January 15th – It felt like the coldest morning of the winter so far, although I doubt that was the actually the case. Overnight, the drizzle had gone and the skies cleared, and I awoke to a bright, ice-hard morning. The main roads were fine, and the countryside looked beautiful in the traitor cold sunshine. The backlands, however, were untreated and impressively icy. Even with the spiked tyres, these were a challenge for first ice-ride of the year. I loved the commute this morning, it was fantastic. After all that rain, such a joy for the brightness of the january sun, the burning cold in my throat, the steam of my breath and the concentration of riding carefully.
It’s nice to feel alive again. 

January 14th – Winter boots. I’ve mentioned before that in the winter, I ride studded snow tyres. The ones I fit are Schwalbe Marathon Plus Winter, and are a decent choice for road/touring bikes if you have the frame clearance. They don’t roll as well as normal tyres, but by heck, they stick to the roads like a wet tee-shirt. On icy mornings and days like this they come into their own – sure footed in patches of snow, slush, mud and frozen puddles, they’re worth the investment to be that little bit safer.

January 14th – Well it snowed. A little, no more than an inch, really, and very, very wet; it was pouring with rain as I left for work. Taking care to avoid the school run, I wound my way around the backlanes, taking an undignified delight in the white landscape. I love the snow. Hope we get some more… but of the dry variety. Public transport held up, and there weren’t too many folks driving like idiots. I got very wet, but I had fun. Not bad for a Monday morning…

January 13th – Hammerwich – whether viewed from the canal in Brownhills, or from within the village itself, is always iconic and beautiful, even during a headache-grey, freezing winter nightfall. Bitterly cold, I passed the still-derelict Meerash Farm, which I thought would be by now thriving again. In spring, someone bought this place, erected a fence, and proud new gates, and lived in a caravan by the decaying old threshing machine. Now, the caravan is gone, and those new gates haven’t been opened in a while. A great shame, the farm commands a great view.

In Hammerwich itself, the converted windmill and foursquare church are staples of the skyline, behind them the red lights of Lichfield and Sutton TV masts lurked in the grey mist. 

At the far end of the village, by the pool, the fingerpost for Brownhills was caught in the downlight from a streetlamp. I love this place so much. but it was dark, and cold, and the snow was smelling closer.

Winter, at last.

January 13th – It was cold, winter at last. I could smell snow in the air as I left home on a day that was so chilly, it caused my sinuses to and forehead to burn. I pottered up to Chasewater, delighting in riding over the icy puddles, and then over to Hammerwich, which is always nice at dusk. On the way up Meerash Lane, I pulled up short; the ice here – caused by water raining from the still-saturated fields, was thick and treacherous. Staffordshire Council never seem to grit up here, and I advise anyone without ice tyres not to bother. Under a fresh coat of snow, this could be an unpleasant start to the week in the morning for someone…

January 12th – I returned to Brownhills to pop to Tesco – never a great experience.

Heading back, I looked over the old market site, and up Pier Street to the High Street past the site of the old clinic. This land was once the site of a pub called The Pier, or Fortune of War; latterly, it hosted a busy market. Now, it sits derelict, set aside for a new Tesco development that never came. It has been empty, deserted and neglected for years now, and looks set to remain that way for a long time to come.

Local occasional blogger and Jack-the-lad Brownhills Barry recently speculated there were ghosts here. There are none. All that stalks here are the shadows of the past and it’s promises, and the darkness of lost horizons.

Sometimes, the tale you tell is lost in the one you left untold.

January 12th – Spent some time today making sure the bike was ready for possible bad weather – greased the gear cable, tuned the brakes, checked the wheels. The time taken to do this will ensure the snow doesn’t come…

Getting out after dark, it was very chilly are there weren’t many around. I headed up towards Chasewater on the canal, and the only living souls I saw were the rats that scattered away from my light. Through the anti-vehicle barrier on the far side of the Anchor Bridge, I stopped to look at the structure. The original bridge is in there, somewhere, but it has been widened and strengthened so many times, only the underside of the bride gives any sign of it’s history. This bridge takes a huge amount of traffic, yet just a few feet below road level it’s quiet and peaceful. For the second day running, the canal was absolutely flat. 

January 11th – Chasewater was also peaceful, but there were plenty of dog walkers, runners and cyclists about. The sunset wasn’t as spectacular as I’d hoped, but it wasn’t poor, either. I noted a massive gull roost, a welcome side effect of the increased water levels. Thousands of birds drifted gently on an otherwise millpond-like reservoir. I watched the dusk close in. It was gorgeous.
The water level seems to be stabilising right now; we’ve had a largely rain-free week, and it’s gained around 4cm, about an inch and a half since Sunday. 

January 11th – Today didn’t work out so well. A failed trip at work, then a mad panic dash to get home. When I did, I hit the canal and headed up to Chasewater, as a decent sunset was threatening. At Anglesey Basin it was quiet, and deathly still. This is the kind of chilly weather I’ve been longing for; the air was clear and hard, but a shallow mist was forming over the canal. The only thing that caused ripples was the birdlife.

Peace, blessed peace. Just what you need after a chaotic day.

January 10th – I got the train back to Blake Street – I’m not really sure why. The disabled ramps there fascinate me – rather than being assembled, manufactured things, as the station is built on a hill, they’re just footpaths that meet the southerly ends of the platform. They’re at a fair incline, and have several dog leg bends in them. Shrouded by tress and shrubs, they are emerald green arcades on summer days, but dark, ethereal ginnels at night. I find the harsh lights, fencing and shadows fascinating.

At the bottom end tonight, however, a classic illustration of unthinking, selfish idiocy; several times this week I’ve come this way to see a bike-shaped object locked to the plastic down pipe at the foot of the ramp. It must belong to a commuter, and is blocking access to the ramp for people in wheelchairs and mobility scooters (there are a fair few who use this station). The staff have left a note attached to the bike. Odd really – there’s proper racks not ten yards away.