To Kabelicksee

I think today was a fairly epic ride. I’ve an idea it was near the 100k mark (40k of which was on unsurfaced roads) but, in a pact with myself to preserve my sanity I haven’t been paying too much attention to distance and so I’m not sure. 

I have rather enjoyed myself. I’ve spent most of the day cycling along tracks listening to the noises of the forest. Trees groaning and birds singing. And the smells.  In the fields the wheat is baking but the woods smell of damp earth and pine.  Then the trees change and so does the scent. 

I’ve reached the point where 20k seems like almost there and that’s how I felt today apart from the track surface being like a solid version of Morecambe Bay after the tide goes out. All those waves in the sand. 

I am again camped by a lake. Although the water looked tempting earlier it has turned rather cool so I think I’ll stick to the shower. 

MORNING UPDATE

In the wee small hours of the morning I was woken by the sudden screams of a duck not long for the this world. The growl of the animal that had it in its jaw was rather terrifying. The scuffle was over quickly and I tried to go back to sleep. Only I needed the loo. Anyone who camps a lot will tell you it features a lot of rolling things up and kneeling on them and an awful lot of deciding how much you need the loo and if it is worth leaving your cosy tent to address these needs. Invariably it is because you just wake up again and again having the same conversation in your head. So, I bit the bullet and went for it. This isn’t simple. First I had to put on some clothes (Gone are the three layers of the early weeks of the holiday.  This site features the strangely liberating joy of communal showers but I’m not sure they’d welcome random wanders in the buff) . Then put the torch outside the tent so as not to invite the moths in. Then close the doors after to ward off other unwelcome visitors. Then I had to walk to the loos. Past the scene of the recent murder. 

On a campsite there’s often reflective bits of tents that seem to glow in the dark. On a campsite with cyclists this is multiplied ten fold as bags, wheels, high viz coats all light up in the torch beam. 

Suddenly, in amongst all of this, two pairs of reflective eyes began to move. Backing away slowly from my light. Watching me pass. Probably pausing from their macabre feast until I had gone by. They were still there on my way back. Bodiless eyes moving in the dark.  In the bright light of morning, after a sleep unbroken by further incident, I went down to the lake and saw badger sized foot prints along the beach.