March 26th – The morning fog, as Kate Bush would have it. A gorgeous speedy ride into Lichfield to catch the train to Leicester. I came out at sunrise, and there seemed to be some kind of inversion. An ethereal, patchy mist clung to hollows and hedges, in places only a couple of feet high. I could have photographed it for hours, but my train was due…
March 25th – Staffordshire was just showing off – there’s no other term for it. It was the first day of British Summer Time and the birds sang, the sun beat down, and I witnessed nature, and the county I love, awaken. The wind was soft and the cycling fast. I took in views that I do every year at this time; everything old was new once again. I felt alive. The world was spinning, and I was part of it. This county gives up it’s secrets slowly, over the course of your life. But you never forget them.
March 25th – Out for a blast on a sunny, warm, spring today. Today is the day I realise I’ve survived, and this time, you did it with me. Today, the light came back and I become aware that I’d survived another dark winter. Commuting home in the light. Soon, after a brief reclamation, there will be bright mornings too. Together this year, we survived the darkness.
I felt great – forty miles in two and a half hours, I ripped through South Staffordshire, into Lichfield and out via Whitemoor Haye and Edingale. At the A513 river bridge between Alrewas and Croxall, known as Chetwynd’s or Salter’s Bridge, I stopped to look. Built in 1824, it was designed and overseen by renowned Lichfield architect Joseph Potter, who also designed Christchurch at Burntwood and Stafford County Lunatic Asylum. It’s a majestic, elegant yet sparse design, still in service and carrying heavy traffic. It is, however, and accident blackspot, and periodically vehicles end up through the balustrade and into the greasy grey green of the River Trent below…
March 25th – It must be spring, the swans are back. This young pair built a nest last year, but didn’t raise a brood. Common behaviour in young swans, they often ‘practice’ for a couple of years before raising young. Mrs. Swan was still building her huge nest in the reeds at the back of the houses on Sadler pad, near Catshill in Brownhills. Carfully pulling stalks and fronds of reed and placing them around her, her mate drifted idly on the water, one leg up on his wing, unpeturbed. Swans are remarkable birds.
March 24th – A terrible day. Best by setbacks, nothing went to plan. I was plotting a long ride into Leicestershire, but a bad stomach in the early hours put paid to that. Work troubles, technology let-downs and other frustrating issues meant I didn’t get out of the house until 5:30pm. With a distinctly ropey stomach, I didn’t feel like going far but needed peace. I headed up the canal, then rode down the old railway line trail to Ryders Mere and took a loop round Pelsall. Gold seemed to be the colour scheme of the day. It was a peaceful, gentle relief to be out and about on my own. Sadly, I didn’t see my old familiar, the dog fox. Perhaps he was scoring tea for the cubs…
March 23 – I had a meeting in Telford in the morning, and then the day was my own. Leaving at 1pm, I cycled home from Telford through the Shropshire countryside after a fine lunch at a favourite cafe in Shifnal. It was warm, with a glorious, hazy sun, the edge only being taken away by a keen headwind from the east. At Tong, I found a fascinating, challenging green lane with a history of it’s own. Fed up of the mad traffic and abrasive breeze, at Brewood I hopped on the canal and headed home on it via Oxley and Wolverhampton, winding my way along the curly Wyrley through Wednesfield and Bloxwich. A great afternoon, and hopefully one of many this year.
March 22nd – Nature is well awake now. Spring has come too far to turn back. The days are warming up, lengthening out and feeling better all the time. The most important thing, though, is that the flowers have appeared. All over our area, early oilseed rape crops have smatterings of yellow bloom, magnolias are reaching for the sky and daffs dance in the breeze. All around nature is just crying out for your attention…
March 21st – Brownhills churchyard cemeteries are a disgrace. The grounds maintenance here is, quite frankly, appalling, and something I’ve noted before. What annoys me most in that the memorial garden currently in use has ridiculous rules enforced strictly about what folk can leave on memorials, apparently to maintain the appearance of the churchyard – yet relatives, who’ve paid a considerable fee to have their loved ones interred here – have to suffer untidiness, uncut grass and mud. This is a scandal, pure and simple. This is where an awful lot of Brownhills folk are remembered – it it too hard to show them the respect in death they deserved in life?
March 20th – More sunsets. Sorry, it’s just how it is right now. I tend to be out on my bike at sundown. The canal looked gorgeous and I loved the reflections. The rooftops, chimneys and TV aerials of Clifton Avenue, just off the Pelsall Rood looked good, too.
I guess the repetitive sunset thing will be solved come Sunday and the return of British Summer Time…
March 20th – I came back from work as dusk was descending, but the light was interesting and I dived onto the canal in Brownhills. On sheer impulse, I hopped up the embankment onto the old railway line behind Pelsall Road. I note someone has finally blocked the hole in the old bridge-deck over the canal. That hole has been there for at least three years, probably longer, and I was dreading someone might fall through it into the water below. Repeated calls to the authorities failed to get any action, and I have no idea who did this, but I salute them. I suspect it’s linked to other acts of grounds management on the commons locally – I note on the old railway trail, new guard fences on the Clayhanger Lane bridge and a lot of scrub removal. Top job, well done.
As I trundled along the trail in the dark, with lights turned off, the local, old dog fox sat looking at me for a while. He seems to recognise me. Eye contact for 20 seconds, then he turned tail and trotted off down the trail.
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