October 21st – Following the winds of the last few weeks, my favourite tree at Home Farm, Sandhills is now bare for winter, which I find profoundly sad.
There’s hope though, in the gloom. Greening up beautifully in a sheet of emerald green are new winter crops sprouting well which will provide some colour in the dark months.
Despite the gloom, life marches on.
October 21st – A blustery, showery day, so I restricted myself to a short ride around the patch, washing through the leaves shaken free by the storm. At the new pond at Clayhanger, I noticed a healthy, beautiful holly bush with a dense crop of berries growing in the marsh at the back of the pool. That’s a sign Christmas is coming, for sure.
Autumn has been strange this year. It’s like we fell out of summer with a bump and kept bouncing off winter with no transition…
October 20th – In to work early, and on a morning of patchy rain and light, fast sunny spells, two pauses in my hurried journey at Victoria Park and Kings Hill Park, both looking absolutely gorgeous in their autumn jackets.
Darlaston is a grubby, grimy industrial Black Country town – and is everything the Black Country is; busy, historic, full of hidden beauty under an ostensibly ugly exterior, charming, real and a great place to be. And like the wider Black Country, it’s full of green parks and open spaces where the hurried traveller can catch a breath, sip his tea and think about the day to come.
October 15th – Sometimes, all you want to do is tear up the trails and get rid of the pressures of the previous days, and on a borrowed 29er, that’s exactly what I did.
It’s amazing how, late on a Sunday afternoon with dusk encroaching, the Chase is deserted, as if most of the bikers, dog walkers and explorers are only fair-weather friends. But this period – with empty trails, beautiful subdued colour and a wealth of fungi, flora and wildlife, is a magical time.
I crossed Rainbow Hill to Birches Valley, then up Penkridge Bank to Rifle Range Corner, down Abrahams Valley to Seven Springs, back to Stepping Stones, up the Sherbrook Valley and back via Brindley Heath, much of it in peaceful darkness.
Flowing down the trail, hearing owls, dear and startling rabbits and badgers, a fantastic evening ride that was just what I needed to refresh my jaded mind.
October 15th – And then came a new day, and a restorative, happy ride to Cannock Chase – but before that, a quick call to check out Brownhills Parade, where the avenue of roadside trees is an autumn favourite.
Not quite at their peak, this spot will be a favourite with local photographers for weeks now, and rightly so, it’s a magical, beautiful reminder that the town I live and in and love is actually surprisingly beautiful.
I remember when these trees were planted.
October 12th – The united colours of… a Black Country Autumn, on the canal at Bentley Bridge.
I can moan about Autumn all I like, but that’s just stunning.
October 8th – Up in the cinematic, wide open landscape of Brocton Field, there’s a historical, Great War curiosity that serves as a lovely memorial and good map explorer exercise for kids and newcomers to this fine place – Freda’s Grave.
The grave, off a minor footpath high above the Sherbrook Valley, is the resting place of the mascot of the New Zealand Rifles who were stationed here as the awful conflict came to a close. The harlequin Great Dane was very much loved, and her memorial has been periodically renewed and restored.
It’s good to see so many people pay tribute, a testament to the UK (and New Zealand’s, of course) love affair with our best friends.
You can find out more about Freda here.
I descended into the valley, and across a gradually darkened Chase lifted by the quality of the day, the ride and finally, fresh air and the joy of getting back to somewhere I love and hadn’t been for ages.
October 8th – A better day when the sun periodically graced us with it’s gentle, warming optimism, and since it’s autumn, where better to go than Cannock Chase? It’s one thing I miss in summer; the Chase is far too crowded to ride much in summer, making every ride a trial of concentration and nerves, but at the cooler, damper end of the year it’s virtually deserted in the best parts and people rarely venture there.
I hauled myself up over Pye Green and to Brocton Field before descending into the Sherbrook Valley and over Milford and Shugborough and back along the canal to Rugeley and then home through the night-time lanes of Longdon.
A great ride tat cheered me up totally – and I’d forgotten the improvised birded feeding point up in the car park off Chase Road for Freda’s Grave – I watched birds happily feeding for 20 minutes, captivated by their antics. It was also wonderful to see a nuthatch, which is a first for me – it reminded me of a land-based kingfisher. The colours are gorgeous.
We need more decent weather days. I need more of this in my life right now.
October 6th – For reasons too complicated to go into here, my moaning about the daily routine and the greyness of life and the weather were heeded by fate and I found myself visiting Matlock and Matlock Bath in the afternoon on a work related trip. Having to leave a vehicle behind, I’d taken my bike and had a ride down the A6.
Matlock is a nice enough town, with some great architecture, but could do with a little more variety in the shops. But I have to say on the whole it’s a classic Derbyshire river-valley town; beautiful, unpretentious and charming.
Further south, at Matlock Bath, things were a shade more grim. Matlock Bath seems to have been in steady decline since I first visited the place in the 1980s. A tourist stop off and motorcyclist haunt, this odd little town clings to the Derwent gorge with an air of faded, seedy seaside glamour. There must be eight or more chip shops; several sweet shops selling exactly the same stuff, and more than a handful of jaded amusement arcades and pubs.
The architecture and riverside are beautiful; but there are many closed shops and it’s hard to escape the feeling of something passed from life, if not exactly to death, then to some sort of ghost existence.
But then again, it’s possible that Matlock Bath has been like this ever since it’s heyday in the Victorian years. The place reminded me of one of those lost seaside resorts that were once locally popular but now are only half remembered, like Rhyl or Withernsea.
Perhaps it was the season and the weather, but the sadness of this place was almost enjoyable.
Perhaps on a sunny, summer day it acquaints itself better.
October 5th – A headache-grey, overcast and unpleasant day that was as grim and hard to face as the weather on the commute. Work is challenging at the moment and leaving me incredibly tired, day after day.
I’ve never known a summer end so abruptly and just dive headlong into a grim, grey, lifeless autumn like this – yes, the fungi is plentiful and the trees beautiful; but day after day the grey, sunshineless gloom is hard work.
I need a holiday. Returning home via a gloomy Catshill Junction, I was, for once fed up of the view.
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