Tag: bridge

April 20th – Returning home from from Shenstone on a gorgeous evening, passing lanes full off other cyclists whose general absence was noted when the weather was not so lovely, I stopped to check the familiar and have a rest.

There is a piece of scratched graffiti amongst many others in the soft sandstone of Footherley Lane’s brook bridge. It says ‘Billy + Tracee 30-4-83′.

I remember this when is Wass freshly cut, when I was a kid exploring these lanes. Coming soon will be the 35th anniversary of this act of what was presumably, love.

In this beautiful spot, Billy and Tracee recorded their love, and I often wonder if they’re still together, and remember this.

I do hope so.

April 7th – Ogley Junction Footbridge is mystifying me a little. The bridge itself and deck were restored beautifully, to much local praise. The remainder of the work – the spit and polish, if you like, hats been patchy. 

The pathway off the bridge was originally remade badly, and now has been dug out and corrected, which is good to see. But the bit baffling me is the masonry.

The brickwork on the wing walls has been vary sparingly pointed, here and there. To me, it looks like it all could have done with doing, and bits still seem to be in a parlous state. I’m prepared to accept the work might be ongoing and not finished yet, but if it is a work in progress, there’s no logical pattern to completion whatsoever.

A bit of a conundrum.

March 6th – It was still not dark when I returned along the canal to Brownhills. There was none of the snow remaining which surprised med, but there was still quite dense ice on some sections of canal like Catshill Junction.

Things are still looking a bit grey and colourless apart from the early spring flowers, and I’m looking forward to seeing some signs of fresh green soon.

Won’t be too long now hopefully, before life becomes colourful once more. I’ve had it with all this grey.

March 1st – Allegedly the first day of spring, but a better one insomuch as I was better prepared for the cold. I wrapped up better, and rode a more sensible bike. It was just as cold, with more persistent, more powdery snow – but on leaving work early, I did a loop of Brownhills before nightfall to enjoy the spectacle.

Enjoy it I did, although again, the wind and cold were punitive and pugilistic. The powder drifted in clouds like dust devils over canal ice and bone-dry roads. Snow depths went from nothing at all to 150mm. At 4:30pm it was already minus 5 degrees C. When my hair started to develop lumps of ice, I decided to go home.

I noted the gritting operation at the council depot was in full swing, and the grit barn looks very depleted. The coos up at Highfields Farm, Chasewater looked peaceful and unconcerned, and the fox I scared into woodland across the common near Watling Street was as usual for foxes in snow, apparently apologetic for his higher than usual visibility.

These have been remarkable days to be on a bike. They have been very hard, but I wouldn’t have missed them for the world.

It’ll be interesting to see what the weekend brings.

February 27th – The coldest early evening commute I’ve known for a long time, I battled a vile headwind and sporadic black ice and made my way home carefully.

My ice tyres worked well, and the roads – like the Green Lane here at the Black Cock Bridge – have been very well gritted. But pavements, backroads and car parks were deadly and I made careful, slow progress.

It’ll be interesting to see how bad this gets.

February 24th – An abortive ride out to Lichfield from which I planned to arc back around to Chasewater and catch the sunset, which looked like it would be a cracker. I got as far as Ogley Junction Footbridge and discovered the camera battery was flat. 

I was very annoyed, but investigated the bridge restoration, and was pleased to note that they’ve replaced the bolt whose absence was irritating me. And the replacement looks authentic, too.

Nice work. Terrible phone photo.

February 20th – Spring is encroaching. This evening, coming through Walsall at a close to normal homecoming hour, I started in the last vestiges of daylight and finished in the last vestiges of a gorgeous urban sunset.

I first spotted it as I came down the ring road, but couldn’t stop; by the time I got to North Street it was still strong, but although the photos are nice, I don’t think they quite did it justice. 

At Walsall Wood, onto the canal, and my long-time muse of Clayhanager Bridge at night. The dozing swans at Catshill Junction were also rather lovely.

This dusk interregnum as the days lengthen when winter draws to a close can certainly be very beautiful.

February 3rd – I headed back up the canal, but unusually, got off at Clayhanger Bridge and headed back up through the village because the towpath was so slippery and unridable – note here, It is almost one continuous puddle.

From the bridge looking towards Walsall Wood, I could hear the violent thrash of water cascading down the canal overflow behind me. The lower meadow on Clayhanger Common will flood soon, I think, and the Tame will be running high too. 

I’ve chronicled some bad weather on this journal over the seven years it’s been running – we’ve had some bad winters and bad summers. But I’ve never known a January this cold and wet.

There had better be a decent spring coming…

January 31st – Oh my days, or nights rather. We never get a normal moon anymore. All we get are ‘super moons’, or for some reason our already lovely satellite is pronounced unique by the media at any given time around on it’s 28 day appearance cycle. 

I have to admit, this time it was impressive; a blue moon true enough – it’s second fullness in the month, but it was large and bright and shone out in the sky of an urban Walsall, guiding me as I cycled home. 

It was beautiful, but then, it always has been. It is special every time, because it’s distant and mystical and humans went there once. And sometimes, on cold nights in late January, the thought that if humans can go all that way and return is very reassuring. If we can do that amazing feat, perhaps we can do anything, and life is not so bad after all.

I was not the only soul the moon was clearly guiding on; as I crossed the Black Cock bridge in Walsall Wood, I startled a small, brisk, nervous cat who was clearly up to important cat things, and had no wish to share them with a human on a strange mechanical contraption.