January 27th – At least it wasn’t raining.
At lunchtime, the wind was horrendous as I rode to Chasewater. Stood on the dam fighting it, it rose white-crested waves on the reservoir that broke angrily around the pier, shore and wakeboard ramps.
It was impressively dramatic but not an easy day to cycle on.
I suppose a clear day with little wind is too much to ask?
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January 26th – The weather didn’t improve at all, and considerably worsened. It was windy, grey and grim. I slipped out briefly for a circuit around a wet, muddy canal at the fall of dusk and got wet and felt miserable.
The weather at the moment is warm, but not pleasant. I hope this isn’t a portent of a bad summer, but I guess we might be due one.
The only brightness was my favourite tree, the majestic horse chestnut at Home Farm, Sandhills, still looks wonderful and will soon, hopefully, be in leaf.
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January 25th – I noticed not long after I left work that on this wet evening it was a balmy 12 degrees or so, and that sunset now didn’t arrive until 4:40pm – that means it’s pretty much light now until 5pm.
It was a horrid journey home but the improving conditions made me feel better.
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January 24th – I again had to call into Pelsall on the way to working this time took the cycleway from Station Road up the old railway line to The Butts. The route through the Goscote Valley is lovely and well surfaced, mostly, but up at Ryecroft near the cemetery the surface has broken up and going was heavy and muddy.
I’m not sure who’s responsible for this section, but if its the council I shan’t hold my breath for any resurfacing at the moment.
Best avoided in the wet, I think, from now on.
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January 22nd – A further shock to my sensibilities was the snowfall. I left Telford in relatively dry, clear conditions, but noticed the icing-sugar dusting of snow becoming more evident as the train neared the Black Country.
Leaving the train at Shenstone, there was more snow, but it was very wet. Whilst there was a little snow falling, I thought I’d missed the worst.
Within ten minutes I was cycling in persistent, large flakes of snow, making visibility difficult and soaking me to the skin.
I was glad of the studded tyres once more, and when I finally got there, glad to be home, too.
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January 18th – Despite the cold, spring was still gently pushing forward in a garden in Darlaston – with snowdrops in full bloom and crocuses now up and in bud.
At such a very cold, grey time it’s good to see some signs of spring around the corner.
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January 18th – A very cold, hazard-ridden commute as I got used to riding on ice – all be it with ice tyres – again. It takes time to reassure yourself that they actually work.
The road gutters and towpaths had some lurking black ice and it was rather cold.
Still only an IC1 on the fabulous Dry Marland canal ice scale though….
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January 13th – A windy day on which I hunkered down, slipping out for a circuit of the town after dark, hoping the wind had subsided. It hadn’t.
On the cycleway between Engine Lane and the Slough (Old Cement Works) bridge, I encountered a fallen tree and was glad for my powerful front light. It was passable, but posed a danger to others, so I posted this pic on Facebook as a warning.
Fantastic service to the community. Thanks so much.
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January 11th – On a grim, overcast day little caught my attention but popping out of work mid day I did stop to look at a pub I thought was lost, but has found a new life – and has actually been refurbished quite well and sensitively.
The former Scott Arms in Kings Hill had been derelict for many years, having closed following the decline of nearby large factories. I had thought it would be lost forever, such was it’s decay.
However, it was bought, and permission granted for a takeaway, and over the preceding months the building has been modified and renovated.
I’m not sure if it’s actually ready to open yet, but it looks close. My best wishes to the new owners.
It’ll be handy for a spring roll when I’m working late…
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January 10th – A grey, damp and misty day made for trying journeys to and from work, with frenetic, inattentive traffic and poor visibility with a somewhat patchy, unpredictable kind of fog.
There was no escape, but diving onto the canal at the Black Cock Bridge for the last run to Brownhills was a welcome respite from the tension.
Clayhanger bridge wasn’t terribly mist-shrouded, but the hazy air made for a great twist on one of my favourite local muses.
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