Taking the High Ground

Me and The Boy emerged from the elevated tree line to see a sweeping, misty scene of fields and in the far distance the silvery course of the river. It was an epic outlook.

We had come across a new pathway along which we propelled our bikes winding through the overhead canopy of autumn coloured leaves. I thought for a moment that I should stop and capture the perfectly framed tunnel but it was already firmly entrenched in my memory and a photograph would never do it justice in terms of the shaded, mottled light and the sensory experiences of sounds and smells that accompanied it.

Under our wheels the ground was light and flinty chalk in between greasy and slippery patches of newly fallen foliage. This made for careful attention and concentration particularly where the thick ground snaking tree roots threatened to wrestle away from us control of the handlebars and throw us onto the chilled hillside.

The lowest boughs of the trees tapped on our bike helmets and in parts we had to keep our heads down for fear of a stray branch jabbing at our foreheads and eyes. The climb up to the viewpoint, being a new route, had been difficult to guage in terms of pace and effort.

The Boy, one third of my own age, give or take a couple of years, was fearless in his assault on the gradient and had to wait for my breatheless and aching body to catch up which was only possible when the rough track levelled out slightly to offer a brief respite. I was glad to see the footpath sign as it led us along a horizontal contour whereas the track disappeared over the continuing and distant summit to be explored on another day.

Into the thicket we plunged. The sounds under our chunky off-road tyres betrayed the presence of the husks of beech nuts and the cups of acorns from the mixed, plantation woodland.There were traces of other two wheeled users in the grass headland and where the edge of the path had given way in a mini-landslide into the field. The sloping land was still in sharp stubble following a very late harvest but no doubt indicating a good harvest on a prime south facing and well drained aspect.

We pulled into a shallow kink to the side of the track to allow a group of ramblers to approach and pass with a cheery hello and a second, hesitant look at our pair of mud spattered faces and clothing. Carrying on we gathered some speed but not having a clear view of the ground conditions within the steep terrain our brakes squealed and scraped to keep us upright and steady. The run downhill had been well worth the lung bursting effort to get to the highest point and we seemed to be freewheeling for a good few minutes before the combination of tyres weighed down with mud and vegetation and the sudden appearance of a gate brought us to a rolling and laboured halt.

Beyond the opening, the traffic on the dual carriageway thundered past and we could barely hear ourselves think over the noise, let alone share verbally the mutual enjoyment and timeless feeling of the ascent and descent that we had just experienced. Turning west we were on tarmac again and soon echoing through the man made underpass, newly built but already festooned in graffitti and litter.

It had been a good ride out. Perhaps one of the last of the season in any warm sunshine as it was already late October . The shortening daylight hours and approaching winter weather would soon be upon us making such an expedition virtually impossible to contemplate until the Spring.