I wonder what smaller scale sounds could be heard over the aching millennia before the arrival of the roaring traffic almost brushing its skirts. As the gardening staff now toil noisosmely with their mowers and clippers above the racket of the passing, East European container lorries and vacuous commuters practice their 'racing line.'
The images above are all from today's loop along the marsh. Birdsong provided undemanding companionship for my thoughts. I disturbed a Heron and several large birds of prey. You want it paved? Or tidied up? Or made "more accessible?" Wouldn't that be rather like building a tourist railway up a mountain? How will you measure yourself against the mountain with a passive audience passing effortlessly by at timetable intervals? They paid the terrifying price of the fare. Just to have that gleam of accomplishment stolen from before their very eyes.
Enough of the home-spun philosophy. Despite the Nor-Westerly wind I decided to head north. Having become lost in the tiny rural lanes I found myself nearer Bogense than my intended goal of Søndersø. So, this time it took me 26 miles to reach a 22 mile distant target. Last week it was 24 miles but who's quibbling? I still hadn't eaten by 2am so I was beginning to tire by the time I headed home. Despite being refreshed with two rounds of wholemeal bread and thick chunks of "Dubliner" mature Cheddar I began to lose the will to live at 30 miles. Thankfully a banana washed down with pure apple juice revived me and I was going strongly again by 40 miles.
Highlights of the day included being deliberately cut off at a roundabout by a short fat and ugly barsteward in a short, fat and ugly car. There can be precious few rewards in life for a short, fat and ugly barsteward, with matching car. So I was obviously his token, powerless victim for today. He is probably working himself up from torturing little animals so I suppose I should be quite flattered. [Rather than quite flattened.] Fortunately my brakes and reactions still work well. Otherwise he would have been explaining himself to a sympathetic ambulance driver. Telling him about the mad barsteward on a tricycle, with delusions of grandeur. That rights of way at roundabouts equally apply to cycles... and how I had deliberately run into him despite him looking looking me straight in the eye as he cut me off...
Lots of keen cyclists about today and the warm and dry weather has even prodded quite a few fair weather motorcyclists out onto the roads. The wind was a hindrance for most of the day until the last leg. I was cruising at 16-18mph in the middle and for last few miles. A rather, red faced 48 miles, but still not out.