into the darkness, the light from my dynamo only illuminating a short distance in front of me. I could adjust the beam but do I want to know how far there is left. I will have to ride it all the same. Maybe better just to pedal and wait. I select the lowest gear, I could climb this in a higher one, or higher still out of the saddle, but I chose to sit and wait for the summit to come to me. The pedals turn easily with little resistance but I must resist the urge to spin faster and faster. I do not know how long this will last so I ride as if it will go on forever, carefully measuring my effort. There are some nice house here, never seen on the descent as I flash past, then I must concentrate on the surface and look for cars that might appear. Is this the top? No, just a change of gradient, a slight flattening of the angle, maybe only a degree or two but it looks more significant in the glow from my light.
The light just picks out a hedgerow across the road? The tall banks and hedges at the sides have made it darker in here than it really is. The top is a sharp bend and the hedge marks the end. I turn off the tarmac on to the chalky rough track. The sound of my tyres changes to the familiar sound of crunching stones and soil, memories of past races, riding into the fading light, alone in a darkening world, my existence reduced to just as far as my lights will shine and a purple line on the screen to follow. In those times all I could do was ride and wait for the light to return. Keep following the purple line and wait to come out the other side of the night. No real sense of place, just a small bubble of light in the dark. Perhaps that’s why this feels so much like that? Take away the knowledge of the surroundings and I could be anywhere. In the dark a dirt track is the same wherever you are.
The last light of the day is slipping behind the horizon. The red lights of the tv mast gradually becoming more visible against the dark sky. Without being able to see the land between me and them it is impossible to judge how far away they are. I know I’ll pass them in time, my woods lies beyond their warning to passing aircraft. I could cut across the corner of this farm, take the bridleway that joins the main road further up? But the last field has been flooded all winter, had it dried up when I rode past last week? I won’t chance it, why spoil this, even if the water has gone it will be wet still.
At the main road I have a choice, left is tarmac all the way up then the gravel track to the top of the down. The road has been resurfaced and there are loose chippings across it. Do I want a chipping shower if a car rattles past ignoring the 20mph signs? Right is just a short section of road then an off road climb up to the main trail. A narrow, rutted, technical and very steep climb. I choose right.
As I turn in I click down through the gears ready. We use this climb on a yearly charity ride. I would normally arrive fresh on an unloaded bike, singlespeed and rigid. I would pass riders all the way up, warning of left or right as I catch them. Picking up energy from each one I pass. The sight of the next one ahead encouraging me to catch them. The have passed me on the flat roads on the way here but now it is my time. They sit and pedal, legs swirling, picking their way up through the ruts and over rocks. I bully my way up, brute force, stood up, heaving on the bars. We ride for fun and with friends. I know I can go deep into the red as I will have time to recover before they make the top. When they catch me I will be appear like I have barley tried but inside my heart will still be trying to leave me chest and my legs will scream with the effort but as we ride off along the track no-one will talk of the hard they had worked to make it up, just how much worse the track was than last year. Can it really get more rutted every year?
Tonight I am them, picking my way up, sitting with legs spinning. It really has got worse, months of rain have cut grooves deep into the surface. A gouge a foot deep meanders down the track switching from side to side and I do the same going up, crossing and re-crossing it to find the smoothest line, to just keep moving. This feels like it goes on forever, I have no way of knowing how far I have climbed. The curve of the track means you can never see the top until you get there even if my lights cold shine far enough.
Time and time again I have to raise my effort in a sudden burst of energy to keep moving, to cross the gouge or avoid a fallen branch laid in the way. I can do this, I really can, I will clean this climb despite the gouge and the weight of my bags, and the loose rocks… then… I’m stopped. The gouge just too wide? Too many loose rocks in a row? Or just too much for this ride. Without the pull of the rider ahead there is no need to go this deep and my body has given in before my mind. I get off and push, it will be good practice at pushing. A winter of avoiding the trails due to the rain and mud has meant I’ve not pushed a bike uphill for ages. It’s hard, I guess it always was, especially with the weight of your bed on the bars. But really this is easy, a minor blip, I only have to push for fifty metres and the surface improves.
