What a day. What a beautiful day. Clear blue sky, bright sun and a fresh north easterly breeze - nothing to worry about. As soon as I started my ride, I felt good, I felt alive , buzzing even. The cool breeze didn't penetrate my long sleeved wicking shirt and close fitting cycling jacket. Even this seemed strange - cool on the outside and me toasty on the inside - no gloves or hat. Literally, after 5 minutes I was in the countryside and noticing all the newly clipped hedgerows. I think last week was the final week allowed for hedge management, according to the twitcher down the lane. After 15 minutes I was passing the old Saxon church at Bossall with the cacophony of crows in the trees contributing to the mood I was in. Another 15 minutes into the ride saw me going up Rider Lane and seeing alpacas in the field and then having to stop at a level crossing waiting for a train to pass - which it did 1 minute later. Out comes the signal man from his box to swing open the gates, no electric barriers here. I was almost in another time warp. Up the slow climb to Crambe and then pell mell downhill over the railway lines to Kirkham Abbey ruins, sitting on the River Derwent. The river is still running at a high level and the evidence of it's breached banks are to be witnessed on it's serpentine route through the Vale of York. The inevitable short steep climb from the river had to be tackled to start taking me into my beloved East Yorkshire Wolds.
Once at the top of that ascent, it was just plain idyllic cycling, twisty roads, no cars, country smells and that fresh north easterly keeping my face cool. 20 minutes later and I'm witnessing a hunt. Red jackets, black jackets, the hounds and even the horn being sounded, the whole nine yards. It was a quintessential English countryside scene, although I am anti hunting. I stopped to have a yarn with a gamekeeper who said that they were following a scent that had been previously laid but it was possible that a fox might get flushed out by the hounds. So then, a back road into Burythorpe and a lung pulling climb out on to the top of the Wolds. There is no sign giving the % ascent, but a road that runs nigh parallel, is 17% and I think this one is steeper. On the top, I was rewarded with silence, with views, with bright sunshine and a sense of well being. It truly was one of those days when you are glad to be alive, you are thankful for your health and thankful for what nature provides for free. Pressing on sees me arrive in Birdsall with another slow climb to the top of Leavening Brow, but now with the breeze behind me. From here I ride along the spine of these particular hills and enjoy the panoramic views across to York and it's low lying vale. Wonderful. I know these are not the Highlands or the Rockies or the Alps, but there is a subtlety here, a forgiveness for being punished on those short steep climbs. It compels you to push on and explore that bit further - and it never ever fails to deliver.
So, from my elevated position, it's then downhill all the way home via Acklam, Buttercrambe and the offy at Stamford Bridge for the night time medicine. Whilst riding, I was continually assessing my RST. Without doubt it is the finest bike I have ever owned. I receive my new RT on Wednesday and the new wheels will go on the RST, making it a bit lighter. "Can it get any better then this?" I was asking myself. Lets wait and see. My day has ended as it started. What a day. What a beautiful day!
