The shortest day

Another Sunday cycling down the road towards Windermere. I was being buffeted by the wind and sideways rain that lashed at me. I'd already got soaked to the skin by Burneside, only 5 minutes by bike from my house, and it hadn't stopped raining since then. Splash! Wet pants. Sploosh! Soggy shoes and shins. Pitter patter pitter patter, on and on, getting wet from the top down for good measure.

I had, it had to be admitted, not managed to think of anything fun to do with a dank, dark solstice Sunday, and had also felt rather ill and so decided to go road biking in the rain. After a while, I realised I was grimly enjoying the experience. I was also probably enjoying the thought of the faces of the people driving past, imagining a mixture of pity and incredulity.

I turned off at Ings, on to the gated roads, and wended my way up the twisting road throught the craglets, the puddles getting ever bigger, and my front wheel ever wobblier.

I waterfalled down to the Crook road and then, for some reason across to Underbarrow, rather than back towards Kendal. Suddenly, Scout Scar loomed out of the fog, looking far higher than it should have. I slogged my way up and up and up and up, determined not to get off and push, barely managing to overtake a dripping goretexed walker near the top. All downhill from there, over the bypass, back into Kenda, only just stopping enough to turn to High Tenterfell, and back to Windermere Road. It was, of course, still raining.

I stabled the bike, strew wet gear across my flat and then got hot aches in my feet in the shower.

And today is the shortest day - it can only get lighter from here.