I have occasionally wondered whether many of you actually read these scribbles that I produce. For I cannot offer any accounts of great riding, and anyone looking for skills, or wishing to be impressed by my riding will find little or nothing to sustain them. But I do still like the idea that a relative novice can post in here, and with luck, be read. Sometimes I feel I could just as easily be describing a walk. But then I think about the other more skilled rider/writers and to me the main interest in their prose is the writing itself and the descriptive pictures they produce. The unicycling is secondary, no matter how skilled they are. I do feel that others read them for the entertainment too. For those who do not read ride write ups, I confess to being just as guilty as you, for I admit I never read the trick descriptions at all.
Mikefule adds variety to his writing by including a quiz, which certainly gains my interest. I have occasionally wondered whether I should add a quiz myself. But would Mike feel I was treading in his ground? Or would he appreciate the chance to compete with the rest of us? I once created a car based treasure hunt, when I was still an active member of a sports car club. I was told at the end that I had a weird and evil mind and a decidedly odd sense of humour, and that was why most entrants only scored about 4 out of 25, whilst getting lost in the process. Yet one couple got full marks, all 25 correct, so what did that say? Even I never thought anyone could get full marks. So if I ever did a quiz in here, it would have to be different, very different from Mike’s, and it might be interesting to not even tell people that the quiz exists. Or should I completely forget the idea of a quiz and erase it from my thoughts?
The morning dawns clear, and the stream invites me to follow it. Who was
it made that famous quote about an invitation to follow a stream whether that stream be a pond, a river or a lake? Was it Walton? I don’t remember, and cannot recall the exact quote, but the truth of the words drags me down to the pathway along the banks of the River Mersey. (That is not a quiz, but if anyone does know the answer I would appreciate it.) I am intending to ride a section of the Trans-Pennine Trail. I contentedly grin to myself, for I know that this section could not have a rise or fall of more than a few metres in total along its entire length, but somehow just riding a trail named after a significant range of hills adds kudos to the day and to the ride. I like my hills flat when unicycling, and today my wishes will be granted in profusion.
Someone recently asked me why I usually ride alone and near water. And I do, I like that early morning solitude, when I am free to ride as I choose, or ferret around the river bank turning over stones, or indeed just to walk, at my own slow pace. Others are far too keen on the ride, always wanting to get somewhere else, and far less interested in the flora, fauna and scenery around them. And all of this is usually so varied near the water. This is what makes the ride for me, far more so than the unicycling. The unicycle propels me at a speed slightly quicker than walking, makes me feel different, but still restricts my speed, so that I miss as little as possible. It is its very low speed that makes it my ideal transport along the riverbank. Maybe this is the real reason I have never yet been anywhere on the Coker. Nothing at all to do with my going rigid with fear as soon as I sit on it.
I start to ride just downstream from Stockport town centre, near the canoe launching pad. I do think "Maybe I should be in a one wheel canoe", for, less than half a mile upstream, the river runs underground, below the shopping centre for some hundreds of yards, and I would dearly love to see the river below the shops. But now in front of me there is a shallow weir , running at an angle across the river, with maybe a foot or so of water drop. The dirty Mersey of the past is gone, at least with respect to water quality. Not so many years ago this place would have looked far bleaker. The water level today is low, and runs with very little sediment, so is clear and I can see at least a couple of feet into the water. There are fish too, small fish that I believe to be gudgeon, for they stay very close to the river bed. They swim jerkily in the stream.
The long streamers of weed are almost day-glo , so bright is their green. Their tails wave about in the stream and small fish are gathered in shoals immediately below them. These fish, from 1 to 3 inches in length, play in large shoals near the bank. I do not know what they are, they are too deep in the water, but I have seen a few bigger fish splash on the surface. Nothing huge but much bigger than the gudgeon would ever become. There will surely be other species to identify, if I look hard enough. So the river now holds significant breeding fish populations, a sure sign of its cleanliness. The banks of the river are sandstone cliffs, making this section very inaccessible, with few places where the water could actually be fallen into. The place is very pleasant indeed, but could be even better. The inaccessibility means that removal of old tyres, shopping trolleys and other junk is very, very difficult here. And so they remain, visible, but are not too intrusive once your mind manages to filter them out. I might still broach the subject of a clean up with my local councillor. But would the next river spate then just bring more junk downstream from the shopping centre?
The river banks have a long history of industrial use, and much of the
bed of the river is coated with old bricks, where most other rivers would have gravel. But for a town centre, very nice indeed. Downstream the river is divided by an island, and a heron is standing in the far channel.
It is to be the first of more than a dozen herons I see by the river this morning. Fantastic. And better here than near my pond. There are swallows and yellow wagtails, in addition to the usual suspects. This is how I pass the first fifteen minutes of my ride. Sitting on the grass. Only the cucumber sandwiches are missing. A robin comes, landing on the unicycle only a few inches from my feet. He puffs out his feathers, thus becoming quite a chubby little fellow. I suspect he too would have appreciated the bread.
Eventually I climb back up the steps, get on the unicycle...I would
hesitate to use the word mount, which would imply a score of at least 4.5,
rather than the 1.2 I somewhat generously give myself. Almost immediately I get off again, curious, for the sandstone cliff that forms the far bank has
a line of 4 or 5 caverns carved into it. One looks like an old sewer, long
disused, and with brickwork which arches across its top. But the others are
interesting, several 4 or 5 foot high tunnels disappear side by side into
the sandstone. 10 or 12 metres up, and now with no sign of an access or way in without climbing gear. No brick or stonework lines them. What were they for? There are tunnels and caves low down too. All very interesting and tantalisingly out of my reach just across the water. The sort of place that people would tell me is far too dangerous to go and investigate. However I store the location for possible future investigation.
Back on the unicycle. The pathway is very smooth tarmac, and I feel that I might manage without any UPDs today. Wrong! I pass a dogwalker, I don't like dogs and his animal unnerves me, and I fall off safely. The guy is wearing cowboy boots and a check shirt, a remnant of last night's line dancing? Under my breath, in a poor attempt at a John Wayne accent, I murmur "Hey Hombre". A moment later he disappears, my words unheard, around the corner, and so my 4 failed attempts to freemount also go unobserved.
The path, the river and I now pass under the motorway. This early in the
morning the traffic noise is negligible. Listening carefully I can just detect music. There are faint strains of a hymn or psalm on the wind from an unseen nearby church. The music seems as if it should be there. The graffiti should not. Underneath the bridge the wall displays numerous artistic and literary offerings. One catches my eye: “Chaz an Will woz ere”. The grammar is appalling. Should that not have been “Chaz an Will werz ere”? Plural. The past tense and the early hour ensure that we do not meet.