A mid-winter wade

What is cycling to me? There was a time when I dabbled in a little road racing. I had to live like a monk, training religiously, to achieve just a modicum of respectability. Now I live like a chipmunk, gnawing on food religiously, gnawing away at my soul religiously with The Doubts. Contemplative cyclotourism is now more my thing, and yet I get frustrated at a lack of form. Form for what? Well, for not being overtaken by a toddler riding a trike backwards, for a start. I do venture out from time to time clad in Lycra, but a double take often follows a glimpse of my reflection - why's a gone to seed Power Ranger riding a bike just like mine really slowly? Bike riding has become more a cathartic thing, a chance to figure out what, alas, I suspect is the unfigureoutable.

I rode out to Preston Bagot this afternoon. Preston, a common place name in England, and in satisfying my interest in all things etymological, from prestatorn, the estate of the priests. It was the church there I was headed for, one ridden past many times, but I fancied a closer look. Last summer was dry, not a drop for two months or so. The autumn and winter, another story. All week rain had fallen and this morning was no different. Puddle upon puddle, flooded lane after flooded lane, as I cycled to the church. There's a brook to be crossed just prior to it. The ford easily crossed normally and a footbridge to help too. My suspicions of something a little more were confirmed.

About two feet in depth, the bottom bracket sure to be submerged, I'll shoulder the bike and walk it.

Here goes
 

Shin deep, headed for the knee in places (the feet are going to be cold later).

Halfway there

Once the mighty torrent was crossed, it was a brief pedal up to the church. With an undulating journey to get here, I've always considered this spot a high point of a ride. But the map says otherwise, I'm lower than where I live.

The original building dates from the 11th century, various modifications done since.

Trying the door it was unlocked. Not uncommon for a church, even unoccupied a place open to all. A brief wander around and then back home (with cold feet).