Cycling makes you feel good.
It's a beautiful day here in Devon. Maybe the last one for some time? The sky is cobalt and the sun feels wonderfully warm on my skin. I'm out for a trike ride, the first since I began to work again and also since I fitted an ebike kit to Teresa's bike. She isn't here today, but the smile on her face as she disappears up another hill is with me always. Yes, we are now an electric couple!
I'm off to see my friends who run a cycle hire business. I've only seen them briefly on one occasion since March, such has been the weirdness of 2020. I may not be able to see many people again if things keep going where they seem to be heading with the reemergence of Covid 19, so it's a case of one more dance before bedtime for me and Hercules.
Even though it's a beautiful day, there are hints of autumn. Piles of acorns line the lanes and the fresh breeze has that cool easterly edge to it. I cannot imagine there will be many more days like this, certainly not this year, so I have every intention of making the most of it. Those acorns snap, crackle and pop like the famous breakfast cereal as I ride over them, constantly reminding that I will have to clear the garden of them soon. That can wait, it always has for the last sixty years. A gardener I'm not.
I'm running a kind of experiment at the moment. I trying to learn how to maximise the benefit from my newly added electric assist. I've changed the battery, placing the frog battery on Teresa's bike and the big bottle battery on Kermit. It has a bigger capacity than the frog battery and I have no idea what it will do. Todays ride is around 30, hilly, miles, so that should at least point me in the right direction. I am playing with using higher levels on hills or leaving it on low power all the time. I think I feel best when I'm just using a little assist. I still feel like I want a workout, just not as tough.
For the most part of this ride, the first 12 miles from home are uphill. There are a couple of breaks in this with a short but whizzy downhill prior to Gribbleford Bridge. It isn't a nasty monster uphill though, just a gentle incline with a few steeper sections. I love the ridges that tend to run west to east in Devon. I often plan my rides to use them as much as possible. North to south is just constantly hard, so I minimise that where I can. It felt wonderful today with the assist on a low setting. Just that bit more relaxing. I think overall that is what I'm finding. Assist means less effort which in turn means more fun. Just what you might expect and the other bonus is that you recover more quickly and can do it all again tomorrow should you wish.
I felt almost zen-like as I slowly climbed. Farms that have been there for many years came and went, still looking very last century, or is it the previous one, to my eye? My mind was fully occupied with the wildlife and scenery and my muscles thankfully did what they are supposed to do. It felt in my mind as though I was slowly drinking a large glass of liquid nectar, my emotions all settling into a place of joy and an overall feeling that I was filling up with endless positive energy. I could let go of any negatives that tried to invade my mind and just be in that mindful place, the one where nothing gets to you. Interesting. As the assist runs down, I charge up. Seems a fair enough swap to me.
This beautiful high point is a lovely place to take five.
And so it was when I heard a rustling in the hedge row. I slowed, not wanting to disturb whatever was in there. All of a sudden, a flash of red and white bounded up into the air whilst seemingly cartwheeling along. It was a stoat. I sat and watched as it proceeded to drag out a dead bird from the hedge row, one that was much bigger that the Stoat itself. Dinner for the young? I hoped so. As suddenly as it appeared it saw me watching and shot off across the road as though rocket propelled, only to rustle and hide in the undergrowth on the far side. It would return for its prey once I departed. I could still feel its presence, imagining those beady eyes watching studiously from its grassy hideout. Only on a bike and by riding slowly do you see these treats. I felt blessed and rumbled quietly away.
I sat by the Celtic cross at the top of the hill and watched the world go by. It looked the same as when I last came this way several months ago, before lockdown. Every so often a car would pass by, the occupants often sporting masks as Covid protection. Why they felt they needed them inside a car I will never know, but it flung me back into the other world, the one of people and not Stoats. I much prefer stoat world if I'm honest. I look at our consumption and greed and want to cry. Our planet is bleeding to death and we can't be bothered to help it and ourselves into the bargain. I've always felt these things deeply. A soul in the wrong place at the wrong time? Maybe, but I'm not alone.
Continuing on, I passed the golf course. You can tell this by the numbers of BMW's and Mercedes you see there. Another long, fast downhill stops the bleak thinking and restores the grin. Its a steady downhill all the way from the top of the valley to the bottom and a heck of a climb out the other side. Oh well. What goes down, must go up. Halfway up the other side the assist motor started switching in and out of power. My immediate thought was, " I wonder if he controller is overheating." The reason for that thought was that I had changed the battery over and had stuffed the controller in a small, padded bag that was hidden with little airflow behind the seat. Opening the bag a wave of heat hit me. "How silly of me," I thought, and proceeded to remove it to allow cooling. This also gave me time to have a drink which I hoped would have the same effect on my sweaty body.
