Boredom, emptiness, irritability………..

……….loss of purpose, nostalgia, resentment, sadness, and being unfulfilled. Check, check, check ,check, check……you get the picture. Well, despite a midlife crisis potentially being a biological inevitability (Chimpanzees and Orangutans can show listlessness in middle age) I went for a bike ride to shake me from my existential slumber - it usually works.

It was a ride to tick off a few of the lanes and tracks near home that I've ridden past umpteen times but never ventured along. Ones labelled as uncategorised country road and offering a change from the usual haunts - adventure may be dangerous but routine is lethal. We've had snow, rain, and everything in between of late, and I was expecting a wet one (from below at least). The brook nearest home didn’t require a dismount and with full length mudguards it was a dry crossing:

The first of the new tracks ultimately defeated me. It started fine:

But became this (are you thinking body bag too? Guess what. It wasn't):

And then this:

It looked deep and I thought better of it. One to come back to in the summer. Had I continued I would have reached a river and that would have been deep. I wasn't ready for some Wim Hof cold therapy. I had a brief diversion to the Grand Union Canal:

I was soon at the next lane long ignored. One of those that start with:

I was impressed - it wound along the contours, bends and undulations aplenty, water to the side of the road:

Overspilling across it in places but rideable:

The woodlands carpeted with wild garlic's first showing. With no flowers yet, their pungent odour is yet to come:

I was soon at the final track that I'd never gotten round to exploring. At it's head a sign ‘Ford’ - close by is another ford that a few weeks ago I had to wade through (and was soon to do so again), would this one be a similar story? Unable to judge its depth and with the luxury of a crude footbridge and a short diversion through a copse, it was passed with feet dry.

The final ford was one that would certainly submerge the bottom bracket. In I went on foot, carrying the bike. I done similar recently and knew it was level underfoot, little chance of coming a purler. I was feeling a touch sluggish by now, but the cold immersion worked. You might be on to something Wim. Reinvigorated, the ride home felt effortless (should I mention South-Westerly on my back?). Passing through Beausale, I thought about its etymology again. I grew up near a Sale, it must mean something. It's from the old English sahl, meaning at the sallow tree, a sallow being a willow - handsome willow then.