Thinking Blue Sky

I got a bit carried away on New Years Day.

There was a bright blue sky after a succession of dreary days over the Festive period .

My seasonal affective disorder (S.A.D) had, up until then, firmly taken over giving me that all pervading sense of doom and gloom. This, inspite of my getting everything on my Christmas list and more.

If there is even the narrowest, flimsiest beam of sunlight through a hole made by a small bird in cloud cover you will find me basking in its glorious warmth, face turned upwards, arms swept back in solar worshipping pose. Unfortunately, if in full public view on the street, outside a shop or in open space this may look a bit weird.

I do feel however that people are aware and sympathetic to my plight and that of countless others with the disorder as I hear them say "Look at that S.A.D bastard" or words to that effect.

The desire to venture out into the early morning of 1st January 2013 was strong, whether a genuine burst of energy from fat reserves intentionally nurtured over the pre-ceeding week or from a desire to be rid of a fuzziness of brain and senses after rolling in at 3.30am from a celebration with the in-laws.

What to do?

In previous years it has tended to be a trip out to the seaside and often as not that strange sensation of walking on frozen sand. Bracing, bone chilling and ultimately tiring but in a satisfying way. The delights of that experience are invariably followed by that horrible pit of the stomach realisation that there is a Penalty Charge Notice on the car windscreen having wrongly assumed there to be a free day of parking on the cliff top.

The Boy mentioned that he was missing going out on push-bikes after our regular totting up of 100 plus miles per week over the last four months and so the decision was made.Bike ride it would be. Disgracefully the two mountain bikes remained muddy and grubby from the last trip out in late November but illogically everything worked well. The chain only needed a bit of easing to pass smoothly over the toothed ring, gear block and changers.

The weather enforced break for winter had resulted in all of our flashy but functional gear being put away and it took a couple of hours to locate the lycra based and windproof attire at the back of cupboards.

We were hoping to be out on the road by 11am. Viewed from indoors the day looked positively summery but accompanying the clear sky was a temperature of only four degrees Celsius and a strong westerly wind that had just sprung up from zero on the Beaufort Scale to sufficient power to frantically rustle next doors heavily leafed Eucalyptus tree.

Me and The Boy had a non-speaking and purely intuitive understanding not to be too hard or critical of the first amongst us to be physically sick from the resumption of effort. After the initial rude awakening of corpuscles, arteries and lungs from a brief but artistic stretching exercise on the driveway it was left turn at the gate and up the gradual but long climb to the main road. I was not able to ask The Boy if he felt alright because I was incapable of the multi-tasking of breathing and talking. On the positive side I felt  as unfit as I had at the same stage of a ride in the summer rather than my expectation of being dead in the saddle.

Our objective was a short, sharp crossing of the Humber Bridge, at one time the world's longest single span suspension bridge but now something further down the top 10. The attempt, on paper, should be straight forward but it was in fact complicated by the collective decision of large family groups and dog walkers to also take advantage of the nice weather for socialising and exercise along the broad pedestrian pathway set below the level of the carriageway. The westerly wind was strong enough to warrant the wearing of assorted hats by the assorted walkers and the younger, persuaded or co-erced to participate amongst their number wore their new headphones reverberating with bass and drum.

The outcome; complete oblivion to two fluorescently clad cyclists showing off at speed until distracted by a long spindly shadow creeping over their own. What had promised to be an easy ride turned into a protracted series of stops, starts, weaving, dodging, evasive moves around buggies and loose small children and not a few hard stares of disdain and disapproval, from all parties.

I had not started a cycling year so early for perhaps two decades. One cycle does not however make a summer and the weather had returned to drab and dreary by the very next day.

In anticipation of another ride out we are wholly at the mercy of the climate and daylight hours for the coming months.

Currently there are only just under eight hours of daylight per day assuming minimal influences from cloud cover. By the end of January this should have improved somewhat to just over 9 hours. There are only weekend slots available for a cycle, what with working commitments and the competition for time with the usual saturday and sunday chores and obligations. There can therefore be only two certainties. Me and The Boy will not be up to full fitness for some months and Trolls, being susceptible to Sunlight Affected Disorder in a big way will have nothing much to worry about until about March.