Tag: shenstone

May 16th – Second day running with a decent ride, although the weather was quite heavy going on the way back with a nasty headwind. The sun was out though, and I made a good average speed. 

I headed to Coton in the Elms via Lichfield, Whitemoor Haye and Catton, and returned via Lullington, Edingale, Harlaston, Weefor and Shenstone. Everywhere was green and springlike, and the countryside as beautiful as ever.

Try as I might, I still can’t get over the sight of horses in fly masks. I know they can see though them, and that otherwise, flies drive horses mad; but they do so look like wannabe equine superheroes.

A fine ride.

April 19th – I still wasn’t feeling great, and added to which I was having trouble with the computer, so I slid out on a changeable, but mostly sunny afternoon for a scoot over to Chasewater, Lichfield, Wall, Chesterfield and back home. It cheered me up no end – the oilseed rape was just coming into flower, and it was one of those high-contrast days that make for dramatics skies and nice photos.

I love how the tulip looks like it’s got a tiny, tarantula-type creature inside. 

December 16th – A grim return. I’d been in Birmingham on a late run, and as I left the train at Shenstone the rain was getting quite heavy. Without waterproof trousers, I got soaked. It wasn’t a fun ride, to be honest, but I did realise upon cresting Shire Oak Hill that I hadn’t noticed cycling up it. That’s the sign of familiarity, I think.

Come on Christmas, I’m knackered…

October 24th – The sky had cleared when I alighted from the train at Shenstone, and there was a most curious sunset.It looked beautiful, but I felt so wet and cold that I couldn’t be bothered to chase after it. I just wanted to get home.

Riding up Main Street in Shenstone at dusk, I was reminded how the village always looks better at night.

This was my last commute of British Summer Time; this time next week, my journey will be in darkness. It’s that time of year again.It’s been an excellent Summer, and although I’m sad at the passing, I’m ready for this now.

Bring it on.

October 17th – I came back from Shenstone just as darkness was falling, and spotted by chance another bountiful crop of autumn. Isolated in the hedgerow at Footherley, a large, impressive and perfect group of mature glistening ink caps. These are toxic, and shouldn’t be touched, but the temptation to is huge. I love their pure white stalks and brown-black, sing caps.

I don’t think the fungi have been so good this year, maybe due to the dry weather – these are rare gems.

August 26th – In the backlanes between Stonnall and Shenstone (I’m not going to say where) there are a secluded row of apple trees. I’ve known of them for years, and they always seem to grow decent fruit. This year, they’ve excelled themselves.

The apples aren’t huge, but there are lots of them. There are several varieties, Cox’s, Russets, and I think Granny Smiths. The Russet I nabbed was sweet, juicy and ripe, the Cox too.

I always love to see these apples.

August 7th – I had to nip into Brum on my way home from work, and hopped on a train to Shenstone on the way back. I haven’t been this way much lately, and the familiar wooded hill with church tower – just the one in summer, the other being obscured by trees – looked splendid in the early evening sunshine. I love how you can see the gargoyles at the vertices from a very long way away.

The station and it’s complex, partially mansard roof is still gorgeous, too, despite being neutered of it’s tall, elegant chimneys several decades ago.

Shenstone is gorgeous, and there are few better places to be on a warm, sunny evening.

August 1st – My return journey was weary, wet, grey and warm. Again, it felt like being in the gust from a hair-drier, so warm was the breeze. It was raining steadily, and having popped in to Brum, I returned from Shenstone down quiet, greasy country lanes, dodging a whole host of slippery hazards in waiting, now hydrated. 

I note most of the harvest is done here, but for a couple of fields. In the UK, I guess it pays not to dither, and as I was waiting at Shire Oak I reflected on the wonderful unreliability of the great British weather.

July 24th – One of the sights of summer I’ve so far missed is the crop sprinkler. Near Shenstone today, one solitary spray, watering a field of fine looking potatoes. Sometimes, if you’re lucky, you can get a full rainbow in their mist, but my efforts to find one today wee fruitless. 

If you’re even luckier, it’s near the road, and there’s a delicious game of dare as you try to cycle past without getting sprayed.

Wehen I was a youth, you could hear these – and there would have been large numbers of them – for miles, the light rushing sound and the toc-toc-toc of the rotator, but since crops have switched more to cereals, they’re a rarer sight.

July 18th – By the time I was riding home through the backlanes between Shenstone and Stonnall, my energy had gone, I was hot, tired and in pain. It was hard going, but the evening views and atmosphere made it difficult to be upset.

A truly gorgeous evening, of the kind we don’t get in the UK much. Such heat, but so glorious; and a storm is coming in.

Don’t moan about the heat too much, it’ll be cold and wet again soon enough…