I rode the rest of the climb without assist using the gears I normally would. There is little resistance, if any, from the light (2kg) motor, so it wasn't as problem. Although the mid motors are getting better, I still hear reports that pedalling without assist is hard work, and don't forget, if you have one of those and it packs up, you only have the big chainring and the gears on the cassette, This would make it impossible to ride in most of Devon's hilly surrounds. With the less powerful Hub motor, you get to keep your triple ring up front. I feel this is a much bigger issue than having the chain snap, which can happen on mid-drive bikes due to the torque they produce. That can be solved with a chain tool and a spare quick link in minutes. A 48/52 tooth chainring would be no fun at all without assist. You can put a smaller chainring on most, but unless you want a wide ratio one-by-ten or similar gear setup you will never get near the spread of a good triple chainring for touring. That's why I stick with it.
Of course, the controller had to go back in the bag for the trip home, but I unzipped it as much as possible and everything after that was hunky dory, including hills just as long and steep as the previous one. I vowed to change the system on returning home and without another thought set off again for the The Granite Way after and a break at my friends place: Devon Cycle Hire. It was great to catch up and hear that their business was doing okay after this troubling year. I munched on a flap jack before heading off for the mostly downhill run to Okehampton.
Back to cycling. The Granite Way is beautiful, but for the most part there is the continuous and loud drone of traffic on the A30 from the crowds of tourists heading madly for Cornwall and its long traffic jams. Most people probably hardly notice it, the noise of the traffic,but where I live is so quiet that to me it felt like the traffic was shouting as loud as it could into my ears, upsetting my beautiful equilibrium, at least until I got used to it. So, I endeavoured to tune out of that and turn my attention to the scenery by closing off my ears as far as is humanly possible, choosing to concentrate on the natural beauty rather than the ugly noise of thundering vehicles.
To ride this section on any bike, particularly in this direction, feels as though you are flying. For the most part it is a gentle downhill that encourages a large gear to be utilised along with a wide grin. You glide effortlessly along feeling the wind in your face and momentarily forgetting the loud hum of traffic not far away. The impressive viaduct and scenery over which it is built brings most people to a grinding halt, but I've been here many times before and I just carry on with a long glance toward the moor and the sense that I'm in some kind of heaven.
The siding near Okehampton has dead trains lurking in the bushes.
It only seems like a short roll from there to the road that leads into Okehampton. A steep hill takes you directly to what you might call a town centre. It's never been a great town centre, but after being ravaged by Covid 19 it feels even more like it's struggling to survive. Such a shame. People go to the supermarkets and little else it seems, relying on Amazon and other delivery services to supply their needs. I am just as bad, although I try to use businesses that are linked in to whatever goods I am trying to buy in terms of having a shop front somewhere. I don't know if it helps, but I've more recently been trying to support local shops and cycle shops so they are not lost forever, despite the extra cost.
That's an aside. This downhill is brilliant if you like speed. When I got my KMX I thought it was really twitchy and might spit me off at any moment. Since then I've gradually got used to it and the steering now feels wonderful: sensitive and thrilling with the whole experience leaving me smiling like an idiot. In affect Hercules feels alive. He has a real personality that many other trikes I have ridden seem to lack.
I wandered back through town and along the very familiar lanes I have ridden a thousand times previously to my home in Hatherleigh. I cannot remember when I last felt that relaxed. Pictures were taken by the river. I stopped just to feel the peace several times. More than that I felt fulfilled, complete even. Exercise has always helped me find this, even though I don't work too hard any longer and ride in a completely chilled fashion. It those magic chemicals that lift your mind and soul in combination with the mindfulness and peace that comes from being amongst mother natures beautiful tapestry. Any escape from the house feels good, but cycling, for me at least, enhances the outside world in a way where sitting on my low perch it looks and feels so different to the one presented to us through the media. It was a blissful day out.
Roll on two days. I woke in the night in Dawlish with some pain in my knee. It wasn't extreme but very uncomfortable. I turned over and go to sleep only to be woken again by increasing knee pain. I didn't understand what was going on, but my kneecap felt hot and the knee itself stiff. I had banged it the day before and assumed it was bruised, the heat being part of the healing process. In the morning, hobbling around very painfully, with many worrying thoughts in mind I decided that a ride would help ease the problem as long as I went gently. So I set off for Exeter with Teresa in the hope things would improve as I went.
I rode around St Thomas, evaluating the area for the latest risk assessment at work. My knee was gradually deteriorating but I just kept riding, albeit very gently. Deciding to head for home (Dawlish this time) as the alarm bells began ringing I just felt I needed to rest and I hoped all would be well. How little I knew.
The river after passing Okehampton.