I think back to the Coffin Road, in just weeks time it will be six years ago I was there, the sun beating down on my weary body and reflecting back up from the rocks. I only have one bottle of water left and I don’t know how far it is before I can get some more. No streams or rivers in sight here. The morning of day four on the Highland Trail, three days and three nights have eaten away at my reserves, how much more do I have left? I’ll need plenty yet, the worst is yet to comer they say. This track is steep, beyond steep, bent forward pushing the bars, pull on the brakes, stopping to catch my breath, some more steps and repeat. But it will end, if I just keep moving.
The gouge tonight has cooperated and moved to the side. There is room to get back on and ride. The climb has won tonight, forced me off. But I will be back, I’ll come back without my bags and with fresher legs and I will win that time.
Out of the top of the climb and on the main track, easy riding now. There are more climbs yet but none of any concern. The wind is in my face again. Up the narrow climb, hemmed in by banks and hedges I was remote from the wider world but now once again I am in enveloped in the gusts. I can hear the cries of distant lambs blown on the wind. Looking for their mothers? Or just scared by the darkness?
There are no predators left here now for them to be scared of, maybe only a fox? The most dangerous thing here tonight is me and I am no threat to them. How many generations does it take for the instinctive fear of the dark to fade? Or does it never go. Is it that the really keeps us inside at night? It’s not the lure of YouTube and craft beer on a comfy sofa but a deep rooted fear of the dark and the unknown it holds. But, here at least, there is nothing to fear in the dark, no beasts lie in wait for me to pass.
I’m moving faster now and the dynamo can produce more power, my light angled higher up to see farther along the track. A flash of white catches my eye, a barn owl swoops across above me, taking advantage of the dry weather and moonlight to hunt for dinner.
Out of the grass in the centre of the track pops a tiny mouse, or maybe a vole, too small and too fast to tell. And then back into the safety of the grass. Will he become dinner for the owl? I’m conflicted by this thought. I love seeing the owl in my lights, but then the mouse has just as much right as any to live in peace here, why should he have to hide in the grass to avoid becoming dinner for the owl. He did not choose to be born a mouse. But perhaps the mouse does not know his fate? Perhaps he likes to live in the grass in the middle of the track, it is his home and the familiar surroundings comforting.
I ride on into the night, it is fully dark now. Soon I will be at my woods and looking for two trees upon which to hang my bed. As I arrive in woods I switch on my helmet light and scan the sides of the track, looking for that perfect spot, trees with clear ground between, the right distance apart and with vegetation between the track and them. But then if my perfect spot is hidden from the track how will I see it from the track? I ride on to where on previous rides I thought it looked good, but in the dark it looks to overgrown, or not overgrown enough.
There is a track which cuts through the woods and stops at a field gate at the edge. I ride down and stop here, take a picture of the moon, hidden in the clouds. Only a few lights from distant houses glow in the dark, and the flash of headlights on a distant road as cars turn to face me then swing back away.
I ride back into the woods and continue my search. I’m sure there was a perfect spot here but a weird patch of fog covers just this stretch of track and my lights reflect back at me, unable to see past the edge of the track. I turn around and follow the track back, there are thousands of trees here, there must be two waiting for me somewhere. Truth is there are hundreds of suitable locations but I can’t see them for looking. I could set up only feet from the track and no one will come past, and if they did why would they be looking into the woods and not where they are going?
I spot a feint line heading off into the trees. It doesn’t make it to my track but starts just off of it. Not a used path but definitely a line with less undergrowth, an old disused path? This direction only heads to the boundary, there are no paths beyond to re-join. I follow it in, easy riding as its downhill. It swings from side to side, around trees, then, an old banked turn, man made for sure. Just ahead is a built up ramp, old logs piled up and dirt packed on top. It’s an old bike trail. Built many years ago and now forgotten and unused. I guess it will end at the boundary and they had to ride/push back up so it fell out of favour for those routes where the end was somewhere easy to ride on from. Exploring that will have to wait as my two trees are calling me.
Maybe too far apart? The ground too sloped? It’s late now and I have to be up for work, they will have to do. The hammock goes up easy, less fussy in the dark about angles. I pitch the tarp overhead, not because of fear of rain but because the wind is blowing through the woods, not strongly but it has a chill with it. Underquilt on, teeth brushed and into bed. I have my summer kit which should be warm enough but the wind is stealing the heat from under me. Could I pitch the tarp lower to stop it, maybe, but I would have to get back up. I put my insulated jacket on, turn on my side and curl up in the bottom on the hammock. The hang isn’t quite right, maybe it slopes down hill, but it is comfy enough.
