Tag: winter

January 13th – Hammerwich – whether viewed from the canal in Brownhills, or from within the village itself, is always iconic and beautiful, even during a headache-grey, freezing winter nightfall. Bitterly cold, I passed the still-derelict Meerash Farm, which I thought would be by now thriving again. In spring, someone bought this place, erected a fence, and proud new gates, and lived in a caravan by the decaying old threshing machine. Now, the caravan is gone, and those new gates haven’t been opened in a while. A great shame, the farm commands a great view.

In Hammerwich itself, the converted windmill and foursquare church are staples of the skyline, behind them the red lights of Lichfield and Sutton TV masts lurked in the grey mist. 

At the far end of the village, by the pool, the fingerpost for Brownhills was caught in the downlight from a streetlamp. I love this place so much. but it was dark, and cold, and the snow was smelling closer.

Winter, at last.

January 9th – A beautiful morning, really, and although not very cold, after the warm weather of late it felt bitter. The sun shone, at least while I got to work – and everything had a gorgeous softness to it. In the light haze, the railway fascinated with its extended perspective and shine, and the row of terraces that back onto the junction by the station continue to fascinate in their recursion.

Even the Tyseley incinerator – working normally, as it does everyday – looked impressive; it’s water vapour, not usually visible, was forming plumes of steam in the cold air. Magical.

December 25th – On the way to Castle Ring, weak sunshine mingled with sharp showers. As I was stood looking down at the power station, the air cleared and the view improved. On the embankment near the wood on Holly Hill Lane, a tine waterfall has developed., confirming my feeling that the whole forest seems absolutely saturated. As I left, I noted the view towards the Black Country from opposite the Park Gate Inn; I never realise you could see Dudley Castle from here…

December 22nd – The rain was evil on my return through Lower Stonnall, aided and abetted by a low but sharp wind. As I came back down Gravelly Lane, I stopped to look at Ivy Cottage in the dusk. Ivy Cottage is a landmark for me: it stands at an oblique, curious angle to junction, and it’s lights indicate that I’m nearly home, and have to turn right. It’s a lovely cottage, and looks best in spring. I know the seasons are advancing by this cottage, and the degree of night-time when I pass it on my return from work. Yesterday was the shortest day and winter solstice, from now, for me, spring starts. This is not trivial. From here, everything opens out.

A reader of this journal remarked to me a few weeks ago that I sounded tired in my posts. It’s not tiredness as such, it’s fatigue; the attrition of the dark and bad weather, and the knowledge that worse was to come. For an outdoors person, the nights closing in seems calamitous, inevitable, and depressing. I feel it acutely. From now, slowly, almost imperceptibly, daylight extends. It will creep gradually into my journeys, and in a few weeks, rather than the death and retreat I’ve seen since summer passed, life will return and nature will awaken. I know there’s bad weather to come, but having seen the shortest day, I can now face anything. 

I can understand why everyone from the Celts to the Romans and Christians had a midwinter celebration. They felt this point was a symbol of time’s passage. I concur. From here, the riding gets better and better. 

December 14th – Just as I was getting into the swing of cold, bright days, along comes the rain fairy again. Today, the commute and riding was shocking. It was a dreadful journey to work; into a headwind, drizzle getting heavier as I went. It took 35 minutes to cycle what is usually a 25 minute journey, and I thought I’d just missed my train. Reconciled to a 20 minute wait at Blake Street, I was the only person around. Then, completely unlisted on the passenger information system, a train turned up out of nowhere, which seemed a bit odd.

The further I got toward my destination, the heavier the rain became. Tyseley looked grey and horrible, and nobody seemed to turn the daylight on at all. The commute home was equally dreadful.

I was cheered, however, to note that next week, it’ll be the shortest day – then the nights begin to open out again. Roll on Christmas, let’s have some nuts…

December 13th – I lost a good friend today. It was a cracking morning ride – I had begun to think over the summer that Britain’s weather had forgotten how to make the country look good, but in the last few days – and this morning particularly – I realised that it’s just been dormant, resting, hopefully for a grand performance to come. It was cold, and black ice lurked in hollows, gutters and on bends, but riding was fast and the sky gorgeous in the late winter sunrise. I took loads of pictures, then made late by my fascination, I hurried to work. Coming up the steps at Tyseley, I performed a bounce-test on my trusty Panasonic camera, which was inadvertently hooked out of my pocket with my gloves. The little wonder was no match for the steps, and the case broke and the internal optics were shattered. Since this time last year when it was new it’s taken about 14,000 pictures, so it really doesn’t owe me anything. With a heavy heart, I ordered another. 

Must be more careful in future…

December 12th – I had hoped for a few days of cold, clear weather – but it seems the mist and murk has settled back in. Still, I don’t mind as it makes for variety and the cold adds a welcome urgency to the commute. Today, I flew through the journey along icy backlanes, the hedges and skeletal trees dusted in rime. A peculiarly grey and silent day, it was an eerie commute, and the crystal-encrusted spiderwebs on the fence at Blake Street were fascinating.

December 6th – It’s time for the winter boots again. A couple of times this week I’ve felt that queasy adrenaline rush as either the front or real wheel slipped a little bit while cornering. Such incidents are rare, but a wakeup call I always heed. Nature is telling me that it’s time to swap out the 28mm Marathon Plus tyres and throw on the 38mm Marathon Winter. These are a fatter, lower pressure road tyre exhibiting a chunky tread made from a soft compound with small tungsten carbide studs inlaid that bite into ice, mud and road debris. They’re noisy, don’t roll too well, but grip, even on black ice, like demons. They’re not cheap, but for any commuter who keeps going through rough conditions, I highly recommend them.

December 4th – Another gorgeous morning immediately after rain. As I headed to Shenstone to get the train, the countryside was beautiful and dramatic, and put me in mind of Joni Mitchell ‘…shivering trees standing in naked rows’. I noted that the twin towers of Shenstone are now visible on the skyline again, the smaller tower – the ruin in the churchyard – is hidden by the trees in the summer months. I love the way the gargoyles on the heavily gothic modern church tower are visible from some distance away…