From my front porch, I can see the surrounding North Downs. If I squint, I can also see a farm that breeds pheasants for its annual shoot, and every now and again when the shoot begins, some pheasants invariably escape. A pleasant side effect for my wife and I is that we now have wild pheasants in our garden. They are beautiful, lively birds and can become quite friendly. We have a resident male and female. Sadly, we never see any chicks. I reckon the local fox takes care of that. How anyone can justify killing such beautiful creatures is beyond me. I cannot link the word 'sport' with killing.
Anyhow, one early spring day not too long ago, I was up at 5 am for a ride through the Surrey countryside. I always cycle at this time of day. There are no cars on the road. Also, this early in the morning the sun is still low in the sky and when cycling on a westerly course, the shadows of the bike and me stretch many metres ahead. I don't know why more cyclists don't take advantage of these early spring days. It's glorious. The roads are clear and you can ride on A roads without any hassle. I can also finish my ride and be home well before lunch.
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GANARY A COALMINE
The James Brown tune 'It's a Man's Man's Man's World' comes on the radio, filling the coach, and does nothing for my pre-event nerves as I sit surrounded by serious-looking, wiry, tanned men in Lycra. It's 6.30am, pitch black outside and I'm feeling very out of my depth as a relative newcomer to the world of clipless pedals and hurting for fun. Last night's stress dream involved being very unprepared to get married and being handed my great-grandmother-in-law-to-be's hideous silver dress with lace trim to wear minutes before the ceremony was due to start. I'll let you psychoanalyse that one.
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