As my eyes adjust to the darkness I can see farther through the trees. I’m closer to the edge than I thought, maybe only thirty metres away from the fence, that is how the wind has reached me. I am warm enough, just. I pull my hat down further on my face and drift off.
I wake due to the cold. I look at my watch, three o’clock, too early for getting up. I reach out and the underquilt has moved exposing my back to the wind. I pull it back up by my shoulder and try to get back to sleep. The moon is bright now and it seems like a giant torch shining through the woods. It is quiet here, only the sound of the wind in the braches above. Some woods are alive with noise at night, animals walking and owls hooting but silence here. The woods is surrounded by farmland, with pheasant shoots, does that account for the lack of noise? The sounds of the night are often the predators and they are not welcomed by the keepers?
When I next open my eyes it is fully light. My watch shows it is only just before five, I’m not getting up yet and besides I’m now nearly warm. I check the underquilt is still in the right place and snuggle down under the topquilt, making sure to keep my mouth outside so as not to breath into the quilt. The birds are up now, people say they love the dawn chorus but not as an alarm clock? I have just over an hour before I need to get up, I can snooze until then despite the racket.
My alarm is ringing, I have no choice now, I will have to move. Why is it that the most comfortable you get is just before you need to get up? I can see the edge of the woods clearly now and the field beyond. I can also see the trail I followed in snaking off into the distance down the hill. It must have been well used once to still be visible all these years later. I’ll look on strava later but maybe it pre-dates the recording of rides by gps. The days of rigid steel bikes with 3x6 twist grip gears and ‘wide’ 1.9” tyres.
I have cold coffee and pastry for breakfast, breakfast number one at least. The stove is too much faff for these school-night outings. I will be in the office soon enough and the kettle will provide as many hot coffees as I need and water for my porridge. I take down the tarp, sticky clay clings on the pegs as I pull them from the ground. I wipe this off on the moss at the base of the tress. Is this ok to do? Does it harm the moss? There is more moss on one side, does that face north? Or was it south? I need to pack up, no time for checking now.
I pack up the quilts and sit in the hammock enjoying my coffee and looking into the trees. Despite their vocal presence I cannot spot a single bird but they must be there somewhere. What have they planned for the day? Fly around for a bit, eat, sit in the tops of the trees in the sun? Then off to bed and to get up again and sing before five? I won’t be here tomorrow, their singing won’t wake me then.
I put my jersey on, pack away the hammock and put the bags on the bike. One last check there is no trace left and I have everything I came with. I would never be able to find this spot again if I left anything behind. The ride back up to the track is ok, the ground compacted by thousands of tyres. The jumps are old, the logs rotten, they would need work to ride again, but the woods on the other side of the track is full of trails, no need for these now, the birds can have these back.
As I ride back towards Newport the sun is shining bright. Last nights scared lambs frolic in the fields. At the fence-line stands a solitary lamb, face pressed against the wire, staring at the sun rising over the horizon. Is he full of wonder at the light returning to the land, the new day still a novelty? Or am I thinking too much, is he just looking at the grass in next field and dreaming of being there?
Last year after a bivi and riding to work I chance upon a man walking the other way, heading to the woods to undertake a survey of bird numbers. As I think of this I see him ahead, I know it is him as he has a clipboard in his hand. Did I see him without knowing and this reminded me? No, I’m sure I thought of him long before he came into sight. Perhaps I have brought him to life by imagining he is there? I stop and ask if he’s off to do the bird survey? He looks confused how I know until I remind him we met last year. He quizzes me about bikepacking. I’m sure we could stop and talk for ages but we both have work to do.
It won’t be long before I’m back at the office, but it feels too soon for that yet. Once back on the road I turn off in search of knitted post-box covers. Man-made adornments but it will bring a smile to my face and add a mile or so to my journey. The current one is ducks, it takes me a minute to work out what but they are but I do not know why they have chosen to knit this? I stop and take a picture, passing drivers look at me. Do they wonder why I take such pleasure from something as silly as a knitted duck on a post-box? It is one last distraction before I must re-join the world after my night in woods.
Was it an adventure? Compared to climbing mountains or exploring jungles maybe not. Was it adventurous? Compared to sitting on the sofa with my beer… maybe it was. I think of how much fun it was and how recharging it is, even when waking up cold. I will need to remind myself of this again when it’s late and I’m yet to head out.
