15th October 2016 There and back again.

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Saturday 15th 50F, 10C, northeasterly gales under heavy, grey skies. A repeat of yesterday but this time with rain all day. It was still dry when I returned from a circuitous route out over the fields. Assorted birds struggled to get wherever they thought they were going. Some soaring upwards on a fierce gust to gain forward momentum by slowly descending. Others twisted and turned to push on into the gale. A ragged chevron of a hundred rooks or crows went over high up.

My hands were cold as I watched three deer through my binoculars. They scampered away and then stopped to graze again on the stubble. My scent must have been carried away from them because they seemed quite relaxed. Only when I drew quite near did the nervous glances begin. Leading to a bouncy lope for the concealing woods.

Heavy going.

I tried to capture the ongoing, field drainage works again. Wondering as I did so how their buried pipes would overcome the slopes and dips. There seemed to be no logic to their levels but they must know what they are doing. Perhaps the plan really is to have a more permanent field pond in the damp foreground? It certainly proves that clay is only just beneath the surface. Further adding to their drainage problems. The entire hill behind me slopes down towards the spoil heaps.

The DMI's radar showing a band of rain is about to arrive. My routine, Saturday morning ride to the shops is not looking too promising. Dry, with almost no wind tomorrow. I shall have to try and catch up on all these rest days but need a suitable goal to drag me further afield. It rained until after 4pm with the trees thrashing back and forth in the gales. There was no point in going out so I didn't.

Sunday 16th 47-50F, 8-10C, a quiet, grey, slightly misty day is forecast. Still looking for a suitable goal. Preferably to the north east to turn the promised light SE wind into a crosswind. I have to make the most of these unusual, still days.

The familiar, undulating contours squashed by distance from a local hilltop. The infamous marsh of the laughing ducks lies in the middle foreground. Its size is again shrunk by perspective. Their 90x115 yards pond a mere, brighter speck on the left as it catches the grey skies. My favourite walk takes me around the tongue of overgrown marsh on its right and then across the near face of dense, mostly willow trees. A favourite haunt for many birds.

It proved not to be completely still as I rode to Odense. There was a slight headwind with fine rain and drizzle increasing with distance towards my target. Though never bad enough to need my rain jacket. Not many cyclists out training today. The shops were busy but the rural roads very quiet. I came across a dozen pheasants on the lane through a village. I had to whistle and shout to get their attention as I bore down on them. Finally they all took off to my left. To join dozens of others on a field.

I met a large and gorgeous, fawn-coloured, Norsk skovcat on a quiet lane. I slowed and it came straight over for a chat. Only for both of us to jump in surprise when somebody fired a shotgun nearby. The conversation was rather short lived as the cat immediately beat a hasty retreat.  44 miles will help to rescue yet another feeble, weakly mileage.

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