Tag: commute

February 26th – Today’s tasks in Telford ended early and I returned home at lunchtime. Mindful of the wind after a dreadful commute that morning, I came back to Lichfield for a cup of tea and hopefully a better journey home with a following northeasterly. At Lichfield City Station, I noticed that, despite the cold and poor weather, the cycle racks here are still very well used and clearly popular. 

I noted too, that the immense Pashley flying bedstead was still here – a bit less shiny, but still as loved. The guy who rides that must do stunt double for the Jolly Green Giant. That bike is huge.

February 21st – It’s been cold, and the wind has been evil. Not particularly strong, but it’s from the east and is lazy; it doesn’t so much blow around you as straight through. Tired tonight after a hard day at work, I really couldn’t face the prospect of a headwind all the way home. So I got the train to Shenstone, and cycled back home from there.

I stopped for a picture just at the bottom of Shire Oak Hill. I haven’t cycled this route much this winter. The wind was behind me, but it was still cold. This hill doesn’t get any less steep either, but the lights are gorgeous in the dusk.

Tonight, this hill gave me a very hard time. Shire Oak Hill is an old adversary, and like all old adversaries, life wouldn’t be the same without it.

February 12th – After a protracted and tortuous journey to Telord to undertake a five minute task, I needed to be in Tyseley that afternoon. The snow remained, and it was really quite cold and grey. A succession of delayed trains, grim light and relentless chilliness darkened my mood all day, so much so that when the time came to go home, I was glad.

I’ve been away from Tyseley for just over a week. I’ve really missed it. Looking from the Wharfdale Road bridge, I liked the snow on the terrace roofs stretching out beyond the railway to Camp Hill, whilst down on the platform, the railway signals twinkled in the mist.

Hopefully, tomorrow will be a better day.

February 7th – I guess my hands must be getting steadier, or I’m getting better at this photography hoohah. Today was pretty much the inverse of yesterday; 24 hours before the morning commute was wet, and the evening rewarded me with a dry, beautiful sunset twilight commute. Today, the morning was stunning in it’s beauty, and in the evening, I got wet.

At the Arboretum junction, I was held, as usual, at the lights. Waiting to cross, I whipped out the camera, and took a couple of quick shots before the lights changed. Oddly for a ¼ exposure, it came out quite crisp even though it was handheld.

February 6th – A grim commute. It started dry, and with a decent enough day forecast, left the waterproofs at home. On the way to Blake Street, the drizzle intensified and I arrived somewhat soggy. I haven’t had much luck with the morning commutes this week. 

There’s still something captivating, though, about wet stations in the half-light. Oh well, here’s to a better day tomorrow. Hopefully.

February 5th – The cycleways of Telford were beautiful this morning. It was snowing, lightly, but the sun was out, and snow lingered in the shadier hollows and hushed my noisy wheels. Telford’s bike tracks are legendary, but not well signposted or even mapped. Now they’ve matured, they’re often very secluded, almost hidden. I could have ridden around here for hours. Just for the quiet, the air, and the light.

A diamond in the dust.

February 5th – By heck, it was nippy this morning. We’d had the merest icing sugar dusting of snow, but after the almost humid warmth of the preceding period, the cold was a shock, as was the ice on the roads, particularly Wallheath Lane. I stomped and puffed into my hands as the sun rose at Shenstone Station; it caught the clouds beautifully and I reached for the camera.

Some things are worth getting cold for.

February 4th – At the other end of the journey, an hour and a half later, I noticed the hazy sun was out, and in it’s own way, Telford looked quite impressive. I’m not fond of the mirror-glass architecture thing myself, but it does look quite monolithic here. The station itself – recently refurbished – looked OK too, although it seems to be just a bit of a superficial tart-up. 

I haven’t been here for a good while. It’s nice to be somewhere different. It’s not like coming home, but I do feel a certain attachment; like meeting an old drinking pal or forgotten workmate.

For all the stick I give it, I’m quietly fond of Telford.

February 4th – It’s the start of a transient period, and it didn’t start well. Over the next few weeks, I’m all over the place, and today, I had to go to Telford. Leaving early, I pointed the bike at Shenstone, and went for it. Checking the train information before I went out, I was happy my train was on schedule. Getting to the station, I found it had been cancelled. To add insult to injury, the train that usually makes an extra stop in such circumstances didn’t, and thundered through the station leaving me forlorn for 30 minutes as it got light. This meant I’d miss my connection to Telford and be an hour late.

Fortunately, I got to New Street just as the late-running Aberystwyth train pulled in – a Benny Hill style dash through the station ensued, and I just caught the train, meaning I was only 15 minutes late after all. 

I had plenty of time at Shenstone to muse on the dawn, Monday mornings and the skyline. There’s something about that tower and it’s gargoyles that fascinate me.

Hopefully, tomorrow will be less stressful.

February 1st – this is one for the bike anoraks. I spotted this classic, original, early 80s Raleigh Arena frame on the train home. It’s been converted to a nice fixie, with modern wheels and a nice Brooks swallow saddle. I think it’s quite new, as the chain was bright and the rims and tyres looked like new. In the original design, there would have been 5 or 10 Sachs Hurret gears, controlled by down tube shifters. I wanted one of these as a kid.

The effect was only spoiled by the owner leaving his empty water bottle behind. Odd that he didn’t appreciate being reminded that he’d forgotten it…