I thought instead of my usual list of facts and ‘technical author’ style I’d try and write this one up in a more literary style, inspired by the book I’m currently reading, The Rider by Tim Krabbe, which is a first person account of a race interjected with recollections from previous races. I’ve not fished it yet so no spoilers please. This is as much for my entertainment as yours and I recommend the book over this but if you must, read on....
It’s late and getting later, both the hour and the day. I should have gone last week when I planned to, my kit laid out ready and waiting for me, for the last seven days a reminder of my failings. On my ride to work this morning I was overflowing with enthusiasm for my night out but as the day wore on so my keenness ebbed away. Converting enthusiasm into motivation is the hardest part. I could just put it off, sit on the soda with a beer watching YouTube, US hikers heading out into to woods. Adventure is more palatable when viewed rather than experienced. Why go out into the darkness when I can experience it at home? Mine won’t be an adventure anyway, familiar roads and trails to a familiar woods.
I pack the bike, more through duty than desire. Are they new spits of rain on the recycling bin outside the back door? Or old ones yet to dry? I put on my waterproof jacket anyway, only taken off hours before after my ride home in the drizzle. I lock the door, push the bike round to the front of the house and I’m on my way. I’m on my ‘best’ bike, not really ridden since last September. Now with gears and a suspension fork ready for a big trip where the gears will make for more sociable riding and the fork will ease the aches of multiple days. I’ve chosen this bike today as a test ride, another little prod to force me go out.
Despite the time that has past the bike feels familiar, the feel of the bars, the weight of the steering, the sight of the front hub turning inside the spokes. Like an old friend who you’ve not seen for ages and them unexpectedly meet in the street, at once familiar as if you’d only seen each other earlier that day. The road too is familiar, ridden every morning, but somehow different in the evening. Less cars for sure but that’s not it, does it make that much difference to be riding away from home at a time when you would be on the return journey?
I turn off onto the cycle path, the route of the old railway to Newport, now long gone and a fading memory. Anyone who can remember traveling on that train must now be in their 60s. One day it will only be remembered in black and white photos. I remember riding along here on my first ever bivi, many years past now. We had bought bivi bags off the Alpikit stand at the NEC in late February with dreams of a summer of nights out. It had taken until December to finally take that first step. That was a real adventure? It was certainly into the unknown, a first night sleeping out with a view of the stars and the wind blowing across my face. But I’d survived, of course I had, it’s only sleeping, but outside.
I unlock the fork to take out the roughness of the cycle track. The tarmac a patchwork of repairs and pot-holes. Silt from the river flooding over and over through the winter still covers much of the surface. Its uphill now, but only railway grade, it would only be false-flat if it wasn’t for the headwind steepening the gradient. The run down this section was the fastest point on the old railway. In a time before cars this was the fastest you could go on the Island. If you didn’t own a horse the fastest you would have been before this was running.
At the road I decide to turn off the cycle track. The next section will remind me of the out of control dog and angry owner, blaming me for his dog chasing me. They won’t be there tonight but I don’t want those memories to spoil the peace of this ride. Besides, now the wind will be on my side for a while and not trying to push me back to where I started.
As I turn onto the maim road and start the climb I remember I still have my waterproof on. I’m not too hot yet and the sky is still dark ahead, perhaps the rain is just at the top of the hill. Despite the gears I climb out of the saddle, the only way I know how these days. But I must not push too hard, this is a gentle ride out to a peaceful sleep and I don’t want to arrive hot and sticky. I have no fixed route, only a destination. There are many ways I could go. I picture them in my head and try to decide? Which is the path of least resistance? Which will take me off the roads the most? Which will involve the steepest climbs?
I turn off towards Gatcombe, too small to be a village or even a hamlet, it’s just a place with a few houses and a church. If it wasn’t for the church would it have a name at all? There’s a Victorian post box so it was important once. The climb up to the church seems steep. I never ride the road in this direction. It seems less steep coming down. The road ahead is the steep section I remember when I ride down, how step will it be going up? I stop at the church to take off the waterproof. Bats are flashing about above me in the fading light. I’ll need my windproof on I’m sure. Short sleeves will be too cold now the sun is dropping behind the hills. But will I be too hot on the climb?
