Cold Sunday

A cold Sunday morning in November, mercifully no ice on the road but still hard to trust the black damp patches on the tarmac. It's not early but the sun has yet to make an impression and it's difficult to believe it will as the cold air burns my throat and reddens my face. My legs are rusty and stiff so my efforts to warm up just shift some of the pain from my toes and fingers into my thighs. The road goes deeper into the Glen and beside the rushing water it's cold, bitterly cold, perhaps the winter leggings wouldn't have been such a bad idea after all. It's hard to relax into the ride, my bike skills are all gone but how long has it been since I rode in daylight? I force myself on, and quicker now that I can see further than the narrow beam of my lights. So what to do? I've reached the bridge, my fingers and toes are painfully cold but I resist the temptation to turn for home and head for the turn out to Amat and the Alladale estate.
Five minutes later and the pain and worry are all forgotten, another road, another track, right there on the doorstep  yet unexplored......

Colin 13/11/11