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Fall Season Riding

An Autumnal (Fall) Ride 

Autumnal riding

It’s that time of year when the nights start to draw in, the morning dew is a little heavier and you start to feel the need for gloves on the morning ride to work.
The sun was shining this morning so I took the chance to take a trike out to enjoy this evocative time of year. Walking down to our test area, the first choice, perhaps a Vortex for dynamic speed or perhaps a full suspension Sprint to smooth those rutted country lanes, the fact that the Vortex has a flat eases the choice. I wheel the Sprint, blinking in the bright sunshine. 

ICE Sprint fs trike
My Steed - The ICE Sprint 2fs

 Autumnal trike riding
A Beautiful Autumnal Morning

Setting of the air is crisp with the sun bright shining through the trees. I quickly despatch the main road section heading into the country lanes, verges deep with fallen leaves. The dew is still heavy on the grass.
I quickly reach Maenporth beach, parts of the car park have been roped off due the high tides we’re currently experiencing. Its quiet here now the summer rush of holiday makers have returned to the cities. A solitary surfer plays in the sea catching what remains of the waves left from a storm swell a few days ago. A quick shot of caffeine and I’m off again. 

Autumnal riding
My ICE Sprint 2fs at Maenporth Beach

Heading up Maenporth hill, clicking down to the block to the low ratios, it’s a long hard haul, my legs telling stories of too much time behind the desk and to little time spent pushing the pedals. Soon I’m coming to the crest of the hill getting ready for a set of zig zag bends where I can live out my race car fantasies. Accelerate for the corner, concentrate now, avoid the temptation to hit the brakes, push the bars to get the trike turning, the front and rear suspension managing the broken surface, shifting my body weight to keep things level, coming out the other side, put the power on hard, ignore the gasps for breath, keep the legs spinning. I reach the crest of the small hill, yes this is better than spreadsheets! 

Autumnal Riding
Flying Through the Lanes

I’m now entering Mawnan Smith, a small village, sitting sleepily in the autumnal sun, all quiet here today. I’m starting to head to more secluded areas now, down to Port Navas and Frenchmans Creek, immortalised by the novelist Daphne Du Maurier. The road covered with a thousand fallen acorns, all the DNA required to create a towering oak tree. The road narrows, the hill steepens, the centre of the road covered in dust and mud, careful on the powerful discs don’t really want to lock a wheel at this point.
I stop by the creek, its silent apart from me and the birds, boats sit on the mud on the edge of the creek, some new and cared for others in various states of decay from the needing a clean to the skeleton frame of an old sailing boat, gradually decomposing having lived out the course of its years. 

Blog image 5 Autumnal Riding
The Boats on the Creek

As I enter Port Navas I’m given a panoramic view of the creak, the trees as loosing their intense green of late summer taking on the more subtle shades of fall, A column of smoke rises in the distance, the faint smell of wood smoke reminding me of cold winter nights and log fires. 

Autumnal Riding
View of the Creek from Port Navas

Travelling away from the village I climb up the small lanes, the hedges ripe with blackberries and other autumn fruits, it’s been a good year for fruit pickers this year. 

Autumnal Riding
Hedgerow Blackberries

Heading along small twisting lanes the flowers have been tricked into thinking its spring with a few hardy examples giving a burst of colour. Heading into a wooded section I’m hit by the damp evocative smell of fallen leaves, a painter stands in front of her easel trying to capture the beauty of the scene on canvas. I’m starting to feel a little hungry now, I shoot down a roller coaster hill senses fully alive, squeezing the brakes I decelerate rapidly before shooting round the corner as if on rails.

Autumnal Riding
Acorns Ready to Drop

Back to the village of Mawnan Smith, there’s only one more serious hill to climb now. I head back down Maenporth hill, the sea comes into view, the surf producing a perfect white border with the cliffs. I blast past the beach catching a few breaths of the salty air. 

Spinning up the last hill now, savouring the quite road before we hit the edge of the town. 

Before I know it I’m back at the workshop, “How was your ride?” “Pefect, yes, just perfect” 

So….. Switch of your computer; pull the cycling kit out, a go ride!