I roll away from the church and prepare for the climb ahead. The road climbs up into the darkness, the light from my dynamo only illuminating a short distance in front of me. I could adjust the beam but do I want to know how far there is left. I will have to ride it all the same. Maybe better just to pedal and wait. I select the lowest gear, I could climb this in a higher one, or higher still out of the saddle, but I chose to sit and wait for the summit to come to me. The pedals turn easily with little resistance but I must resist the urge to spin faster and faster. I do not know how long this will last so I ride as if it will go on forever, carefully measuring my effort. There are some nice house here, never seen on the descent as I flash past, then I must concentrate on the surface and look for cars that might appear. Is this the top? No, just a change of gradient, a slight flattening of the angle, maybe only a degree or two but it looks more significant in the glow from my light.
The light just picks out a hedgerow across the road? The tall banks and hedges at the sides have made it darker in here than it really is. The top is a sharp bend and the hedge marks the end. I turn off the tarmac on to the chalky rough track. The sound of my tyres changes to the familiar sound of crunching stones and soil, memories of past races, riding into the fading light, alone in a darkening world, my existence reduced to just as far as my lights will shine and a purple line on the screen to follow. In those times all I could do was ride and wait for the light to return. Keep following the purple line and wait to come out the other side of the night. No real sense of place, just a small bubble of light in the dark. Perhaps that’s why this feels so much like that? Take away the knowledge of the surroundings and I could be anywhere. In the dark a dirt track is the same wherever you are.
The last light of the day is slipping behind the horizon. The red lights of the tv mast gradually becoming more visible against the dark sky. Without being able to see the land between me and them it is impossible to judge how far away they are. I know I’ll pass them in time, my woods lies beyond their warning to passing aircraft. I could cut across the corner of this farm, take the bridleway that joins the main road further up? But the last field has been flooded all winter, had it dried up when I rode past last week? I won’t chance it, why spoil this, even if the water has gone it will be wet still.
At the main road I have a choice, left is tarmac all the way up then the gravel track to the top of the down. The road has been resurfaced and there are loose chippings across it. Do I want a chipping shower if a car rattles past ignoring the 20mph signs? Right is just a short section of road then an off road climb up to the main trail. A narrow, rutted, technical and very steep climb. I choose right.
As I turn in I click down through the gears ready. We use this climb on a yearly charity ride. I would normally arrive fresh on an unloaded bike, singlespeed and rigid. I would pass riders all the way up, warning of left or right as I catch them. Picking up energy from each one I pass. The sight of the next one ahead encouraging me to catch them. The have passed me on the flat roads on the way here but now it is my time. They sit and pedal, legs swirling, picking their way up through the ruts and over rocks. I bully my way up, brute force, stood up, heaving on the bars. We ride for fun and with friends. I know I can go deep into the red as I will have time to recover before they make the top. When they catch me I will be appear like I have barley tried but inside my heart will still be trying to leave me chest and my legs will scream with the effort but as we ride off along the track no-one will talk of the hard they had worked to make it up, just how much worse the track was than last year. Can it really get more rutted every year?
Tonight I am them, picking my way up, sitting with legs spinning. It really has got worse, months of rain have cut grooves deep into the surface. A gouge a foot deep meanders down the track switching from side to side and I do the same going up, crossing and re-crossing it to find the smoothest line, to just keep moving. This feels like it goes on forever, I have no way of knowing how far I have climbed. The curve of the track means you can never see the top until you get there even if my lights cold shine far enough.
Time and time again I have to raise my effort in a sudden burst of energy to keep moving, to cross the gouge or avoid a fallen branch laid in the way. I can do this, I really can, I will clean this climb despite the gouge and the weight of my bags, and the loose rocks… then… I’m stopped. The gouge just too wide? Too many loose rocks in a row? Or just too much for this ride. Without the pull of the rider ahead there is no need to go this deep and my body has given in before my mind. I get off and push, it will be good practice at pushing. A winter of avoiding the trails due to the rain and mud has meant I’ve not pushed a bike uphill for ages. It’s hard, I guess it always was, especially with the weight of your bed on the bars. But really this is easy, a minor blip, I only have to push for fifty metres and the surface improves.
