Tag: time

February 1st – I’d say February already? But it doesn’t seem like that. It’s been a hard, difficult, intemperate month I’m glad to see the back of it. But it is a shock we’re already a twelfth through 2018. But then, the first months of the year always go like that; a twelfth, a sixth, a quarter, a third. Such is the elegance of modulo 12.

Passing through Tyseley in the morning, with a surprisingly warm sun on my back, it was almost spring, with Easter primroses in the planters and a lovely feel to the city air.

Sadly, my joy is a little premature, but good while it lasts…

January 5th – First day back at work in 2018 – more working weeks should start and end on a Friday.

I enjoyed the ride to Darlaston, I’d missed the daily commute, and the shoulder seemed OK with it. I also popped through Kings Hill Park and noticed something.

Jack in the Green has tapped the ground with his cane, and called the snowdrops, crocuses and daffodils on.

Roll on spring. 

January 3rd – Returning to Brownhills, there was a lovely, low sun at lunchtime so I visited the row of trees that make for such great autumn pictures during the leaf fall.

It’s fair to say they look totally different undressed, but no less beautiful.

Every time I see these, I can’t help but remember the when I was a kid, I remember these saplings being planted. 

Oh, how that makes me feel old…

January 2nd – I’ll start this with a note about time, and the passing thereof; long time readers will know I started this journal on 1st April 2011after being egged on to do 30daysofbiking by ace cyclist and top Dutchperson Renee Van Baar. Sadly, I was very ill with food poisoning the following New Year,  so never rode a bike on 31st December 2011, and 1st January 2012. But I carried on, and I never missed a day since. Every day from 2nd January 2012 I have got on a bike and ridden somewhere. From 100 mile plus rides in one day, to trundles to the shop, I have recorded my daily life as a cyclist, in all it’s ups and downs. That’s 6 years, or 2192 successive days (including 2 leap years), and about 55,000 miles.

I love keeping this journal, I love writing it, and finding the photos.

I welcome feedback. If you have something to say – that I should stop, continue or do something differently, please get in touch by commenting or mailing me – BrownhillsBob at Googlemail dot com.

I’ve done this to show that it’s possible to be normal, and on a bike. That a podgy, middle aged man who’s not a lycra fiend can ride to work, shops, for fun, to explore, keep healthy, be happy, enthusiastic, jaded, sad or depressed, and continue rolling down the road.

In the six years, I’ve had at least 10 different cameras to use, maybe more, actually. Some I’ve adored, some I hated. The Canon GX 7 Mark II I’m using at the moment is like Jekyl and Hyde. It was really good in the night shots of the last couple of journeys, but tonight’s attempt – a simple shot of Morris – it seemed to fudge a bit.

On the camera, the jury is still out.

I’ll need to ride and use it a bit more to find out…

December 21st – And this is the reason for my sudden optimism. Today is the winter solstice, or shortest day. From here, everything gets better, because the light trickles steadily back into my darkened soul.

The bike GPS tells me the sunrise and sunset times on the main screen, as I love to watch them daily. Today, the sun rose around 8:16am, and set around 3:54. I’ve watched these times all year, and registered the slow acceleration of nightfall from Midsummer, slowly, almost imperceptibly at first, minute by precious minute; then cascading and careering through the midway and the end of British Summer Time. Slowing up again, that last push to before 4pm is crushing when it happens. 

By the time I return to work after this, my final commute of 2017, the sunset will already be past 4pm. And no matter what the winter brings, inexorably, unalterably, the GPS will record the gradual steps into the light. And then, at the end of March, I will emerge blinking into the light evenings as British Summer Time commences again.

I have survived the oncoming dark for another year. All I need to dow now is watch the darkness retreat.

October 18th – And here’s the problem. The clocks haven’t gone back yet – we’re still on British Summer Time – and look at those sunset and sunrise times, as shown by my bike computer. Both my commutes are now mostly in darkness.

This is profoundly sad to me. I love the light, the summer, the green. And for the next four months, I will be deprived of these things. 

But then again, the hunger makes them more special when they’re present.

And so the season’s wheel turns onward.

September 3rd – The day was grim and overcast, and the weather horrid, and I was wiped out from the ride the day before. I confined myself to a short ride around Pelsall, Brownhills and Shelfield via the canal and old rail cycleway.

From the day before, in shirtsleeves getting a tan and sweating in the sun, to this: There was an unpleasant nip in the air, a serious wind and autumn touching the greenery in a way I find sad.

I do hope that wasn’t summer’s last breath…

August 27th – The sunset from Salt Street overlooking the motorway and Austrey was gorgeous. I rode into a falling darkness, reminded of the advancing season and how this weekend always has a feeling of conclusive end to it, although summer rarely ends here, of course.

I’m not usually happy this weekend. This evening I was very content indeed.

I loved the bewitching weathervane on Cope’s Lodge at Fisherwick. Particularly the cat. How fab is that?

I needed this rest. So nice to be in the places I love, in good weather, even if the bike squeaks.

August 22nd – On a grey, grim morning in a dreadful hurry having been called in to work early, I stopped for a quick breather in Kings Hill and noted the twin sisters were looking good over in Wednesbury.

I’m so used to living workaday life in the shadow of this beautiful urban hill that I don’t pay attention to it enough. It’s gorgeous, and deserves more credit than it gets.

Green, with two stunning churches side by side, Church of England and Catholic, the view across the rooftops hasn’t changed much here in over a century.

Steady, slowly changing with the seasons, but essentially changeless. Always watching life below.

Oh how I love the Black Country.

August 6th  Dusk was falling on my return from Chasewater and at Home Farm, the harvest I had foreseen the day before was underway before expected rains appeared, and the farmer was working into the evening. Clouds of dust rose from the combine, and for all the world looked like it was on fire.

I feel really sad this year at Summer’s passing; I have enjoyed the warm days so much, with the sun and flowers. I guess again, I will endure winter and the cold and dark and come to enjoy it after initial resistance as I always do. I just wish the warmth had a fairer share of the year…