Cold – properly cold, no wind, no noise other than than the hum of the chain and the slight creak of cleat. Untreated roads covered in ice crystals, a solitary set of tyre tracks proving I’m not the only one to be stupid enough to come this way. Run off from the fields leaving great sheets of ice across the lane. Hop off and step onto the verge, don’t really want a fall. The grass doesn’t so much crunch under my feet as crack.
The slow way round 