I think back to the Coffin Road, in just weeks time it will be six years ago I was there, the sun beating down on my weary body and reflecting back up from the rocks. I only have one bottle of water left and I don’t know how far it is before I can get some more. No streams or rivers in sight here. The morning of day four on the Highland Trail, three days and three nights have eaten away at my reserves, how much more do I have left? I’ll need plenty yet, the worst is yet to comer they say. This track is steep, beyond steep, bent forward pushing the bars, pull on the brakes, stopping to catch my breath, some more steps and repeat. But it will end, if I just keep moving.
The gouge tonight has cooperated and moved to the side. There is room to get back on and ride. The climb has won tonight, forced me off. But I will be back, I’ll come back without my bags and with fresher legs and I will win that time.
Out of the top of the climb and on the main track, easy riding now. There are more climbs yet but none of any concern. The wind is in my face again. Up the narrow climb, hemmed in by banks and hedges I was remote from the wider world but now once again I am in enveloped in the gusts. I can hear the cries of distant lambs blown on the wind. Looking for their mothers? Or just scared by the darkness?
There are no predators left here now for them to be scared of, maybe only a fox? The most dangerous thing here tonight is me and I am no threat to them. How many generations does it take for the instinctive fear of the dark to fade? Or does it never go. Is it that the really keeps us inside at night? It’s not the lure of YouTube and craft beer on a comfy sofa but a deep rooted fear of the dark and the unknown it holds. But, here at least, there is nothing to fear in the dark, no beasts lie in wait for me to pass.
I’m moving faster now and the dynamo can produce more power, my light angled higher up to see farther along the track. A flash of white catches my eye, a barn owl swoops across above me, taking advantage of the dry weather and moonlight to hunt for dinner.
Out of the grass in the centre of the track pops a tiny mouse, or maybe a vole, too small and too fast to tell. And then back into the safety of the grass. Will he become dinner for the owl? I’m conflicted by this thought. I love seeing the owl in my lights, but then the mouse has just as much right as any to live in peace here, why should he have to hide in the grass to avoid becoming dinner for the owl. He did not choose to be born a mouse. But perhaps the mouse does not know his fate? Perhaps he likes to live in the grass in the middle of the track, it is his home and the familiar surroundings comforting.
I ride on into the night, it is fully dark now. Soon I will be at my woods and looking for two trees upon which to hang my bed. As I arrive in woods I switch on my helmet light and scan the sides of the track, looking for that perfect spot, trees with clear ground between, the right distance apart and with vegetation between the track and them. But then if my perfect spot is hidden from the track how will I see it from the track? I ride on to where on previous rides I thought it looked good, but in the dark it looks to overgrown, or not overgrown enough.
There is a track which cuts through the woods and stops at a field gate at the edge. I ride down and stop here, take a picture of the moon, hidden in the clouds. Only a few lights from distant houses glow in the dark, and the flash of headlights on a distant road as cars turn to face me then swing back away.
I ride back into the woods and continue my search. I’m sure there was a perfect spot here but a weird patch of fog covers just this stretch of track and my lights reflect back at me, unable to see past the edge of the track. I turn around and follow the track back, there are thousands of trees here, there must be two waiting for me somewhere. Truth is there are hundreds of suitable locations but I can’t see them for looking. I could set up only feet from the track and no one will come past, and if they did why would they be looking into the woods and not where they are going?
I spot a feint line heading off into the trees. It doesn’t make it to my track but starts just off of it. Not a used path but definitely a line with less undergrowth, an old disused path? This direction only heads to the boundary, there are no paths beyond to re-join. I follow it in, easy riding as its downhill. It swings from side to side, around trees, then, an old banked turn, man made for sure. Just ahead is a built up ramp, old logs piled up and dirt packed on top. It’s an old bike trail. Built many years ago and now forgotten and unused. I guess it will end at the boundary and they had to ride/push back up so it fell out of favour for those routes where the end was somewhere easy to ride on from. Exploring that will have to wait as my two trees are calling me.
Maybe too far apart? The ground too sloped? It’s late now and I have to be up for work, they will have to do. The hammock goes up easy, less fussy in the dark about angles. I pitch the tarp overhead, not because of fear of rain but because the wind is blowing through the woods, not strongly but it has a chill with it. Underquilt on, teeth brushed and into bed. I have my summer kit which should be warm enough but the wind is stealing the heat from under me. Could I pitch the tarp lower to stop it, maybe, but I would have to get back up. I put my insulated jacket on, turn on my side and curl up in the bottom on the hammock. The hang isn’t quite right, maybe it slopes down hill, but it is comfy enough.
