May 24 – On the cycleway between Walsall and Pelsall, the former rail line crossed Fordbrook Lane in Pelsall. Even when this was a rail bridge, it suffered problems with vandals dropping rocks onto the cars below; finally, Sustrans – the charity that maintain the cycleway – have erected a fence to alleviate the problem.
It’s a complex structure, and I wonder how effective it’ll be. But seeing some of the other odd things they’ve got up to lately, nothing surprises me.
May 24 – I ‘m convinced that whatever gave rise to moorhens and coots existing had the plans backwards. Baby coots – featured here last week – look, as Phil Griffin put it ‘Like badly knitted moorhens’ – and he’s right. On the other hand, apart from the remarkable feet, these moorhen chicks could easily thought to be coots.
The antics of both are hugely comical, however. So nice to see.
May 23 – At Catshill Junction on the way back, a small, domestic thriller: a young, very ginger cat was watching a pair of unconcerned mallards, maybe thinking of plum sauce.
Of course, I broke the spell, and butter wouldn’t melt in his mouth. What a lovely stripy fellow!
May 23 – I get a bit tired sometimes of defending Brownhills, Walsall and the Black Country. People call all three dirty, unpleasant, polluted, ugly.
All these animals were seen on my journey to and from work today. There can’t be many urban situations where you pass deer and herons on a Monday morning, can there?
I particularly liked the cygnet preening, just like it’s mum.
I love this place.
May 22nd – Also growing well, and still at the original 9, the Watermead swan family were out on a constitutional.
Those little balls of grey fluff are growing well, and mum and dad are very good parents, keeping them close and rounding up any explorers who stray.
May 22nd – Another good riding day, but I was a bit tired, and didn’t go as far as I’d hoped, topping out at 55 miles. The sun was lovely, but a sudden gusty wind between about 2:30 and 3:30 was puzzling and difficult. I went up around Blithfield Reservoir, called into Abbots Bromley for tea and remarkable cake, then up to Newborough and back through the Needwood Valley.
The stunning work of Oldrid Scott on that amazing church never ceases to amaze.
The views and hedgerows are beautiful right now – but does anyone know what the pink-flowered tree is? It’s like a horse chestnut tree, but different. It’s absolutely lovely.
May 21st – On my way back via Chasewater, I spotted the huge Canada goose family near Catshill Junction; remarkably, 12 of the 13 chicks survive, with mum and dad being a good bit more protective and aggressive than formerly – one suspects the loss and protectiveness are related.
The young are growing well though. Lovely to see.
May 20th – Last week, at the floating market, I moaned to my old friend about the p*nct*re palaver I’d had the day before. I arrived home this evening to find a small box sent by my friend, containing a couple of repair kits, some cement, and about 50 extra patches – all my favourite brand – Rema.
It’s a lovely, funny thought. And I’m sure they’ll save my ride many times. Just hopefully not for a while yet…
May 20th – I’d had enough. The week had been tough and I needed time out – so taking advantage of a temporary lull at work I left early and headed out. The weather wasn’t great, with an insistent southwesterly and generally overcast skies, but it was warm enough and the sun did make it out on occasions.
I headed up to Rosliston, hoping to catch the Honeypot cafe, but the opening hours were shorter than those listed online, and it was shut. Having a brainwave, I went instead to the cafe at the Rosliston Forestry Centre, which was decent and is open daily until 5pm. From there, Linton, Caldwell, Gresley, Netherseal, then back via No Mans Heath, Haunton, Syerscote, Hopwas and Weeford.
This was just the thing my soul needed, and 75 miles later, I felt much better.
May 19th – I had gone to work on a pleasantly sunny morning, but returned in light rain, through a glistening, green, dripping landscape, no more in evidence anywhere than Green Lane on the Walsall Wood/Shelfield border.
The wet tarmac glistened, the trees, bright in their new green jackets, dripped softly. There was the gentle hiss of rain and babble of water.
But it was warm, the wind was behind me and for once, I didn’t mind.
Sometimes the only thing to do is open your senses and let it all in.
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