Stopping at Turf Locks I tried to get off the bike. The pain surged through my body as I tried to place weight on my leg. This was not good. In fact it was plainly a bad idea, so, with little other choice, I continued without another stop. By the time I got home. walking was not really an option any longer. I hardly made it through the door using my bike as a crutch. Once in I slumped on the sofa wondering what on earth was going on?
I talked to Jasper, Teresa's son, and he kindly rang around his friends to see if somebody could give me a lift to A and E should I need it. I spoke to a doctor in my practise, did an E consult on 111 and spoke to them on the phone, along with a Dawlish medical centre. Nobody could offer any help. We called all the local taxi companies, none were available until after the school run was complete. How are you supposed to get help? A and E was never mentioned during any of my conversations with 111 or the local practise in Dawlish. It was suggested that I might take a trip to one of Exeter's walk in health centres who would triage it and then send me to A and E. It was a shame I couldn't walk! I thought we had been told that NHS hospitals were open for business? From where I sat it didn't feel that way.
Eventually, at around 5pm, I got a taxi to Exeter (at great expense) to A and E in where I was eventually seen by doctors. After a little over five hours, at 23.10 I was sent home with a suspected infected prepatellar bursitis (swelling and infection of one of the sacks of fluid that help tendons and kneecap run smoothly) with a large fistful of antibiotics. I was told there was fluid around the kneecap and they didn't know if it was blood or from the infection. What fun. I fell twice trying to hobble on crutches to the taxi home, such was the now extreme pain in my knee. I felt spaced out and giddy, probably from the codeine.
Getting in and out of a taxi with an unbending, excruciatingly painful leg was also great fun and took an age. The taxi driver was superb, patient and helpful, even waiting until I made it into the house before he drove away. I have to admit that it was touch and go. I have no recollection of how I got upstairs that night but I did.
Hercules enjoys the shade.
Next morning everything felt worse. I couldn't weight my leg at all and just sitting on the edge of the bed, trying to gently place it on the floor, caused great pain. I've had many injuries in my time. It goes with the territory of the things I've chosen to do in life. This pain was in a league of its own. I was so fed up. Last night I had been glad to return home, but now I knew I probably had to go back. Another taxi was out of the question, so I gritted my teeth, quite literally, and hopped my way downstairs, out of the door and down to the bus stop before I could really think about it!!
Again, the driver was brilliant, being very careful until I was seated. From the bus stop at the hospital entrance I had to hop all the way to A and E, which is at least 400/500m, maybe further, from the entrance. I don't have the upper body strength I used to have, but I do still have the same dogged determination and bloody mindedness. And so it was done. 
Having a swell time. There are 24 hours between the first and third line. Thank you NHS!
This time I got fast forwarded. The doctor took one look at how much the infection had spread, he had drawn a line the previous night for comparison, and admitted me for a couple of days for observation and intravenous antibiotics. Bugger. I was in the best place though and over the next two days people came and went drawing ever bigger lines around the ever increasing infection. By day three the drugs began to work. Thank goodness was my only thought. My arms were like pincushions from constant blood tests and numerous cannulas. I breathed a sigh of relief right there, knowing the tide had turned. It the certain knowledge that I would be released into the community I felt that my mind had suddenly lightened.
From then until now I have been taking it easy, leg up, doing very little. This doesn't come naturally to Graeme's so I had to work on it. It's been greatly helped by the almost continuous rain that we've seen in Devon and I'm glad to say that the result is that a big improvement has taken place, my knee beginning to look more normal again. Yay. They say time is the great healer. Let's hope it still is!
I write this not to gather sympathy, but rather to illustrate how life can change in a couple of days. It's important, especially in these times to keep a perspective on what is going on. While everybody worries about Covid 19, there are plenty of other things out there that can upend your life when you least expect it, just as this did. There were no warnings to heed, it just happened. As it turned out my experience was relatively minor, but left alone, untreated, it could easily have turned quickly to Sepsis, not a good thought at all.
Escapology, the cheap way!
That wonderful day out on Hercules, cruising around the Devon lanes to Dartmoor burned so bright in my thoughts that I could hang onto it while in hospital. Even when I couldn't walk I was thinking about where I might cycle next time I got the opportunity. And that is the point. If you can find a purpose to keep getting out and being active, grab it with both hands, whatever it is. Life is not forever and neither can we assume that tomorrow will allow us to do what we can do today.
This episode woke me up again, reminding me of what is really important to me. Two weeks down the road I can walk again gently and hope to be back on the bike next week if at all possible. I hope that I have now had all the surprises in store for me for in 2020. It's been a bit too exciting in the wrong kind of way and not the sixtieth year I had planned for. There is still so much to be thankful for and I think I will choose to hang on to that.
Until next time.......................