As my eyes adjust to the darkness I can see farther through the trees. I’m closer to the edge than I thought, maybe only thirty metres away from the fence, that is how the wind has reached me. I am warm enough, just. I pull my hat down further on my face and drift off.
I wake due to the cold. I look at my watch, three o’clock, too early for getting up. I reach out and the underquilt has moved exposing my back to the wind. I pull it back up by my shoulder and try to get back to sleep. The moon is bright now and it seems like a giant torch shining through the woods. It is quiet here, only the sound of the wind in the braches above. Some woods are alive with noise at night, animals walking and owls hooting but silence here. The woods is surrounded by farmland, with pheasant shoots, does that account for the lack of noise? The sounds of the night are often the predators and they are not welcomed by the keepers?
When I next open my eyes it is fully light. My watch shows it is only just before five, I’m not getting up yet and besides I’m now nearly warm. I check the underquilt is still in the right place and snuggle down under the topquilt, making sure to keep my mouth outside so as not to breath into the quilt. The birds are up now, people say they love the dawn chorus but not as an alarm clock? I have just over an hour before I need to get up, I can snooze until then despite the racket.
My alarm is ringing, I have no choice now, I will have to move. Why is it that the most comfortable you get is just before you need to get up? I can see the edge of the woods clearly now and the field beyond. I can also see the trail I followed in snaking off into the distance down the hill. It must have been well used once to still be visible all these years later. I’ll look on strava later but maybe it pre-dates the recording of rides by gps. The days of rigid steel bikes with 3x6 twist grip gears and ‘wide’ 1.9” tyres.
I have cold coffee and pastry for breakfast, breakfast number one at least. The stove is too much faff for these school-night outings. I will be in the office soon enough and the kettle will provide as many hot coffees as I need and water for my porridge. I take down the tarp, sticky clay clings on the pegs as I pull them from the ground. I wipe this off on the moss at the base of the tress. Is this ok to do? Does it harm the moss? There is more moss on one side, does that face north? Or was it south? I need to pack up, no time for checking now.
I pack up the quilts and sit in the hammock enjoying my coffee and looking into the trees. Despite their vocal presence I cannot spot a single bird but they must be there somewhere. What have they planned for the day? Fly around for a bit, eat, sit in the tops of the trees in the sun? Then off to bed and to get up again and sing before five? I won’t be here tomorrow, their singing won’t wake me then.
I put my jersey on, pack away the hammock and put the bags on the bike. One last check there is no trace left and I have everything I came with. I would never be able to find this spot again if I left anything behind. The ride back up to the track is ok, the ground compacted by thousands of tyres. The jumps are old, the logs rotten, they would need work to ride again, but the woods on the other side of the track is full of trails, no need for these now, the birds can have these back.
As I ride back towards Newport the sun is shining bright. Last nights scared lambs frolic in the fields. At the fence-line stands a solitary lamb, face pressed against the wire, staring at the sun rising over the horizon. Is he full of wonder at the light returning to the land, the new day still a novelty? Or am I thinking too much, is he just looking at the grass in next field and dreaming of being there?
Last year after a bivi and riding to work I chance upon a man walking the other way, heading to the woods to undertake a survey of bird numbers. As I think of this I see him ahead, I know it is him as he has a clipboard in his hand. Did I see him without knowing and this reminded me? No, I’m sure I thought of him long before he came into sight. Perhaps I have brought him to life by imagining he is there? I stop and ask if he’s off to do the bird survey? He looks confused how I know until I remind him we met last year. He quizzes me about bikepacking. I’m sure we could stop and talk for ages but we both have work to do.
It won’t be long before I’m back at the office, but it feels too soon for that yet. Once back on the road I turn off in search of knitted post-box covers. Man-made adornments but it will bring a smile to my face and add a mile or so to my journey. The current one is ducks, it takes me a minute to work out what but they are but I do not know why they have chosen to knit this? I stop and take a picture, passing drivers look at me. Do they wonder why I take such pleasure from something as silly as a knitted duck on a post-box? It is one last distraction before I must re-join the world after my night in woods.
Was it an adventure? Compared to climbing mountains or exploring jungles maybe not. Was it adventurous? Compared to sitting on the sofa with my beer… maybe it was. I think of how much fun it was and how recharging it is, even when waking up cold. I will need to remind myself of this again when it’s late and I’m yet to head out.
